When my daughter was 9, my brother showed her how to load an SKS Soviet semi automatic rifle with a bayonet.

I’m like, “She’s loading what?”

He was like, “Oh, it’s got a safety.”

I am not making this up.

When she was 10 or 11 he decided she was ready for her own BB gun.  She was a little worried about the bb pellets, but he told her they were virtually harmless, and shot a seagull to prove it.

It keeled over and died.

She wanted to perform CPR.

Her cousin, only 4 years older, was outraged that she was allowed to have one and he wasn’t.

Me: Yes, but she won’t hide under the boardwalk and shoot tourists in the butt.

He was unable to argue with this.

We came home one day and found the rifle leaning against the kitchen counter. She was eating cereal.

Us: What is the bb gun doing out here?

Her: Oh, I thought I heard someone in the house.

Us:  And just what did you do?

Her: I searched the house room by room with it. There wasn’t anyone here.

Us: Why didn’t you call us? Or the police? Or leave the house?

Her: MOM! I had Roger with me.  (Roger was the dog)

What can you say? “So, did you do a perimeter sweep as well?”