Why I Broke One of My 'Cardinal' Rules

"This is self-defense." I explained my predicament.

"Here's the gun you need." He pulled a used gun from a rack. It was single-barreled with a polished wooden butt. "It's not too heavy," he continued. "Doesn't have much of a kick, and it's cheap." The tag read $70.

As we scribbled through a mound of paperwork, I commented, "I'll bet you don't get too many liberal women in here buying guns."

He chuckled. "You'd be surprised." His eyes sharpened as he declared: " A gun is evil only until you need one ."

Following a crash course on loading, sighting and firing, I left the shop. That very same day I took aim at Cardinalis. He had perched on a "safe" limb, one with only forest behind it. My hand shook as I placed a cartridge in the hold and snapped it closed. I raised the gun, placed its butt against my shoulder, cocked it and fired.

The bird flew off, unscathed. Blood oozed from a cut on my finger, and my shoulder ached. After cleaning the gun, I folded a dish towel over my sore shoulder, reloaded and returned to the hunt. The bird had returned to his spot, preparing for a run at the windows. I shot and missed, though this time I, too, escaped injury.