In fairness, Ghost is not actually a wimp. He’s not as young as he used to be, not as fast, not as prone to think picking a fight with a wildcat or enraging a Mexican long-horned cow with a calf to madness and then dancing under its hooves is a fun thing to do. (he needed rescue from the cat, but not from the cow.) But he’s still the head dog and principal guardian of the Lair’s borders. Ghost was born not far from here, was rescued from a shelter and adopted into the pack when a tiny puppy, and knows nothing but being a desert dog. He’s very good at it.
But lord, how he hates the sound of gunfire. And lately he’s been hearing more of it since I’ve been practicing more with the .44, and he truly believes the world was a better place when that was not so.
I’m currently flush with cast bullets, and until the powder runs out I’ve been loading and shooting a lot more than usual. And those evenings will find him either under the Lair or tightly curled in the vest-pocket bathroom as small as he can get, certain this time the gunfire will get him despite his having heard it all his life.
It’s kind of annoying, and it’s guilting me into actually leaving the boys home and going off with a target to practice elsewhere.
