My grandaddy's shotgun.

When my father was growin' up his daddy had this 12 gage shotgun on hand at all times. It was used to put food on the table and to fend off critters that threatened the family livelihood. Dad used to tell me over and over about the time he found a snake in a corner of their barn and went to get this gun. He was maybe 6 or 7 then. He'd found the gun, took it out to the barn, took deadly aim and proceeded to blow out the whole corner of the barn, dispatching the snake in the process.



Dad was never into guns. The other story he tells concerning this weapon is about his mom forcing his older brother to take him on "hunting trips" in the woods with he and his friends. My uncle was a sure shot and had a pump action .22 that he could hit anything with. He and his friends would be arguing about which ear they were gonna hit on a squirrel sitting up on a tree limb when dad would cut loose with this shotgun and take out the squirrel, tree limb and all. He didn't get invited back after that.



It's a Stevens 12 gage, and it's about 70 years old. The gun had been in my uncle Mack's gun cabinet since before my grandfather died in the early '60s. My cousin John had grown up shooting it and enjoying the ties that the gun represented, connecting him to his own father and our paternal grandfather. He'd grown up here in Bell county and had known Granddad as a child, so the gun meant a lot to him.

When my uncle Mack died in about 1998 my Dad decided he wanted the gun. It was his fathers gun and he wanted me to have it. He told John about it and John handed it over to us without any hesitation. He hated to give it up but now says he gave it up because he wanted to keep peace in the family. His own son was even more upset. To him the gun was his only tie to his grandfather, my uncle Mack. I felt bad about the whole thing, but dad was in charge and doin' what he wanted, as usual. Everyone just put up with it.

When we got it I decided to take it somewhere and get it cleaned up. These pictures show the result. I've regretted doing that since then, ruining the original finish of the gun, but I was an idiot back then and didn't know anything about guns, other than that I wanted some. Since I got it back from the gunsmith it's been in my closet, leaning up against a wall. I never shot it, too worried about how old it was and whether it would stay in one piece.

When some bastards broke into my house and robbed me in '05, old guns like this one were completely ignored. They went for the cooler, more modern stuff, to my sorrow. When Peggy learned about that robbery she asked me if they'd taken the shotgun and I could see the relief in her face when I told her they hadn't.



Dad wanted me to have it because he knew I loved guns. He also knew that I'd always longed for some sort of closer connection to his side of the family, so having this gun might make accomplish that. But I knew that these other folks, who I love dearly, had been hurt by what my father had done all those years ago. By rights, it's really John's gun, to be handed down to his son, and then to his, and so on. I'll never have kids to hand it down to, and it doesn't mean as much to me. I never knew Granddad. The ties just aren't there.

I told Peggy a long time ago that as soon as Dad died I'd give it back. I didn't want to upset him by doing it while he was alive. I didn't want to have to lie to him if he asked me where it was. When he passed away a month or so ago I knew it was the time to make the gesture, but something in me resisted. It was as if I was going against Dad in some way. Hell, maybe I'd gotten used to having it.

I got a call from Peggy the other day. I was scheduled to go over to her salon in Salado last Friday and get my hair cut. I do this every six or eight weeks or so. It's a great time. She wanted to beg off because she was gonna go with John to see her kids and grand kids up near Ft. Worth and spend the weekend. I decided after thinking about it that this was as good a time as any.

I have several hours off between classes on Thursdays and knew I could make the trip and get back in time to teach. I took a few pictures of the gun for me to save and in the end I decided to wrap the gun in an old deer hide bag that I'd sown together and put a few beads on about 15 years ago to carry my hunting rifle. It seemed fitting somehow. I wanted them to see that I'd taken care of the gun and also give them something from me for the years I'd had it.



So, I wrapped up the gun in this case, tied off the end and took it to Peggy's salon and handed it over. I was surprised to find myself sniffling a bit and my chin crinkling when I handed it over, and then the tears came. It was like I was parting with Dad all over again. It hit me hard for a few minutes but then John walked in unexpectedly and I straightened up. You know, it's a guy thing.

Peggy looked at him, holding the case in front of her and asked "Do you know what this is?", and with joy in his eyes, looking at me from under the brim of his cowboy hat, John smiled and said "I think I do." We ended up laughing and talking about the gun and his experiences hunting with it. He talked about one time when he was kneeling on the ground by a tank (in Texas that's a small stock pond that attracts wildlife) waiting for doves to fly by when both barrels went off at the same time accidentally and the gun flew out of his hands.

I told him how sorry I was that Dad had done what he'd done and he was cool about it. In the end Peggy told me to go ahead and sit down and she gave me a great haircut and then didn't charge me. While I was getting sheared John picked up the case and left with it, going home. I watched him leave with it and got a bit emotional again, but then I put it behind me. After the haircut Peggy and I hugged and I drove home. I pulled out a fat cigar from the glove compartment and cranked up the jams about as loud as I could and tried not to think about Dad too much. That sort of thing seems to help these days.

You guys have a great Monday and we'll talk again in a few. I've got great shots from the weekend to share. Later.