Story

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missed mallards
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Story

Postby missed mallards » Thu Jan 11, 2018 11:14 pm

Kind of slow here. Figured id type up a story. Not sure it's what I wanted but I thought it was good. My wife hasn't proofed it yet so I'm sure it's full of errors. It's long, read on and hope you enjoy! Wish I could post a pic of the old girl but can't upload pics, sorry.

“The Mule”

A lot of life happened in 2017. Between this and that, there were changes that were expected, and in true form, things that happened that weren’t. That’s the thing, you really never know what’s around the next corner. Sometimes, trouble leers, and in some cases, something happens that you can’t quite explain and really have no feelings to know how to react. The summer of 2017 brought forth a lifetime want, but also brought a lot of sadness with it. Whats the old saying “You always want something until you get it?” Well anyway, that’s what happened. My lifetime want of obtaining my grandfathers guns came on out of know where. No, he didn’t pass, but in the events that were to follow, I was the new owner of his firearms. Even the old one they called “The MULE”.

I can remember being just a little lad when my grandfather completed his ‘showcase’. Built of some fine wood, cased in glass, and holding piece after piece of artillery, that gun case was IT. It was right between the fireplace and TV, and in most cases kept me occupied for hours. I would sit and drool over the pieces that were shown on display. The hardwood stocks, the old worn woods, and even the glossy, pretty ones had their place. I can remember being all of ten years old when they listed their house for sale, and will never forget the sound of the new browning safe as it slammed shut. The click, the dial, and that was it. There was no more days of sitting outside the glass staring. The once pieces I had dreamed about, dreamed of, and yearned for were, for all purposes, locked up.

Years have come and gone since then. I had begun working on my own little collection. A shotgun here, a rifle there, and before long my 12 gun safe had begun to take shape. No, there wasn’t anything with beautiful inlays, glossy barrels, or stunning hardwood, but they all went bang. For me, that’s what I cared the most about, the shoot ability. My guns were warriors of the field, rusted, and were memory makers. Ducks, geese, rabbits, deer, you name it, in Mississippi, and I was chasing it. Still in the back of my mind, I wondered what happened to those old firearms. I wondered if they’d shoot again. I wondered…

My wondering stopped one evening in the summer of 2017. I was sitting around kicking the bucket, when my phone rang. The plan was laid out rather quickly, my mom on the other end explained that the grandparents had decided to move, and guns weren’t welcomed. I had to make quick use of my time and head up to bring them back. Sorting them between the grandchildren would come later. And, that’s how it happened. My grandfathers pride possessions were gifted to me and my brother in the most unorthodox of ways. No we didn’t get a story with each as he proudly passed them down. To be honest, no one had any recollection of some. Either way, the guns, some shiny, some dull, some new, some worn, were loaded up in the truck and just like that, that case I sat and dreamed of for so long, was in my truck.

Now I can’t sit here and lie. I went straight home, wiped them with a little oil, and placed them right back into that damn safe. No, I didn’t load up my new weapons and hit the field. To some extent, I was taken back on the whole thing. I watched as my grandfather took each one and laid it down on the carpeted floor. I watched as he looked over each one, and the detail he seemed to appreciate as he glanced at the old relics before his release of his possessions. The thing that hit me the hardest was watching him and seeing his face as he laid down the last one. He looked up with a half smile and just said “that’s it” and with that, well that was it. The stories that we have were all of some 20 years ago when he had them in the gun safe, sadly, memories of our own had stopped many years prior due to health reasons.

As time came and went, and my desire to hit the field came on to the point of opening the old safe, I found myself not reaching for my old trusty Winchester. No, my hands grasp the old Remington chambered in 16ga. A gun that was my great grandfathers. A gun I had never held until then. Some 30 years it had set in a safe collecting dust, having no stories to share, and worst of all, out of mind. That day however, my hand grabbed the old forearm like it just belonged. A box of shells were gathered together from the ammo closet, and I was off… with “The Mule”.

