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Hello folks: Attended my first shoot today, following my stroke in late May. Tusco Long Riders August Monthly. Went to visit with my friends -- wanted to see if I was totally exhausted after two long drives and a shoot spent manning the unloading table. I wasn't, so next week, I'll bring my guns, and try shooting at the Sandusky County Regulators. I feel that I'm safe with guns, but I will take it slow anyway, and make sure I am stable before moving. I've been working hard at my PT, and am ready to put it to the test. I'll take it a stage-at-a-time. --Dawg

Grateful for 52 years, 7 months, and 10 days together. She was my strength, my spirit, my love.

Lessons Learned and Travelin' Tales I have a set of rules for our travels in cowboy shooting. There are certain places I simply will not stay. I will not stay at the Red River Inn—or any motel where the doors open to the outside. If the hotel or motel has a number in its name, I will not stay. If there are chairs or other furniture from the thrift store sitting outside the rooms, I will not stay. Never, ever take accommodation recommendations from Pony Soldier. Perhaps you're curious about the origin of these rules. If so, grab a cup of coffee—or a double whiskey—and read on. There once was a cowboy shooting range known as the Bar 3. The tales of the action and fun at that range are known far and wide, and for good reason. The matches were legendary, hosted by the legendary T Bone Dooley, whose highest priority was making sure everyone had fun. Folks who attended the annual Comin' At Cha planned their accommodations, meals, costumes, and entertainment all year long. What made the Bar 3 special was T Bone's remarkable ability to bring people together for a cause. I attended my first—and only—match at the Bar 3 for one of those benefit matches. Being new to the sport, I was still learning about cowboy shooting. Everyone welcomed me and encouraged me to relax and simply have fun. Most of those folks barely knew me before the final day of the match. By the end of that day, however, I had become infamous. Because the Bar 3 was located near the small town of English, Texas, accommodations were scarce. Clarksville was the nearest town with a motel. Please pay close attention to the word motel. It plays a central role in this tale. The Red River Inn, a small local establishment, offered a roof over your head, a bed, and an indoor bathroom—the bare necessities. It certainly wasn't a five-star hotel. In fact, I'm convinced the only stars it could claim were the ones on the police cars that regularly circled the parking lot. The nightly rate was low, and there was probably a good reason for that. The Red River Inn earned a permanent place on my "Do Not Stay" list. You may wonder how we ended up there. We blame Pony Soldier. His description, while admittedly vague, somehow failed to trigger any alarm bells in my head. We booked a room for two nights. When we arrived, the best thing I could say was that parking would be convenient. Picture a roadside motel straight out of the 1960s—a single-story building with rooms wrapped around the office on three sides. Each room had one door and one window. There was no swimming pool, no vending machines, and probably no refunds. We had no choice but to make the best of it. We took our key—with its bright orange, coffin-shaped plastic key tag—and unlocked the door to what would be our home for the next two nights. At first glance, the room appeared clean and utilitarian. The color scheme could best be described as Walt Disney on LSD. The carpet looked original to the building. The furniture appeared to have been rescued from at least five other hotels before they went out of business. The polyester bedspreads crackled as I ripped them off the beds and tossed them into the corner. I had no desire to inspect them under a black light. Some things are simply better left unknown. Fortunately, the sheets were clean and free of tiny livestock. By this point, I was already planning my revenge on Pony Soldier. Our first night passed uneventfully. We rested from the drive and prepared for a full day of shooting, shenanigans, and socializing. The match was everything I'd hoped it would be. I met many people who would become some of my dearest friends. T Bone knew exactly how to entertain a crowd of folks who loved playing cowboy, celebrating the Old West, and shooting. By the end of the day, we were exhausted. All we wanted was a hot shower and a good night's sleep. Sunday morning arrived, and it was time to pack the car and head home after the final day of shooting. Mind you, we had firearms and equipment that weren't about to be left in the car overnight, so packing took a while. It was barely daylight. Clarksville was still asleep. Birds had just begun their morning chorus. Everything was peaceful. Suddenly, the quiet was shattered by loud pounding on the door of the room next to ours. The motel manager was demanding that the occupants vacate immediately because the room had "not been paid for." His vocabulary became considerably more colorful after that, but I'll spare you those details. Moments later, the door swung open. Out staggered a gentleman in a state of partial undress, clutching what remained of a twelve-pack of bargain beer. He made a hasty retreat to the east. Seconds later, a woman—slightly more dressed but carrying an enormous purse overflowing with her worldly possessions—departed in the opposite direction. Meanwhile, the motel manager continued providing colorful commentary about their stay and suggestions regarding any future visits. Who knew Sunday morning checkout would include live entertainment? As it turns out, we weren't the only audience. Two fellow cowboy shooters, Rio Concho Kid and Ben Scalped, had witnessed the entire spectacle. The four of us stood there laughing while trying to finish loading our gear. It was a morning none of us would ever forget. Being both a storyteller and an amateur comedian, I simply had to share the tale with my newfound friends. So I did. Complete with sound effects. And pantomime. Our posse took considerably longer to finish the day's shooting because everyone kept laughing. The jokes multiplied with every stage as I regaled them with the unforgettable story of what became known as The Red River Rendezvous. Sadly, the Bar 3 has since closed. I hope someday someone will revive it and create new events worthy of standing alongside the legend of Comin' At Cha. Our friend Rio has also passed away. But like the Bar 3 itself, he lives on in the stories we continue to tell around the loading table, at the campfire, and wherever cowboy shooters gather to laugh about the adventures that happen between the shooting stages as much as the ones on them.

