My dad had five brothers and four sisters. He was the youngest. My aunts and uncles were all very close to me. I didn’t realize until later that they spoiled me.
My dad ended up taking care of my grandparents and remained on the family farm. On Sundays everyone would come back to the farm and Sunday afternoons the front yard was filled with aunts and uncles and their families. Holidays were even bigger, especially Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Thanksgiving was always the opening day of rabbit season. The families would bring lots of homemade dishes of food. The uncles would show up with their shotguns, and my dad would let some of the prettiest beagles loose for a morning hunt and, after a big meal, for an afternoon hunt. Uncle Charlie carried a double-barrel, Uncle Robbie a pump, Uncle Arthur a double-barrel, Uncle Clyde a bolt-action, my dad a single-barrel, and Uncle Ernest a double-barrel. I remember Uncle Ernest’s double-barrel because it had a laced-up shoulder pad on it.
When I was about 10 years old my dad let me carry a .22-caiber rifle, unloaded, on a Thanksgiving morning hunt. The next year he let me carry it loaded under his supervision.
We were all down at the creek bottom when the dogs jumped one and it ran across an open area. Dad said, “OK, it’s yours.” I got two shots at it before the dogs caught up with it. I think we got two or three that morning and maybe two or three that afternoon. Uncle Ernest always took them home with him to soak in saltwater before cutting up for a stew or a pie. He called that night and said he found two .22-caliber bullets in one of them. I don’t know if he did or not, but his laced-up double-barrel was always special to me.
From that day on, I was hooked on hunting.
Uncle Ernest had only one child, Ernestine. She inherited the double-barrel. Ernestine only had one child, Gail, who later inherited it.
Years went by. All my aunts and uncles are gone now. There is not much rabbit hunting going on now. Everybody’s deer hunting.
When I started deer hunting, I got a deal on a Browning A5 12-gauge to hunt with in the sandhills of North Carolina (shotguns only). Uncle Ernest gave me half a box of 00 buckshot shells. I killed my first deer with those shells. In fact every deer I’ve taken with a shotgun since then was with those shells. I still have five left.
Uncle Ernest had a godson, Tim, who I met up with at a veterans meeting a few years ago, and we were talking about guns. We both wondered whatever happened to Uncle Ernest’s double-barrel.
About a year later Gail called me and asked if I was interested in Uncle Ernest’s shotgun. She had no children and wanted it to stay in the family. I told her I was honored to be thought of but I really didn’t have room for any more guns. I told her to call Tim. She did, and Tim was ever so grateful.
Not long after that Gail passed away. This was about five years ago.
A month or so later, Tim and I ran into each other. He told me he had something for me. He said his children didn’t care anything about guns and didn’t want it, and it deserved to be with me. Needless to say, I’m the proud owner of a 12-gauge Fox Model B double-barrel with that laced-up shoulder pad on it.
Right away I took it out and blasted a few shots to see how it patterned. I thought that it would really be nice to take a deer with it. After seeing a nice buck on the game camera, I decided to hunt with the old Model B on opening day. But I saw nothing more than a few does. The third day at 6:45 a.m., the big 8-point that was on the camera stepped out broadside at about 20 yards. After calming down, this old 79-year-old squeezed the trigger on that old Fox Model B loaded with those old buckshot shells and he went down.
Now the old Model B and the remaining four old shells will go to my grandson. Who knows? Maybe someday, if he keeps it oiled up and the old shells dry, he will tell the history of this old Model B Fox. R.I.P., Uncle Ernest.
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