Any Excuse for a Water Fight.

Not just for vaccinations any more . . .

My Dad once shot my Husby through the wall of our family home with a pistol.
Maybe I should explain . . .
The first summer after my Husby and I got married was blistering hot.

Dad decided that the ranch house needed air conditioning.

There were a few complications.

It was a very old house.

With very small windows.

Difficult to park one of the quick and convenient 'window-mount' air conditioners.

He decided that he would have a unit installed in the wall of the family room.

Easy.

All one had to do was remove a window-sized chunk of wall and voila!

Instant access.

Now who to talk into the job?

Ah. His newest son-in-law.

The one who could do everything.

Handy.

My Husby was happy to do it.

He'd never done it before.

And it presented a new and different challenge.

Excellent.

He collected his tools and started in.

Measuring and measuring and cutting.

(Because measuring is twice as important as cutting, he informed me.)

Then he removed the outer siding from the chosen square.

Then the insulation and finally, the studs.

They were a bit trickier because he had to cut them from the outside, then go inside to pull the nails from the panelling.

But finally, all that remained between he and the family room was the inside panelling.

This was fun!

He pulled the last of a two-by-four from its former home.

Then looked down.

The front of his T-shirt was wet.

He looked up into the eaves.

Had he hit a pocket of water?

Was there a bird?

Nothing.

He looked down.

His shirt was wetter.

Weird.

Then he looked at the wall.

Just in time to see a tiny jet of water spurt from one of the nail holes that had so recently held the studs in place.

There's something your don't see every day.

Another spurt.

His shirt was getting quite wet by this point.

“Hey!” he shouted.

Then, from the other side of the wall, he heard my father. “Did I get you?”

“Yes, you got me!”

One last squirt.

“Hey!”

The sound of laughter.

Triumphant laughter.

How he had done it was soon explained.

Amidst chuckles.

Dad had gotten one of his vaccination guns (a syringe designed to vaccinate several head of cattle in quick succession) and, filling it with cold water, had poked it through one of the nail holes in the old panelling.

The rest is self explanatory.

But those guns can really shoot.

Some people never grow up.

It's a good thing.