NRA's newest convert: Even a hippie needs a gun
By Clara Cobb/Features Editor
December 05, 2005
About two weeks ago, a male approximately 5 foot 9, 150 pounds broke and entered my house. (SIDE NOTE: This is funny because it is true.) That night, or rather, early that morning, it was really, really not funny. I had just locked up the front door and the dog in the front room. My friend Lauren was watching TV in the back room.
Suddenly Jules, my roommate's seven-month-old black lab, began barking like she has mad cow, or bird flu, or mad cow and bird flu. She's growling and snapping like I neveer have heard her bark before. Then we heard the coughing. Then we heard stomping. Dogs don't cough or stomp.
Lauren and I were freaking out. We grabbed butcher knives and head lamps and quickly turned on all the lights in my house. (SIDE NOTE: For this to be funny, make sure you are picturing two women in a hallway, clutching pillows across our bodies, butcher knives in hand, wearing head lamps and pajamas.) Finally, all the lights are on except one. The light in the front room isn't on. The switch to the light doesn't actually work - my house is old. The front room is lit by lamp light and natural window light.
We were standing in the hallway and the only barrier between him and us was the hall door. I began to call the police. In the middle of the phone call, my phone dies. I had just driven back from Austin that night and I had one bar on the phone all weekend. My phone wouldn't turn back on.
All of a sudden, the horror movie "get the hell out of there, you retard" music began to crescendo in my imagination and my head was pounding. Or maybe the pounding was coming from in my chest. (SIDE NOTE: I have been stalked by mountain lions. I have shot a black bear at point blank range with pepper spray. I have administered CPR to a 16-year-old having a heart attack. I have never been as scared as I was that night.)
There was only a door between the man inside my house and us. Really, we didn't know there was a man in my house yet. Knives in tow, I opened the door and called the dog. She didn't come. She was trying to come, we could hear her scratching, and again it is evident she is being restrained. She's barking again, and I peek in my front room. If anyone's there, they are not in eyeshot of the doorway. Then I see the shadowed reflection of a man in the double glass doors leading to the dining room.
The dining room doors are locked, and the hallway door doesn't lock, but since my house is old, the door sticks when slammed. We slam the hall door and run in my bedroom, slamming the door behind us. We have to buy a little time. (SIDE NOTE: I am a pretty liberal hippie when it comes to life, a make-love-not-war type of girl. But I know enough about anatomy to know a butcher knife doesn't protect from a bullet. I have been an anti-hand gun person for years, mainly because they serve one purpose: to kill people. However, this has become a matter of self-defense. Damn it, this is Texas, and I'm gettin' a gun.)
There are only two ways out of my house, and both doors are in the front room. The windows in my bedroom are screwed shut, ironically, to help prevent someone from breaking in my window. We were so lucky my inner Boy Scout has to have a Leatherman lantern in my nightstand. I unscrewed the windows. (SIDE NOTE: Lauren recounts this moment as the fastest she has ever seen anyone unscrew anything. Yay, adrenaline.)
We jumped out my window and now were in my backyard, where all the gates were locked, but the fence is old, rotting and falling down. We tried to break through the fence at the gate, but ultimately ended up running across a downed section into my neighbor's backyard. We pounded on the door. We have to get a phone, stat. No response. In my mind, I was thinking about how the man in my house could have pulled a gun on us at any minute, or could have been hurting the dog or worse - he could have been finding the perfect hiding place in my house to wait until we came back and went to sleep.
We jumped the fence. Three doors down, the girls have their front door unlocked. We woke up my neighbor girl, who was sleeping on the couch and used her phone to call 911. Dispatch tells us to wait outside for the police and return to the scene. Hell no, we weren't returning. Especially after we watched the man leave my house, literally walking out the front door.
(SIDE NOTE: *sigh.*)
Anyway, I begin my gun classes in January. I hear that with a shotgun, I won't miss much, so for the record, I also am buying a raffle ticket from the Texas Tech Polo Club.
While I commend Clara's new found desire to live by any means necessary, I must point out one error in her thinking (among several others......) Clara states "But I know enough about anatomy to know a butcher knife doesn't protect from a bullet." A gun will not protect you from a bullet either Clara. Get training along with that gun.