Grandad’s Gun

[Mike Franzen]

The dove opener in Georgia is 9 days away. Once again Julia and I are the guests of John and Jennifer Davis at their Wind Haven plantation. We look forward to this with so much anticipation and excitement because it’s such great fun and the Davis’s are great hosts. I will have a couple Parkers with me and John always has something new and interesting to share. But, one thing that I’m excited about is I brought my Grandads gun to shoot. It’s the gun I grew up using on quail mostly but also on rabbits or squirrels or the occasional muskrat when I would sit out late at night, under a full moon with my dad. He couldn’t abide them in our pond because they would make their dens in the dam and cause it to leak. So we’d sit out in lawn chairs, he smoking Chesterfields and telling me stories about times long gone. “Watch for the V They make on the water when they swim and aim about a foot ahead of it”, he’d say. He made a science of muskrat elimination. This was the only hunting I shared with him. He was a fisherman first and foremost. So I would sit there holding Grandads gun in my lap waiting for the V. From the time I was about 11 until I was in my twenties this was my go to gun. It’s a 28 gauge Remington 11-48. Grandad and my uncle Phil were market hunters during the late 40’s to the early 60’s. He would pick Unk up after school on Friday and drive to Brooksville, KY to hunt rabbits on the thousands of acres the family and neighbors owned. Grandad and his brothers would hunt Saturday and half day Sunday taking a hundred or more bunnies. One of the farm horses would walk along carrying special bags made for hauling the game up and down those steep Kentucky hills. They would bring them back to Newport , KY where the owner of the local meat store would pay a dollar per head. They would be hung from nails so patrons could make their selections paying two dollars a piece.
Grandad carried a Winchester model 42 in those days and was noted for taking head shots on rabbits he could spot sitting in the brush. One day, while on a shopping trip with my Granny, they stopped into a sporting goods store. There was a brand new 28 gauge 11-48 sitting on the rack. He took it down commenting what a nice gun it was. He put it back and without another thought walked out of the store. Christmas was soon upon them and that morning , propped up against his favorite chair was the little Remington. Grandad was flabbergasted. Where did Granny get the money for such a prize? He asked. Beaming, she told him how she and Unk had taken his old shotgun and traded it in for the new one. He was less than happy and not above letting his displeasure be known. “Take it back and get my Winchester” he told them and with tails tucked they went back to the store. But it was too late. The owner told them the Winchester had been purchased and was long gone. Grandad made the best of it and eventually grew quite fond of the 28 gauge. I heard that story dozens of times over the years. My uncle loved to tell it especially when Grandsd was present. Shortly before Unk died he took me down in the basement to his gun room. “I want you to have first pick of any of the guns”, he told me. I said, “You know which one I want”. With a smile and a gleam in his eye he picked up the 28 gauge. I haven’t shot or hunted with this gun for forty years at least. I asked permission of Mr. Davis if he minded me bringing it along since it isn’t a Parker and he said no problem. So I’ll be sitting there with my old companion listening carefully as it tells me tales of days long gone.