Unexpected

Clay Pigeons and Turkey Basters

I would have brought shame upon Nat's teaching skills if I had lost to Earl. Where last year I had been just able to hit a paper bag from a minimal distance, this time, my accuracy was pinpoint, precise, and to my Grumps' shooting buddies it was absolutely astounding. Apparently, we started drawing a crowd of older and middle-aged men and a few women as Earl tried to prove himself, upping the difficulty level.

"Okay, so you can hit a still target, but what if it moves?" Earl whipped off his cap in frustration, trying to cover up by wiping his forehead with his sleeve as the target machine brought my target up to us to show three clustered headshots, two heart taps and, for fun, one right between the target's legs where the silhouette's hard candies would have been. "I've been hunting since I was this tall." He leveled his hand at his hip-height, "Let's see if you can hit a moving target."

Clay pigeon shooting cost extra at this range, but Grumps couldn't pass up the opportunity for his granddaughter to beat his smart-aleck friend. He insisted on paying for the round.

"Ready. Aim. Fire!"

Earl's turn. The pigeon burst into shards.

"Ready. Aim. Fire!"

My turn. The pigeon's exploded as my bullet connected. The shattering sound reminded me of the tinkling crash of the crystal chandelier from the French restaurant just before it went tumbling to the ground. I shook my head like the memory was a pesky bug and a flick of my head could dispel it.

In the end both Earl and I managed to hit each of the clay pigeons, but I still came out on top because I only had to double-shoot once to hit a pigeon and Earl had to shoot two or three times to hit a few of his pidgins. Defeated he decided to buy lunch for the whole group of us, which we accepted of course. Then we settled back into shooting for a couple more hours, changing up ranges and halting for jokes. Many of the jokes around the range were crude, but in the end it was fun spending time with Grumps, seeing him live his normal life and just being a part of it. Before too long, though, Grumps and I headed for home, but before we left I gave Earl a quick peck on the cheek, "Nice shooting today Earl." I then turned to the rest of them and thanked them for letting me tag along and saying it was great to see them again.

"Anytime," Herb smiled, before jabbing at Earl, "'Bout time someone put this one in his place."

Earl rolled his eyes, "Oh, come of it!"

Grumps was singing my praises when we got back home to find Grams in the kitchen, putting together what she would call a light dinner, of grilled bruschetta chicken, baked potatoes, Brussels sprouts, and home baked rolls. Around the dinner table, grumps detailed everything, waving his fork in the air with the expressiveness of an Italian's hands.

"Then Barbara and even Stephan came over-"

"Stephan, as in owner of the range Stephan?" Grams asked, grinding pepper.

"Yes, and I heard him say that she's not bad, and I turned to him and said "of course she's not bad, she's my granddaughter after all!" And you remember how he is, smart mouthed as ever, he said "So she only misses half the time then?"

Grams muffled a laugh, hiding her half-full mouth behind her hand.

"I should really take you hunting sometime, Pen. You'd be a great shot, and I haven't gone hunting in what, five years?"

"It's been longer, Jacob, before you hurt your knee in 2011, remember?" Grams lifted her eyes, "More sprouts Penny?"

"Yes please." I accepted the offered bowl.