“When I come around this corner, I want to be the only one with a gun in my hand!”

You know, I don’t really make it a habit of being in a situation where I hear the title of this post bellowed from the local sheriff’s mouth. Personally, when dealing with <insert locale>’s finest, I prefer that no one have a gun in their hand unless they just happen to be enjoying some recreational shooting alongside me.

So you’ll forgive me for not having the presence of mind to photograph said event. I was metaphorically kicking myself later.

I’m sure you’ve already read the events of the evening over at my husband’s blog.  If not, go now.  I’ll wait.

I really have to applaud the professionalism of the mumble County Sheriff’s department.  Here they were responding to 9-1-1 calls reporting gunshots in BFE (also known as meth country).  Upon arrival, they found a run down trailer with a couple of run down vehicles parked in front and no one to answer the front door.  And gun fire coming from the back yard. Thankfully, the pit bull welcoming party was in the trailer at the time.

I can’t really blame them for being a tad bit on edge.  Also, really glad I had just emptied my bladder prior to their arrival.  I’m not exactly accustomed to dealing with officers holding their side arms at low ready while shining a flashlight in my eyes. Damn those things are bright!

When they rounded the corner, they found all of us doing jazz hands in the sky and quickly holstered their weapons.  Whew!  They observed that not only had we dropped the weapons we’d been firing, but had them cleared with the actions open.  It was all the uniformed officer could do to keep from laughing a the whole situation.  It was pretty clear that was NOT was he was prepared to find.  He seemed relieved and rather tickled that he’d gotten all worked up over a family target practice session.

Me? It was all I could do to keep my internal dialogue from escaping my mouth.

Sheriff: I just want to go home tonight.

Internal voice 1: We want you to go home too.  

Internal voice 2: Doh! er..uh

Internal voice 1: We all want finish the evening with the same number of holes in our bodies as we started with.

Internal voice 2: Seriously? don’t say that.

Me (aloud): Yes sir.

BabyGirl’s mom has a less successful filter so internal voice 2 was also repeatedly attempting to project shut-up into her head. Clearly, I do not possess psychic powers.  Oh well.  She didn’t say anything that could have gotten us in trouble.  I just really didn’t want to have to back up her claim of us being “gun experts*” or them wanting a little more information on us having “lots of guns.”

In the end, they gave us their blessing and told us to enjoy the rest of our evening.  It was honestly kind of tempting to ask if they wanted to join our little shooting party for a bit of recreation. An hour of so later, my legs started to twitch from the adrenaline dump. I wonder how many more phone calls they had to field that night?

*experts? Hardly. I’ve shot with many people with far greater skill and knowledge than I, and only a few of them would consider themselves experts. We know enough to run them safely and responsibly and pass those skills on.

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