Monday, February 14, 2011


Mrs Giraffe is not fond of guns. She grew up in a house dominated by a gun fearing wussy, her mother. Her dad hunted a little, but he didn't pass it on to his daughters. He eventually quit, and his guns gather rust and dust somewhere. So Mrs. Giraffe didn't grow up as a shooter. I've been trying to get her to shoot a little, over the years. She had only fired a .22 until the other day.

Saturday, I decided she was going to have to shoot my .45 auto. There had been a large male Alaskan malamute around the place raising heck and abusing my new puppy. She called all the neighbors and nobody claimed him.

I told her to shoot him. She didn't want to. We don't have a dog catcher out in the country. I could have taken him to town but the dog cowered in fear every time I tried to handle him. I was afraid he would bite me. He usually left shortly after I got home.

The dog would be gone a couple days and then come back. One day after he had been a nuisance for over a week, the dog began grabbing the puppy and shaking it, and tossing it in the air. This was The Last Straw. She got the puppy into the house before he killed it. (the puppy is not housebroken, and I am allergic to cats and dogs, so he can't live inside.) She decided the dog must be killed. But she told me she didn't know how. I got rid of the it when I got home.

I had showed her how to operate my .45. She still remembered. But she had never shot it. She could have shot the dog if she needed to, but I think she was afraid, and she's never shot anything living. I threw a pop can out on the snowbank. She took aim and fired. I couldn't see any snow fly, I suspected she had missed by a mile. Then I noticed the hole through the can.

At least she can defend the house if she absolutely has to. I will try to make her more comfortable as time goes on.

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