Yesterday I finally had the wonderful opportunity to go skeet shooting for the first time. Considering I love shooting pistols at firing ranges it sounded like a wonderful time so, naturally, I let them drag me along. It was quite the adventure. Now that I mentioned there was an adventure you probably are under the false impression that the star of this story was shooting buckshot at disks of clay that don't remotely resemble pigeons- BUT it was after we burned through hundreds of shells (and cheese burgers) and ventured out to find clay pigeons that had not only survived us but also the ground
which killed with much more accuracy than we did that the story actually starts. It was out in that field of clay carnage that someone stumbled onto a horse skeleton. Thinking that some girls might appreciate finding a horse vertebrae covered in cow excrement on their doorstep they threw several pieces of the horse into the back of the pickup.
This didn't seem like a bad idea at the time and after cleaning up we hopped in the back of the truck to travel back to our car. The driver who seemed to have forgotten that there was a mess of passengers in the back began to race over the bumpy, dirt trail toward the road. I couldn't sit down in the bed for lack of room and a desperate desire to not destroy my tailbone from the violent thrashing. I also had to position myself in such a way to avoid being launched over the side of the truck which became a very awkward squat turning me into a less than effective living shock absorber. After starting this panic attack the force of our acceleration brought our good friend the horse spine right back to were I was struggling for survival. I fought to keep myself just low enough in the truck bed to stop from being ejected and just high enough to stop from being painfully violated by the crap covered spinal column. It was a horribly entertaining 10 minutes until we came screeching to a stop and with shaky knees and thankful hearts we experienced a smoother ride the rest of the way back.
Fortunately we all made it back without getting shot or breaking bones. Sounds like a successful Elders quorum activity to me but for future reference-
knowing who will be behind the wheel when you are in a precarious position can help you avoid getting covered in cow feces.
This didn't seem like a bad idea at the time and after cleaning up we hopped in the back of the truck to travel back to our car. The driver who seemed to have forgotten that there was a mess of passengers in the back began to race over the bumpy, dirt trail toward the road. I couldn't sit down in the bed for lack of room and a desperate desire to not destroy my tailbone from the violent thrashing. I also had to position myself in such a way to avoid being launched over the side of the truck which became a very awkward squat turning me into a less than effective living shock absorber. After starting this panic attack the force of our acceleration brought our good friend the horse spine right back to were I was struggling for survival. I fought to keep myself just low enough in the truck bed to stop from being ejected and just high enough to stop from being painfully violated by the crap covered spinal column. It was a horribly entertaining 10 minutes until we came screeching to a stop and with shaky knees and thankful hearts we experienced a smoother ride the rest of the way back.
Fortunately we all made it back without getting shot or breaking bones. Sounds like a successful Elders quorum activity to me but for future reference- knowing who will be behind the wheel when you are in a precarious position can help you avoid getting covered in cow feces.
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