Sorry for my tardiness. I had an incredibly busy day at work, Bill relapsed and is sick again, and Blogger wouldn't let me post earlier. I don't know if it was me of my computer. Oh well, enough excuses.
In yesterday's post I mentioned I had three guns hanging up in my room. I thought you might want to know a little more about them. I grew up in a small Western city. Many people my age had guns or unfettered access to them. There were many places to shoot and while boys were more interested in guns than girls, it wasn't uncommon to see girl's shooting in local gravel pits especailly so with their families.
I started shooting when I was 8 years old and my Dad started me with a 12-gauge shotgun. He had to prop up the front of the Hopkins & Allen single-barrel break-action gun while I fired it. I loved it even though it was loud and I ended up with a bruised shoulder. As I grew up, I shot rifles and shotguns, but started specializing in rifle shooting. I didn't shoot handguns, because my Dad didn't believe his little girl should be shooting such things, at least not yet.
I got my first gun when I turned thirteen, a .22 caliber pump-action Remington Fieldmater 572 rifle. For Christmas that same year, my Dad gave me the Hopkins & Allen shotgun that I first shot.
For my fifteenth birthday present, I got a genuine Mauser action 6mm scoped hunting rifle. A local gunsmith who owed my Dad money assembled it and two other rifles--one for my brother and one for my Dad. When I was younger, the 6mm fit me like a glove. Now it's a little short in the stock, so I put a buttpad on it. I took two deer and an antelope with that gun before I graduated high school. My little brother's rifles was chambered in .30-06 and he took an elk with it. Being a girl, I got the little 6mm. Grumble, grumble, [scuffs shoes and pouts].
So, these were the three guns in my room. I had them on one of those hanging racks. Here is a picture of a similar one. The rack had spaces for four guns. I, being my usual ingenious self, figured out a way to fill that fourth space. I had my dad cut and shape a 2 x 4 board so that it fit in the top slot. I lined my troll doll collection along the board's flat surface.
Now, in retrospect, that rack of guns would've made a gun-grabber of today faint--three guns in a teenager's room, with no trigger locks, and trolls overlooking them all. Then, it was just part of who I was. I have no idea what happened to the rack or my trolls, but I still own all three guns. I've got my priorities straight.