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JohnWickParabellum 2 points ago +2 / -0

I'm honored. Sincerely.

My adopted Grandfather gave me a single box of 50 .22 rounds for each month of squirrel hunting. Each squirrel awarded me a dollar. Every coke and Sergeant Rock comic was gold on top of gold.

At age 10 he said I was a rifleman. The USAF later asked me whom taught me to shoot. My lead and track was never at fault.

God on Earth. God on Earth. His name was Pearly. He will be forever my real Grandfather.

My last season on the farm after he had passed, I walked the mile long path from stream to pasture and encountered a doe with fawn just as summer turned to fall, dropping to a knee and pointing my barrel at her snout, out of instinct... no more than two feet away.

She looked at me, sniffed and then snorted, "I know who you are. We all miss your Grandfather."