That "spur ruling" was the inspiration for this addition to the SHB on psge 2: "All clothing and equipment must be worn appropriately and how it was intended, or how it would have been in the Old West or as seen on B-Western movies and television."

Do not start him until he put the hat on and touches it, OR leave it off and puts his hands where it would be if he was wearing it.

Some more accruements for my steam room ceiling and outside door. Its handy having my two sons own a plumbing, electrical & Air Conditioning business. The amount of brass and copper scrap and interesting bits and pieces from century old homes and factories etc that their 27 employees collect over the year is measured in the tonnes. I use my case tumbler that has around 2. 5 kilos of stainless steel pins in it and with a dash of car wash and three tablespoons of citric acid powder and a couple of hours or tumbling, plumbing brass and copper come out like the day they were made and some spray paint on some pieces and then a couple of spray coats of clear varnish to stop dulling of the copper and brass and its then it's .......where to put them!

IMO....the ability to declare a gun malfunction should not be used as a "get out of jail free card". We have to look at the intent of the rule and apply RO3......when applying this to a double barrel I agree with Griff's use of the phrase "Good Faith Attempt" to clear the stuck hull. Is slapping at a hull a "Good Faith Attempt"? I would say NO. Grabbing the rim with two fingers and trying to pull it out I would say YES. This is a very slippery slope and was discussed many years ago here on the wire. Black Jack Traven even suggested that a 97 shooter could declare "Broke Gun" after the last shot on every stage and never have to worry about ejecting the last hull. He said that to point out the difficulty in applying this "Rule or Allowance" to actual stage events. What we don't want is for shooter's to start declaring "Broke Gun" after the last shot of their firearms (with minimal effort to clear the double, the 97 or the rifle) in order to avoid any penalties which as BJT pointed out could be done even though that is not the spirit of the rule. What's that old saying.....I can't define it (Good Faith Attempt) but I know it when I see it. While there still some rules that must have common sense applied to them, as a whole they have been cleaned up pretty well. I don't think we need to define "Malfunctioning Firearm". I think we all know it when we see it. I think as a shooter you should take your lumps when a hull doesn't just pop right out and take the time to clear your shotgun. Using "Broke Gun" when it's not broke is pushing the limits of "Cowboy Spirit"...IMHO Hopefully it will not continue to happen. Stan

I would I would rather be wrong and learn the correct answer than be confidently incorrect. Thanks for the clarification everyone!

