Back in the mid 2000's I was working like a dog. Pretty much meeting myself coming and going.
One oasis in my life was a small gun and gunsmithing shop. It was owned by 2 millwrights. They did machining and other precision work. I would stop in and we would solve the world's problems and generally have guy time. I loved to watch the lathes and milling machines work. So I'm easily amused. So what.
One day in the handgun case I noticed a Blackhawk. 357. It looked like it had been rode hard and put away wet. I looked it over. Just a plain Jane Blackhawk. No box. No papers. Hogue grips. One of millions. It indexed well and locked up tight.
I needed another .357 like a hole in my head. I put it back. It laid in the case for months.
Then it started making sad puppy eyes at me. Then I thought about this poor gun winding up in the hands of some Philistine.
Finally I asked for the best out the door price. $250 was the answer. Sold. After the waiting period I picked it up. The internals were bone dry. A little oil, some grease on the base pin and rachet. I swear it sighed with relief.
Since it had rust patches and missing finish on the grip frame, I named it Spot.
Some guns are divas and demand attention and a special diet. Not Spot. Spot eats about anything and pots his shots into at least respectable groups. Sometimes Spot does better than that. No fuss just a solid sixgun that has a blue collar work ethic.
The only modification I have done to Spot is slip one leg off the trigger return spring. And a LOT of dry firing.
Took Spot to the range today. He was happy to get out.
Sent from my SM-G960U using Tapatalk