Drive - A Memoir 3rd installment
always
does, but firing as if this lethal rifle has a mind of its own. The
antelope went down like it was going under the fence but didn’t get
up, left behind by the herd. The antelope was mine, I thought. I was
so pumped and proud I caught myself preparing my feat of accuracy
into a story I would tell. I felt first–rate but the ringing in my
ears masked some of my best daydream.
“You blasted him
– he never knew what hit him – best running shot I’ve ever seen
– way to go – he’s struggling to get up – he’s moving –
he’s through the fence – what a lousy shot – you only wounded
him – the Old Man is going to kill us,” Russell's narrative
babbled on and on. “Let’s get after him.” My ears were ringing,
my shoulder felt like I just got kicked by one of our milk cows, and
my gut churned as I realized what had just happened.
“No!” I said,
my thoughts returning to the present. “If we track the wounded
animal now, we’ll have to track him all day. The smart thing to do
is sit here for a while; the antelope will lie down, stiffen up and
won't get up and run. We can track the blood, find out where he’s
lying and then put him out of his misery.”
“But then, after
we find your wounded animal, we’ll have to walk the three miles
back to the house for another bullet!” Russ reminded me.
“I know, I know,”
I uttered. It’s funny how the emotional rollercoaster can take the
soaring high to a sudden dive. When the Old Man sent us to clear the
field of grazing animals and bring back some meat for the family,
he’d given us one bullet each which we stuffed in our
pockets. He had said, “If you’re going to shoot an antelope you
only need one bullet!” He truly meant it. His hunting philosophy
was always you either hit what you shoot or you don't shoot at all!
As we waited my
mind wandered back to when Vern, the Old Man, our father Vernon had
taught us how to shoot and how to shoot very well with just words. We
had never been allowed to target practice, to plink cans and bottles
off the board fence. Target practice only teaches bad habits, and
when shooting the higher caliber rifles, you waste bullets that cost
real money. But a worse state of affairs is when the rifle’s recoil
kicks you enough that it hurts – then all accuracy is lost for the
rest of your life because you’re afraid of your gun. You’re
thinking is this going to hurt, and you frightfully pull off a
shot with your eyes shut!
“I can teach you
how to shoot with only words,” the Old Man told us. “When you’re
shooting for real, at real game, you don’t feel the recoil; your
adrenalin is pumping up the excitement and you feel little
500
more words tomorrow
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