Testosterone at it's Highest

I am not a "gun" person. They just scare the bee-jeebies out of me. For the enthusiasts - don't even try. I'm not gonna change my mind. I've shot them (hand guns to shotguns), cleaned them, and even had a bad day when one was actually pointed at me (loaded). With that one exception, I have only been around people who have the utmost respect for what a gun can do. It doesn't matter. I just don't like them.
Don't get me wrong here - I believe people have the right to own guns. I don't believe that guns are the root of all evil. I don't believe that guns kill. I believe that people USE guns to kill. And I can't believe that some people practically have an orgasm just describing their guns.
Anywho, DH is an avid hunter as mentioned in previous posts (remember Rambo?). So we have avid hunter, spring turkey season, and now entering the picture is YS. The Youth Hunt is only a couple of weeks away and DH is already strutting around. Hunter Safety courses have been taken, equipment checked and rechecked, provision lists made. Hell, even Santa doens't prepare this hard.
But this year is special. DH says says so. I smile and nod.
Apparently Grandpa (GP - also an avid hunter - probably where DH gets is from) has been waiting for this year too. Seems like a couple of years ago he ran across this "sweet" little Mossburg (pump action) and thought this was the weapon of choice for YS to begin his hunting career. So he bought it for him and has been keeping it, just waiting for this year to come. When DH called and told him that this was "the year", GP got it out, polished it up, shot it a few times (said they looked "virginal" after being shot - can you BELIEVE that?!?!?), re-cleaned it, and it's sitting in it's "rightful " place now, waiting for when YS comes to practice with it this weekend and take over ownership.
So this weekend, father, son and grandson are going to be target shooting. Learning. Preparing. Watching.
And afterwards? They'll all clean, polish, store their weapons; drink Iced tea, beer and root beer. Bump bellies, high five each other and tell stories. There will be so much testosterone in the house, grandma will grow a beard.