mk linked us to an article with the heading, "Guns Kill People." It reminded me of a story I wrote back in the last century (around 1990, before gun acquisition laws changed in Canada). The story was written pretty much verbatim, based on an experience my friend had with the police.

GUNS DON'T KILL PEOPLE

After seven years of marriage, I asked my husband, Henry, to leave. I was packing his things to leave on the sidewalk when I found two guns - a Swiss starter pistol in his sock drawer and a 22-calibre shotgun in the clothes closet under the Christmas wrapping paper.

The starter pistol was unimpressive - tiny and black, but the shotgun was striking. A hunting gun from England, it had a 24" barrel, polished wooden casing, and a black metal trigger.

I contemplated throwing them into the bay, but it would have been awkward taking my little girl and two guns to the high level bridge. In addition, I frequently saw my husband stalking the house. I was afraid that If he found me moving his guns, he'd get crazy. I phoned the police and asked them to come and take the guns away.

An officer appeared at the door and introduced himself as Officer Hunter. I invited him in. At 6'3", he towered over me. He had a gun and a nightstick. He was fearless.

"What's the problem?" he asked.

"I'd like you to take my husband's guns. We've recently separated. I don't like guns around the house and my daughter doesn't know we have them. I don't teach her about guns." He raised his eyebrows and looked at me as though I were a very unusual kind of human.

"If they're his guns, he has the right to keep them in his home."

"My husband and I are separated. I'm going through the legal procedures. He's an alcoholic and a drug-addict."

"Has he ever threatened you?" Officer Hunter asked.

"Yes, in the past."

"Well, that's the past." He looked at me reassuringly assuming I'd see his point.

"The last thing Henry said to me was that he hoped I'd kill myself so he could have the house."

Officer Hunter thought this over. Finally, he said, "I'd rather not take a citizen's private property. Can you give them to one of his friends?"

"My husband's an alcoholic and a drug-addict. He's threatened to kill me."

"Does he have an FAC?"

"What's that?"

"A Firearms Acquisition Certificate - a licence to buy a gun."

"I don't think so. They were his mother's guns."

This seemed to concern him. Without enthusiasm, he said, "Well, I could take them, but they look like valuable guns."

I thought the police would be glad to get some guns out of circulation. I guess I was wrong. "I suppose I could ask his brother to pick them up."

"Are you on good terms with his brother?" Officer Hunter asked.

"Not particularly," I replied.

"Does his brother have an FAC?"

"I - don't - know." I tried to keep control, otherwise I'd appear like "a crazy wife". "Wot a bitch," he'd say later at the station.

"Well, I guess I should call it in."

Officer Hunter called Central Station and discovered not only that Henry had no FAC, but also that I had called the police twice to protect myself and my daughter.

"I'll have to take his guns," he said. "Do you know where he is?"

"He's at his mother's."

"OK, I advise you to call him and let him know his guns are at the station. He can come down, fill out an application, and have his guns back. They look like very expensive guns. I think he would want them back."

"My husband's an alcoholic and a drug-addict. He's threatened to kill me."

"I quite understand your position, Ma'am, but you have to call him or the guns will be destroyed in a few days. I wouldn't want to do that."

Officer Hunter asked for a green garbage bag to put the guns in so the kids on the street wouldn't see them. He said, "If kids see guns coming out of your house, they're not going to want to come here on Hallowe'en."

"Thanks for the tip," I said.

I escorted Officer Hunter and the guns to the front door. He opened the door, paused, then turned and looked at me. "You know, ma'am," he said, "it's people that kill people."