I feel so stupid... again... for not reading the instructions and documentation for my brand-new Red Ryder BB gun. I wrote earlier about buying a cheaper (The Buck model) air rifle, but I took it back to Wal-Mart when i couldn't get it to work right, and bought the more expensive Red Ryder model to replace it. When i got back home and loaded it up with the orange-colored plastic BBs, it didn't work either.
The plastic BBs I bragged about using to be merciful to the squirrels (who have intruded my territorial imperative) I've declared war on, was the wrong sized shot for these specific BB guns. The classical copper-coated BBs are the right size. I just didn't read the labels that indicated what size BBs were inside the package. I went back to the store and bought some of the correct size. I didn't take the plastic ones back because I felt a little foolish for making such an unmanly mistake. "Guns? Sure, I know all about them. I'm a man, am I not?"
To be honest, this whole scenario may be strictly about those neon-colored, bright orange plastic BBs. I've been noticing them as I passed by where they sit on the shelf across the aisle from where the real guns are more securely located. There are clear plastic containers filled with BBs. Hundreds, if not thousands of perfectly formed metal and plastic orbs all the same size. On sale, cheaper by the dozen.
Maybe my fascination with these plastic BBs is like that many boys have for glass marbles. The traditional copper-coated BBs look great, but they don't fascinate me like the plastic ones do. I just like to look at them. I know a couple of guys who still have their marble collection from when they were boys. My own father did. His favorite appeared to be nothing more that a rounded stone that he called his "shooter".
I haven't seen nor heard one single squirrel since I got that air rifle working with the right-sized BBs. I think they're psychic. I think they inherently know I'm gonna burn their ass if they come around here irritating the hell outta me when I trying write or sleep in late in the mornings.
I was chatting with the black check-out lady about declaring war on squirrels, when the black man behind me in line told me I was "wasting my time" if I wanted to get rid of them squirrels. He demonstrably allowed (while leering appreciably at the young check-out lady) that I had to "pizen" them. Use rat poison, he said. "That'll get 'em." The check-out lady looked past me at him in agreement, and told about how her husband had been trying to get rid of some squirrels out of their eaves and attic for years.
It kind of put me on the defensive seeing as how they both agreed I was a damned fool for wanting to "not hurt the little critters". She said, "You don't wanna be messing around with them squirrels, Mister, they ain't nothing but rats with long fluffy tails. You go git you some of that green rat poison, and put this toy gun back on the shelf!"
It was a good thing I'd already paid for the BB gun. She might not have taken my money after such strong advice. I gathered up my parcels, backed off warning them off with my eyes, and bolted for the door while waving my receipt wildly to get past the greeter.
I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
