Say hello to her new
little friend. Martha the dog lady bought a handgun the other day.
This could be a dangerous thing. It’s
small and black and is to be joined by a younger and bigger brother, a semiautomatic
rifle when the money’s there.
Martha has never fired a
gun, or so she says. But she is known for her brilliant hand-eye
coordination. So when -- if -- she goes out to practice, there will be
many targets with knocked out bullseyes and silhouettes of evildoers with holes
in their hearts and heads. A good gal with a gun?
In the meantime, she’s
not worried about trouble from the evidently shady people who sold it to
her. When they came to her house in the woods to deliver, her dog Flako
the Pit Bull got mad at them and growled and snarled with great ceremony, full
believability and authenticity. Flako, T.P.B. is young and vigorous. But
here is a truism about any dog of any size or disposition:
If the dog doesn’t like
you, you are not likable.
And if you are not
likable, you are dangerous. And if you’re dangerous you are not welcome
“here,” wherever “here” happens to be.
Pit bulls aren’t nearly
as scary as their rep. But they can play the part well if encouraged and
rewarded with hugs, treats and stuffy toys after the fact.
Here boy! There’s a Milk
Bone in it for you if you scare the pants off the mailman.
Martha, little old lady
that she may be, is welcoming, mostly. But she also holds a grudge and not
close to the vest. So it’s likely her neighbors with the megawatt boom
box and the muffler-less trucks will turn the volume down and Midassize, even
though the current model of King Midas is as wimpy as the Burger King king is
creepy.
As for the guns in
general… there are more of them than there are of us. Federal figures say
there are 393-million civilian owned firearms. Those are just the ones we know
about. There are 363-million people (that we know of and not adjusting
for undercounting in, um, certain areas.)
So everyone can have one and there are tens of millions left over for
those who want to come back to the cockroach buffet for seconds or thirds.
But Martha has a right
to bear arms against… what? The boom boxes and no-muffler-trucks? Is there a
meth “lab” in their basement? If so when -- not if, but when -- will it blow
up? She needs a license for Flako. She does not need one for the
Glock. But the dog can be a big help
when the meth lab explodes. You know… a
little barrel of brandy around his neck?
Maybe wake up the sleeping beauty in time to escape the flames?
The dog is more reliable
than the gun. He is mostly self-maintaining. He’s licensed. He’s
loyal.
I’m Wes Richards. My
opinions are my own but you’re welcome to them. ® Parts of this basically true
story have been changed to protect the innocent from getting glocked for
telling the tale.
Comments? Send ‘em here:
wesrichards@gmail.com
© WJR 2019
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