You ain't gonna believe this shit...

As John was going not only to see his Mom but also his stepdad Rick who raised him, he packed his 45 caliber hand-cannon, which normally lives on the top shelf in the garage. (Attention Burglars: It's gone now.) It seems that what passes for entertainment in Dayton (AKA the Wiley City of Nevada) involves jackrabbits and high-caliber handguns. Who Knew?

Actually, after expressing my distaste at taking pleasure in killing bunnies, they drove us out into the desert and set up some pop cans to shoot at. I missed em all. I thought I would enjoy the 45, but thought it too heavy and unwieldy, so Kevin (AKA boomhauer) gave me his Glock to shoot. Again I missed. The best part was the terror in their eyes when I forgot I was holding and actual real live firearm without a safety latch and swung around to ask John a question halfway through my clip. Hardy har. They almost peed their pants.

The gun trip was cut a bit short however when Rick stepped behind a rock to pee and came upon a baby rattlesnake. Being older and wiser, he did the practical thing , and picked it up to show the kids. Then the frightened children were loaded into the truck bed for safety. Seeing as we had three guns between us, Rick again did the most practical thing and ripped the snake's head off with his bare hands.Of course, being raised by Rick, my sweet darling man threw the decapitated snake into the back of our truck so he could skin it and mount it for Eli.

Whilst the women-folk prepared the evening repast back at the ranch, the boys then proceeded to dissect the snake and found a whole, partially digested lizard inside. I thought he looked a little preggo, but fortunately I was too polite to say anything. So now, in my home, resides an eight inch rattlesnake skin mounted to a board with construction staples.

Stay tuned, so many more stories to come.