As I hunkered down on the couch to watch the NFL Conference playoffs, I made the mistake of tuning in too early. After watching an hour of pre-game blather, I drifted off to sleep, as was my wont to do during the regular season….
I was awakened by a knock on the door.
Startled, I rose up from the couch as my dogs barked incessantly at an impending visit. Always a challenge, I stood before the front door, using my feet to keep the dogs away as I opened the door to step outside to address my visitor(s).
To my surprise, I was confronted by two uniformed men, one of which held out an ID badge while telling me that they were from the Treasury Department. OMG (I thought), the IRS is after me. “Why are you here?” I asked politely.
“Sir, we are here to confiscate the guns that you purchased and registered back in 2011. You have not turned over those guns to our local office as required by law.”
“What law are you referring to?”
“Sir, I am referring to the Handgun Confiscation Act passed by Congress and signed into law by President Barack Obama.”
“Oh that?” I offered. “I thought that act was in direct defiance of the 2nd Amendment of the United States Constitution and is currently being litigated by, well, everyone. Didn’t a judge in Virginia issue an injunction barring the U.S. Government from enforcing that law?”
“Yes sir, but our records indicate that you have purchased two handguns within the last 2 years and in accordance with the Executive Order issued last month in response to the Virginia injunction, we are here to confiscate your weapons now.”
“Out of my cold, dead hands” I muttered.
“Sir, what did you say?”
“Excuse me” I replied, “but I’m watching the NFL play-offs and you are not welcome here. You’ll have to supply me with a court order to enter my residence. Good bye!” I backed into my house and closed the door, locking it as I sprinted to the bedroom to retrieve my Glock.
Upon reaching my gun safe, I heard a loud pounding on the door, accented by the dogs’ incessant barking which continued to escalate with each resounding thud. By the time I had my Glock in hand and re-entered the living room, a final blow broke open the door. To the agents outside, the dogs were easy picking, but the dogs’ rush out the front door backed the agents up several feet. As the agents systematically unloaded their weapons on 3 medium-sized dogs, I took aim and fired at the preoccupied agents. I dropped both of them without emptying my clip and approached nervously to observe the carnage outside my front door.
A sudden quiet enveloped the house, but I could hear other dogs barking in the neighborhood. I retreated to my house and picked up the phone to call 911. As the dispatcher answered, I heard the announcer on TV say “and the Jets have won the flip, choosing to receive the opening kick-off”. At this moment, I jumped to my feet from the couch, my heart pounding in my chest. I frantically looked left and right, accounting for all dogs, as they lay sleeping in various spots around me. I looked out the front window and no one was there.
I then hurried to the bedroom to check out my gun-safe and realized that I didn’t have one. My guns were all safely hidden in the strategic locations I had placed them previously. Upon returning to my living room, I sat down heavily on the couch, awakening 2 dogs, both of which looked at me with disdain for interrupting their naps.
To what do I attribute this harrowing nightmare that cast a pall on the game and all that came after? Jared Loughner, I thought, and all politicians that scream for more gun controls in light of his killings. I sleep better at night when I know I’m protected by my own steady hand and not one that’s projected by a bureaucracy of idiots.