Rachel Wise: Making a point about shooting arrows

HBG 01Jan18 - HBG 03Jan18 - HBG 05Jan18 - HBG 29Jan18 -

My grandboys arrived at my house last weekend clamouring for bows and arrows.
They had seen some in a shop in town and asked their mum, who sensibly said no.

"We really want them" said the 6-year-old. "Yeah," added his 4-year-old brother.

"I have no money," said their mum.

The eldest turned to me. "You have money," he claimed.

"But I have no time to go to town, I'm really busy," I said.

The eldest grandchild had a wee think, then announced, "Mum will go to town and buy the bows and arrows with your money."

"Yeah," said his brother.

About then, I had an idea. The idea came out of my mouth before I had filtered it properly through my brain.

"We don't have to buy bows and arrows," I told the two boys. "We can make them."

Their mother made a funny squeaking noise but was drowned out by the cheering and yelling.

They wanted to know how we would make bows and arrows. I told them with sticks and string. "So let's go and choose some really good sticks." I grabbed my garden loppers on the way out the door.

"Can I use those?" asked the eldest. "No," I told him.

We launched forth and I explained to the boys we needed straight sticks for bows and for arrows.

They immediately chose a lot of bent sticks and argued over who saw them first.

I redirected them to the straight sticks I was cutting for them and told them they would get the same number of sticks each, no fighting.

While they were fighting over the first two sticks (apparently one was marginally longer than the other) their dog claimed the next two and gnawed them in half.

Eventually they each had two big sticks for bows and some smaller ones for arrows and we marched back to the house for the next important ingredients - string and a pocket knife.

"I will use the pocket knife," said the eldest. "No, you won't," I told him.

I cut my finger once making the first bow and twice making the second.

"I would have done it without cutting myself," said the eldest. I ignored him. "Yeah," said the four year old and I ignored him as well.

Bows made and stringed, it was time to fire off some sticks - I mean arrows.

The eldest wanted his sharpened. I said no. He asked how he was meant to kill things with blunt arrows, so I explained that we were not going to kill things, we were going to shoot at targets made from a cardboard box, because killing things was not cool unless you were going to eat them.

"I'm going to kill a rabbit and eat it," the eldest informed me. I told him he would need to practise with a cardboard box target first.

I showed them how to put the arrow to the bow, pull back the string and fire.

The eldest sent his arrow half a metre. Behind him. The four year old let go of the bow instead of the arrow.

Perfect, I thought, they can't possibly do any damage if that's the best they can do ... I shall go inside and leave them to it.

Inside, my daughter and I decided to have coffee. I sat in the lounge while she put the jug on.

Peace reigned.

Then she gasped. A small pot plant had leaped off the shelf in front of her and landed on the floor.

"What was that?" she asked, "an earthquake?" I hadn't felt a thing.

"Maybe the house is haunted," she suggested. "I didn't touch that plant, it just leaped off the shelf!"

That's when I saw the stick that was in the middle of the dining room floor. And she saw the face that was peering in the open window.

In the time it took for the jug to boil, the youngest grandboy had morphed into Robin Hood.

"Did you try to shoot me with an arrow?" my daughter asked him. "Yeah," he said.

"Can I have a sharpened arrow now, please?" asked his brother. "No," I told him.

Robin and his merry brother and their dog were banished into the paddock, where they decided they would hunt and shoot a rabbit. I wished them luck.

Suddenly the dog barked, the boys yelled and a rabbit ran past me, shot under the gate and ran into my vege garden.

The dog followed the rabbit.

"Don't you dare," I told the boys.

I'd lost sight of the rabbit but the dog was still chasing it. Around and around she went, trampling lettuces and tomatoes. "Get off my garden!" I yelled but neither the dog nor the rabbit were listening.

They circled onto the peppers and beans. "Get off!" I yelled.

An arrow shot through the air. The dog yelped and fled.

"Thanks," I said.

"I shot her on the bum," said the eldest grandboy. "Yeah!" replied the 4-year-old.

"Nice job," I said.