"Put the gun down!"

When I was blue,

Didn't know what to do,

Hubby said, "Gun show!"

And wouldn't you know

I might be a sharp shooter.

Good 'nuff t'make men hooter!

So a beretta and a bearcat,

Not animals you'd pet,

Are my handguns - my fav!

Never use in a handwave,

Clerks collapse, they hide,

Best keep ’em at my side.

You're probably thinking there's a story here.  You're right!

It started with a bb gun pistol.  Darling hubby purchased my first at K-Mart.  It was fantastic.  I could shoot nasty birds out of the trees, and house chewing chipmunks scuttling along the foundation, and any little red pickup traveling north.  Well, ut-hum, that last one was an accident.

Let me ease your tender heart.  I don't shoot cardinals, turtle doves, or house wrens.  I shoot those rasping sharp horrible sounding birds that eat the eggs of my smaller birds.  Then, very respectfully, Ian buries them.

As for the chipmunks, they've been stockpiling walnuts in the wall between the house and garage.  If they'd have stayed in the trees jumping from limb to gutter and back, they could've survived, but once they started coming indoors, they had to go.  Yes, they were first given warning shots!

And, the um, well...the red pickup truck was an accident. I never in a million years thought a bb could go 200 feet!  At that time I never  thought I was capable of hitting a moving target.  When that bb made a "ping" sound, I knew I'd done something, I knew I'd made contact...ut-oh! 

Jumping ahead to after mother died, when I was blue, DH decided to help by sparking my interest in target shooting with him, and our boys and the Deacon.  We went to Gander Mountain,  Crack Shot, and Bare Arms.  

At the Tipton Gun Show I went around handling various pistols.  

Sellers wanted to know, "What price range?"  "What feature?"  "What'll you use it for?"  "Any particular gauge or style?"

Finally, I chose the one that fit the palm of my hand, a black sleek beretta.  Nice.  Two magazines.  10 bullets each.  Easy handling.  Nice.

Secretly, though, I was hoping for an Annie Oakley revolver; now SHE was a sharp shooter!  At age 5 she kept the family fed, and as an adult won rodeo shooting contests.  What a gal!

Ended up at Wyatt's Sports.  They had a lovely pink revolver.  Yep.  Just what I wanted.  At the display case, Mr. Wyatt kindly unlocked the back glass and handed me a Ruger Bearcat.

Single action.  .22 caliber.  6-round.  Compact.  Nice.  

I was a novice.  I turned to the left (handgun in right palm), opened my mouth to say something to DH, noticed his eyes were big, he was ready to gasp actually, but instead said very firmly, "Put the gun down.  You don't want to do that."  

What????

What was I doing wrong?

I looked back, and (like I said, I was a novice) I looked at my hand and I'd let my arm extend out, and the gun was weighing heavy in my hand, which was holding the revolver off kilter, kind of sideways, pointing toward the back of the store.

Take a breath here.

There were other clerks in this small 20 x 20 foot room; adult men were behind glass counters.  The counters were full of guns.  There were a couple of other big guys checking out available ammo, some other weaponry like bows, and other accessories.

Wyatt's face was grave. In my peripheral vision, beyond the camo-clothes racks the customers were dropping, on the far side of the counters the clerks were ducking.

"Pamela, put the gun down."

When I finally connected what was being said with what my gun holding hand was doing (waving the pink lady about) and what they were doing, it was embarrassing, later it was funny.  At that moment, it was embarrassing. 

Shoot!  It was time to duck out of there.  Run.