My New Henry Rifle

By W.R. Jones

autumnspotlight_small.jpg  I’m going shooting after work today.  No – I’m not looking to shoot Chippy here; I’m going to the range to shoot at paper targets.  Relax – I just wanted to get a moments rise out of you tree huggers/animal lovers.  This painting came from a trip to Montana.  When he rustled around in the grass I was certain it was a bear stalking me.  Maybe I don’t belong outdoors, I’m more of a mall type.  I’ve always found a more plentiful food supply and fewer mosquitos in the mall.

    I recently bought a Henry pump action 22.  I have wanted such a rifle since I was a boy.  It is beautiful; an octagonal barrel and dark walnut stock make it a piece of art.   I had thought my desire for shooting implements would taper off with this purchase but we just got a new Orvis catalog that offered a custom made shotgun for $10,000.  I floated the idea of me owning such a device out past Santa.  Santa muttered something under her breath that sounded like, “No LIVING way.”

    As I was looking for a box of shells to shoot, I remembered a boy from my high school in Iowa.  A friend of his accidently (?) shot him in the foot.  The bullet passed completely through from top to bottom.  Instead of heading to the nearest doctor/hospital, he taped his own foot and never saw a doctor.  This same boy once dove into the local river and sliced open his scrotal sac on a piece of broken glass.  Again he did not seek professional attention but simply taped the wound shut.  Things like this are beyond the pale for a world class hypochondriac like myself.  Ever since his mother related this incident to me I dive with one hand over my balls.  This may be why I never scored well in the diving competitions.

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