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Tuesday, January 22, 2008 

Breakfast at Svens

I went to see my friend Sven the other day. I pulled up in front of his house and blew the horn. He came staggering out the door, wearing his bath robe, boots and was cursing under his breath. This is not typical for him he usually would never use profanity at all.
He was mumbling something about 4:00 being some ungodly hour to be blowing a horn.

I asked him if he was going hunting or not, he said he was but it would have been nice for me to invite him prior to 4:00 in the morning. His wife took this opportunity to turn the sprinklers on the both of us, this drove us to his workshop, the temperature was 28 degrees we did not want to ice up
Once in there we fired up his wood stove and put on some coffee. He apologized for his wife, he said she has been drinking too much coffee lately and it makes her irritable. I asked him if she would mind making us some breakfast. He winced and said that would not be the best idea.
He pulled his iron skillet out of his backpack and put it on the wood stove. I got some eggs out of the truck and he tiptoed into the house and got some bacon and bread. I fried us some bacon and eggs while Sven made some toast.

We sat around and ate breakfast and discussed life and other somewhat related topics.

While we were sitting there basking in the warmth of the fire drinking strong coffee he pulled out his Granddaddies shotgun, it’s a Damascus steel double barrel shotgun with rabbit ear hammers. The wood holds that dark oil finish and has the look of a working shotgun.

We reminisced about his Grandfather shooting it at dove shoots when we were 5 or 6 years old and out shooting most people there. We remembered when we snuck up to his outhouse when we were 12 and tried to tip it over. We were wondering why it was so heavy when his grandfather fired that shotgun through the roof and scared us to death. He was sitting in the outhouse at the time.

It cannot be fired with modern shotgun shells, so Sven is having some shells loaded for it by some gunsmith.

I remember when Mr. Johansson died. He left that gun to Sven. We were 13. Sven got that Gun and his Granddaddies hunting hat. I remember Sven carrying that gun, wearing that hat, both way too big for him, that day after the funeral.

We both wiped the tears from out eyes. I miss that old dude. He had a lot of time or kids, as most retired grandfathers do.

If you were wondering we went hunting and, of course, saw nothing.
Snagley out.