The following excerpt is from my book “The Lord and the Weedpatcher.” With all the bad news I thought some of you folks could use a little cheering up:
My daughter Karen and my son Michael shared in many of their dad's proclivities for adventure. Part of the reason, sadly, was that their mother didn't want them around. So, when I went somewhere, they went with me. As they grew older, the adventures became more adventuresome. They will have their own stories to tell their children. I hope they do it with charity toward their father.
This buddy and I would often go out to Kramer's Junction and hit the dirt roads until we got many miles off the highway. Out around Hamburger Mill Site and the Cuddeback and Harper Dry Lake area, we would begin to encounter our quarry: Jackrabbits.
Using single actions with fast draw rigs, we would fire about 100 rounds per rabbit. The fun was in the shooting, not the killing. And, it was as good an excuse as any to get out of the city.
Since we re-loaded our own ammo, I cast the bullets, the shooting was cheap. We could afford to be profligate in bouncing rounds off rocks.
Reloading can be a lot of fun. When I first started as a boy, I'll never forget seating my first primer with my Lyman tong tool. I was loading for the .270 and was as nervous as the proverbial cat in a room full of rocking chairs. But .270 ammo was expensive and, with true grit, I mastered the skill in order to be able to afford to shoot. I've never regretted the learning.
But my buddy missed throwing a charge once and nearly cost me a day's shooting. We were out at Cuddeback and a large, old jack bounced out of the brush. Pulling my Colt, I tripped the hammer only to have the round go pumph instead of bang! Staring at the gun, I was amazed to see the bullet sticking halfway out of the end of the barrel. Only the primer had fired and with sufficient power (about 600 pounds pressure) to force the bullet that far.
Far from our truck and with me cursing my buddy roundly, we started the long walk back. Suddenly, right there in that trackless, vast dessert there was a pair of rusty pliers right in the sand in front of me. Talk about serendipity! Using the rusty pliers, I was able to pull the slug from the muzzle and we were back in business.
Because of our crusade against verminous ground squirrels and jackrabbits, this fellow and I began to kid about a 500-pound rabbit looking for us to get even. I never realized that my little girl, Karrie, actually believed there was a monster rabbit after her old dad until she recently told me of it. You sure have to be careful around little ones. They have vivid imaginations. Even worse, they cannot discriminate when listening to grownups talk about 500 pound rabbits and the one that got away. And we all know about the veracity of fishermen.
I got even with this fellow the night I shot out his truck window. Well, shot out may be too strong. Actually I put a BB hole in it. I happened to be driving that night and among the weapons we had brought with us was a CO2 powered pellet gun. Just for fun.
Now the rule was that the windows were to be open so as to fling a round at the bunnies without the trouble of stopping the vehicle. But this poor fellow was cold and had rolled his window up. Sure enough, a rabbit bounced up on his side and with electric speed I flang a shot at him with the pellet pistol. But my buddy’s window was closed.
It got real exciting for a moment as the BB zinged around the cab of the truck. Amazingly it didn't hit either of us. But there was a neat little hole in the center of the window and a thin crack straight up and down from it.
There was some discussion following this trick: “Why was your window up! Why did you try to shoot me! If I'd really wanted to shoot you, I'd have used the .357 you dummy!” And many other good-natured, comradely remarks. But he got even.
It was our custom to reload for the driver. One day, (I was driving and using the Colt as usual) a jackrabbit jumped up and I began to shoot. Bang! Click. Bang! Click. Bang! Click.
Now one of the reasons that this fellow and I are such good friends is the fact that we share the same twisted sense of humor. He had only loaded every other chamber in the Colt. Great fun; for him. Now you shooters out there understand the fun of shooting at bounding jackrabbits is seeing the clouds of dirt, rock and dust being blown around the poor things, educating them to the perversity of human nature and hastening them on their way, feeling the good, honest buck of a fine weapon in your hand, not the occasional and accidental killing of the poor things. But only a low-down skunk would do such a thing as cheating your bosom buddy to half a load. It also galled me that he thought of it first.
Remember the skit of Bill Cosby saving a snowball for revenge? Of course my buddy could no longer trust me to reload for him now. This was one drawback of his little joke. But, like Cosby, I waited.
It was nearly two years later. We had gone to Kelso Valley. My buddy had forgotten- I hadn't. I can wait a long time to get even and I never forget. He usually used a Ruger (just what you would expect of someone who would do such a dastardly thing to a friend. Anyone knows that only a Colt Single Action Army is suitable for the real purist). But this time he had brought a .22 auto and, thinking all was forgiven, was letting me reload as he was driving. Sure enough, a rabbit bounced up on his side and Bang! Click! Being an auto loader, one shot was all he got. Served him right. Justice is sweet. So is revenge.
What he was so appreciative of was my steadfastness, patience and ability to wait him out. I'm sure he knew there would come a time and was glad to get it over. But you can't help loving someone that shoots out a sliding glass door with a.45 Colt Auto- One of this fellow’s neater tricks as he was demonstrating gun safety to a neighbor while living in Carson. His wife was not amused. But surely God gets a chuckle out of our antics. He has to have a great sense of humor.
