Loaded

Haven't shot pistols for years, not since the halcyon days of the 1980s and the Prince of Wales Division training depot (Browning Hi-Powers). Then I moved to Texas and everything changed, so it was off to the excellent Ray's Sporting Goods in Dallas for some advice and a handgun at a sensible price.

The helpful man behind the counter was just that, suggesting the Berretta PX 4 Storm. It felt good and I meditated on the prospect for a while, trying out other offerings in the same price range - Taurus, CZ, XD, Glock et al. I kept going back to the Berretta, I don't know, maybe it was the look of the thing, or maybe the way it felt in the hand, but I bit the proverbial bullet and made the purchase. I asked for a 9mm, paid for it, bought some ammo and took it back home.

Imagine my surprise when The Nine turned out to be a .45. Ray's had upgraded me; who knows, maybe they thought a larger caliber was somehow more appropriate. Well, that's what I got and I have to say its been a real joy to shoot - far easier than I'd expected - and accurate too, that is until I get excited by the sound and fury of the beast.

Well done Beretta and well done Rays for providing hours of pure pistol enjoyment. I guess a revolver's next...

Keep pulling the trigger.

LSP

What A Filthy Mess! Canine Postscipt

Dirty, very, very dirty. But don't me wrong, I'm not making a thinly veiled attack on the ethical standards of TEC (The Episcopal Church) and its ongoing legal blitzkreig against Christians. No, not even against its leaderene Boy Bishop, Katherine Schori and the Archdruid of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, not a bit of it - I'm referring to the old Marlin Model 60 pictured above.

It belongs to a parishioner who was complaining that her rifle wasn't feeding or ejecting properly, so she brought it in from the truck and sure enough, it was a tribute to the weapon that it worked at all. Anyway, I gave it a clean while she went off to clean the church - a fair swap, I figured.

A bit of elbow grease later and all was well; then the door bell rang and low and behold! Three policemen with M4s.

"Is there a person out the back with a rifle?"

"Just me Officer. I was cleaning it. You see, I'm the priest."

I showed them the Mod. 60, resisting the temptation to ask for a look at the assualt rifles and off they went - no harm done. It seems that my DWN (Dog War Neighbour) had lodged a complaint. I felt bitter. First its incessant pit bullian barking and now spurious visits by the Storm Troopers, God bless 'em...

So off I went thinking uncharitable thoughts when who should roll up but DWN himself. He didn't look too well but managed to shuffle up for a chat.

"Sorry I called the police, preacher."

"Thanks."

"See, I figured you were gonna shoot my dogs."

"No, I'm not going to shoot your dogs."

"See, I don't feel so good..."

And with that, DWN lifts his shirt to reveal a massive scar running the length of his belly. I'll spare you the details but he thanked the Lord that he was still alive and I assured him of my prayers, as he assured me that he wouldn't dial in an airstrike next time I cleaned a rifle at the back of the house.

The dogs still bark but I've increased in charity so it doesn't seem so bad and the Model 60 fires fine. The police are happy with their M4s and have invited me down to their range, which is alright by me. As for TEC, Schori, Williams & the secular humanist project, I'm not so sure, but that's a different story.

Have a blessed Feast of the Trinity.

LSP

Trapper

In Pershore, U.K., the squirrels are running wild, out of hand. So what's to be done? Shoot them? yes, but it's a 'built up area', so MCP traps them and...

They meet their demise.

As I recall, the same mallet/cosh was used against the moles. It's a weighty thing and, at the end of the day, more humane than not. Squirrels end up on BBQ. Well, its not hog, but you get your game where you find it and as SBW reminds us, if you're not prepared to kill what you eat...

On another theme; go to the excellent Boomers site for some well needed Hillaire Belloc + great article viz. Apex rifle. 

LSP

Dog Wars

The thing about country life after the city is that its peaceful; you can see the stars at night, the air's cleaner, there aren't so many cars, you can hear the birds sing and - the dogs bark. A lot, loudly, all the time, in my neighbour's back yard from around 6 a.m. when their pit bull brains are woken up by the Rooster, until around midnight when they're so exhausted by barking that they crash out.

It's an issue here and God fearing folk are taking deperate measures - as you can see, some have opted for poison, which is tempting. Others suggest sniping with .22, also tempting but risky - who wants to end up in gaol for performing a public service? Others again feel that a  Taser might do the trick. Well it probably would but I don't have one.

Whatever, it drove me out into the fields where I managed to stay on the horse, so that was good and even better - MCP has made a song which you might like to watch/hear. Its about the honesty of Great Britain's politicians http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ImmQO3YOaw

These it seems have sunk into a trough of eighteenth century style jobbery, corruption and malfeasance; just throw in piracy on the high seas and the illusion's near complete. Oh, we have that too! So what's missing? "Talent" says my supernaturalist friend and Church Warden, Alan Delgarde.

Maybe, but ah, the dogs are silent. At last. Never underestimate the power of prayer.

LSP

Mole Catcher

Years ago, in the hoary antiquity of the mid '90s, I found myself taking a break from parish life and working for a small company in London that was all about something called Lotus Notes. A lot of fun and led by the charismatic IT, Marketing and PR chieftan, MCP - Michael Chapman Pincher. But times moved on and we went our separate ways, me to America and a return to priestly life, MCP to IT Supremacy somewhere in London. Splendid.

Then things changed; after a cataclysmic '07/08 we both ended up living in the country, Texas and Pershore respectively, each suffering from multiple, vicious back wounds. Anyhow, I visited him a few weeks back and as we hadn't seen each other for years it was straight down to a riverside pub to swap grisly knife in the back stories whilst admiring the sunlit pastoral idyll that is that part of Worcestershire. Beautiful. Then I noticed that my erstwhile guv'nor's hands were strangely calloused, as though he'd become a Son of the Soil, which is exactly what had happened.

