The raccoons are what started it all.
I woke up at 2:30 this morning to the noise of my wife standing on the deck banging a pot lid with a wooden spoon and yelling at some intruder. I obtained the defensive tool and was greeted by three baby raccoons, huddled together quivering on the deck railing, interrupted by SWMBO during a raid on her bird feeders. She nixed the more permanent solution I was carring and proceeded to drive the little darlings up a tree next to the deck.
Then she sat up for the next 90 minutes waiting for the buggers to come down so she could complete driving them away from our house, which was her original, if not fully thought out, intention.
I succeeded in getting permission to use firecrackers instead of the more advanced gunpowder that she originally vetoed, but when I looked the cupboard was bare, having been cleaned out by the nieces and nephews during the previous holiday encampment.
The cute little fellows finally managed to make good their escape sometime after we both fell asleep, as they were gone when the sun came up. However, they will certainly be back, having determined that 1) there is good eats to be had here, and 2) all one needs to do to procure this largess is to sit up in a tree and laugh at the providers - who can't climb trees nearly as well as raccoons can.
So, off we go after this morning's chores to buy some of the approved raccoon herding materials. We recalled seeing a roadside stand a few miles down the US highway selling devices appropriate to this coming holiday and surmised they would certainly have what we sought.
However, enroute we drove by an old storefront with a worn out sign proclaiming hamburgers and ice cream for sale that we'd passed many hundreds of times without going in. This time they had a stand out front with fireworks for sale, so we screeched to a halt thinking that we would save much money by not using any more of this diamond encrusted fossil fuel.
We indeed found exactly the noisemakers we were seeking, bagged them and went inside to pay. What we found inside is the point of this treatise. There was no grill or ice cream fountain. It was an old time hardware store, packed to the ceiling with hunting and fishing gear. There was barely enough room to maneuver to the cash register, which was older than me and my car put together, and run by a lady who, despite being spry and charming, was the exact image of the lady in Grant Wood's painting.
And way (at least 10 feet) above her head on the wall behind her were 5 sidelock rifles. I asked her if she knew what they were and how much she wanted for them. She knew the manufacturers and models but couldn't remember the prices, so as I stood there astonished she proceeded to climb up on top of the GLASS display case (after moving over the display of thermal underwear, hand warmers, stocking caps, Stormy Kromers, gloves and tip ups) and take them off the wall to hand down. She stayed standing on the case while I inspected the guns and put them back when I gave them back to her.
They were covered with years of dust, but four were brand new: three T/C New Englanders (two .50's and one .54) and a CVA Stalker in .50 cal. The fifth gun was a used but clean .50 cal New Englander with a 3-9x40mm scope (didn't think to get the brand). When I handed back one of the new .50 cal New Englanders she took care to point out a hairline crack on the left side of the forestock from the wedge up to the barrel channel.
Bottom line - prices: $259 each on the .54 and good .50 New Englanders, $235 on the .50 New Englander with the crack, $229 on the CVA and $225 on the used New Englander with the scope.
I already own a .50 New Englander, but I'd rather have a .54 to match my two Lyman GPR's. Do you think SWMBO would have a problem with $260 for a package of firecrackers that had a free bp rifle with them?
Man, those raccoons made a big mistake trying to get to her bird feeders.
I woke up at 2:30 this morning to the noise of my wife standing on the deck banging a pot lid with a wooden spoon and yelling at some intruder. I obtained the defensive tool and was greeted by three baby raccoons, huddled together quivering on the deck railing, interrupted by SWMBO during a raid on her bird feeders. She nixed the more permanent solution I was carring and proceeded to drive the little darlings up a tree next to the deck.
Then she sat up for the next 90 minutes waiting for the buggers to come down so she could complete driving them away from our house, which was her original, if not fully thought out, intention.
I succeeded in getting permission to use firecrackers instead of the more advanced gunpowder that she originally vetoed, but when I looked the cupboard was bare, having been cleaned out by the nieces and nephews during the previous holiday encampment.
The cute little fellows finally managed to make good their escape sometime after we both fell asleep, as they were gone when the sun came up. However, they will certainly be back, having determined that 1) there is good eats to be had here, and 2) all one needs to do to procure this largess is to sit up in a tree and laugh at the providers - who can't climb trees nearly as well as raccoons can.
So, off we go after this morning's chores to buy some of the approved raccoon herding materials. We recalled seeing a roadside stand a few miles down the US highway selling devices appropriate to this coming holiday and surmised they would certainly have what we sought.
However, enroute we drove by an old storefront with a worn out sign proclaiming hamburgers and ice cream for sale that we'd passed many hundreds of times without going in. This time they had a stand out front with fireworks for sale, so we screeched to a halt thinking that we would save much money by not using any more of this diamond encrusted fossil fuel.
We indeed found exactly the noisemakers we were seeking, bagged them and went inside to pay. What we found inside is the point of this treatise. There was no grill or ice cream fountain. It was an old time hardware store, packed to the ceiling with hunting and fishing gear. There was barely enough room to maneuver to the cash register, which was older than me and my car put together, and run by a lady who, despite being spry and charming, was the exact image of the lady in Grant Wood's painting.
And way (at least 10 feet) above her head on the wall behind her were 5 sidelock rifles. I asked her if she knew what they were and how much she wanted for them. She knew the manufacturers and models but couldn't remember the prices, so as I stood there astonished she proceeded to climb up on top of the GLASS display case (after moving over the display of thermal underwear, hand warmers, stocking caps, Stormy Kromers, gloves and tip ups) and take them off the wall to hand down. She stayed standing on the case while I inspected the guns and put them back when I gave them back to her.
They were covered with years of dust, but four were brand new: three T/C New Englanders (two .50's and one .54) and a CVA Stalker in .50 cal. The fifth gun was a used but clean .50 cal New Englander with a 3-9x40mm scope (didn't think to get the brand). When I handed back one of the new .50 cal New Englanders she took care to point out a hairline crack on the left side of the forestock from the wedge up to the barrel channel.
Bottom line - prices: $259 each on the .54 and good .50 New Englanders, $235 on the .50 New Englander with the crack, $229 on the CVA and $225 on the used New Englander with the scope.
I already own a .50 New Englander, but I'd rather have a .54 to match my two Lyman GPR's. Do you think SWMBO would have a problem with $260 for a package of firecrackers that had a free bp rifle with them?
Man, those raccoons made a big mistake trying to get to her bird feeders.
