I'm a natural-born killer...part II.

So, I guess at this point in the story, I'm sitting in the ground blind trying to stay still for the turkeys.  If you have no idea what I'm talking about, please read the last post first.  Otherwise you'll be lost.

Layton and I stayed a good three-and-a-half hours in the ground blind killing nothing but time.  My favorite Luke Bryan song comes to mind; however, there was no beer involved.  We headed back to the house, chilled for a while, watched Jimmy pretend not to nap, and decided that we still needed to shoot guns at something.  Brandi was especially hype about it.  I was more like, Uh, I avoided sucking the life out of an animal all morning...but now I've got to try it again?  Thankfully, we went for much smaller game.

Enter fluffy, squeaky little squirrels.

Zac and his fiancée joined us for this rousing round, so we split up into hunting pairs again.  Layton taught me how to use the gun (while Jimmy stood in the background saying "Take your finger off that trigger, girl" and "Don't point that gun down -- I don't wanna get shot in the foot"), then we started hiking all through the trails and woods and underbrush in search of "barkers" to off.  In the first hour or so, we only saw about three squirrels.  And let me tell you, they're tough little suckers to spot in a bunch of brush, much less find again in a scope and follow with a gun as they run through the trees.  Of those three squirrels, I shot zero.  I only pulled the trigger twice -- once, I had the safety on (I didn't even know what the safety was, and I kept trying to push a screw until Layton pointed the real safety out), and the other time, it misfired.  Nice.  Way to give me confidence in myself.

I was enjoying the pursuit, though.  Yes, I got pretty frustrated when I'd see a squirrel then lose him in the scope, and I certainly got frustrated when the gun misfired AGAIN.  It happened when Layton had me shoot at a nest (you know, for target practice) while we walked in a clearing, and I'd hit it once (though I had to ask him if I did, for I couldn't even tell).  When I tried again, click.  This time when the gun misfired, we couldn't just pop the shell out.  It was jammed.  Layton tried for at least ten minutes to pry the stupid joker out of the gun, but to no avail.  Aaaaaand that was our sign that we needed to try something different.  We headed back to the house, got a screwdriver to unjam the gun, and went straight to the big, tall, cleared-out hardwoods next to the house.

Jackpot.  We saw squirrels immediately.  I shot...click.  Tried again...click.  Again...click.  Click.  Click.  Click.  Then I decided that it was Layton's turn and handed over the gun with a mixture of frustration, resignation and relief.  I clearly wasn't meant to be a hunter if I couldn't even get the stupid gun to fire.

Apparently, all Layton's past kills were covering up the fact that he wasn't meant to be a hunter, either, because the gun clicked in his hands even more than it did in mine.  We're talking maybe one in twenty-five shots was good.  We almost got a shotgun.  Do you know what a shotgun does to a squirrel?  Do you know how much we both wanted to avoid that?  Do you see how frustrated we were getting?  Holy mother of earthly pearl.  It was ridiculous.

Thank GOODNESS it finally started to work!  Layton got a squirrel, and I couldn't look at it.  But I was excited.  I took the rifle back, chased a couple of squirrels down, misfired a few times, and CHA-CHING money shot!  I got one.  It was a gut shot, though, so instead of being an immediate death (skip ahead if you're squeamish or an animal lover), the kiddo was bleeding out.  It wouldn't have taken long for him to die, but I still freaked out, shoved the gun at Layton, and said, "Make sure he's dead!  Make sure he's dead!" and started stomping and dancing around and waving my hands all over the place.  And here's the worst part (seriously, skip to the next paragraph if you are nervous):  when Layton checked on the squirrel, he was definitely alive, so Layton aimed the rifle at the squirrel's head while stepping on its tail to hold it in place...and it squealed.  Just for a second, right before he shot it, but I swear to you, I wanted to whine and cry and vomit and curl up under a tree right then and there.

So I decided that the best way to get over that feeling was to do it again.  And I did.  And then I was pretty much okay.

Layton and I each ended up with two kills.  I got a picture of myself holding up all four squirrels, a creeped-out expression on my face (oh, what I would have done for some gloves and hand sanitizer right then), all decked out in my camo.  As gross and nerve-wracking and anti-me as the whole experience was, it was AWESOME.

Let me just tell you, though -- I think I'll stick to being a mankiller from here on out.  At least, most of the time.

Anyway, we all cleaned up and headed over to Jimmy and Charlene's house for some amaaaaaazing southern fare.  Charlene makes the best mac 'n' cheese I've ever had in my whole entire life, and it's even better when paired with her ham, sweet potato casserole, lima beans and rice, biscuits and sweet tea.  And college football.  Need I say I was in heaven?  Again?

We spent a good while hanging out, but we were all in bed by 9:30.  I even fell asleep on the couch before that.  We got up and had more togetherness the next day, learning how a tree climber/stand works, looking at pictures, watching hunting shows, and eating more good food.  Brandi and I headed out around 1pm, tired and happy and wanting to go back (next time around, we're going fishing).  Of course we had Luke Bryan playing in the background, too.  Gotta love that Georgia boy....

That, dear folks, ends the story of how I got in touch with my inner Annie Oakley.  Or my inner Great-Grandmother Dixon, so I'm told.  They say she was a mean, mean woman.  I'm also descended from a man who was known as the meanest man for three whole Georgia counties.  Did I tell you that I'm a good shot?

Don't even think about messing with me, son.  I've killed squirrels.