Mornings in my house are truly a glorious time. It’s a time of reflection and pause where one can gaze upon the natural world beyond the glass and drink in the visual feast she provides along with your steaming cup of caffeine. It’s also a time to look at the disgusting yard that belongs to the scumbag cop neighbor and plot against him and his ilk for a few minutes. It gets the brain working and warm and ready for the day ahead.
Tiny birds (be they black capped nuthatches?) are flitting about Wifey’s bare plants, pecking out the last of the seed before it is committed to winter slumber. They are capable of hanging upside down on tree branches and shuttle to and from any number of outrageous stances via a springy hop, hop step. These feathered clowns are more entertaining than anything on the televison. Sometimes I realize that their pogo stick ballets are focused bids for survival rather than entertainment and I watch them through a couple of cups, wondering all the while what life would be like if the window was flipped?
Sometimes the opportunity presents itself to dispatch a walnut burying squirrel from the top of Wifey’s flower pots. Being as I keep the Gamo in a convenient corner, usually all it takes is a trot to the sliding glass door and a stealthy tug on the latch. Most instances find me sending a live one down range without ever have to leave the comforts of my family room. Other times the shot is at an inconvenient angle and I must set my coffee down and slink out in the cold air to the wilds beyond.
My friends; let me tell you right now. There is no better feeling than the whacking of one of nature’s furry creatures whilst in one’s drawer tail. I believe it must be a similar sensation to what early man must have experienced. Standing there on the plains in bison skin BVDs and thoughtlessly staring down all manner of beastie, armed with not much more than sharpened stones and sticks, ancient man was driven more by the need to survive than sport and sensual gains.
There’s no real need in drawing parallels here. That’s why I’m on the evolved end of the spectrum. My large, developed brain dictates there is no way in hell that walking up to a Cape Buffalo and sticking it in the ass with a piece of pointed flint is a good idea. And clad in a banana hammock fashioned from sun dried peccary intestine? Both instances combine for a bad idea in any century.
I’ll concede that my ancient counterpart might have found his courage in the lack of available organic computing power. But it still took big nuts. After all the smoke clears and the academic’s inevitable debate is cast into time and memorial , I believe I’ll remain unto history as the perverted suburbanist who reveled in capping squirrels with an air rifle in his underwear. No more, no less. And truth be known? I’ll take it as well.
I really don’t have that much of a technological edge when you think about it. Given, the rifle is an up, but let’s put it into scope.
Against larger mammals, a 1200 fps air rifle will be about as effective as a sharp stick. I call the category of weaponry a draw if the total mass of the prey goes much over 350 pounds and presents teeth capable of tearing femorals. So what else is there, other then the fact that I’m shooting squirrels and he’s poking mammoths? I put it to you, dear pinheads……..
Well, now that I take a minute to think about it; I’m sure modern skivvies could be considered a technological advancement as well. I’m not grasping the finality wrapped up with rubbing my junk all up in some untanned bison dermis. Definately a wrench in the aim, breath, squeeze, and exhale deal.
Wonder if they have chapters regarding the use of natural materials for undergarments in the various uniformed services’ sniper manuals? I’ll have to give a few a look see for any contengency plan that might lurk there. One can never be too prepared.