ME AND BILLY
and the
BB GUNS

Billy and I lived for summer. When summer came we would pack our clothes and toothbrushes, I’m not sure why the toothbrushes….we didn’t use them much, and go send weeks with Grandpa and Grandma. We of course were given chores to do but after they were completed we were free to roam. And roam we did….there wasn’t an inch of that farm and surrounding woods we didn’t know. We knew where the covey of quail were, where the bluegill were bedding, where the persimmons were and when they would be ripe, where the best place was to dig earthworms, we had our initials carved on the largest watermelon……..we knew that farm.

In the late fifties we were in our pre-teens, Billy being about a year older than me and we both had BB guns. Back then a kid who didn’t have a BB gun was considered an outcast. Billy’s gun was a Daisy lever action and mine was a Daisy pump. Our time spent with our grandparents always included the BB guns. We were deadly with those guns! I always felt that my pump shot "harder" than Billy’s lever gun. Of course he felt the same about his lever action.

Targets were everywhere on the farm……everything from grasshoppers to cats……..Grandma always had a cat or two around to keep the rats in check. Neither one of us could stand a contented cat…….she would ask us why her cats always ran when they saw us. We would mumble something about cats just not liking boys our age.

One favorite target was soda bottles…..RC Cola being the best. Actually target is not a good term since the way we used them guaranteed a hit. We found out that if the bottom of a soda bottle, remember in this time frame these things were made from glass……no plastic back then, was hit exactly on center from the inside, a perfect glass cone would pop out the bottom. We would place the muzzle of the BB gun on top of the bottle and shoot down through and if everything was aligned correctly you ended up with one of these cones. Most of the time they came out with some imperfection but occasionally you would get one with no chips and perfect cone shape. This was a prize……it could be traded at school for all sorts of things…..money, which converted over to more BB’s, pocket knives……three perfect cones would get one a pretty good Barlow….. the list was almost endless.

Grandpa loved bluebirds……he had nesting boxes on the fence posts surrounding the gardens for them and did what he could to encourage them to spend time around the farm. He said they paid their keep by eating insects that feasted on his garden produce….especially corn worms. His instructions to us on shooting the BB guns were very clear and strict……..we were to never shoot a bluebird. Bluejays, sparrows, blackbirds and such were ok…..but not bluebirds.

We didn’t have a problem with this restriction…..we really didn’t. However, circumstances and opportunity sometimes gets one in trouble.

Late one afternoon after a day of terrorizing the farm with the BB guns we were walking back to the farmhouse for supper. Walking along the power lines that ran though the property we would take pot shots at birds sitting on the lines. About a quarter of a mile from the farm house we came up on, you guessed it, a bluebird sitting alone on the line.

Billy says to me "lets take him"…….

"no, you know the rules"…..

"aw it’s almost dark and no one will know"……

"we better not"…….

"he’s gonna fly if don’t take him"……

"I’m telling you we will get in trouble"…..

"chicken"………

That’s all it took.

We both shot at the same time……both shots connected.

No sooner had the bluebird hit the ground than from the front porch of the farm house came this dreaded word……."boooooys"…….we had heard it before under circumstances in which we were not exactly the good guys. Long and drawn out……."boooooys, come here please and bring the bluebird with you". I don’t remember which one of us picked up the bluebird but I very distinctly remember that when we got to the front porch there stood Grandpa with a look on his face of hurt. I had expected him to be mad and maybe even shouting about what we had done. At first there were no words, just him pointing to a corner of the porch……we knew what that meant. Both BB guns went into the corner.

There was no excuse either of us could offer….we both had decided to break the rules, we both shot……and now we both were about to be taught another one of life’s lessons. Grandpa never raised his voice, never hinted that we would receive a whipping…..he just reached down and picked up the bluebird and still with that hurt look on his face told one of us to go get the shovel and for us to take the bluebird out to the garden and bury it under one of the nest boxes.

Even years after Grandpa was gone I could never pass that nesting box without being reminded of the lessons learned from that experience…………I love bluebirds.

As mentioned previously, Grandma kept a flock of chickens for a source of eggs and meat. One of our jobs was to feed them and gather the eggs which meant going inside the chicken yard. We always had trouble with one old rooster when we entered the chicken yard……he evidently thought this was his domain and took offense to anyone entering. He would sneak around back of us and either peck or spur us on the legs. Since our normal attire was shorts and no shirt, this was not a pleasant experience….. he sometimes would draw blood.

Putting our heads together we decided that the old rooster needed to be taught a lesson so an attack plan was put together. Billy would patrol one side of the chicken yard and I would be responsible for the other. The plan was to shoot that old rooster in the butt with the BB guns until such time we thought he had learned his lesson or until he ran out of tail feathers. The plan worked just like we envisioned…..we had that old rooster wishing he had a piece of armor plate strapped to his butt….tail feathers were everywhere. It was pure music to hear him squawk..

Then it happened……we were timing our shots so that when one of us shot him the other one would wait until he calmed down a bit and then take our turn. Somehow we got off in timing and we both shot at about the same time. Billy’s shot hit him in the butt and my shot, because he was doing his dance routine, hit him in the right eye. That was one time I wished that Daisy pump didn’t shoot so hard. That old roster started flopping around like the hens did after Grandma had wrung their necks. We both looked at each other……total fear…..we had just "taken out" one of our Grandma’s prized roosters.

We were so seized by fear that we just left the old rooster where he lay……didn’t bury him, didn’t throw his featherless butt in the swamp or anything…..just left him there. We just continued our normal roaming and bumming around activities for the rest of that day.

At supper time we tried to look as innocent as two knot headed pre-teen boys that have crossed that invisible line can. Grandpa sat down at the table, said the blessing, helped his plate and just sat there. No one spoke. Grandma sort of cleared her throat and said "now Steely"…..that’s what she called our Grandpa….."I’m sure there is an explanation". "Booooys"……there was that word again. "I walked by the chicken yard late this afternoon on the way to the tool shed and notice the old rooster laying on the ground". "Also he seemed to be missing a good portion of his tail feathers and his right eye was in pretty bad shape". "Would you two know anything about this"?

I can’t speak for Billy, but I learned the importance of "fessing up" and being accountable when you have done wrong. Our Grandfather was a kind and gentle man, but firm and a believer in doing what is right. He VERY clearly explained to us that it wasn’t such a good idea to use Grandma’s prized roosters for target practice, but more than that, not coming and telling them about the fate of the old rooster and who was responsible was not acceptable and would not be tolerated.

The old rooster did not go to waste…..Grandma made a big pot of chicken and dumplings with him as the main ingredient. Granddad said it was some of the best he had ever had……I didn’t eat a bite.

Its funny how one can look back at times and experiences in their life and see how they ended up being teaching experiences. Grandparents are masters at using these for the good of their grandchildren.