Never Shoot Mom's Bird

This is hilarious. Found it today:

by Jamie Mangrum

I was twelve and my father had purchased my first firearm. It was a replica of the M1 Carbine, a BB gun. I have never been more proud of a possession in my entire life. We lived on a six acre plot of land with a two acre pond in an area called Irish Hills, located in Southern Michigan. I had a very large world to explore and a never-ending supply of things to shoot at. My father was a great shot and I wanted to be just like him.

I shot everything. Even things I should not have shot. All boys do.

One time my friend Matt came over to stay the weekend and he brought his BB gun. The two of us shot everything we laid eyes upon. It was war!

There was a small bird sitting on the kitchen window sill of my house. Standing with Matt out by an old pump house, I took aim and hit it with the very first shot.

Matt was impressed. So was I.

Adrenaline and testosterone can surely make you do some pretty stupid things. Within moments I would pay for my sin.

Unbeknownst to me my mother cherished the little bird. It would sit by her kitchen window and sing for hours.

She was in the kitchen when I made my spectacular shot and saw everything!

My mother promptly stormed onto the front porch and demanded I hand over my BB gun. I slowly walked towards her and handed over my treasure. I thought sadly that it would be months before I would see it again, if ever. My sadness was rudely interrupted by my mother cocking the BB gun and telling me - run.

She had a look in her eyes that told me I had better not second guess or try to negotiate. I took off running as fast as I could.

The first shot hit me square in the buttocks. I screamed like a little girl. I did not know what was more painful: being hit in my rear by a BB or having it done in front of my friend. Turning around and thinking my torment might be over I saw that she was actually cocking the BB gun again. I ran like hell, this time zigzagging across the yard hoping this would throw off her aim.

She fired several more times. She didn't hit me again. She walked into the house and the BB gun went away from me for months.

I learned several things that day:

1. My mother really liked birds;
2. She was a little off her rocker once angered;
3. She did not really have a high regard for firearm safety;
4. My father was not the only good shot in the family and my odds of being one as well just went up exponentially;
5. Me getting shot in the ass was entertaining to friends.

After reading my story you may ask yourself why I would ever want to handle an M1 Carbine again? Because my mother lives on one coast while I live on the other.
Safety can be inspirational.....