Caring for a sub - the story of the Gun

There was this man,  he was fairly happy, busy,  had friends.
But he felt he lacked something in his life. He wanted something else so he took up a new hobby: shooting.
He talked to other people and listened to them and learned all the ins and outs, he delved right into it.  Then went out and bought a wonderful gun.  People told him he needed his own so he could really learn. 
He shopped around wanting the best, he found one that he liked. It fit into his hand perfectly, as if it was molded for him. It was the best they made, and he never did anything half way so he bought it. 
Holding it gave him such a sense of power, he would slip his hand around it and smile determined to learn how to take are of it and shoot it well.
It was the best and he worked with it and kept it shiny and well oiled. If you know anything about guns, you know you have to keep them clean and oiled  and you need to use them or they tighten up.
This man learned all this and he did the best he could with this gun til it was like the gun was a part of his hand when he would go out shooting.  He would feel it and took pride in the way it looked in his hand and how straight it would shoot.

For the longest time this man would shoot almost every day,  he loved it.  But as time went on he got busy and it became so easy there was no challenge any more,  he would go less and less and he spent less an less time with his gun.
More time passed and he spent little time shooting he still liked to polish his gun,  he was proud of it. It still fit into his hand but with a familiarity that he grew to take for granted.

He would still show it off to friends but more an more infrequently. And when he would go shooting, his mark wasn't as true. He was getting a little rusty from not shooting very much.
One day the man took his gun to a gun show to show it off. He stopped at the store on the way home when he got home it was raining. So he gathered all his packages up and made a mad dash for the door  slipped inside  and didn't notice the gun had fallen from his hands in the grass.

He put his groceries away and went about his day,  never remembering the gun.
Days went by,  then weeks,  and he didn't think about it.
By this time he, if he ever thought about it,  thought the gun was safely tucked in its place and he could get it when ever he wanted.

Months went by. Meanwhile the gun was laying on the dirty ground,  wet and it began to rust.
Neglected , the shine went off. Oh there were still some shiny spots  enough to attract a stranger that picked it up and tried to shoot it. It still worked, didn't look as good, but still worked.
He shoot it a couple times  then hid it behind a tree  intending to come back for it. But he never did,  the gun sat there still dirty and still rusting.

But now the bore was dirty too  and the rust was beginning to eat that away too. Another stranger found it and did the same thing
picked it up and shot it over and over and over.
Happy with it  he put it in his pocket.
But as he crossed the street it fell out  and the handle cracked as it hit the ground. and bounced into the grass.
He walked away , it wasn't worth anything broken.
One day the man decided to go shooting, he was bored.
So he went to the closet and grabbed the gun  but it was not there.
He was surprised and looked all over  trying to remember when he had it last.
He searched the house  then the garage and was ready to call the police to report it stolen when he decided to look in the yard for some reason.
And there he found it,  dirty,  rusted and broken  under a pile of rubbish. He looked at it amazed, the dirt and rust. Where was the beautiful shiny gun he loved?

He picked it up between two fingers not wanting to get his hands dirty and carried it into the garage not wanting to take it in the house.
It was too dirty. He looked at it disgusted that it was ruined. He felt disappointed that he couldn't see all the hard work he had put into it to make it so shiny.
He was shaking his head and cussing a little that such an expensive gun  allowed itself to get so dirty.
He forgot for a moment it was his property  and he had forgotten it
 all he saw was the dirty,  rusty broken gun.
He tried to shoot it but it didn't work it needed a re-bore.
He tossed it aside disgusted and walked away. Refusing to think about how it got in that condition. The next day he went out and tried to rub some oil over it,  got tired and quit  walked away hurt that it was not cleaning up so easily.

The next day he dropped it in a bucket of oil  thinking it would soak then he could work on it.
Now he told his friends what had happened  he said he didn't know how it got outside but he was trying to clean it up. He didn't think that he must have dropped it, just that the gun had somehow gotten into the mess it was in.
Some told him to not bother  it would never be the same
and never be worth anything  just toss it out.
Some told him oh no,  you can clean it up an with time and hard work it will be as good as new if not better , cause it will be well seasoned.

He really liked the gun so he kept trying but the oil didn't work he started to scrub it.
But that was such hard work an it was slippery from the oil and he couldn't hold it down.  (he didn't think to use a vice and lock it down )
Each day he grew more and more discouraged. One day in frustration he threw it against the wall, it fell  and it knocked some of the rust loose. Well he felt bad and picked it up he could see some of the shiny spots again  and he scrubbed harder.
But there were pits that he couldn't rub out. They were there to stay  and he was not happy about it.
He tried to shoot it and it would shoot  but not straight  but if he kept working on it, it would.
But he was discouraged and he tired of trying to clean it
and he wasn't sure he could ever shoot it again cause he didn't know if it would ever shoot straight again.

So he was in a quandary. He paid a lot of money  and didn't want to lose it.
But he didn't want to scrub it any more.
So one day,  he wrapped it in a cloth  and tossed it in the rubbish
 and walked away. He still thinks about it  especially when a friend asks him to go shooting.
He remembers the gun but  he remembers it rusty
 and dirty  and says no.
He needs to find a new gun before he can do that.
Meanwhile  a stranger comes by and finds the gun wrapped in cloth  and takes it home  and begins to rub it carefully,  a little at a time  and sees the shine come through and dreams of the day he can take it to the shooting range and try it out.
 the end