Alex and I went shooting with Joel, and I really had fun! At one point, we were all making fun of each other for being real Texan rednecks, sitting on the tailgate loading our shotguns. Ah, well.
I didn't really get to shoot clays with the Remmington 870 much, because it's way too long and heavy for my stumpy little arms. I felt like I was trying to shoot with a Buick. But I enjoyed shooting Joel's Glock at the stationary targets--it's somehow enjoyable to line up a target with the sight and then watch it shatter in the dirt. Reminds me of the similar satisfaction of the anti-tank gun in Battlefield 2, only it feels a tad more powerful when it's real life. On the flip side, it's a lot more terrifying to hold a potentially destructive force in your hand in real life, where no one can "spawn" back in. Hence the reason I didn't hold any of the guns very long, even when unloaded with the safety on.
We were all picking up the empty shells and walking back to the truck when a bundle of energy exploded out of the ground in front of us, so close that I kicked it as it passed. It was a wild rabbit--man, those things are solid muscle. It felt like I hit a big rock, only one that was vibrating with life.
And then we went home and watched the Astros lose. But dangit, they're in the series, and I'm proud for Texas. And insanely jealous of anyone who scored tickets to the Houston games.
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