Saturday's Storyteller: "He told me the shoulder stock would be a good investment, but I didn't listen."
by Belinda Roddie He told me the shoulder stock would be a good investment, but I didn't listen. As a result, when she was sixteen, my sister Emma was being pampered while lying on the couch after flying twenty feet through the air from the impact of a shotgun. Her friend Cody had dared her into it. Way up on the chimney top of a small house, where Mrs. Hillary Nordquist lived with her son and six cats (all from the same litter, no less), a single solitary pigeon would roost on the crumbling brick and warble to its little heart's content. It also woke Cody up at six o'clock in the morning every day, and he figured he and Em could try to off it in his backyard with my alleged "trusty weapon." I was there to try to talk them out of it, as well as get my shotgun back. I failed on both accounts. Emma was tiny and gawky at the time, and the butt of the shotgun was probably wider than each of her calves. She hadn't had the time to fill out yet, not even af