The last thing in the world you want is a National Concealed Carry Permit. What you want is nationwide recognition and reciprocity for your state issued permit. Why? What's the difference? The 10th amendment basically states anything not specific to Federal oversight is a state issue. This means (as currently) carry permits are issued on a state by state basis. And denial of carry permit privileges are a state by state items. "If" carry permits became a Federal oversight item - it becomes a one signature item to remove/ revoke those privileges - elect an anti to President; the wrong party sweeps into the House or Senate and suddenly the permit you carry is at risk yet again. Trying to remove the same item from 50 different states with varying philosophy and degrees of ideology is a MUCH harder thing to accomplish. So instead of a Nationwide permit - you want each state to honor your current permit (just like they do your state issued driver's license, marriage license, etc.). Consolidated control of carry permits at the Federal level is a recipe for disaster.

We subscribe to a company that delivers a bag of coffee every three weeks. That is how long it takes us to go through the bag. Well, the coffee was supposed to be delivered Saturday. I checked periodically during the day. Not at the front door. We decided they were likely running late, or left it at the neighbors house and we would get it Sunday. I received an email from the coffee company Sunday morning telling me the coffee had been delivered. I checked the front door again. No coffee. I decided to walk all the way around the front of the house, just in case. Well, I found it. The delivery company had dropped it in front of Uno's truck in the driveway. Unfortunately, our resident fat raccoon got to it first. Well crud. There goes our coffee for the weekend. I sent the above picture to the coffee company and advised them to have a conversation with their delivery company to prevent this kind of thing in the future. I closed it by saying that somewhere in ,my neighborhood was an over-caffeinated raccoon terrorizing folks. I received an email today thanking me for the note with the picture. They appreciated my sense of humor in all this and are sending me a replacement bag of coffee. They will have a conversation with the delivery company. They too feared what an over caffeinated raccoon could do. I replied and thanked them for their attention and sent along a picture of what the raccoon likely looks like.

Wishing Claudia the best of life in her new home in Washington state! She has moved out of Arizona to be closer to her family and she will be greatly missed by her Arizona community. Washington's gain is our loss. Claudia has always been a bedrock of cowboy shooting in Arizona and she will continue to be a member of our club that she founded with her husband, CS Fly. We are hoping she makes a road trip back sometime to shoot with us and at Bordertown!

Rain!!❤️ Not real heavy nor of long duration but definitely glorious RAIN! It’s causing the wildfire smoke to settle but I’m okay with that, Just hoping we don’t get any lightning strikes.It’s causing the wildfire smoke to settle but I’m okay with that, Just hoping we don’t get any lightning strikes. IMG_9380.mov

If I was a cop, and somebody grabbed my gun, I'm pretty sure I would try my damnedest to shoot him. Hell, even if I wasn't a cop, if somebody grabbed my gun I believe I would try my damnedest to shoot him.

Ten seconds is a very cheap lesson. Plus a reminder that the next time (in the same match) would be a SDQ...3rd time = MDQ. ...and the posse's opinion is irrelevant.

😀 IMG_9677.mov

Just for the heck of it... Shooter with no hat refuses TO's instruction to put hands where they would be if the shooter was wearing a hat. TO tells shooter to do so as there will be no start in the faulted position. After 3X warning, the shooter demands to be started anyway. Possible penalties: Belligerent attitude or unsportsmanlike conduct. - Match DQ (SHB p.24) Willfully refusing to make an attempt to complete any non-shooting procedure written within the stage instructions (Failure to Engage). - 30-second penalty (SHB p.24)

It's called "Spirit of the game" - if you wish to participate; you commit fully to completing the stage and complying with the stage instructions to the best of your abilities. If you have a hat - for the purposes of being used as the starting position - it must be worn properly. If you do NOT have a hat - then for the purposes of starting position - you will use the next adjacent option - your head. It is, of course, your choice to not wear a hat - but just because you are not able to comply with the letter of the instructions; that situation does not exempt you from the intent of the instruction.

