Saturday, September 18th, we went shooting out in the tundra with Ben, Dani, Ron and Peter. Brandon took his 44 caliber lever action rifle, and Ben took his 12 gauge shot gun and 22caliber rifle. I was the first girl to grab the gun, Ben's 22, and upon lifting it into sight, I was nervous as all get-out to shoot. There's just something so final about holding one of those things in your hand. With a little coaxing, I mustered up the guts to pull the trigger and--nothing. I forgot to release the safety. "Better safe than sorry..." I shook and flicked it off. I pulled it up again, and needing another pat on the back, finally pulled the trigger. I didn't get that adrenaline rush that everyone else seems to get. By the third shot, I hit the coffee can about fifty yards away. But by the fourth shot, my arm was getting tired. Everyone else shot for a while and right before leaving, Brandon wanted me to shoot his 44. Reluctantly, knowing full-well he wouldn't let us leave until I agreed to, I grabbed his gun. I aimed, shot and felt like I'd been punched with a thick charlie horse to my right shoulder. Once was enough! And while I didn't do so bad for my first time shooting, I didn't do so well to feel like I needed to head out to do it again any time soon. I must be my mother's daughter. I'll keep to cooking and leave the shooting to Brandon.
Hey Guys, it's Brian. Jackie failed to mention to me that you have a blog, but I found it today lurking in our favorites. Great to hear things are going well and your adapting. Keep up the blog if you can, it certainly makes for interesting readers. I'm even going to link it to my blog so don't be suprised if you get a spike of literally tens of readers. I'm popular like that.
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