Grumpyolman
Gold Member
I was about 23, living in Ruidoso, New Mexico with about 5 other guys in the same house. I still had the .22 rifle, "Training in gun safety." in a rifle bag another friend had given me to preserve it.
One day I noticed the .22 was gone. I effing freaked out, thought it had been stolen, interrogated everyone there. Some with overblown suspicion. Which I still regret.
One of the guys was a cabinet maker. Unbeknownst to me he had taken the .22, with it's wooden stock beat up and scuffed from multiple adventures when I was a kid, and completely sanded and refinished it. Beautifully. Far better than it's original finish from the Marlin factory.
When I thanked him profusely and asked him why he did it, he said he only wished HE had a prized possession like the .22.
One day I noticed the .22 was gone. I effing freaked out, thought it had been stolen, interrogated everyone there. Some with overblown suspicion. Which I still regret.
One of the guys was a cabinet maker. Unbeknownst to me he had taken the .22, with it's wooden stock beat up and scuffed from multiple adventures when I was a kid, and completely sanded and refinished it. Beautifully. Far better than it's original finish from the Marlin factory.
When I thanked him profusely and asked him why he did it, he said he only wished HE had a prized possession like the .22.