I'm Just One Good Excuse Away from a New Shotgun

     As summer gets long in the tooth and humid days give way to cool nights with the smell of approaching fall in the air, my thoughts turn to adding to my modest gun collection. I begin leaving Gun Digest books around the house, and the "Favorites" space on our computer becomes populated with the websites of firearms manufacturers.

     How fortuitous, then, that the Federal Government decided earlier this year that my wife, Lori, and I were eligible for an "economic incentive" payment. Like many, I questioned the wisdom of stimulating our country's economy by going further into debt. However, while I have done some dumb things in my life, refusing free money has never been one of them.

     For many sportsmen, the chief obstacle to acquiring a new firearm is the considerable veto power of a spouse. Lori has never been that way.

     "If you need a new gun, why don't you buy one?" she told me this summer. "You can use the money from the government."

     Of course, I returned her generosity. Marriage, as they say, is about give-and-take. For example, Lori advised me last week that she had not bought a new pair of shoes in ten years and was forced to go barefoot.

     I allotted her $10. I am not an unfeeling soul.

     For years, I've lusted after a 20-gauge side-by-side to tote to my favorite grouse coverts. But I haven't been able to pull the trigger, so to speak, because I don't live in partridge country and don't get after the brown rockets all that often.

     In my neck of the woods, the primary game bird available when fall fishing and deer hunting is over is...the common crow.

     Nobody ever waxes nostalgic about fine crow guns.

     Perhaps I'll be the first. I could order a trim Best Gun from the Basque Country of Spain. Inlaid in gold on the receiver would be a delicate scene depicting a brace of crows tearing into curb-side trash bags.

     Of course, here in the real world, there are three obstacles to me acquiring a new upland gun. First is the fact that a good side-by-side is expensive.

     Second is the fact that they are overwhelmingly made in foreign lands.

     People in Turkey and Italy need to make a living, too, but I can't justify propping up the economies of those countries with a payment meant to support ours. Third-- and this is a mental defect on my part-- a new 20-gauge doesn't fill a significant niche which needs filling.

     The last gun I bought-- a Marlin .22 semiautomatic rifle-- filled a niche. For several years, I participated in a rabbit-hunting tournament based out of a tavern in Monroe. The first year I was invited, I showed up with a Marlin 39A lever gun. My fellow bunny chasers looked at me as if I was from outer space. The rifle was far too slow with repeat shots on speeding cottontails.

     The next winter, I took along a .22 target pistol. Wyatt Earp I'm not. Those bunnies are fast.

     Finally, last winter, I achieved success with the Marlin semi-auto. It was fast and reliable in the cold as we waded through briars in search of rabbits.

     Sadly, this past summer, the bar which hosted the tournament burned down. Now I have the perfect gun in my cabinet for a niche which no longer exists.

     My friend, John, is not troubled by the idea that a gun must fill a niche to be bought. For years, he collected Remington Model 700 rifles-- two in each caliber.

     I can understand that. I'm a Remington fan, and have a Model 700 myself.

     John's problem-- in addition to gun-induced poverty-- is that he is extremely susceptible to advertising shown on hunting programs.

     He is currently enamored with the Thompson-Center Encore rifles that are so common on hunting shows today, and now all those Model 700's will simply become rudimentary tools to him, not even good enough to scrape ice off of a sidewalk.

     Of course, the same fate will befall the Encore when a new rifle comes along. Then, John might only look on his Encores with a slightly wistful eye-- such as you might a former girlfriend who was nice enough, but "not quite marrying material."

     Perhaps I'll buy a pistol-- made in the USA, of course.

     My brother Craig and I, along with our friends Gregg and Cary, make an annual trip to Fountain City. Shooting is our main activity, and a new pistol would be a nice addition to the shotguns and clay targets we bring along.

     In regard to the trip, Cary possesses what men would term an innocent sense of adventure. Cary's wife, Ellen, would use the words "questionable judgment."

     Before Cary left to join us this February, Ellen kissed him at the door.

     "Have fun," she said. "Be safe, and DON"T DO ANYTHING STUPID."

     And so a Saturday morning found us looking out a farmhouse window at a snowy landscape while we drank coffee and anticipated the day's shooting.

     "I wonder if my truck can make it all the way down the valley and back," Cary wondered aloud, before thinking better of it.

     He wondered again and again, until finally, he raced outside to his truck that evening as we cheered him on.

     We watched his taillights shrink into the night, until they stopped, remained motionless for an hour, and winked out.

     Cary clomped into the kitchen after his long walk back.

     "I'm stuck," he said.

     "But I just need a little push," he added, in perhaps the greatest understatement of all time.

     Now, four-wheel-drive is a useful tool. But for it to be effective, a truck's wheels cannot be prevented from touching the ground by six feet of drifted snow.

     The next morning, as we shoveled and shoveled and shoveled, I gasped, "Cary, what did Ellen say to you before you left?"

     "Don't do anything stupid," he grinned.

     Speaking of stupid, I guess buying a new gun probably falls into that category. Our house has been sporadically maintained since it was built in 1940, and there is no shortage of improvements to throw money at. Lori and I charged a new stove, and will probably be better served by using our economy-improving incentive to pay for it.

     So, no new gun for me.

     That's alright. I don't mind.

     Having an oven that lets you know when it's pre-heated is so much better than swinging a nice, light 20-gauge at ruffed grouse or clays on high-house Station 8.

     Yeah... I didn't think you'd buy that.