I got out to the shooting range with a co-worker this weekend and we blasted away with .38 revolvers and .40 service pistols to the tune of about 400 rounds. Sadly, my co-worker did a little better than me at 25 yards. I walloped the hell out of him at 500 yards with the .223 “assault” rifle, and that made me feel a little better. Also, all my groups were tighter on the paper targets and my speed shooting was more accurate. All in all, we sent about $100 worth of ammo down the range.
I love the smell that wafts from the barrel of a smoking hot pistol after you’ve fired an entire clip through it. There is nothing else I associate more with my own ability to chart a course through life than that single smell. As long as I am free to defend myself, I am free to conduct my daily business with little fear. There is something cathartic about the process of shooting. I don’t want to kill anyone with a gun, and I never have. I just believe in being prepared.
Another part of gun ownership I enjoy is the weapons cleaning session that inevitably follows a morning or afternoon at the range. The smell of bore cleaner and gun oil are as familiar to me as the smell of cordite. I love the tactile sensations of taking apart my pistols and rifles and reassembling them piece by piece. In my heart, I hope I never have to fire a weapon at someone in anger. I managed to spend a year in Iraq without doing so. But I am ready should the need arise. I will be the decision maker, because I take responsibility for my own existence.