I have an abundance of bird head Single Sixes. My daughters like them, but I prefer a plow handle. I have a spare pair that I have been playing with. I have extra Ruger grip frames, but I didn’t want to mess with fitting/finishing them. I’ve had this idea for years, and after I finally determined I’d never get around to doing it myself, I reached out to Henry Lance at Texas Grips and he made them a reality. I am beyond pleased with the quality and feel of these grips. So if you’re looking to change things up, or you find a sweet deal on a pair of birds heads but you prefer plow handles, these might be worth checking out… you were going to buy custom grips anyway!

Sounds like good advice - but I know Creeker and he is an idiot. But here's some more "idiot" advice... While I am a firm believer that speed of the guns is important - it is not nearly as much as folks think. Take a look at the individual SPEED events (pistols, rifle, shotgun) at any large match. Look at the time spread between the TOP guns and the rest of the field. It is NOT as big as you would expect. Example: An excellent SPEED rifle run under actual match conditions (one single run, without unlimited do overs, restarts, etc.) may be say, 1.8 - 2.0 seconds for 10 rounds. Now look at the rest of us - there are literally THOUSANDS of us in this game that can do 2.5 -3.0 second 10 round runs. So the best in the world is ONLY one second better than an also ran like myself. 12 stages - they are 12 seconds ahead. Same concept holds for shotgun and pistols. So by that theory - I should be within 36 - 40 seconds of the best in the world over 12 stages... But sadly, I am not. If I do my job - don't throw rounds in the dirt or forget what a Nevada sweep is - I'm still getting clobbered by 70 to 90 seconds over 12 stages. 36 of that can be attributed to firearm speed but where does that extra 30-50 seconds go? I would estimate nearly 50% of the average shooters stage time consists of non shooting activities - pick up, put down, draw & holster, pull shells, load & shuck. Physical movement and sight acquisitions. If we can find an 1/4 second to shave within a firearms run; that is certainly a great goal - but I believe most of us give away time in 1-2 second chunks because our movements are not fluid, we fumble draws, shotgun loadings, incorrect foot placement, neglect to count steps between positions, stage guns inefficiently - it is here that "I" believe the experienced, skilled shooter (like Shooting Bull) have the greatest opportunity to find the time differences between himself and the top of the score sheet. I also believe the philosophy of shoot fast as possible in practice and monthlies - then throttle back at large (important) matches is mistaken as well. Football, wrestling - I was coached with the mantra "How you practice is how you will play". Why practice running the ragged edge in practice if you're not going to do it when it matters? Yes, you may crash and burn - but the winners circle is rarely occupied by the timid. If you can do it at practice, if you can do it in a monthly - you can do it at Land Run.

Permanent standard time would be best.

When I divorced my ex wife, I was deep in debt, credit rating so bad I couldn't qualify for a loan for a bubblegum, and always in the hole with the bank. My new wife helped me get on my feet, and I spent two years doing nothing but paying everyone back...all of them. I got my credit score up MUCH higher than it was, and if I need a loan for $10,000 to improve the back yard, the bank is already agreeable. What's even more amazing is when I started with that bank, right after my divorce, I couldn't get a checking account, only a savings, my rating was so bad. Slow and steady wins the race. So what is rich to me? Me, right now. I have few bills, (If the Nissan Rogue hadn't died I'd have no car payment), I have play money every week, the house and land are fully paid off, wife drawing one retirement already, and in less than 3 years, I will retire. The nifty thing is, if I take the dirt nap before I actually retire, my wife can apply for and receive 4/5th of what my retirement would be, in addition to her own, not including the life insurance, so I know she is taken care of for the rest of her life. I have a good woman, the best in the world, guns, ammo, time to shoot, a happy home..."rich" isn't a dollar amount, it's a feeling. And right now I feel richer than Elon.

A slightly amusing anecdote: A number of years ago, my wife, had an acquaintance visiting, who saw some of my discarded primer trays and asked what they were. Sherron, knowing the woman had a gun phobia, told her the trays were miniature, gourmet chocolate chip holders.

