The Robin

A few nights ago, I was in the backyard of our little estate on the prairie watering the plants, a favorite summer evening pastime. Standing barefoot in the pastel twilight with a garden hose is worth many hours of relaxation therapy and cheaper than a psychiatrist — or even bourbon. At least for this editor, time spent dousing the plants allows for forced quiet reflection in an otherwise hectic schedule.

While absently dampening our Spirea bushes, I was roused from my contemplation by watching a pair of robins petulantly digging for bugs just a few yards away in the freshly drenched mulch.

The birds were young and cheeky as they sauntered within feet of where I was standing. For several minutes I enjoyed the show. As they were close enough I could see the Robin’s feathers puff whenever they spied a worm. The bird would pause, cock its head then dive into the mulch, thrashing about for a moment in a shower of hardwood chips then triumphantly surface with a slimy snack.

Enjoying the little show, I was suddenly reminded of an episode from several decades ago. It was otherwise forgotten but had played a tremendous part in the development of my personal shooting and hunting ethic, in fact, my overall view of the outdoors. Like most important lessons, it was somewhat painful at the time.

The rules

The birds and other living game, especially neighborhood friends, were officially proclaimed off-limits by my parents. The regulations specifically stated something to the effect, “I’ll peel your hide if I catch you shooting anything!” Thus, hunting trips were carried out in secret.

For weeks I snuck out, stalking and firing upon various birds. I categorically stayed away from songbirds while hoping to bag a mourning dove, which I had read in Sports Afield were especially tasty. In retrospect, it was a perfect example of 10-year-old logic: believing a single dove breast could provide a hearty meal for four people.

One fateful day, I spied a fat bird upon the wire at twilight, silhouetted against the indigo sky. After a careful stalk using the privet hedge, I set up against an ornamental pear tree and fired. By some twist of fate — and exceptionally bad luck for Mr. Bird — BB and prey met. I heard a fat, wet Thunk! as the hapless animal fell in a shower of feathers.

At this moment, I had become a full-blooded hunter and it was exhilarating.

I rushed into the fencerow under the wires to retrieve my trophy. With quivering hands, I found the bird sprawled on its back, looking disheveled as a tiny sprinkle of blood leaked from its beak. I saw bronze-orange feathers and instantly realized I had killed a robin.

Things Change

The initial excitement of the kill suddenly gave way to a great sadness and guilt. Even at this tender age, I instinctively realized there was something fundamentally wrong with shooting an animal simply for the enjoyment of killing. It was this moment I learned hunting without any purpose was a hollow victory, an attainment devoid of any satisfaction to a person of conscience.

At age 10 I had just realized I had primitive ethics — and suddenly they were troubled.

Back Home

I was roused back from the mists of time by water dousing my feet as the hose limply drooped in my hand. In the darkening yard, I scattered the birds, rolled up the hose, shut off the water and wistfully headed indoors.

Stopping at the back door to reflect in the twilight, it seems unsettling so many otherwise grown people haven’t learned such a lesson.

I suppose you’ve noticed the world has gone crazy?

Among all the terrible news, this New World Order of global insanity has been a huge boon to the firearms industry. Some gun stores are reporting 10 times their normal sales volume and one major manufacturer just admitted to this corner some of their most popular guns are backordered until late spring of 2021!

This tidal wave of gun buying has had several effects. First, gun prices, even for clapped-out junkers, guns which have spent their entire lives under the seat of farm or ranch pickup trucks and appear to have been gnawed upon by wolverines, are sometimes going for twice the typical price. This makes your personal gun collection worth much more, if you are inclined to sell.

I wouldn’t, but if you already have plenty of guns, right now is a great time to let a couple of your less-used firearms go at a premium.

Ammo supplies are tight but no major shortages have been seen. The same with other accessories as manufacturers have been working mandatory overtime to fill orders.

Another interesting effect is the fact you might see fewer new models being released. While this time of year is typically a lull for new firearms releases, with gun companies working at maximum capacity, there is no need to announce new guns to help bump sales.

Finally, it would appear the lessons of the “Obama bump” have been learned. Almost no one in the industry is buying additional equipment or hiring extra people because everyone knows this wave will eventually end at some point. An unfavorable presidential election could extend things, but right now the industry is primarily working with existing capacity. Hopefully, no bankruptcies this time around!

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