I was perusing the local gun shop today, nothing particular in mind. Just to browse and salivate maybe over a wish list gun. Out of the corner of my eye something flashed. When I turned to look at it, the blonde checkered furniture slapped me in the face and screamed at me to "Pick me up!!!" I don't even remember asking the owner to pull it off of the rack. It was in my hands. Of course I gave it the once over and was all set to send it back to it's cradle, when to my amazement it became stuck in my hands and the only words that could/would come out of my mouth was "What are you asking for it?" A price was given.................and with no hesitation, I blurted out......."I'll take it!!!" I'm a true believer now, there seems to be no known cure, medication, or therapy regime for this affliction. As I'm typing this, next to my H&R .450 Marlin rests a Handi SB2, #NP******, heavy barrel .223. It seems real content with it's new home and I swear I heard it ask Papa .450 if he could have a new brother soon.