“That’s what I figured. Thus, sad Lennon.”
“Well then, I guess we’ll just have to make the most of the time we’ve got left before you’re off to become the next Jane Goodall.”
“She studied chimpanzees and is brilliant. I study Black Rhinos and only hope to live long enough to seethem thrive on our planet once again. Oh, and somehow eke out a living doing it.”
“What does a behavioralist have to do with saving endangered species?”
“From my perspective studying migratory and mating patterns of a species doesn’t provide enough data for how we can best protect them. We also need to understand how the ecological and sociological effects of the past four hundred years on this planet have affected the natural behavior of these animals.”
“You might be the smartest person I’ve ever met,” Snarl said, his hand softly stroking my cheek.
“Doctoral research is a turn on for you, huh?”
“How about, before you jet off toAfrica, you do a little more field research on the Long-Horned, North American Snarl.”
“Long horned, huh?” I asked, my hand going to his already hardening cock. “Oh my, that is an exceptionally long horn.”
Snarl
THE NEXT DAY was spent at the cabin working with the club’s younger members, including four prospects. Although the Howlers areone-percenters, the truth was, most of these new guys had barely held a firearm, let alone used one. Guns gained a lot more attention these days than they did back when I was a prospect. Of course, all our officers and high-ranking members were required to have their Concealed Handgun Permit but using a registered gun for anything other than shooting rats in your barn is a one-way ticket straight to jail. My job was to get these young bucks comfortable with handguns, rifles, and shotguns as quickly as possible. Soon the Spiders would know neither the Howlers nor the Dogs of Fire had any intention of playing ball with them, and should they come knocking, we needed to be ready for war.
“What’s your next step?” I asked Rattle, the youngest of the prospects.
“Pull back the hammer,” he replied.
“Good. Then what?”
“Pull the trigger,” he said confidently.
“BZZZTT, wrong answer! Yousqueezethe trigger.”
Rattle groaned. “What’s the difference?”
“Pulling is a violent motion, while squeezing is gentle. If you’re thinking of pulling the trigger, your brain will automatically tell your wrist to get involved and pull back, causing you to miss your target. Gently squeezing the trigger will get the job done while keeping your movement isolated on your trigger finger. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, man. That makes sense,” Rattle replied.
“Good, because I want you to try it right now.”
I relieved Rattle of his weapon and loaded a single round into the cylinder before handing it back.
“That’s your target,” I said, pointing to a coffee can sitting on a fence post about ten meters away. “Go over your checklist, silently in your mind, then take the shot.”
Rattle nodded, then after a few moments, raised his weapon, pulled back on the hammer, and fired, missing the target by at least nine inches, much to the amusement of his classmates.
“Shut the fuck up, you idiots. You’re gonna hope he can shoot when he’s covering one of your dumb asses in a firefight.”
“Besides, you fools are up next,” Rattle added.
“That’s alright. Take a beat, reload, and try again,” I said. I’d already given them multiple instructions on how to load and unload their guns, including tutorials using different makes and models, so before they even got to fire a weapon, they knew how to take care of one.
This time Rattle hit the can dead center, blowing it clean off the post.
“That’s my boy,” I said.
“Lucky shot,” one of the other prospects cried out.
“Yeah? How about we see about that after lunch? ’Cause you’re up next,” I said. “There’s food for y’all inside, but no beer. I mean it. I don’t want one of you fuckers getting drunk and blowin’ his foot off,” Isaid just as my phone buzzed in my pocket. “Dismissed.”
