Gun 101

I spend about half of my time living on the mountain. There I have easy access to trails that quickly become wild, the vast green realm of deer, and coyotes,bears, and cougars. For a long time now, almost everyone I know has asked me if I carry a gun on my daily excursions with Cooper into the woods. You should have one, they say. Never know what you might run into. A woman like you needs a weapon. Blah, blah, blah. But I've seen big kitty scat right on the road where it is closed up Lolo Pass. And one day on that same road some weeks later, I had a feeling. A bad feeling. A bad feeling I chose not to ignore and went back down the pass, looking behind me every few steps in case there was something coming after me. There wasn't. At least not that I could see. But I felt it.
Last week I was up shooting pictures on the powerlines, and there I met a man. He was riding an ATV and Cooper ran to meet him, because Cooper is a gregarious motherfucker and he likes meeting everyone. This man told me that not all that long ago, his german shephard dog was killed by a bunch of coyotes on this here trail. And, he added, if you don't carry a gun, I'd recommend you start. He also told me that he had seen a cougar in his pasture in recent weeks. That was the last time I needed to hear the gun lecture. If my dog is in danger, then by golly I should start packing heat.
So I called up the Cowboy.
"Cowboy," I said, "I need to learn about guns, and I want you to teach me."
The Cowboy said I should come over for dinner.
Mind you, I grew up in the country, in the woods, in a land crawling with rednecks and white trash and people who hunted. There were guns in the house. Having guns in the house was about as alarming to me as having a blender in the house. Also I treated them exactly like the blender: never touched them. My dad may have gone deer hunting on occasion, but I wouldn't say he was an enthusiast. When you grow up in the country, guns are a part of what is around. They aren't politically charged. Even though I am a pinko-commie faggot liberal, I still feel strongly that the right to bear arms is an important feature of our rapidly deteriorating constitutional rights. I've got nothing against guns. I do, however, take issue with some of the people who use them.
I digress. I went down to the Cowboy's house for dinner.
It was steak.
After the steak, which was tender and good and bloody, and enjoyed in a dining room with a fine view of many dead things hanging on the wall (antelope head, pheasant in Pheasantly Pose, a bobcat, and etc), the Cowboy brought out a small arsenal of handguns. Small handguns, large handguns, Wild West Seth Bollock Cocksucker handguns, and even a semi-automatic. Most of them were loaded when he put them on the table. I learned how to clear a gun and some gunnish etiquette. I learned about caliber and the different kinds of rounds you might fire. I also asked about each gun what the gun was intended for shooting. Mostly, the Cowboy answered, people. I felt strange, handling the cold metal and pulling back the hammer as he pointed out the firing pins and the this or that about the gun we were looking at. He explained in detail how guns work and what they are for. "It is a good idea to know where you've got one stashed, " he said, "just in case." His moustache looked extra moustachy.
We will be doing some shooting, and I am going to sign up for a gun safety class and get myself set up to be armed and dangerous. I felt a little like a snake crawling out of my urban skin and slithering away in my new shiny mountain skin. I know that if you call the cops up there, it may take them hours to arrive. I know there are scary people and wild animals. I don't intend to ever kill anything or anyone, but I think I do want to know where I've got one stashed. Just in case.