Packing heat

Got nothing accomplished at work yesterday. It's funny how small chores expand to fill the time available. Yesterday taking the dog to the vet, piddling with e-mail and washing and waxing Teri's car seemed to take up the whole day. How could that possibly be?

I finished Merle's Door last night while Teri slept. That's a good thing since I'm not generally a weepy guy. The end of the book got to me, and I don't like to see anyone see me cry. Funny, I don't mind writing about it, I just don't want anyone to witness the act. I'm not much of a crybaby, but finishing a book about a great dog that ultimately dies of cancer at age 14 on the day you learn that your great 13 year old dog's tumor was malignant and is likely to come back hit just a little too close to home for me to entirely control my emotions.

I loved the book, by the way. Thanks for recommending it Kathy.

Next up on my reading list: The Road by Cormac McCarthy.

Just before 11 p.m. as I was in bed finishing the book, the doorbell rang. When your doorbell rings in the middle of the night, that can never be a good thing. Our doorbell is quite loud, but Teri remained fast asleep with Scram curled up beside her as Callie slept soundly at her summer post on the cool hardwood floor just outside our bedroom (and just underneath the doorbell ringer!).

Nobody stirred--not my wife, not the cat and not my watchdog; so I was on my own to face the unknown.

I jumped out of bed, hit the floodlights and saw that it was one of my neighbors from the next street, flashlight in hand. His dog had gone missing, he explained, and he wanted me to know that he was about to go into my back yard as he expanded his search.

In semi-rural Alabama, where "he needed killing" is an acceptable defense, it's not a bad idea to alert your neighbors if you're planning to roam on their property late at night. Around here, people could get shot for that if they're not careful. Like any red-blooded Alabamian, I do own a gun--a used .357 revolver just like the one in the picture above that I bought many, many years ago at the Chalmette Jewely and Gun Shop just outside of New Orleans. I got a good deal on it because it was a "retired" police weapon (stamped BPD). It was and is in great condition. At the time I bought it, police departments were transitioning from revolvers to the now ubiquitous automatic handguns all cops carry these days in an effort to keep up in firepower with the criminals they face.

But the truth is, my neighbor was in no danger at all last night. I'm not exactly sure where the gun is or where the bullets for it might be. I have no idea if those bullets, which are nearly 20 years old, are still "good" since they're the ones the gun dealer threw in when I originally bought the thing. I keep the gun unloaded and stashed away and the bullets hidden in the other end of the house just in case a curious visiting child might happen upon it.

The last time I had the gun loaded and handy was during the post-Katrina confusion, when law and order were seemingly scarce commodities. But those scary times passed quickly, and I once again felt no need to pack heat or keep my six shooter ready for action.

Teri hates having the thing around. I tried to give it to my brother once, but he's an avid hunter and already has more guns than the Honduran army and wouldn't take it. I've also thought many times about selling it at a gun or pawn shop, but getting rid of my only gun would almost certainly deduct a couple of my manhood points, and I don't have any of those to spare right now.

Just as I was about to step into the night and participate in the search party, the missing dog presented himself. I rejoined my still sleeping family and the usual state of calm returned to Bayberry RFD.