Via Chicago’s diary Gunshots in Chicago made me think about the shots I heard last night. Then I thought about my reaction. And I’m a bit horrified at myself.
I live in a very respectable neighborhood–just as my disapproving neighbors, who give me and my Hubby dirty looks–but it is Utah, and we do like our guns.
Last night I heard several bangs, thought “wrong time of year to be setting off fireworks–wait, no. That’s gunfire.” Steady, about a second between them, deliberate. Maybe some late night target practice in a nearby field. In the dark. I don’t know. It sounded like a full clip, I honestly lost count.
No one called the cops–or at least no cops showed up. It honestly didn’t occur to me to call them, because it’s not the first time I’d heard shots and I really do expect it was just someone being moderately responsible–given it was too damned close to houses and the shooter couldn’t possibly be absolutely sure what was downrange.
Now that I think about it, my blase reaction is bizarre. I actually sat there, considered how far away the shots sounded, how calm and measured they sounded, briefly thought a worried thought about the construction of my walls, then let it go.
Even the rabid gun-rightists of Utah should be dismayed at someone firing off a clip near a neighborhood of houses. Maybe it was someone doing something horrible inside one of those houses. Apparently not, even Utah is not so callous as to ignore carnage in “respectable” neighborhoods.
We’re right at the city limits here, the fields and farms start only a few blocks away. Shooting outside the city limits is not frowned on. The majority of gun owners around here are responsible people, and being Mormon, are less likely that most to be randomly firing off bullets in drunken glee.
But I think next time I’m going to call the non-emergency number to report this, just to prick some awareness with the police. It’s got to start somewhere.
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