A sigh escapes me as I begin to write this. How to start? How to share this experience with all of my readers in order to create that same enlightenment I received when this happened on Sunday? My heart is broken; my stance challenged.

When I was in sixth grade, my parents enrolled me in a sharp shooter class. I learned how to handle a gun, when to handle a gun, what a gun could do, and how to keep those around me safe while using a gun. I learned to respect guns for what they are... weapons used for protection and food sources. Of course, I also feared my parents, my teachers, and other adults in the community because I knew what they could do to my behind if I got out of line. I never left the house with a gun unless an adult was with me, and the gun went into the car and far away from civilization. Unfortunately, today some adults have no sense when it comes to gun use, either.

In my youth, guns were a part of our life. My father took us hunting with him, though I preferred fishing--my love for animals exceeded my desire for venison. Fish was good. Who cared if it had bones in it? We learned the necessity of guns and shooting. We never took our guns out into the backyard for target practice toward the woods... someone could be walking out there enjoying nature. We learned to shoot, then we learned to shoot only when necessary. We learned that guns were not toys. Of course, it could be that was burned into us because my grandfather was a retired police officer.

Growing up with guns led me to believe in the second amendment, therefore siding with the NRA and others who use guns respectfully and responsibly. However, a recent event has created doubt in my belief in the second amendment, and perhaps enlightened me to the fact that before a person can own a gun, they need a course like I took back in middle school; they need to fear what a gun can do to others; they need to respect the power behind guns; they need to respect the rights of others. New gun owners need to be sensitized to the outcome of careless shooting, or using a gun as a toy. (Anyone reading this who wants to use a gun like they would a toy, buy a video game. Those guns are near realistic enough to satisfy your urge to "shoot.")

Sunday, December 21, my Great Pyrenees, Nemo, took a bullet in the shoulder--let me stress here--on our property. Fortunately, it entered and exited his shoulder. Per the warning above, the image below is gross.

The picture was taken the day after he was shot and after we visited the Vet on Sunday afternoon. The Vet told us to let it drain because the blood was pooling beneath the skin of his upper arm and would abscess if the wounds closed.

Judging from the angle, of course we're not experts, of the entry wound at the top and the exit wound at the bottom, he was standing in the yard or pasture while a stray bullet fell from the sky and passed through him, or he was laying in the yard while a bullet ricocheted and passed through him.

Otherwise, this awesomely adorable livestock guardian, predator-killing, family-protecting, child-loving, playful big guy was shot by someone looking down into his beautiful face and the shooter had to be right on top of him--in my yard while we were home! I didn't hear a gunshot that close, but there were people target practicing nearby. That doesn't mean it was a stray bullet from their guns. Somebody 4-5 miles away could have shot a bullet into the air.

What goes up, must come down, and where it falls the shooter won't know, unless it falls into a person.

Ignorance.

Irresponsibility.

Disrespect.

Call it what you will. I keep thinking about my grandchildren, nieces, neighbor kids--playing out in the yard, the pastures, riding horses, shooting hoops at home--what would that stray bullet have done to a young child?

What if, instead of my newest hero Nemo, the bullet had hit my daughter, my husband, myself?

A chill just passed down my spine thinking about it.

One thing is for certain, this lady is one sad person right now. Nemo is using his leg, but that's with pain meds. It's possible he will have a limp due to nerve damage. He seems unaffected psychologically; I don't think he even knows what happened to him. He's not showing any fear or distrust in different situations. He is his typical, happy-go-lucky, goofy self with a limp and two holes from a .40-.50 caliber bullet. Of course, if the damage is permanent, he won't be able to work predator control anymore--and I will be happy to have his big smile in my house permanently, believe me. I love him so much. But his mama will need help with predator patrol and if he can't help, people around here are going to lose livestock because she, Nemo and Buck are the only Livestock Guardians in the area. We've witnessed their coyote herding and killing skills. They chase away the killing, white-winged, white headed buzzards when cows calf. They are a phenomenal team! And, yes, they are always up to date on vaccinations and well cared for and loved! They are a part of our family.

What has been affected by this incident is my feeling of safety. I feel much like I did after the Twin Towers fell, like I'm not safe in my own home, yard, pasture. Another effect is in my pocketbook. I would pay any amount for my sweet babies, my four-legged family members, to stay well, even though this happened right before Christmas when most people have drained their accounts for charities and gifts.

I have some thinking to do, some serious pondering about gun control. I welcome any comments on the subject of gun control. I think it's necessary to own a gun today, for protection, but having this happen to my precious big guy--and thinking about the alternatives--makes me wonder if some changes should be made to the educational aspects of owning a gun, or if the laws shouldn't be stricter.

Merry Christmas, Readers!