I used to live in a nice neighborhood growing up with my mother during high school. I thought that this neighborhood was the kind where you could leave your doors unlocked during the day. I had stayed home sick because of a bad cold that turned into pnemonia. I was only 15, so there were no cars in the driveway. After lunch, I climbed the stairs to go lay down and watch tv in my room. When my foot hit the top of the landing, I heard the front door open. I knew it was the front door because it was Christmas time and my mom would always put bells on the front door knob. My sister was at school, my mom and stepdad were at work and I had just talked to them on the phone and knew neither was coming home in the next few minutes.
I crept into my room to retrieve my 870. My mother wouldn't let me keep any ammo in the house, so the boom stick was completely dry. I walked out to the landing, racked the pump even though it was empty and yelled, "I've been bored all morning, wanna play?" I heard a few expletives and some hurried footsteps through the kitchen as I went down the stairs. As I rounded the hall I could see the turd fussing with the back door in the sun room because the knob's lock was very tricky.
I gave the police his description but he was never found. After my mom came rushing home from work, talked to the police, spent the next hour or two hugging me while crying, she took me out to the local sporting goods store and bought me some buckshot and sabot slugs (using my advice on ammo selection). The old boom stick was never left empty after that encounter and mom was an instant convert.
Now, the neighborhood has a bunch of houses that the owners rent out to people. Some of the new renting neighbors look a little shady. Yards aren't mowed as often as they should be. There are more junk cars in driveways. Blue strobe lights flicker more frequently outside houses at night. But one thing has stayed constant, my mom locks her doors now and stays locked and loaded and proficient with her arms. We go to the range together often and she's been steadily becoming a greater shot with my supervision. I'm very comfortable with the thought that she's not under-prepared since I don't live at home anymore.
I crept into my room to retrieve my 870. My mother wouldn't let me keep any ammo in the house, so the boom stick was completely dry. I walked out to the landing, racked the pump even though it was empty and yelled, "I've been bored all morning, wanna play?" I heard a few expletives and some hurried footsteps through the kitchen as I went down the stairs. As I rounded the hall I could see the turd fussing with the back door in the sun room because the knob's lock was very tricky.
I gave the police his description but he was never found. After my mom came rushing home from work, talked to the police, spent the next hour or two hugging me while crying, she took me out to the local sporting goods store and bought me some buckshot and sabot slugs (using my advice on ammo selection). The old boom stick was never left empty after that encounter and mom was an instant convert.
Now, the neighborhood has a bunch of houses that the owners rent out to people. Some of the new renting neighbors look a little shady. Yards aren't mowed as often as they should be. There are more junk cars in driveways. Blue strobe lights flicker more frequently outside houses at night. But one thing has stayed constant, my mom locks her doors now and stays locked and loaded and proficient with her arms. We go to the range together often and she's been steadily becoming a greater shot with my supervision. I'm very comfortable with the thought that she's not under-prepared since I don't live at home anymore.
They just don't give out the manuals in my state. 