Shooting hoops with mi familia after church, and the spidey sense starts tingling.
A glance over my shoulder reveals a gopher nibbling on the green beans in the garden.
I casually take a Jabar sky hook getting nothing but net, oozing swag and savvy as I sashay to the porch, like nothing is out of the ordinary.
My wife says, "You got a runner!"
Knowing the gopher will get to the soybean field before I can retrieve the Savage GL, I head for the gopher, reaching in the truck window for the M&P 9c - a previously baptized gopher slayer.
Swift of foot I engage pursuit, (my wife scoffing that I'll never catch it).
I see the varmint trying to navigate a cattle wire fence in hopes of becoming a ghost in the knee high edameme (or whatever that fancy f'n french term for soybeans is).
Making it through the fence, he pauses, and I take a shot, hitting wire.
I curse, as the gopher continues into the beans.
He makes it about 20 feet, I can see plants moving as he weaves a path of deception. Then he pauses, standing up to see if he is still being pursued.
This time, a triple tap sends the gopher into a spasmodic "twerk o' death".
And I turn to leer at my doubting bride.
"Brutal" she says.
"Yes. Yes I am."
