The 38 Special

I went for a walk today down a long dusty dirt road to the mailbox. I am in South Dakota taking care of my father who just had his shoulder replaced at the Mayo Clinic. That is an entire other conversation saved for later. But suffice to say that my father lives in what feels like a third world country.If it is raining or snowing, the road becomes impassable and if you are close enough, you leave the car and walk back home. Then you are stuck in his tiny house which to him is paradise. For me, a 40 year old artist who splits her time between Seattle, San Francisco and New York, I feel very cut off and the days can become extra long unless you take on a project like cleaning out his cupboards of expired can goods or fixing the boards on the horse paddock.



So as I left the house this morning, my father said to me, “Here take this because there are mountain lions,” and handed me a 38 Special. For those of you who aren’t routin’ tootin’ gun totin’ Republicans, this is a revolver that has a very short range. As you enter Dad's small five room house, there is a sticker that says "Protected by the 2nd Amendment" He has three gun racks, one by the front door, one in the living room, and one in his bedroom. He has 18 shotguns and rifles and who knows how many handguns. Plus he keeps a revolver under his mattress, "just in case." I have to say he isn't obsessed with guns, he just likes to hunt and does so regularly. He raised us shooting guns, and every summer we would go out to an open field and shoot things like cans or prairie dogs. So as he handed me the 38 Special in a holster. I balked and then said reluctantly OK. I looked down and realized I had was wearing shorts and had no belt. So he retrieved one of his and I put it on. Then I put on the gun. I asked him how long he had lived here and if he had seen any mountain lions. To which he replied, 30+ years and no, never seen one. HMM.



So here I was, – packin’ heat. When you are packin’ heat, it affects your wardrobe. My cute little sweat shirts and tees that fit tightly against my svelte body (ha), won’t work when you are trying to hide a gun. So I borrowed an oversized shirt that was my former stepmothers – my father and she divorced about 10 years ago – again the closet of her stuff that is still in the basement is saved for another conversation. Off I went.



My sister and I traipsed five miles talking and laughing and looking at all the animal tracks in the dirt road. We frightened two large rabbits and countless pheasant. We reached the mailbox retrieved the mail and turned around. We decided to take some photos with the gun, careful not to point the barrel at each other. The photos were fun and then I returned it to its holster strapped on my shorts. Once again, off we went, the gun and holster strapped to my shorts under the bright orange corduroy shirt. We passed a lush valley with the trees and a creek and started heading up the road. Then I spied something large and brown crossing the road. It moved slowly and was larger than a fox or coyote. There was no long neck and big ears like a deer. And then it was gone. I told my sister. She was slightly freaked and said get out the gun! I pulled it out, cocked the hammer and continued walking forward. There were no more sightings, and the mountain lion was gone. Maybe Father's do know best all I know is that I was carrying a 38 Special on my shorts.