Time Doesn't Always Heal .....

  So; I'm in this house today, checking, emptying and resetting my boxed mouse traps. It's fucking chaos! Single mother. Apparently not the sharpest tool in the box.

  Welfare job. Four or five little kids ~ one of whom appears to have been schooled in the fact, since my last visit, that she shouldn't be calling me " Dad "!

  That was freaking the fuck out of me, last week. Dear little chavvy. All but hanging onto my hand as she chattered away incessantly, in that totally earnest way that they have at some small age.


 She was there again, today. Still couldn't catch a word of what she was on about. Bless her. One room. Five kids and the mother. I'm trying to pop my boxes. Bait. Set. Position. Get the fuck out.

 What I'm getting is little chavvies handing me boxes. Picking up boxes I've primed ~ thus firing them off. Woman's saying something about some fucking thing. Flies? No flies here. Kiddies? Swarm of them. No flies though. Tuning out .....

 Noticed one or two of these chavvies is toddling around with a little, plastic replica of a sawn off, pump action shot gun, with a pistol grip. Toys kids get these days, eh?

 I was thinking of my own, real thing, which I have beside me at home, here. Woman was going on about flies, still. 

 That small section of my mind that I could spare for her, right then, was causing my mouth to say; " Sounds more like someone had died in that room. " 

 I was trying to concentrate on the setting of the trap I was holding right then. Kids flowing around my feet. Then, I felt a prod, beneath my lower, right rib.

  I swear to fucking christ; For a split second there? I Shit Myself! I had so much going on around me ~ ye have to realise that I live in an environment of calm and tranquillity. Pretty much 24 / 7. I have to. Or it's back on the Heavy Sedation .....

 And I have the short barrel of a Mossberg, pump action, 12 bore shotgun stuck under my ribs ..... My chest cavities contents are about to exit via the back of my fucking neck ....!

 Next second, I'm sort of laughing in this womans face. Saying, " Jesus! ". Laughing. Mentally willing the switch Not to trip the other way, so I'd spiral the floor, a wreck.

  Fuck. I'm trying to breath right, now. That was ten hours ago. " The Incident " was nearer to twenty fucking Years ago!

 This is why they say I'm suffering Chronic Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It's on going. It'll never go away. I'm fucked.

 Shit like this just reminds me how fucked I really am.

My New Shotgun .....

Hoisting myself back onto the horses back (I can't say 'Back into the saddle'. I wouldn't use a saddle on my horse! It just seems wrong, to me) I realise I haven't even shown ye my new gun yet. I believe I told ye about the fun and games I had, getting the damn license processed? Well, that all finally got rail roaded through - by my own bloody minded persistence and that alone! And now I've got my new gun.

Had it, probably, two or three weeks now, I guess? As I've always maintained though; My guns are just tools. Did I mention the new power saw and disc cutter I bought? Maybe. In passing. Much the same with this gun. Only, guns seem to excite some people more than a power saw. So, here's an over view of my latest ~ more 'sexy' tool.




Sorry it's not a very close up and detailed shot. Of course, it's not even a 'real photo', as in taken by me. It's just something I found on Google. Unfortunately, with my own camera, by the time I get the distance to allow for the whole length, I lose all detail anyway. This just seemed like a nice compromise.

As most of ye will see then, it's black. All over. For the less well up on such things; It's what we call a 'Pump Action'. It holds five cartridges in the 'tube' and I can 'stick one up the spout' as well. That means I can fire it. Ratchet that handle at the front back ~ thus making a two part, metallic sound which is actually, probably, a better laxative than even the sound of the damn thing going off! ~ and fire again. Ratchet. Fire. Ratchet. Fire.

Six shots, one after the other. As fast as I can bring my left hand back and squeeze the trigger. We have a word for that sort of thing, in the gun owning fraternity. We call it, " Awesome! ". LOL!

The official name of this gun is a " Mossberg 'Maverick', 88 (Field Model) ". Made in Texas, USA. Only the component parts are cunningly made in, and imported from, Mexico. This allowing the lower price, at least in US! I paid close to £400 for this thing. It's virtually cheap as chickens wings in America. But, I'm not in America .....

However, I've read a Lot of reviews from owners. Can't say I've read a bad one yet. People with this gun seem to like it. Me? I like its weight and feel. I like the way it handles and I Love the sound of that ratchet! 'Aural Sex ', surely? I know Dean O' thinks so too ;-)

So, there it is. I've got it, of course, for magpies. It'll be the ideal tool for rapidly reducing any broods I miss before they hit the ground. That heady period when they're still young and stupid enough to be found bouncing about in gangs of five, picking at what ever ye've left out to tempt them.

Of course, That season came and passed as I tried to get past The Muppet and actually get my damn license. It'll come again. I'll be ready now. Meanwhile, Dean O' proposed a fun little suggestion the other night. He pointed out how we both tend to use only our rifles and bang away at paper targets and plastic bottles, to keep our eyes in.

He said it might be fun if the pair of us should invest in a cheap and basic little Clay Pigeon Trap .....

Now, that does sound like a hell of a fun way to spend a couple of hours down on the bog!