Gut Rumbles
 

December 31, 2007

End of the year

Originally published December 31, 2004

This evening, Sam, Stacey and I steamed oysters over an open fire in my back yard and ate them using the tailgate of my pickup truck for a picnic table. Is that a red-neck feast, or what? I bought 100 pounds of oysters, and we ate until we could eat no more. I still have at least 50 pounds remaining.

I bagged those up and put them in my freezer for the girls to take home with them. Sam says they have to pay seven dollars a dozen for fresh oysters in Fort Worth, Texas. I don't think they've researched a good wholesale seafood distributor, because I can get Louisiana singles at $40 for 100 pounds here, and they are a lot closer to Louisiana than I am. What the hell. They've got 50 pounds to take home.

When we went shooting today, I took an old phone book to use for targets. I like to shoot pictures of lawyers. Stacey discovered that she is a good shot and she was very enthusiastic about plugging anything I set up for her to hit. By the time Sam became interested in trying her hand, we had ripped that phone book to shreds and perforated every decent picture we could find. I killed ALL the lawyers.

So, I found some trash beer cans, threw them in the creek and Sam sank every one, usually with her first shot. I found a flattened Budweiser can and used the remains of the phone book to hold it up so that only the round bottom was showing. We were probably 50' away, looking at a 3" circle for a target. Sam said, "Daddy, I can barely SEE that."

She fired and put the shot right in the center of the circle. I mean DEAD CENTER. She shot again and said, "I think I missed that one." I didn't think so. I thought she put the second round damn near through the first hole. (Would you believe that at a distance, I have better eyesight than two young wimmen?)

We walked up to check. The second shot went through only half of the first hole. She had taken out another chunk about 1/4" to the right. I looked at her and beamed. "Sam, that is damn good shooting," I said. "Not many men can do that." Stacey was good, but she never shot THAT well; Sam did it over and over again.

As we were walking back home, I saw a glass jug laying in the leaves off the side of the trail. Samantha was carrying the rifle. I said, "Sam! Whoa! Look over there. Are you gonna walk out of here and leave that thing unshot?" I pointed at the jug. It was about the size of a half-gallon vinegar bottle and about 20' away.

"That thing? Daddy, that's too easy." I told her to shoot it anyway. She loaded the rifle, shouldered it and fired. The jug broke into pieces. She said, "See? I told you it was easy." She took about three more steps down the trail and stopped with a shocked look on her face.

"Daddy, I didn't have my ear-plugs in when I shot that bottle. I forgot that I wasn't wearing them anymore." And she didn't flinch from the "loud" noise, either.

A lot of shit has happened in my life during the past year, but I'm going out of 2004 on a high note. I've enjoyed visiting with my daughter and Stacey and I might even end up with a semi-clean house in the bargain. Can't beat that.

And I taught Sam to shoot, too.

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