LONGS

At the ripe ole age of about 12, Mom and Dad went to Tyler and for my birthday purchased a Noble single shot .22 rifle for the grand sum of $17.

To fully appreciate this bounty, you would need to know that we lived in a rural wooded area and that the land owners allowed young boys to roam at will as long as no mischief occurred. Add these facts to rifle ownership and I was in heaven.

My safari accoutrements were completed when Grandaddy gave me his old quail hunting vest which had pockets in the front for shells and a rubber lined pouch in the back for game. It was old, ragged and stained with quail blood, but that just made it more valued to me.

My only remaining challenge was to acquire ammunition. Cash was short for adults in those days and almost nonexistent for kids. My salvation was Lester Sala. Mr. Sala owned what we called a "drug store" in Turnertown. His store sold near everything I could think of (including ammo) and a few things that I did not recognize.

Further, Mr. Sala did something that I have never found since. He would sell me individual shells rather than making me buy a whole box. I don't know if he made that concession to only me, but it was my blessing as I would never have managed nor did I know the price of a box of 50? He sold three "sizes" of .22: "shorts", "longs" and "long rifles". I didn't want to be a pauper and just buy the cheaper "shorts" so I always treated myself with "longs"!

I remember one time scraping together enough to buy 3 shells. The only "wild game" of interest in Wright City was squirrels (I never during the time I lived there see a deer?) I took my trusty .22 rifle and my precious three bullets into the woods and proceeded to "injun" my way around looking for the elusive prey that Grandmother would "parboil" and put in her dumplin' pot.

Now these days I have more weapons than I will even let myself count as the number is ridiculous. Many are rapid fire, multiple shot, ammunition burners like you wouldn't believe. I go dove hunting and when a victim flies over, I will spray lead like a banshee with no thought of careful aim or wasted shots. I have so many rounds of various kinds of ammo in my house that a fire would would cause a sound like World War III.

However, when you have a mere three rounds and don't know where the cash will come from for the fourth missile, you would not believe the care with which one makes shot selection before allowing the firing pin to fall? You don't shoot at running squirrels and you don't just wound 'em cause ya ain't got enough follow-up to finish the job.

Bottom line, on that fated day long ago with my small stash of game harvesting .22 "longs", I came home grinning like a possum eating saw briar with three squirrels in Grandaddy's hunting pouch, each taken with a clean head shot.

I could tell a thousand hunting stories from over the years, but this one sticks in my mind as much as any. (and I still have that rifle and Grandaddy's hunting vest!)