A pretty and still winter day for once. Frigid at daybreak but starting to warm up now. We got walkies out of the way and I’ve got some work to do after lunch when it has warmed as much as it will, but right now I want to shoot my new pistol.

I always want to do something nicer with the 24- and/or 12-yard lines, but I really can’t. They’re right in the path of the flood, and everything I ever put there except this pounded and pipe-wrapped piece of rebar just washed away. Sometimes when there’s a group we round up some portable tables, but I don’t leave them out here.

Last time he was here, Ian grumbled something about how he needed to get some nicer targets. But personally I like these. It’d be cool to have fancier targets but I’d always worry about hurting them. With these, the plates can’t be harmed by anything less than a .50 cal so the worst damage you could possibly do is shoot through a chain. That happens all the time when somebody’s out here with a rifle, but I scrounge all the scrap chain I can find. That kind of damage takes only a few minutes to fix, no problem. So I kind of like our beat-up little target stand.

And the nice thing about having a new pistol? There’s not much temptation to leave off the cleaning. 🙂


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They say that Louis XIV had the inscription Ultima Ratio Regum cast into all the cannon of the French Army. It means “The Ultimate Argument of Kings,” and that always struck me as one of the most honest and up-front things any ruler or would-be ruler ever said. “We can dress it up prettier than this, but when it comes down to the unvarnished truth this is what it’s about: You’ll do as I say or I’ll send my goons to kill you.”
I thought about that for a long time. If there’s an ultimate argument, it seems only logical that there must be an ultimate answer. For years I thought the ultimate answer must be the bullets in my rifle, but it never seemed quite right. I’ve got bullets – he’s got frigging Cannon Balls. I mean, if there were three hundred million rifles throwing bullets at him, then maybe. But we all know that’s not going to happen. So if there’s an ultimate answer to his ultimate argument, it sure as hell ain’t bullets.
It finally came to me – and that’s when I abandoned the city and most of my stuff, and gave all that was behind me a good stiff Randian Shrug.
The ultimate answer to kings is not a bullet, but a belly laugh.
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Yeah, they’re rather like babies, aren’t they? Clean ’em when they’re dirty, let ’em live fully without beating ’em up, and they usually turn out pretty well in the end.
Genuinely happy for your good fortune, Joel. I look forward to hearing more about your Tracker experience as it goes.