Jaci Dawn

The look of pure joy when the only thing you asked for and the one thing you were certain you would not get is sitting on your lap.

Don has wanted this one item for most of our marriage. We’ve been through three bird dogs and he’s never had a shotgun. When we were first married, he used an old 12 gauge break-open model that was slowly falling apart (not that he really needed to shoot any birds: the dog we had then often retrieved unshot birds out of the air. She was very competitive like that). That shotgun died about the same time as the dog.

We got another bird dog but we couldn’t afford a new shotgun. Years passed and the dog was laid to rest having never hunted birds.

Don saved up his pennies and bought another bird dog. He even took Murphy to bird dog training. But still no shotgun.

When he gave me his Christmas list this year, the only thing on it was a shotgun. A specific make and model. He even printed out the specs from the Savage rifles web site with the MSRP. I laughed. Not likely that was going to happen.

But I found it on sale for a couple hundred dollars less than MSRP. And I knew that I could juggle bills around the purchase. I just wasn’t sure I could pull off the surprise.

Look at the love in his eyes as he cradles that Turkish hardwood.

I went to Dick’s Sportmans shop on my lunch hour. They had the shotguns. One clerk went to get mine while I started out filling out paperwork. Boxes were stacked too high, so he came back and sent the younger clerk back. The younger kid brought me a 20 gauge. I wanted 12. They traded them out, but while doing so, noticed the box said it was a “Silver” model, not a “Gold.” I wanted the Gold. (Turns out, it was a mix-up in translation as the shotgun is manufactured in Turkey.) The 12 gauge arrived up front. There was a mar on the stock and I refused it. this was to be a Christmas gift, after all.

Finally got all the paperwork filled out, the “i’s” dotted, “t’s” crossed and dates spelled out for the ATF. The perfect 12 gauge was in the box and I checked all the appropriate boxes. My lunch hour was nearly over and all that remained was a quick call to the ATF to verify my background check.

And the lines were busy. I’d picked a Friday when there was a big gun show in town and we were ON HOLD. I hadn’t eaten, I was getting cranky, and I had to go back to work.

I had three clerks helping me by that time (don’t ask: one to fetch the shotgun from the back, one to facilitate the paperwork, and one to be a general jerk of a manager who provided us with the information that this was, indeed, the GOLD model). I was rescued by a fourth employee who pointed out that the paperwork is good for thirty days and I could return on Saturday to finish the purchase.

I ate my lunch at my desk, satisfied that I could return on Saturday and hope the ATF would answer the phone in a timely manner.

I dragged Arwen with me the following day to use her as a “cover”. It was a ruse that worked, too. Because after I initialed more paperwork and was escorted to the secure check out and helped out the door by a very nice floor manager, I still had to get the box into the house without Don seeing me.

Arwen & I picked up some groceries, came home and I sneaked in the back door while Don went out the front door to get the groceries out of the car. He’s helpful like that.

A little while ago, Don sat down at the kitchen table and looked at me.

“I really did not expect to get the shotgun,” he said. That’s his way of saying, “Thank you.”

Just look at the joy on that face.

Merry Christmas, Donald!

(And please do not leave me comments if you don’t like hunting. I don’t care what you think and I’ll quietly delete them.)