A couple of summers ago we had made a day trip home from camp for re-supply. Everything was left as was for our return in the evening, but we unloaded the guns in case someone stopped by.
In the evening we returned. The first order of business, after unloading supplies, was to check the net so we could get the fish cut and hung before it got too late.
I took my 11-year-old, and my 5 year old along with a big metal washtub to put fish in. The net yielded up a well-filled tub which we motored over to the rocky embankment just below the fish rack. The older boy tossed the anchor into the rocks, and we proceeded to lift the washtub and it's contents out of the boat and stair-step our way up the rocky jumble, one of us on each side.
Looking up I saw a set of eyes and small ears atop a brown head sticking up from the relatively short grass by the fish rack. "The brown dog....uh, we didn't bring any of the dogs....we don't have a brown dog. BEAR!"
The little dude was so small he was zero threat, but this was July, or late June anyway, and he wasn't much bigger than a fur ball. Something we didn't see was scary indeed! Where was his mother?
My wife and 9 year-old son were yet at the cabin some 200 yards away. I yelled, "Bring a gun". And remembering that we had unloaded them earlier in the day, I added, "And ammo."
As we stood there waiting and watching, I realized that the two boys were huddled right next to me. The 9 year-old was carefully carrying the 45-70 levergun at a quick pace as we watched he and his mother close distance. It was a relief to have that gun within reach and as I took it in one hand, I reached with my other for the ammo he dug from his pocket.....
......for the 480 Ruger revolver.
