CPAjeff
Well-known member
Back in 1949 two members of the “greatest generation” were married and settled in a small town. The young bride came from an affluent family; the young groom came from quite the opposite. The young bride wanted to give her husband a special wedding present. Knowing of his love of pheasant hunting and wanting him to have the best, the young bride purchased a beautiful new Browning Auto 5 and gifted it to her new husband. Being both products of the great depression and WWII, the gift symbolized their future life, past and future sacrifices for each other, and devotion to each other. The shotgun was taken care of with such care and love, that it aged like fine wine. Over the next four decades, these two raised their kids, and lived full lives. In 1988, the young groom passed after a long battle with cancer. The young bride, with plenty of years left to live, was quoted multiple times saying, “Why would I be interested in marrying someone else at my age? I had the husband I wanted for the past four decades, and there will never be another one like him.”
I was six months old when my grandfather passed, so I don’t have anything other than the shotgun and stories that serve as memories of him. Every time I was at my grandma’s house, I would pester her endlessly to see grandpa’s shotgun. Every once in a while, she’d give into the pestering, let me get out his gun, recount how much he loved her, and how much she loved him. I asked her a couple times if I could take it hunting, each time I was told, “Absolutely not!”
It hasn’t been too long since my grandmother joined my grandfather in the after-life and I really hadn’t thought much about my grandfather’s shotgun. One day, while chatting with my Dad, I was informed that my grandfather’s shotgun ended up at the ranch in the Dakotas. The annual trip to the Dakotas is a something I look forward to with absolute excitement. This year was nothing short of spectacular in terms of birds, but I had one thing I wanted to do more than anything. I wanted to walk the pheasant-rich fields of the Dakotas with my grandfather’s gun.
As I pulled the gun out of the case, memories flooded back of sitting at my grandmother’s house and listening to those wonderful stories over and over. I headed out behind the house with one of my favorite people in the whole world – my 10-year-old son. As we rounded the back fence, almost as a scripted act, a lone rooster cackled in a small tree line. We made our way over to the tree line, the unmistakable sound of a flushing rooster broke the silence of the morning. The rooster flushed straight away, and crumpled at the shot. There was a tear in my eye as I walked over to the rooster and picked him up. Shooting my grandfather’s gun was something that I had dreamed about for years and years growing up. However, after one shot, I was completely satisfied and walked back to the house and put the gun away. I’ve shot plenty of rooster pheasants over the course of my life, but this one was the absolute best.
Full limits were reached every day that our group hunted. The Dakotas are a special place!
I was six months old when my grandfather passed, so I don’t have anything other than the shotgun and stories that serve as memories of him. Every time I was at my grandma’s house, I would pester her endlessly to see grandpa’s shotgun. Every once in a while, she’d give into the pestering, let me get out his gun, recount how much he loved her, and how much she loved him. I asked her a couple times if I could take it hunting, each time I was told, “Absolutely not!”
It hasn’t been too long since my grandmother joined my grandfather in the after-life and I really hadn’t thought much about my grandfather’s shotgun. One day, while chatting with my Dad, I was informed that my grandfather’s shotgun ended up at the ranch in the Dakotas. The annual trip to the Dakotas is a something I look forward to with absolute excitement. This year was nothing short of spectacular in terms of birds, but I had one thing I wanted to do more than anything. I wanted to walk the pheasant-rich fields of the Dakotas with my grandfather’s gun.
As I pulled the gun out of the case, memories flooded back of sitting at my grandmother’s house and listening to those wonderful stories over and over. I headed out behind the house with one of my favorite people in the whole world – my 10-year-old son. As we rounded the back fence, almost as a scripted act, a lone rooster cackled in a small tree line. We made our way over to the tree line, the unmistakable sound of a flushing rooster broke the silence of the morning. The rooster flushed straight away, and crumpled at the shot. There was a tear in my eye as I walked over to the rooster and picked him up. Shooting my grandfather’s gun was something that I had dreamed about for years and years growing up. However, after one shot, I was completely satisfied and walked back to the house and put the gun away. I’ve shot plenty of rooster pheasants over the course of my life, but this one was the absolute best.
Full limits were reached every day that our group hunted. The Dakotas are a special place!
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