In the Line of Fire


Our family was blessed with one of the sweetest kindest little fellow that could ever come into a family. I of course refer to Robert Smith Stubbs, also known as (half a valentine, bomb, peace pipe, peace pipe, fork--Bobby) which is how he learned to write his name. I have written about him earlier when my father was taking my mother to the hospital to deliver him. They had passed my dog Prince Albert that had gotten out of the house and didn’t stop to get him.
Some time later after they had brought Bobby home from the hospital, he was in the room fussing. My mom told me, a five-year-old, to go in and check on him, which I did. A short time later there was a lot of loud crying, even possible screaming. My mother ran in and asked what had happened. I told her that I had come back to check on the baby and told him to quit crying, but he wouldn’t, so I socked him one. I don’t think I was sent to check on him anymore. I don’t think I was still holding the loss of my dog against him, but who knows?
Skipping ahead a few years when I was ten and Bob was five our mother entered a contest at the drug store across from Central Market and she won first prize. What she really wanted to win was second prize, a small bike, but she won first prize. I was quite happy that she had won first prize. First prize was beautiful BB
gun. So, there we were, Bob and I, with a fantastic BB gun.
Luckily, we live next to the desert and that is where we went to shoot the blessed gun. It was difficult for me to cock, but I managed. I would cock it for me and then for Bob and we shot at lizards, snakes, and birds; this was before the song “Don’t Shoot the Little Birds.” This went on for quite some time, then one day we were out in the desert and found an old target that had been left laying there. I got Bob to hold the target up for me to shoot at and I shot at the target, but I hit Bob in the arm. I don’t think that I was still blaming him for the loss of Prince Albert, but I missed the target and hit his arm. It was a pretty powerful BB gun; it would shoot a BB through a pop can. Remember now that pop cans were tin then and not aluminum so you can see that it was really a powerful little BB gun.
The BB embedded itself in his arm. His arm was bleeding a little bit, but it soon stopped, but the BB was still in him. I think it might still be there. So, Bob if you are reading this, I want you to know that I am sorry and thank you for not telling Mom. I really do like you a lot more than any dog.

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