Boom!

My husband's Christmas wish list included an item that was foreign to me. He wanted a contraption whose purpose was to propel things he calls clay birds through the air so he can shoot them. I do not know why they are called clay birds. They are made of clay, but they are disk-shaped things that look nothing like birds to me. They do fly, I understand, under the right conditions, and it is those conditions which my dear husband was desirous of creating. He has to pay good money for these so-called clay birds, and then he and my son shoot them, which, if they are successful, destroys them. He makes the money in this family, so I am in no position to question the wisdom of this.

As this clay bird throwing-thingy was a contraption with which I had no experience, I was hoping for some guidance on selecting a suitable model. The guidance given on the aforementioned Christmas list was, "Like DM's," with DM being the name of a friend who, I am led to believe, has a very fine clay bird-throwing thingy. This was little help, as I had no familiarity whatsoever with DM's clay bird-throwing thingy, either.

It was something of a dilemma, as this was the only suggestion on his wish list that was not either clothing or a stocking-stuffer sort of item.

I went to the huge mega sports manly man (and manly woman) store and, feeling somewhat out of my element, marched straight to the department with guns hanging on the wall. As the man behind the counter was quite busy helping a very frustrated man figure out how to leap through the required governmental hoops so he could buy his son a .22, I found on my own what I thought was a stack of the desired clay bird-throwing thingies. I did the only sensible thing a woman knows to do in circumstances such as these: I picked the most expensive one. I don’t know if it was like DM's thrower thingy, but if it is the most expensive one, it must be a good one, eh?

Today hubby put together his clay bird-thrower thingy. As I was working very hard on my last blog post, he excitedly called me away to come outside and see it. There was this green metal collection of springs and levers on the driveway. He slipped a clay bird into the contraption.

"I've got my shotgun," he says, holding his arms in the air in front of him. Of course he didn’t. I was to imagine he did. "Then, I step on this." He stepped, and the so-called clay bird was propelled through the back yard, across the stream and into the woods. "Boom!" he says.

"Wow, Hun, that’s just great." (I was trying.)

Then he enthusiastically showed me how he could adjust the spring tension and the angle and how it stayed firm on the ground without having to be anchored down, so he could move it between shots and vary the trajectory.

I was too impressed to respond.

He was happy. I wasn’t exactly sure why, but he was happy. And I was happy that he was happy—and relieved that I had spent his money well.

Comments

[Mandy]

BOTH my parents love to skeet shoot also (I think that's what they call it). I don't quite get it.

Happy New Year to you!

[Dory]

Well, Mandy, I suppose it could be worse. He could enjoy shooting real birds, in which case he would likely bring his kill back home with him. I had a dog once who used to do that, and it wasn't much fun. (grin)

[violet]

Lovely story, Dory, with a happy ending. I'm just glad MY husband didn't want that. He is the world's worst at assembling things (turns the air quite blue in the process) - and this thingy sounds like a definite challenge in that department. (Enjoy your blog BTW.)

[TheBloke...IntheOuter]

Since I have three daughters, anyone of whom might chanced on your post, I want to put it on record that no, just because your husband makes the money in the family that doesn't mean you are in no position to argue about the wisdom of such extravagant waste. The husband and wife are supposed to be equal and mutually submissive to one another and a team, etc. You have as much right to condemn it as your husband's obvious inordinate love for something so trivial. Oh, yes, I don't get why they call it a bird, either! Wonder if it is any good roasted or deep-fried? Heh

[Dory]

Well, Bloke, there is no sense in sheltering your girls from the cold hard reality of an oppressive Christian marriage. Lord willing, they will have to face it one of these days anyway.

The expenditure of four (nearly worthless) American dollars for a case of fifty of these clay birds is a difficult cross for me to bear. However, Hubby does help to make up for the loss when he brings home gobs of money and (every night when he does the dishes) cheerfully washes out the Ziplock bags so we can reuse them. I am trying to bear with him. I think we will be able to make ends meet as long as enough people click on my advertisers' links...(sly grin)