That’s a great memory. We’ve all skipped cleaning at that ageThe very first was Grandpa's Winchester 1902 bolt action, single shot .22 short. I was about ten when I found it in a trunk stored in the attic.
Wow, there was even a partial box of ammo. So, I had to take it out in the woods for some practice shooting.
I was too young and dumb to even think about cleaning it after use.
Funny how old memories push us into browsing auctions again!Ah, you're bringing back memories. The old man had a .22 Browning automatic. It was the one that loaded through a slot in the stock and ejected down, which I appreciated being lefthanded. We would pick up a few cans out of the side ditch by the house, (this was in the late 50s/early 60s when any trash went out the car window) and that was our target. The one I really remember was he had a Fox double barrel 20 guage that I had to struggle to hold up to shoot. Now that you have me thinking, I may have to start checking some auction sites.
When I was about twelve years old, some neighborhood friends urged me to “borrow” my Dad’s Remington 12g pump and go with them to the town landfill to shoot doves or ducks. I had never been allowed to handle the shotgun, much less fire it. I had enough money to buy only two shells from a local store. At the landfill I took up position sitting on a found five gallon container, confident that I could take a bird. Within a few minutes, two ducks flew across my vision at about twenty yards out. Driven purely by adrenaline, I shouldered the shotgun, tried to lead the birds, and pulled the trigger. As I got back up from the ground, I saw my buddies slapping their thighs, pointing at me and laughing their heads off. I put my tail between my legs, slunked the shotgun home, cleaned it, put it away and never touched it again. Over half century later, I still do not own a shotgun, nor have I ever been tempted to own one!