My mother-in-law just found out we’re thinking about camping at the racetrack Saturday night. She’s already chittering and chattering at Hubs about going. It came out in conversation that my brother-in-law and his family are camping this weekend. So why isn’t she camping with them?!?!?! Hubs even asked her. She wouldn’t answer.
This would be my neighbor. This would be my neighbor at 8 o’clock last night. After dark. Shooting. What the hell is he shooting? It’s dark. It isn’t like he’s shooting the random racoon or possum off of his deck… or squirrel for his supper. Unless he is a horrible shot and it takes him twenty times to hit the damn thing.
I suspect he shoots skeet. I suspect he does it with a group of people, either that or he has several guns loaded and goes from one to the next without hesitation. There are too many shots that go off too close together to be one person shooting, then reloading.
I suspect he’s getting ready for the long weekend. It seems long weekends are made for him to shoot. All. Day. Long. …and into the night. He has become the worst thing about living in the country. Him and his gun. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind hunters or an occasional practice session… but it is like Chinese water torture (not that I’ve ever had Chinese water torture)… one shot after another echoing through the countryside. Over and over and over again. Even the pups spooked last night when they were out and the shooting resumed!
Yeah, I’m grumpy. Tired and grumpy. Asshat.