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That Ole CoonAss knows every secret I got......... Yep, Chicken Feet help add some speed. Thats why TN Williams is a World Champ Duelist. Of course, his carrying a 'pecker bone' in his pocket helps him a lot. ..........Widder

I be startin' to think , y'all be a mite off kelter

You gotta be careful about what Widder posts, sometimes he don't tell the 'whole' story. What he forgot to mention in his post is how he's so fast with them octagon Sheriff models.....his grips are coated with a mixture of ground up chicken feet....gives him a more firm grip so they don't slip out of his hands. Now you know......the rest of the story. Kajun

Well, gawlee Mrs. Wilson!!!

My neighbor is a farmer whose six sons and daughters fit that description perfectly.

AN EVENING, JUST BEFORE SUNSET Ambassador Marnie Keller smiled a little as she dropped a birdshot round into the open chamber, ran the fore-end firmly forward, thumbed the magazine full, took her stance. The Ambassador was, to be honest, a fine looking woman: she moved with a feminine grace, she was modestly gowned, gloved, she wore her hair elaborately upswept, with a fashionable little hat pinned in place: she was -- obviously, very obviously -- all woman, and at the moment, she had what her pale eyed Daddy referred to as one of the Working Tools of This Degree in her gloved hands. She shouldered the twelve-gauge, took a practice swing, lowered the gun's muzzle, and smiled. "Pull." She heard the thump-rattle of the thrower behind her, the claybird was only just into view and it disappeared in an orange cloud of orange powder. "Give me a double," she called as the smoking empty bounced to the hard ground underfoot. "Pull!" Marnie scored a left-and-a-right, shoved three through the loading gate, her trigger finger stiff alongside the receiver as she did. "Smoked 'em," a voice murmured, and Marnie smiled, just a little, took a long, cleansing breath. "Load the second thrower, give me two doubles." She waited for the boy to call "Ready" before she called for the birds. Four clouds of dust spread against a fiery sky, streaked with all the glories of a truly beautiful sunset. Marnie called for singles, until her gun was dry: she slid the twin to the riot gun she carried as a deputy, into its gun case, zipped it shut, slung the gun case over her off shoulder. She turned, regarded the glorious horizon, the second moon, nodded. "I needed this," she said softly. Michael Keller drew his left hand revolver, punched the blued-steel gun muzzle toward a number 2 tin can: the mechanism rolled smoothly under his finger's command, a puff of dust squirted into the air where the .22 Short hit the bare dirt. A minor correction and he put five into the can, hip shooting. Michael pulled the revolver in close, quickly smacked out the empties, dropped in a fresh cylinder full. Like his pale eyed Pa, he was particular about his hardware. He wore a matched pair of .22 revolvers, he'd worked with a gunsmith of their acquaintance until each had an identical weight of pull as the other, until each action mirrored the other: he still had them engraved, so he wore one on the left -- always -- and one on the right -- always. Ideally, he'd like to've had a matched set in .22, .32, .38 and .44, but he was also practical: thus far, he had the rimfires, with a five inch barrel, and he had a brace of .357s, in five inch, all adjustable sight, all engraved with gold inlaid into the engraving. It took effort and it took patience but he'd ended up with four revolvers that balanced the same, weighed very nearly the same, pointed the same: Michael, not yet able to grow a lip broom, several years yet from his Age of Majority, was an accomplished pistolero, a crack rifle shot, and just as absolutely bad wing shot as his pale eyed father. He did well enough if a bird surprised him: the day before he'd taken two as they flew up, he'd reacted without thought, he'd shouldered the gun and fired on the rise, the feathered meal fell from the sky -- but put him ahead of a clay pigeon trap and he was utterly incompetent. His sisters were artists with a scatter gun. Both Marnie and Angela were absolutely deadly with a shotgun, and he was content to grant them their expertise. Michael policed up his brass, dumped the little brass empties in a little plastic bag he'd scavenged from the trash can, dropped this in the well-ventilated tin can and packed them out, leaving nothing but boot prints when he rode off for home. Michael drew up when he came to the saddle, eyes busy: like his pale eyed Pa, he took pains to look for possibilities: it was possible that someone could wish him harm, and it was possible someone could try to waylay him on his return home, and he looked for this possibility. Twice his vigilance prevented what his pale eyed Pa would've called "A Misunderstanding" -- Michael's vigilance meant he'd intercepted the trespassers, rather than them intercepting him, and his approving Pa spoke afterward of Michael's vigilance. Tonight, with the sun going down, there appeared no threats, and so Michael allowed himself the admiration of a truly glorious sunset, with mountains tearing at the fiery clouds with jagged granite teeth. His smile never traveled beyond the corners of his pale eyes, but it was there: he took a long breath of the cold mountain air, then eased his Apple-horse ahead, and steered a course for home. Angela Keller stood on the roof of her hospital, looked tiredly at the sunset. Coffee steamed in its foam cup in her left hand; she sipped it thoughtfully as the doctor came up behind her, beside her. "I never get tired of this," she said softly. "The sunset?" "Mmm." Angela sipped again, swallowed. "The Master's hand." She felt the man's smile. "That was a good save, earlier." "Which one?" He laughed silently. "You were a paramedic, weren't you?" "Still am." "Thank God for it." "I had a nursing instructor who didn't like the fact that I showed up for my first day of nursing school in my medic's uniform. She sniffed as if at a bad odor and said that when I wear the shoes of an EMT, I am merely an EMT, and when I wear the shoes of a nurse, I am only a nurse." Angela sipped again. "The next day I wore my Sheriff's uniform to class." "What did she say?" "Their legal counsel had to have a talk with her. She didn't like me very much after that." "I think you set some kind of a record yesterday. You Heimliched an airway in the cafeteria, you delivered a baby out front when the car came screaming in sideways, and you had a CPR save ten minutes later in the front lobby." Angela drained her coffee, sighed. "I don't know which is better," she said softly. "This sunset, or this coffee." She turned, tilted her head a little, regarded the man with a frankly appraising expression. "You don't get enough credit," she said. "You keep up a practice and you're still the chief administrator." He nodded, swirled the dregs of his coffee. She patted his shoulder. "I want to keep you around for a while," she said softly, then headed for the roof access door. He turned and watched her go. It wasn't until the heavy steel door closed behind her that he realized ... He felt like a bashful kid again.

It's just the blood rushing to their heads being upside down down under!

A Vet End of Year Party Cake…Yummy

SASS 2024 NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP LAND RUN Monday January 1st, at high Noon, registration for Land Run will open. I will post the link, in the next few days, so you will be able to register quickly and easily. Flat Top Okie

My ex-wifes' 1/2 brother used to eat vegemite off a spoon; but he just used any old spoon, not a special, personalized one ........ he was ...... ummm, ..... "different"

On Side Match Day don't forget to try our Pig Iron Lane inspired "Cut The Rope" target. IMG_4789.MOV

And a wonderful banquet it is. Hoping someone will save me a seat up front this year. Had a Great time last time I was there.

That's gonna leave a mark!

A young Paul Hogan at the pub -

Bandit Belle and I hope to make it for the first time this year and we'll be bringing the traveling bourbon bar with us! We're both looking forward to experiencing what everyone has been talking about. Star Shooter