Rabbit hunting from my bedroom.

AS AWLAYS THIS HAS NOT BEEN PROOF READ.

My first shotgun was a single shot 410, I guess I was 8 or 9 years old.  Pop took me to shoot it for the first time. Unfortunately the firing pen was not installed properly and the gun would not fire. A few days later Pop had exchanged the defective gun for new one. Outside we went and this time the gun fired with success.  

We had snow on the ground for several weeks that year. It was a clear night and the moon was full. As I looked out of my bedroom window I could see a couple of rabbits in our front yard. With a full moon and snow on the ground you could clearly see the silhouettes of each rabbit.

My shotgun was hanging on a gun rack in my room. My only box of shells sat on the shelf below the gun, I remember looking up at the gun rack thinking my bedroom was some kind of hunting lodge. Anyway, I got the brilliant idea that I could pick off at least one of rabbits in the front yard. 

I loaded my gun and turned my bedroom lights off. I slowly opened the bedroom window and realized there was a screen in the way. With a pair of scissors I sliced a notch in the screen large enough for my gun barrel to pass through. I slid the barrel of the gun out, aimed and pulled the trigger.

One problem, I didn’t know the consequences of firing a gun from such a confined area as a small bedroom. I had never experienced a ringing in my ears before. The fact is it was a deafening ringing, loud ringing! As I turned I could hear the faint sound pop yelling: “What the hell are you doing?”   As pop turned my bedroom light on I said: “I’m rabbit hunting.” All pop did at that point was to turn and walk back to the front room. I’m sure he said something else but I didn’t hear it.

I looked from my window for the spoils of my hunt but didn’t see anything. I put my coat on and headed outside to recover my fresh kill but there was nothing, I had missed. Disappointed and beginning to recover my hearing I headed inside. I sat in my mom’s chair to the left of my dad to watch TV. Nothing was said for a long time and until pop asked: “Well, did you get a rabbit?” hanging my head I said: “no.” Pop said: “Damn, I was looking forward to fried rabbit tomorrow night. Your mom can really fry good rabbit.”

Nothing was ever said about the rabbit hunt from my bedroom again. Somehow I escape on this one. I had escaped the lifetime of occasional ribbings my dad was famous for.