Friends, Kindred, Brethren, Amigos Pistoleros, In-laws, Out-laws and fellow Saloonatics, I owe something between an apology, and an explanation. You might have heard the distant sound of weeping, wailing, the gnashing of teeth and rending of garments, yesterday early afternoon. That was me writing the check. Y'see, the older me dear Pappy gets, the smarter the man becomes, and I must be getting on in my years as well, for a man doesn't often recognize the wisdom of the Grand Old Man until his own span of years is what I'll politely call ... increased ... Dear old 94-year-old Dad mentioned he'd had gutter covers installed and he was well more than pleased with their performance, as his house is surrounded by woods and had two sugar maples in the front yard (think leaves and seasonal spinners). He specifically stated a desire to not fall off a ladder while cleaning out said seasonal spinners, leaves, bird nests, debris and whatever else got caught. I made a mental calculation, I made a cost-benefit analysis, and I realized -- was I to come off the step ladder in what the pilots call an "Unplanned Descent" while divesting gutters front and rear of their annual bird nests, leaves and spinners from the neighbor's water maple ... let's see ... ambulance is a thousand bucks a trip, CAT scan used to be a thousand and it's gone up, multiple x-rays, replacement hip or stabilized fractures of various kinds, not to mention the distress of knowing my ladder borne stupidity just put more work on my wife ... Nope, suddenly that pricey gutter cover wasn't near as extravagant an expense as I'd thought. I did manage to swindle and cheat -- hak-kaff! Har-rumph! -- that is, they offered a senior discount, military discount (good for fire, police and EMS) and something else, which brought the cost down by a third, and they still made a profit, so my conscience didn't bother me any at the lower cost -- but like I said, if you heard the mournful manufacture of said sorry sounds from the soggy south shore of Lake Erie ... ... that was me, writing that check ... (My college girlfriend Dana, rest her soul, once told me I was so tight I squeaked when I walked, and my best friend said I was just tighter'n John Wesley's hat band when it came to spending money ... I took that for a compliment!)

Only in SASS……. Where can you assemble close to 100 people and have this happen: Guns of August Warm Up Day, my cart had a problem on the way to the shooting stages, I set my Yeti Cup on a picnic table and got my cart rolling again. After getting back to my room, I couldn’t find my Cup. As we all know, Yeti isn’t known for cheap pricing. My brain didn’t tie the cart fiasco to where abouts of my cup until the next morning when I arrived at the range. Parking across the lot from the previous morning, I loaded my cart and headed toward the shooting line. I ran into a good friend of mine who was near by when my cart took the “dive”. I asked him if he had seen my cup. He looked across the 100 yards (or so) parking lot and said, “Is that it on the table?”. Low and behold, that was it. That Yeti Cup had been sitting on that table for over 24 hours totally unmolested. I ask you, where could we go and be surrounded by the kind of people found in SASS? The best bunch of Cowpokes ever assembled! By the Way: GOA was a BLAST!

Maybe I’ll teach him to bark IMG_9648.mov

Applications for End of Trail 2027, the final EOT at Ben Avery Shooting Center, will go live in two weeks! Saturday August 15th at 10:00am ARIZONA TIME. We are dedicating the match in memory of our long time former President and Match Director, Blackjack Zak, with a Cavalry theme and a Celebration of life scheduled for Wednesday night following the Opening Ceremonies. You won't want to miss this incredible event, so keep watching the EOT website for additional information.

Celebrating July 4, 2014, with friends and their grandsons. The boys, ages 5 and 8, asked me how old I was, and I told them "70". The 8- year old looked at me, frowned, and said, "You should be dead by now, right?" I began laughing and I'm still laughing at age 82!

