Sunday, young HannieC sang the "Love Love Love" song with the Joyful Noise choir up at church, and then they had a rehearsal after church as well. This is always problematic, as the service ends around 11:00, but the rehearsal doesn't start until 11:30, and little MaxieC doesn't seem too inclined to want to sit around for an hour with nothing to do. So I need to keep the little squirt entertained.
Well, by the saving grace of God, CherkyD tells me to take old MaxieC out while she and the daughter are at the rehearsal. Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty I'm free at last. I pack the poor kid into his carseat, despite his valient struggles, and high tail it off to Big5 Sporting Goods. Why? Well, cuz I've decided it's time to start teaching miss HannieC the joys of marksmanship, and I needed to score some .177 cal pellets.
See, it all started a few weeks ago when I came home from work and there was a big envelope from the NRA in the mail. It was the annual "Vault of Guns" sweepstakes entry form, in which you can win up to seven guns. You get a selection of stickers, each of a different gun. I'd guess about 20 or so to choose from. You take 7 of those stickers and affix them to the entry form. I was poking through the envelope which the Mrs. was putting maxieC to bed, and young HannieC comes bopping by. "Watcha doing Daddy?" "Well kiddo, I have to pick out seven of these guns that I want in case I win this." "Oooo! Let me help!"
Sometimes being a parent brings a tear to my eye. And not just when I get smacked in the package with some stupid toy, either.
So there I was, proud father, going over the pro's and con's of each of the guns on the stickers. I realized I have a giant hole in my knowledge base about shotguns. Like, can you fire regular 3" shells from a 3.5" magnum-chambered gun? I think the answer is yes, and it's easy enough to verify, but at the time I was standing at the kitchen counter and nowhere near google.
At any rate, she decided I needed a selection of guns to shoot different things. Elk, deer, ducks, and people. HannieC picked out the last two guns herself, as I could only find 5 that I actually wanted. Seems like the specialty here is less-popular cartridges, and I've learned that you pay through the nose for ammo for the less-popular stuff. I know, I know, I should handload, but I live in f'ing California. Which means I don't have a basement. Or a workshop.
Anyways, I decided then and there it was time to teach HannieC how to shoot the little Crosman American Classic pistol I have in the safe that was my first air gun. A gun I received as a birthday present when I turned 23 and was in grad school (sheltered childhood), but that's another story. I figure, this gun is a single-shot jobber that's hard to pump, and pretty complicated to shoot, so there's no chance of HannieC going all Rambo on me, as she might otherwise do given a repeater.
Turns out, it's no easy task getting pellets in California. You have to be 18, and then they have to be stored behind the gun counter, and then you gotta find a gun clerk, and then he has to walk the stuff up to the register, and then they have to check your ID. Sheesh. He told me they had to do the same thing with the softair pellets as well. Maybe it's just a Big5 thing.
While we were there, we picked up some Repala floaters. 3 of them. Then, we went back to church to pick up the womens-folk. I gave HannieC the bag and told her I got her some presents. She took out the fishing lures and was very excited. Then she took out the pellets and said, "What's this?" and started trying to open it. I said, "Careful, they'll go all over." And the lovely Mrs. immediately yells out "BBs!!!" is a horribly I'm-the-mommy-why-are-you-killing-my-child accusatory tone. No, not BB's. "Pellets!!!!" Yes.
"She'll shoot her eye out!!!"
Sheesh.
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