Ma Paco lives on a rural property in Manns Harbor. This is a shot of the last of the fall vegetable crop.
Stepfather Jim kindly set up a little shooting range consisting of bottles and cans, some on sticks planted in the dirt, some suspended from a rope four feet off the ground (I regret that I don't have any photos of the plinking area). Let me tell you, the Ruger Blackhawk .41 Magnum is a mighty handful. I was firing 250-grain flat-heads, and that revolver bucks! It's fun to shoot; the only drawback is that the fine, checkered pattern on the hard-rubber grips acts on the naked hand a bit like a cheese grater. Gloves solved the problem.
The Thanksgiving table was piled high with turkey and green beans and rice and gravy and all the rest of the typical trimmings. Ma Paco gave me a couple of sweet potato pies to bring home (I know this doesn't sound very objective, but hers are the best I've ever had).
Mabel was boarded over the holiday, but at least she scored a nifty kerchief at "camp".
And on the way to drop off Mabel, I think I found my next car.
I hope you all had a great Thanksgiving, and thanks to all who dropped by to leave a comment.
Oh, and by the way: Sheila Doherty is, and always has been, a blond. Here's an example, from the old yarn, "Detective Paco and the Brewer":
She walked briskly toward my desk. She had spent Memorial Day weekend at the beach, and was thoroughly bronzed. Her long, golden hair flounced about her shoulders...And here's another piece of evidence from "Detective Paco and the Case of the Cretaceous Crap":
I was sitting in the office with my feet on the desk, nursing a hot cuppa joe, reading an article in the Washington Post about the bazillion dollar stimulus bill being floated by the Democrats – and wondering if a more appropriate medium for the story might not have been True Crime Magazine - when Sheila poked her golden head through the door.