My sister and I were still teens and still living at home, and we heard a horrible heavy breathing and things being knocked over through the heater vent (the furnace was in the basement, so we knew something or someone was down there). So we did what any sane person would do, we went and woke up our dad (because we all know dads can do, and save you from, anything). My dad hopped out of bed and headed for the basement and my sister and I were huddled together and went creeping down the basement stairs behind him (we didn't want him to go alone, but how much help would we have been?). After looking in all of the dark places in the basement and determining it wasn't a someone, dad starting looking under shelves and looked under some boxes that had fallen over and he suddenly reared back and came running toward us telling us to, "Go, go, go!" We, of course, handled it quite well and turned around and started screaming, "What is it? What is it?" and running up the stairs. We thought it was some horrible, mutant creature that would kill us all. Dad started laughing at us and told us it was a skunk.... He just opened the outside basement door and he said that with any luck it would just leave on its own and without leaving us any reminders. Luckily it did. It had apparently pushed up against one of the ground-level windows and it wasn't latched and it fell into the basement. Of course, we got to laughing hysterically afterward thinking about our dad, a man who never walked around in his underwear or even wore shorts, going down the stairs in his boxers, ready to take on an intruder, with the two of us cringing behind him.
Yeah, but a REAL man carries a 9-iron in a threatening manner whilst stalking the Mysterious Noise in his boxers at 2am (seriously...its in the MAN-ual). hehehehehee Was sleeping soundly one night, when about 2am there was this gawdawful racket that sounded like someone pouring marbles into a steel washbasin right next to our bed! I don't think I've ever come out from under the sheets that fast (probably had a little bit of jet-assist, too...). Stopped a moment outside the kiddo's door to make sure there wasn't anything untoward happening in there, then went through the rest of the house after stopping off at the gun rack for the good ole Mosin. Wasn't too terribly worried, since after the initial heart-attack moment the beagles whuffed and either went back to sleep or followed me on the way to the back door to go outside (hey, since you're up....). Everything was locked and secure. Then I checked the closet, on my side of the bed. We've got two bars in there for clothes (its a small closet, so one's above the other)...the top bar, mine, had snapped in the middle and what we'd heard was a metric butt-load (yep, metric...not standard) of plastic hangars pummeling the closet door. Talk about a pucker-factor of about 11.0!!!! It took me several tries to un-wedge my boxers the next morning.
Raccoon's are a problem here because of the availability of food, and shelter. At any time I have 2-300 pounds of corn and grain stored in my garage, along with 2000 pounds of hay either in the garage or in the barn. Coons will kill chickens, and can kill goats if left to run roughshod. I like to bait coons in with guts of fish or squirrel or whatever, and sit out on the back deck and pick them off with .22 Colibri (super quiet) and then we clean and eat 'em. It's greasy. But it eats up good. You wrap it up in bacon and throw it on some oak coals, and you've got a party. I haven't mastered saving the pelts yet, but that's my winter project.
Ah, but my father's a WWII vet. A tough guy even in his boxers.... I knew it. I knew there was a MANual. How else would you guys come up with this stuff.....?
Yep, its a long rifle. Russian standard infantry piece. Some people just have to use shotguns because they're such crappy shots with a precision weapon. {{pointedly NOT looking in the general direction of CAC}} hehehehehehehe Clementine, the introduction to the MANual clearly states that any male who has served in their respective country's military, especially in a time of war, shall be heretofore known as a Real Man (note the caps). All others must earn the privilege. Plus, there's a rather lengthy (and secret) rite of passage at the end of chapter 42 that involves a rubber glove, a cricket bat, and some marshmallows. But we don't talk about that to outsiders.
Certainly is...quality varies...(probably what he meant to be honest) BUT there is a 12 gauge Mosin Shotgun...Shotguns are my kind of weapon...Were used in WW2 from memory, i think in Korea and certainly in Vietnam...have not seen them since in the field...perhaps a sign that contacts are getting further apart..? Any ex grunts got a view on that?
Amazing what a volunteer fireman can do. I thought you just fought fires..Didnt know you turned em into shotgun discussions...Have you thought of volunteer quilt making Slip....Much more peaceful I'll have one with a pic of the mississipi please...
Crikey! Thats shoots me down! How does one earn the privilege? I think i may have taken part in the rite of passage...but they said it was the right passage...not a rite of passage!!! I feel so...dirty... And no im not a crappy shot...just lazy...and i love the boom those things make...okay, i've got issues...
Nono....its the right Rite. Right? Line forms to the right. We've even put it on paper, so we could write the right Rite on the right. But, unfortunately, the guy we hired to write the right Rite on the right....left. Okay. Now I'm dizzy for some reason.
I won't even mention what happened when the founders decided they might, in the middle of the night, write the right Rite on the right on the isle of Wight (they got into a fight out of spite. Oh, what a sight on that hallowed site!).
