When Cliff and I first married, he loved hunting and fishing. He owned two firearms: a Colt pistol with a holster, and a Belgium Browning shotgun.
We'd been married a little over a year when we bought our first country place with twenty acres, and I'm not sure he ever went hunting again. He'd found out he'd much rather spend his time building fence, clearing brush, and tinkering with tractors.
So he sold the guns, and I don't know that he ever regretted it much. But in later years, I wished he'd kept the Browning. It was sort of a collector's item because it had been made in Belgium. I always had hopes of buying another for him. When I'd mention it to him, he assured me he had no need for such a shotgun.
Last year, I asked Cliff, "If you could have any firearm in the world, and money wasn't a problem, what one would you choose?"
After a few seconds consideration, he answered, "Oh, I suppose a Glock."
I mentioned this to our son, Jim, who is a certified gun nut with an impressive arsenol of weapons. So a couple of months ago, he contacted me and said he'd be willing to split the cost of a Glock as a birthday gift for Cliff. This is the weapon most policemen use.
Cliff was totally surprised. Now we can get rid of "Old Betsy," the very cheap handgun we bought as protection when we're sleeping in our popup camper; it wasn't something you'd use for target practice, since it didn't shoot straight (if it decided to shoot at all).
Oh, those other pictures are of my youngest grandchild from Georgia, Lyndsay, dancing for me last night. She'll be five in August.