It pains me to post this, but I was informed by the board that the 25th year of gunsmoke has been cancelled. I figured this was the fastest way to get the info out to all those that had reached out. The plan is to have it next year, and from the email I received it looks like I will still be writing the match. So making lemonade out of lemons. Let me be the first to invite you to next year's match. The match with be a little different from years of old. Gunsmoke has been known for being a big, close, fast match. That for the most part won't change. It will be as fast as you want to make it. However, it will not be set as a brain dead, drag race There will be a balance of speed and decision. A no foot fault match, so if you prefer to shoot from a bit farther away and save movement time, you can. Or you can take a few more steps and have the target big and in your face. My goal is to have a balance a speed, mental challenge and variety. There will be NO brain tests, or p traps, but there will be opportunity to game the stages to work to your own strengths. Targets will be a mix of close and mid range. No bullseye or targets that are hard to hit. Not a track meet, but there will be movement. Both lateral and down range. Targets are large but not over sized. Except for one (the drifter sweep, if you know, you know😄) vertical and horizontal outlays. Any good match appreciates those who have gone before. There have been very good match directors that have proceeded me at Gunsmoke and I've tried to take knowledge from all of them, while creating something with a new feel. Evolving with the changing times, technology, and interests in the sport, without forgetting where we came from. Gunsmoke has been one of the largest shoots in Sass for decades for a reason. Great location, with camping onsite or many hotels just minutes away. One of the best ranges in cowboy action. A huge gun store, and old west fort on sight. Coyote Cap and his family made this range one of the best, and we are trying to honor their legacy. So please, consider Gunsmoke for next year's schedule. Thank you. If you have any questions please feel free to reach out

We won't mention the look on Rye's face when he launched the Mag Spring out into the weeds. Nah, won't mention that one (Wheeeeeee)

When I started shooting SASS, it was at one of the top clubs in the area and probably the country! My first match, I was mentored by the owner of the club and property. He was thorough with his instructions, (he was also a Territorial Governor, a Regulator, and a TO2) and he explained that at that club, the rules were enforced strictly because many members travelled and shot in major matches all over the country. “If you always play by the rules, you can go anywhere in the world and you’ll be able to compete and avoid any unusual penalties,” he explained. “When you go to End of Trail, they don’t want to hear, ‘That’s not the way we do it at my home club’, or any kind of similar excuse!” HE WAS RIGHT!!

Deadeye produces some of the best videos in SASS/CAS. Thanks! ..........Widder

When 1920s pilots switched from Morse code to early voice radios, shouting "SOS" during a crash was practically useless. The soft letters simply vanished into the static. Aviation needed a distinct voice distress word that couldn't be misunderstood. In 1923, the task of inventing this word fell to Frederick Stanley Mockford, a senior radio officer at London’s Croydon Airport. He was asked to come up with a signal that would indicate an emergency and be universally understood by pilots and ground staff. Mockford looked at the flight paths. At the time, the vast majority of Croydon’s air traffic was flying a single route: back and forth across the English Channel to Le Bourget Airport in Paris. This meant the new distress signal had to be instantly recognizable to both English-speaking and French-speaking operators. Mockford proposed the word "Mayday." It was a phonetic, Anglicized spelling of the French phrase m'aidez or venez m'aider, which simply translates to "help me." The hard consonants and distinct vowel sounds of "Mayday" cut through radio interference far better than attempting to shout "SOS." The idea caught on quickly. By 1927, the International Radiotelegraph Convention officially adopted "Mayday" as the standard voice distress signal, replacing the spoken "SOS" entirely. Standard protocol dictates that the word must be spoken three times in succession: "Mayday, Mayday, Mayday." This rule serves two purposes. First, the repetition ensures the signal is heard even if the transmission drops out for a split second. Second, it distinguishes an actual emergency from a radio operator merely discussing a Mayday call that happened elsewhere.

Domestic ones are bad enough, good luck taming the feral ones. However, if you do try it....please take video!

Several years ago a similar argument was brought up because a person tried to claim that wearing spurs around their upper arms met the requirements for Classic Cowboy/cowgirl. ROC ruled that to be counted it meant as normally worn. IMNSHO the same applies here. It's people like this that have caused the rule book to swell from a pocket sized booklet into the 52 page monster we have today.

