Friday, August 5, 2011

My Home IS My Castle

I'm in the turret window, third floor.
        It seems that earlier this week a fellow taking his girlfriend home one night got suspicious about signs of an apparent forced entry into her home (her mother's, actually), and decided to check the house for her.  He found a burglar hiding in the house, a fight ensued, and the burglar got the worst of it - leading to assault charges against the boyfriend!  This sort of story pisses me off every time I hear one.  A guy's home should be his castle, PERIOD.  It is a place supposed to protect his family and possessions from the outside world.  I've always maintained that if I was awakened in the middle of the night by an intruder I'd shoot first and ask questions later (above all, don't try to come through my back deck door, Scuzzbag, you'll be perfectly silhouetted by the light), because I owe it to my wife and children to protect them.  There are too many weirdos out there these days to take a chance on your loved ones being raped and/or killed.  To me it's pretty basic; protect the people I love or take a chance with a Charles Manson.  Did you hear that pump-action twelve gauge loading just now?  Good.

Today's Good News: We have a variety of varmints out here from grizzlies to wolves and cougars so, according to the law, I'm allowed to keep the guns and ammo within easy reach!