CCW Story Part 29: First time at the range as a firearm owner.

The gun fired much like I remembered from the 14 rounds I had fired the month before. I was shooting it more precisely than the Kahr, but tended to fire an inch high and left when firing at seven yards. I shot round after round until my right hand got tired, so I shot left handed. My wife got bored shooting her Kahr and went back to the store.

I stayed on the range and fired until the Bersa's barrel got hot. As the Bersa belched flames downrange, I felt a strong sense of self-reliance, as if I was prepared for the unexpected. I could now defend my home with lethal force, should the need arise. My odds of doing so were infinitesimally small compared with the danger posed by having guns in the house, but those odds still exist. I ran out of ammunition, so I removed the Bersa's magazine, locked the slide back and boxed it up. I carried it boxed from the firing line and zipped it into a gun bag. No walking around the line with the gun loaded and my finger on the trigger for me.

Would I ever get lax, and stop following the safety rules? Would I start to assume the gun was unloaded simply because I had remembered unloading it? Would the handgun prematurely end my life, or prolong it? It amazed me that such a small piece of metal could have so many consequences.