we’re outside, we need to be armed. If we are working, we always need a lookout. I don’t care if you’re just going out for a second, never leave the house unarmed.” I opened the safe and removed two guns. The first was my Mossberg 930 SPX. Its eight round capacity and semiautomatic action made it an ideal choice for a home defense shotgun. With an eighteen and a half inch barrel, it wasn’t unwieldy, even inside the house. Loaded with two and three-quarter inch shells, its recoil was manageable even for Katie.
She shot a lot of skeet with it and did fine even though the barrel and choke were not designed with skeet shooting in mind. I racked a round into the chamber, double checked the safety, and handed the gun to Katie. “We’re a long way from town and I doubt anything will be out here. Just the same, I want you armed.”
She took the gun from my hands, checked that it was loaded, and slung it over her shoulder.
I loved watching Katie with a gun. She was one of the few women I knew who actually knew what to do with one. On our first date, I took Katie shooting. I thought it would be a good test to see what she was made of. She had never shot before and was excited to give it a try. She didn’t do very well on the first outing, but she enjoyed it. We shot a lot in the months that followed and it showed. Within a short time, she could out shoot most of my buddies. That was saying a lot because most of them were very good shots.
Once I gave Katie her weapon, I returned to the safe to pick one for myself. I didn’t have to think about it. Without hesitation, I reached for my AR-15. It had been a work in progress for two years. I spent nearly six months buying parts before I could assemble it. The initial form was plain but functional. It was very accurate. I saved money and continued to add accessories. Over time it had morphed into the form that currently rested in my safe. I reached into the safe and was rewarded with the familiar textures of metal and plastic blending together to form the sleek weapon. Without looking, my thumb instinctively pushed up on the safety selector. My index and middle fingers wrapped around the charging handle, smoothly pulled it back, and then let it slide home, picking up a bullet from the magazine and driving it into the chamber. I pulled the stock into my shoulder and sighted down the top of the rifle. The red dot inside the Aimpoint optical sight grabbed my eye’s focus as I lined it up on the deer head hanging on the wall ten feet beyond the end of the rifle.
The Aimpoint was the most expensive addition to my gun, but worth every dollar. The increased speed of target acquisition was unbelievable compared to iron sights. Lining up the front and rear sights had gone the way of the eight track player. Whatever the dot touched was going to soak up lead when the trigger was pulled. It was probably the biggest leap in the evolution of tactical shooting since the advent of the machine gun. It gave its possessor the fraction of a second advantage that often decided the outcome of a gun battle or competition.
Satisfied with the condition of the rifle, I picked up three, thirty round magazines from the shelf in the safe and stuffed them in my pockets.
“What about me?” Toby asked. “I want my gun.” Toby had a small .22 single shot rifle.
“Not today, buddy. I’m going to need your help hammering nails. Besides, you don’t have a sling for it.” It was an excuse, nothing more. The real reason I didn’t give it to him was because I didn’t want my eight year old son killing people. He didn’t need to carry that kind of baggage around for the rest of his life. Katie would protect him when I left.
We spent the next two hours hammering plywood over the downstairs windows. I debated cutting slits in the wood through which to shoot. In the end, I decided it was better
She shot a lot of skeet with it and did fine even though the barrel and choke were not designed with skeet shooting in mind. I racked a round into the chamber, double checked the safety, and handed the gun to Katie. “We’re a long way from town and I doubt anything will be out here. Just the same, I want you armed.”
She took the gun from my hands, checked that it was loaded, and slung it over her shoulder.
I loved watching Katie with a gun. She was one of the few women I knew who actually knew what to do with one. On our first date, I took Katie shooting. I thought it would be a good test to see what she was made of. She had never shot before and was excited to give it a try. She didn’t do very well on the first outing, but she enjoyed it. We shot a lot in the months that followed and it showed. Within a short time, she could out shoot most of my buddies. That was saying a lot because most of them were very good shots.
Once I gave Katie her weapon, I returned to the safe to pick one for myself. I didn’t have to think about it. Without hesitation, I reached for my AR-15. It had been a work in progress for two years. I spent nearly six months buying parts before I could assemble it. The initial form was plain but functional. It was very accurate. I saved money and continued to add accessories. Over time it had morphed into the form that currently rested in my safe. I reached into the safe and was rewarded with the familiar textures of metal and plastic blending together to form the sleek weapon. Without looking, my thumb instinctively pushed up on the safety selector. My index and middle fingers wrapped around the charging handle, smoothly pulled it back, and then let it slide home, picking up a bullet from the magazine and driving it into the chamber. I pulled the stock into my shoulder and sighted down the top of the rifle. The red dot inside the Aimpoint optical sight grabbed my eye’s focus as I lined it up on the deer head hanging on the wall ten feet beyond the end of the rifle.
The Aimpoint was the most expensive addition to my gun, but worth every dollar. The increased speed of target acquisition was unbelievable compared to iron sights. Lining up the front and rear sights had gone the way of the eight track player. Whatever the dot touched was going to soak up lead when the trigger was pulled. It was probably the biggest leap in the evolution of tactical shooting since the advent of the machine gun. It gave its possessor the fraction of a second advantage that often decided the outcome of a gun battle or competition.
Satisfied with the condition of the rifle, I picked up three, thirty round magazines from the shelf in the safe and stuffed them in my pockets.
“What about me?” Toby asked. “I want my gun.” Toby had a small .22 single shot rifle.
“Not today, buddy. I’m going to need your help hammering nails. Besides, you don’t have a sling for it.” It was an excuse, nothing more. The real reason I didn’t give it to him was because I didn’t want my eight year old son killing people. He didn’t need to carry that kind of baggage around for the rest of his life. Katie would protect him when I left.
We spent the next two hours hammering plywood over the downstairs windows. I debated cutting slits in the wood through which to shoot. In the end, I decided it was better
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