When the IT thing ended MCP was thrown back to Pershore, his wits and the land. The Corporate World had turned his back on him - not so the country and he found new employment as a Trapper, a mole trapper. I understand it started off in a small way and then moved up; when I was there the business was expanding to rabbits and now, evidently, squirrels.

So, when I wasn't busy taking pictures of Aghas, myself in the mirror and enjoying the excellent company and house of Mr. & Mrs. MCP, it was down to the new office - the mole fields.

These had been digging up land used to pasture race horses and had to go - 12 traps per beast, which seemed intense but I gather they're pretty wiley. As were the rabbits who were conspicious by their absence; no doubt sensing the risk of death they were keeping their heads down. Still, nothing daunted, we set up a trap at the warren and paused for a moment's reflection. I asked my friend if he'd changed his theological point of view from believing that "it's all down to carbon boys" to something else: 

"So what d'you think about God these days?" After a long pause and gaze at the field he replied, "Well, I spend a lot of time on my knees right now..."

Excellent and well done - I'd say that the Deity has shown uncommon kindness; after all, what's better? Hideous corporate world, or living in a beautiful house in a country town whilst carving out a new niche in edible (rabbit/squirrel) pest control?

Massive respect to Michael and Becky Chapman Picher.

LSP

PS. More from the MCP homestead later.

Horse Latitudes

Left the big city this morning to get back to the country and some riding. All well and good; there I was in the paddock practicing posting and two point. Very nice and only natural to move on from there to bigger and better things, like galloping - fast. So I did, faster and faster and faster and Bang! There I am on the dirt with a thunder of hooves about the head. 

Horse 1, LSP 0.

Trainer deeply impressed by "rodeo".

Nothing broken bar pride.

Stay in the saddle.

LSP

The Horned God

Thanks, SBW, for this. Sure beats the Ridgebacks we have to contend with out here - the thing is, the ubiquitous attack dogs are going feral.

Don't forget your truck gun.

LSP

Hog Wild

Celebrated the Feast of Pentecost yesterday at the Missions and all was good, with no one bursting inappropriately into 'tongues', except for the Assistant Priest who was heard to mutter from time to time in Latin. You know the kind of thing, perhaps, "Te Igitur..." Well, that was fine by me but conversation over iced tea after the service was better. I'll paraphrase:

"You know, Father..."

"Yes, my son?"

"I have this problem and its gettin' kind of serious."

"Ah."

"Yessir. You see hogs are coming through from my neighbour's land and tearing things up. Saw several big ones on the track just last night. 240 pounders, I reckon; didn't have a gun so I shooed 'em off in my truck."

"Ah Hah!" I replied and quick as a flash a worthy parishioner took up the cause.

"You gotta get rid of them! We'll take care of that for you."

For sure we will and the plan's simple. Lay out some post hole bait then go up against the tuskers with hi-power weaponry. .45 Beretta, scoped up 7mm Mauser (I think) and the venerable Lee Enfield should do the trick for me. Not sure what my friend'll use - something in 30-06 or .308 probably. 

So stay tuned and fire up the mental grill for some home cooking.

A joyous Feast of the Visitation to you.

LSP

What a Plinker!

You know what they say, "Practice makes perfect", and I guess that's as true of shooting as anything else, so I like to keep my skills up - well, get some even, by going out in the field to plink about at targets. Mostly I drive to  my Treasurer's ranch and shoot up against hay bales - its good to visit with him (a fund of wisdom and kindness) then move off to get some targets.

The problem is, its not cheap. Taking any large caliber weapon out for pratice costs money and, for me, lots of it - that's if you can even get the ammo, which isn't easy. Very frustrating, leading innevitably to... the .22. Cheap, fun and it keeps your aim in.

With that in mind, I prefer company and get it sometimes in the bearded form of GWB, who tested his semi-auto Browning Takedown out on the feed sacks to good success. I love the Browning; elegant, pretty accurate and the first rifle I ever shot, with my Uncle on some land around Denton in the '70s. Anyway, you can see one leaning up against the tail gate of the truck. I tried out a pawn shop special, a bolt action JC Higgins, and the results were good; vastly dead Remington ammo carton and several Quarters who came up against me on sticks. Great enjoyment.

Moral of the story? Don't scorn the humble .22. Bolt action or semi? Both are good.

Have a blessed Feast of Pentecost.

LSP

Hoof Junky

The outside of a horse is good for the inside of a man

Winston Churchill

I've discovered that's true, but only because a strange and lets face it, terrifying confluence of aspects, spat me out of Canada and into rural Texas, where I minister to two country missions in the Anglican Diocese of Fort Worth. What does that mean? Amongst other things, that I'm a shameless Trad - liberal humanism masquerading as christianity doesn't cut it for me - and...

that I get to ride horses. Now this is something I always wanted to do and somehow never did until I noticed the odd parishioner turning up for Mass in working boots and spurs - right out of the stables and into church on a Sunday morning. 'Result,' as SBW (Suburban Bushwacker) used to say. So one thing led to another and before too long I'm in the stables talking God, Guns, Church and learning to post under the watchful eye of equine professionals.

Nothing better; perhaps its Texas, perhaps its the horse itself, but I find there's a freedom in it which I know I wasn't finding in the city. Its practical too - when the gas runs out I'll have transport. And that's what this blog's about, reflections on some of the home truths and simple pleasures of being a country priest in the Lone Star State. 

Oh, if you need a Ferrier, check out Coty at http://hoofjunky.com/ , you can see him at work above, shoeing BeBop and dispensing wisdom.

God bless,

LSP