This thread interruption is brought to you by Levergun Memories.
One year at deer camp my father's cousin brought out an old, mid-grade Savage 99. That was a smooth, sleek, beautiful rifle. If Jayne Mansfield was a rifle, she was a 99. I'd love to own one in .308 or .250 -3000.
But leverguns are not part of my lexicon and it'd probably just lay in the safe... until...
Until autumn delivers it's early dusk and cool nights. I'm home alone. The doors are locked and the curtains drawn. With a fire going and the lights low, and perhaps some smooth bebop on the hi fi, I take her out gently. After expertly working the action, I pour a small glass of Hoppes and touch her all over with my greedy fingers.
Then!
Roughly pull her up, stare intently into her williams peep for a hot second, and drop the hammer! Finally, I gently caress her sleek lines one last time before putting her back to bed for several months.
A guy can dream ya know.