Ever since I have been married, my wife has wanted a gun. She has always claimed it would make her feel safer but I could never get the image of her "accidentally" using it against me. You know, innocently walking into the house after my wife is in bed only to be greeted by a chest-full of lead.
So after eight years we finally compromised and I bought her a gun. I should be given an award for holding out for eight years, but I'm afraid the only award I'm going to get is a trip to the emergency room.
I'm not a big fan of guns and frankly I've never wanted one. I don't care if other people have them, but I would prefer to keep them out of my house and more specifically, away from me.
But there I was, sitting in the dining room unpacking my new gun and I couldn't help but be a little excited. I took it out and carefully read the instructions, which may have been the only time in my life I've actually read instructions. But I wanted to find out how to load the stinking thing.
When I put the black weapon in my hand it was heavier than I thought, or maybe I'm just weak as a kitten. Probably the latter, but nonetheless I was ready to put the ammunition in and shoot it.
It is at this point I have to back up and tell you what led to my succumbing to my wife's want of the "David Killer." Surprisingly, it wasn't her nagging but the stupid black birds. The birds that everybody in town gripe and complain about, yet none of us are smart enough to figure out a way to get rid of them. And since the city doesn't seem to have a solution either we are forced to fend for ourselves, hence the gun.
So after loading the weapon I donned my yellow shooting glasses that came with the gun. I'm not sure what these are for, but I guessed it was to keep parts of bird guts out of my eye after I shoot some of the nasty things. Well, either that or to keep me from shooting my eye out. Probably the latter. So now I was ready and I went outside where I was met with a chorus of cackling from those disgusting black birds. This time was going to be different though, I had a gun and a license to kill.
OK, to tell the truth I could aim at those annoying birds all day and never come close to hitting them. I've shot a handgun before and believe me when I say I am the worst shot on the planet. If you put me in front of a barn I couldn't hit it, because somehow my brain, eyes and hand movements don't work together at the same time. Which is good because if anyone is ever shot and killed I am immediately eliminated as a suspect.
So there I was with the gun in my hand, feeling like Jack Bauer (he's the main character on "24" for those of you with poor taste in TV) ready to scare off some birds. I pointed the gun into the air so as not to hit anything and squeezed the trigger. BAAAMMM! It was a lot louder than I thought but those pesky black birds pooped all over my yard as they flew away. Ahhh, victory. Or so I thought.
Five minutes later the birds were back chirping louder than ever. So now I'm getting upset and, of course, I have a gun. Not a good combination. This time I take aim up in the trees where thousands of black birds were laughing at me, at least that is the way I saw it. BAAAMMM!
Did I mention I'm the worst shot on the planet? I could have thrown a rock and hit three of my winged enemies but unbelievably I missed every darn one of those birds. To top it off I think they started flying around in a circle over the house chanting "You suck." And you know what, they were right.
Defeated I walked back in the house, no longer feeling like Jack Bauer but now like Barney Fife (of "The Andy Griffith Show" for those of you with poor taste in TV or younger than 20).
Once inside I unloaded the gun and realized I had to find a place to hide the BBs so my wife can't load it. Oh, did I forget to mention I bought a BB gun? You really didn't think I would give my wife a real gun did you?
At least with a BB gun when she shoots me (and I'm sure it will happen) it might just leave a whelp. I hope.