Pookie is going out to be out of town all week for work and we decided that it wouldn’t hurt for Sis and I to get a little practice in out at the range. We all went out today and plinked a bit with my .38.
The last time I went to the range, you may recall, I shot myself in the head. So I was a little bit wary this time. Then as Pookie is working with me, he tells me to turn around so that I can’t see him load the gun. Now, he was doing this so that he could load it randomly to see if I could just keep firing through the empty chambers until I hit the loaded chambers and still be basically on target. Of course, while your back is turned and your husband is loading a gun is not the time to realize what a bitch you’ve been the last few days.
We also brought Pooter’s little Crickett rifle. It was the first time he got to shoot it with real .22 shells. He did very well, hitting the target several times (with Pookie’s constant help and supervision, of course. We don’t plan to set him loose in the neighborhood with it for at least another couple of months.)
The closest we came to disaster was when Pooter was demonstrating to me how you could ‘splash sand in your face’, and his safety glasses were a bit askew. He managed to give himself a literal eyeful of sand. I flushed his eye out in the bathroom and he’s just fine. On a related note, could someone explain to me how a shooting range bathroom in the middle of the woods, with no attendant, could be cleaner and better supplied than 99% of gas station and/or restaurant bathrooms?
We’re all going to miss Pookie terribly but it will be all better when he brings us many trinkets from the land of crawfish and Zydeco. (Psst,Pookie. Think jewelry.)
So how was your weekend? Everyone else manage to avoid injury?