The first time I felt old was just after I turned 18. I was working at a Saturday matinee at the Avo Theater. A girl, maybe about 7 years old, came up to me and said, "Excuse me, sir, can you please tell me where the payphone is?" "Sir." At the ripe old age of 18 I became "sir." Sir was for men my dad's age and older.

Speaking of "banking..." Alpo's query about credit card fees brought back a memory. I've shared this before, but heck ~ here it is again! Spurs! Years ago, in a land far away - San Francisco - I was a banker. In that, I was a department head and project manager for a li'l outfit called Bank of America. I actually ran their Merchant Settlement department, and was responsible for daily deposits of 50 - 60 million dollars (probably the equivalent of 75 or 80 million in today's world). But I was something of a misfit. I did well, had some very noteworthy successes, and made what I considered a lot of money. But, again, a "misfit." I was a country boy, mostly raised in Texas. Instead of riding buses and going to Giants games when growing up, I was wandering about looking for arrowheads, fishing for catfish, hunting, collecting old west artifacts I'd find, and so on. Well, there was a very rough period when BofA acquired Security Pacific National Bank. To make a long and colorful story a bunch shorter, we had some significant (as in BIG!) challenges. One of these was trying to make their accounting system interface with ours... there were just enough differences to make it a major headache. One Friday evening a bunch of us were gathered in a conference room... neckties (I hate 'em to this day) loosened, sleeves rolled up, bleary-eyed, on about our second gallon (apiece) of coffee for the day, gazing forlornly at a white board. The board was covered with flowcharts and "T" account charts, notes, and question marks. We'd reached an impasse... and after two weeks of 15 - 16 hour days without a day off, we were pretty zonked. So... I finally stood... walked to the board... picked up a pen and popped off the cap... and looked around the board... Someone behind me stage-whispered "Hey! Rod's figgered somethin’ out!!" Uh... no. Actually, I was merely searching for a blank piece of board to write on... and when I made my selection, I carefully printed in block letters: "I WANT TO BE A COWBOY!" I capped the pen, and returned to my seat. You coulda heard a pin drop on the carpet for several minutes. Finally, the senior VP present stood, cleared his throat, and announced "It's time to go home. And NOBODY will work this weekend. Come in late on Monday and we'll pick up at about ten o'clock." And we all filed out. Monday morning, bright and early, I walked in to my office, set down my briefcase and draped my coat over a hanger, and headed for my desk... upon which was a nicely wrapped parcel. I sat, looked at it awhile, found a tag that said "To: Rod," and picked it up. I put it to an ear – no ticking. A good sign. I sniffed it – no scent of volatile organic compounds. I shook it – no discernible rattles. Carefully, I unwrapped the package. And to my absolute delight found it to contain a pair of spurs!! Still have 'em, hanging on the back of a chair here at home. And actually wear ‘em from time to time!

Used mine at our 4th of July match!

There's nothing more "shooter friendly" than applying the rules equally to everyone.

Painted Lady and I have not been shooting CAS for a while. Started out; we miss a few weekends for one reason or another. Then something else would come up. Then It's too hot - it's too cold. Then we became active with a 3wheel riding group. Next thing you know - those missed weekends stretch into nearly a year away from cowboy. Decided to fix that this weekend and took a ride down to Lucerne California and the RR Bar Regulators. We had a great time catching up with everyone. (love ya Calamity Annie and John Ringo). And we had a blast; banging and clanging - albeit a little slower and a lot more fumble fingered than I like to admit. But Painted Lady made it thru with only 3 misses for the day and amazingly - I somehow shot clean. Thank you to everybody at the RR Bar for a fun shoot and welcoming us back like we had never even left.

Saw this meme.....jeez Louise it must have been written by a 20 year old.....can you make it tougher next time!!!! Most successful test I've ever taken!!! Now I just need to dig up my long dead school principal and shove this under his nose and say "You said I'd never pass any test, well here's 20 outta' 20" !!!!!