Osama bin Zombie

We firearm enthusiasts of Missouri's rugged Jefferson and Franklin counties are a fun-loving group that likes to get together, talk about and try out firearms, and practice shooting, and later sit in rockers on the porch as the sun sets trying to figure out how to gig frogs without a boat, but mostly we shoot at bulls-eye targets, and now and then we do stacks of cans, license plates, and plastic bottles, and shotgunners shoot at skeets. But I had left over from the days when the gun club met at my place, this one last zombie poster, at one time hilariously funny and now just tasteless and outmoded. So this was our belated good riddance to our country's old enemy. In the photo my friend Morris sets up a juice jug for more target shooting. Morris has a .22 rifle with a mag that holds 25 rounds. Big fun!

Carmel and The Shooting Berm

Carmel promised the gun club could practice shooting on her land, but to do it some earth had to be moved into a pile to absorb our projectiles and keep everyone safe. She hired a guy with an earth mover to build what is called a shooting berm and invited me to be the first to blow some bullets at it with my Colt .38. Some trees were cut down to make room, and the stumps help to brace the pile of earth, eventually to be covered with nice grass. Cost $900. Benefits: Fun, socializing, and firearm practice! Carmel has also ordered target stands and other desirable range accessories. Who first put a firearm in Carmel's hand? I did! Now she's a great shot, using her ex's Hallmark cards and valentines as targets.

The Ankle Holster

For my birthday I got an Extreme Survival ankle holster. (Yes, I have a CCW license.) Before you panic, know that it is not unusual at all here to conceal and carry. I'm petite, and no conceal contraption, whether it be belly band, shoulder holster, bra holster or tactical T-shirt is able to conceal a firearm, even a tiny one, on my person, and obviously this one would show "profile" through my pant leg, but it's only for driving alone in dark or weird places. The holster is leather with shearling wool inside the leg. The rest is Velcro and the firearm is strapped in real good and tight, but can be freed with one serious yank, such as one would give it in an emergency. The object, though, of having a personal firearm is never having to use it, except on the practice range. Ask anyone who lives here.

Gun Shopping 101

Written for ladies, but anyone can visit this informative article by my sister, rulalenska, city girl and one tuff cookie. Above: Colt .38 Police Special revolver, standard-issue for police departments 1940s-1970s; this one pre-1945.

Made for You and Me

Who's the leader of the club? The first rule about gun club is that you do not talk about gun club. The second rule of gun club is that you do not talk about gun club. Nor clay pigeons, nor the mechanical thing that throws them, nor targets shaped like groundhogs, nor Cabelas which has good sales. Nor about getting this year's license and hunting for ducks, doves, turkeys in the Missouri River bottoms, and roasting 'em up, or if there is any firearm that can take a grizzly bear. As far as I have heard, the only thing that can stop a grizzly bear is a really riled-up wolverine. Nor do you talk about Sept. 11, 2001 and how firearm sales have soared since then.

Deer in the Ditch

On a walk along the edge of my own property, about 4:00 p.m. yesterday, I found a doe in a roadside ditch, eyes closed but still breathing. She didn't look all that torn up but I was so shocked I didn't do a full inspection. After sunset, the coyotes would come whether she was dead or not. I raised my eyes and saw bits of car parts in the road.

My options: Ignore it; try to put her out of her misery with my .22 long rifle (the biggest gun I have); or get someone braver to do it. I thought all sorts of things: "Let nature (!) take its course." "I can't shoot it, it'd be too horrible, I'd never forgive myself." "Should I shoot it in the head or heart? What if I did it wrong?" "For this I need a bigger gun." "Maybe she's just stunned and will get up and walk away." "Am I obliged to do this?" "Whom should I call?"

I did nothing. About 7:30 p.m. just as total darkness fell I heard one terrific shotgun blast from that part of the road. Haven't been back there to look.

Remington Nylon 66

A million Remington Nylon 66 .22 long rifles were sold, starting from 1959 until the mid-60s, but this one -- a legendary firearm -- is mine. It's got synthetic parts not of plastic but of nylon -- makes some of the bearings near greaseless. And it's very, very light. It's semi-automatic and holds 12 shells. "Revolutionary" in its time. What's it for? On the Divine property it's for target practice. Yowza. It has no scope, but what a great sight it has. Was shootin' out the spaces in "6" and "8" on old license plate.

My Friend Hawkeye

Yesterday a friend and I walked a trail through Lone Elk Park where elk run free, and she saw, across a lake, a couple hundred yards away, two male elks tangling their antlers, pushing and shoving . . . I said, "Wow. How did you see that?" and she told me that a gym teacher once called her Hawkeye.

Encouraged, when we went back to my place I got out my Benjamin-Sheridan air rifle that I use for fun and squirrels. On the shooting range I set up in my meadow I taught Hawkeye -- who was born in New York City and had never touched a gun -- to shoot, first at coffee cans. On her fourth-ever shot she hit the target, and kept on hitting with jaw-dropping accuracy; a real natural talent. I said, "This calls for a celebration," and got out my Osama Bin Laden paper target, downloaded from a site called Ty's Shooting Interests, which I use only on special occasions. Hawkeye got a bull's eye on her second shot. I gave her the target as a souvenir to take back home to the big city.