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- Apr 15, 2016
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Took my girl out for the first time today. The past winter we spent time together. Snow storms, long nights, stolen moments. Always inside. The wife is asleep, or at work.
Today I took her outdoors. It was time. The months of anticipation came to a climax as I eased the first cap onto her. Than another. She wanted more.
I gave her 35 grains of 2F and aimed at the heavens. She responded with a thick smoke ring spinning up higher and higher. Yes it was time.
I eased 45 grains and snugged it in with a patched .490. As I pulled the trigger she responded with a crack. I heard the ball hit the backstop. Not the booming sound I get from my shorter plains 54, but a fresh snapping sound. I like it. She likes it too. She asks for more.
I ease her slowly into a second ball, then a third. Moving charges upwards until 15 shots later she is taking 65 grains per. I don't care if the front sight needs to be filed down. There will be time for that later. She is just begging for it. Again and again, we work until the powderhorn is dry.
Back into the shop I pull out her tang screw and keys. Slipping the barrel into a warm bath I turn to clean up the stock. Fowling has no place on my new girl. I clean the barrel and dry it inside and out. Patch with WD40 and reassemble her.
We go back into the living room. The 54 plains watches us, knowing her place in November is secured. The new girl hits the wall still warm to the touch. At last, all my ducks are in a row. And the wife is still asleep. All those late nights alone have come together in one glorious morning in May.
As I go to the kitchen for a cup of coffee the setter watches me. When I return to the living room he is sitting by the end table. He knows where I am going to sit. He knows what I have been up to. Good thing he can't tell.
But he also knows out of the corner of my eye the pages call me. The Southern mtn. rifle in the Pecatonica catalog is pulling me in again. Dreams of iron furniture and curly cherry stocks, hand rubbed oil finishes.
My dog knows me. He knows I have a problem. :stir:
The wife sleeps on..................
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Today I took her outdoors. It was time. The months of anticipation came to a climax as I eased the first cap onto her. Than another. She wanted more.
I gave her 35 grains of 2F and aimed at the heavens. She responded with a thick smoke ring spinning up higher and higher. Yes it was time.
I eased 45 grains and snugged it in with a patched .490. As I pulled the trigger she responded with a crack. I heard the ball hit the backstop. Not the booming sound I get from my shorter plains 54, but a fresh snapping sound. I like it. She likes it too. She asks for more.
I ease her slowly into a second ball, then a third. Moving charges upwards until 15 shots later she is taking 65 grains per. I don't care if the front sight needs to be filed down. There will be time for that later. She is just begging for it. Again and again, we work until the powderhorn is dry.
Back into the shop I pull out her tang screw and keys. Slipping the barrel into a warm bath I turn to clean up the stock. Fowling has no place on my new girl. I clean the barrel and dry it inside and out. Patch with WD40 and reassemble her.
We go back into the living room. The 54 plains watches us, knowing her place in November is secured. The new girl hits the wall still warm to the touch. At last, all my ducks are in a row. And the wife is still asleep. All those late nights alone have come together in one glorious morning in May.
As I go to the kitchen for a cup of coffee the setter watches me. When I return to the living room he is sitting by the end table. He knows where I am going to sit. He knows what I have been up to. Good thing he can't tell.
But he also knows out of the corner of my eye the pages call me. The Southern mtn. rifle in the Pecatonica catalog is pulling me in again. Dreams of iron furniture and curly cherry stocks, hand rubbed oil finishes.
My dog knows me. He knows I have a problem. :stir:
The wife sleeps on..................