The doctor was perplexed. He seemed sane enough. He was too old for a gang member. He was too happy for a crime victim. Something was just not right. This man sitting in the ER, a bullet wound in his finger, smiling and comforting others in the waiting room. Who is this guy?
Then it was cleared up.
He got tired of seeing/hearing the rats. The final straw was sitting by the pool watching a rat run across the phone line strung across the backyard. It was time to take matters into his own hands.
So Gramps got his gun. A little .22 that was always trusty and true. He sat there, waiting for another chance. Then it came.
"There's one" shouted grandma...
Gramps jumped up and took aim...careful aim. Like when he would shoot the prairie dogs or the skunks growing up in Nebraska. But his hands were not quite as steady as they had been 40 years earlier. So he slid his left hand down the barrel just a bit to steady the gun.
Then the rat made a break for it...and gramps, not wanting to miss his opportunity, pulled the trigger.
His finger-tip did not stand much of a chance. The .22 went right through the end, blowing through the nail, and continuing on to drop the rat.
One bullet, two hits...unfortunately, the tip of gramps finger was one of them. He wrapped it up in gauze, got the dead rat out of the pool, and then drove to the hospital, where he ended up inviting a few other patients to church that Sunday. One of them even became a regular attender...so there was some good in the great finger incident of 1988.
If you have any interest, here are a couple other stories about gramps...
The Skunk Hunting
The Squeeze Box
Getting Married (Grandma even commented!)