Firearms need to be cared for. I’m not good at it. I came to it later in life and just didn’t understand what it takes.
That being said, I’m attempting to do better. Part of “doing better” is actually training with EDC in normal clothing/gear and being willing to send self-defense rounds down range.
This sometimes leads to sending many more range candy down range to overcome my bad habits.
The other day, my wife comes out of the bedroom and is putting on her coat, screaming “Which rifle is the right rifle to kill that (long bleep) rodent!”
It is that time of year when the weather turns and the damn mice come in out of the cold. There is one or more that have made a nest in the crawl space under the bedroom. When they are eating, and we are trying to go to sleep, it is very loud.
The problem is that it sounds like there might be an animal just outside our window. This has led to many a parameter walk by at midnight with the R92. On this particular night, my wife was in bed before me. I was busy writing an article for you guys. So she couldn’t just tell me to go deal.
So she’s looking to take one of the rifles out varmint hunting at around midnight.
It was at that moment that I realized: I don’t know if the Henry Golden Boy has been sighted in.
Longer story shortened, I, blue haired fairie, and wife go outside, I prove that there is nothing out there. She heads back to bed.
The next day, I took that .22 out to the test range and proceeded to put 50+ rounds through it. I sometimes forget just how much fun it can be plinking with a .22. I rang steel, put rounds on paper, and destroyed a small pumpkin.
Then I took out my SIG P938 out to test myself.
It is a small 9 mm pistol. Beautiful sights. I take aim, pull the trigger and click. No bang.
I’ve not shot this pistol in too long. Maybe something is wrong and it needs to be clean. I rack the slide, and it doesn’t go into battery.
I give it a slight push, and it slides into battery. Press, BANG! Clean miss.
Next press and another BANG!
Failure to feed.
Drop the mag, clear the failure to feed. Put the no-bang round back on top of the mag, reinsert mag.
Cock hammer, click.
Cycle the gun, finish sending rounds down range, finally ringing steel.
We take everything back inside, and I take the Ruger PC9 out, drop one round into the chamber, click.
Out of seven rounds, one failure to fire, one failure to feed. I need more practice.
When I went back inside, I tossed the round to the blue haired fairie and asked, “What’s wrong with it?”
When I came back to her, she stumbles over the words and says, “I don’t remember what it is called. The spark button didn’t go off.”
I hereby declare that from this time forward, “primers” can also be referred to as “spark buttons” in polite company.