Part of me has always been curious. Recently, my huzby started hunting, and this weekend he brought me along. But it all started years ago, when I lived in Oregon. Someone I worked with asked me if I'd be interested in buying a gun, for protection. I don't think I ever told anyone, but I said "yes." He brought it into work one day for me to see it and hold it. I'll never forget holding it. But I realized I didn't need it. It was a little extreme. When I first met my husband, he liked fishing. "I could never kill Bambi," he said. I could tell he meant it.

Three and a half years later, he attended a hunting club dinner with the guys he works with and out of 550 attendees he won the only prize that night. A rifle. He came home with it almost as shocked as I was. We suddenly shared a home with a gun.

We got satellite radio for Christmas last year, and we've been listening to Country music ever since. Huzby bought me a pink cowgirl hat from a bluegrass festival, and I actually reached a point when every kind of music except Country was irritating for me to listen to; I couldn't believe it. What's more, I have this persistent urge to play drums in a rockin' Country music band.

Last month I went to Texas for a business trip and came back to New York with genuine cowgirl boots. I'm talking tassels, folks. What's happening to me?

I remain completely disinterested in shooting animals. That's just not for me. Shooting a target and a flying clay disc, that's just it's very own kind of fun. I'm glad I did it. And there's an extremely good chance I'll do it again.

photo by: LL