“The MULE” is a Remington 11-48 chambered in 16 ga sporting a full choke. Pretty? Nope, no, naw! It’s got years of use on it. The blues worn, the woods chipped, I mean the thing is beautiful! The manufacture date is unknown, but my mom recalls him using it during the 70’s. My grandmother just made comments that he got it in a trade! Some how, she didn’t elaborate much! My grandfather remembers it as it was the one he carried while my grandfather was courting my grandmother. It had some years on and I bet a story or two to go along with it. It was his gun, his only long barrel, and his pride and joy. A quail killing machine from the stories I remember. Why I decided to take it? I have no clue, but as I loaded the first rounds in the magazine I just began to chuckle. I mean how many people get to hunt with their great grandfathers gun? In this day and age, who would want to?

Sitting in the cove that evening, I began to uncloak the scars of years ago. The chips in the stock, the old worn bluing, and even the long scratch on the forearm. It all just came in a flood of thought. I sat there smiling for what seemed like hours. I could just see my great grandfather (Grannanny) pulling up in his old sedan. Opening the old door of steel and unsetting the shotgun from its resting place on the backseat. There at the other car his buddy yells out “Chester, come on!” and just like that they set forth into the abundance of quail that covered the landscape. Yes, I sat smiling as I imagined him bead down as the first covey flushed. It was all surreal as I sat there waiting on my own species of bird. I can’t imagine what he would have thought had he walked up on me. I had a 4 wheel drive truck that cut the walk down tremendously, a primaloft jacket that kept me warm, and most importantly, insulated boots. I don’t know if the shock of no quail or the technology of gear would have been the biggest shocker!

I’m sure in my daze, a few low flying dove escaped. But thankfully, I have an excitable dog that won’t allow to many, and as the days hours began to increase, the flights began to be more frequent. Shouldering the gun for the first flight, I was mixed with all kinds of feelings. 3 rounds later and a high flying dove smacked the ground stone dead. I was lived. I reminded myself of the young man I took this year who tagged his first dove. I can say, for the next hour I found myself firing round after round into the air. Some were hits, a lot of misses, but I had the time of my life! The old gun was as smooth an action as I could want. The barrel seemed to swing toward the target without much effort. Now, hitting the target seemed to be quiet the challenge. Even so, I kept slinging lead. I’m sure my grannanny would have snatched the old piece out of my hand after the first flock, but I’ll get better with the old girl. A box of shells, or more, and a few morsels for the grill, I called it quits. I had taken a few birds with my great grandfathers gun! That in itself was just awesome! “The Mule” lived up to it’s name. She kicked like nothing I had held on to before! A recoil pad would sure be nice!

Guns are part of the legacy in the outdoors. They contribute to the romance of the hunt. They should be brought out of their hiding spot, dusted off, and used! I put food on the table with a gun older than I. I got to hunt with a gun that has been through 4 generations. To some, it’s ok, but to me, it was a hunt of pure joy. I hope this inspires someone to knock the dust off, I can tell you from first hand, the smile it brings when it goes “bang” is hard to wipe off! I even got to dust off my grandfathers first gun…I’ll tell that story later.
If I don't do it, I ain't gettin nun.......So i'm doing it
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bucks n beaks
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Re: Story

Postby bucks n beaks » Fri Jan 12, 2018 8:55 am

Great read and shared memories. Thanks for the stories that you bring to the site.
DanP
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Re: Story

Postby DanP » Fri Jan 12, 2018 11:38 am

Great read, thanks for sharing.
Plainsman04
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Re: Story

Postby Plainsman04 » Mon Jan 15, 2018 6:46 pm

Great read! Earlier this year my grandfather gave me a shotgun that he got just after WWII. His mom ordered it for him just as soon as Sears started taking orders after the war. Haven’t shot it. Not sure if I will, but I might have to give it a try. He sawed 2” off the barrel because he said it was too tight for quail. I love hearing his stories of quail and squirrel hunts, most with his cousin. Wish it was still that simple to go kill a few birds before supper nowadays.

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