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My husband is a shooter,
Which isn't always fun,
As every weekend 
He's out somewhere with his gun.
So quality time together 
Can sometimes be quite sparse,
"But I have to have a hobby."
He tells me with a laugh.

Our daughters getting married
To a super guy called Tom,
Has he any faults?
I've discovered just the one.
He also is a shooter,
His hobby is the same,
He can't wait to get out 
And with his gun take aim.

So this week we decided 
To be a shooters WAG
And go along with them,
Maybe hold their bag.
So Lu and I rose early,
Up at the crack of dawn,
To go and watch them shoot 
On this early Sunday morn.

It was then that we discovered,
She's marrying her Dad!
Just a fairer version,
Oh dear could this be bad?
They speak the same language,
Of floppy stuff and rabbits,
They have the same mannerisms,
The very same habits.

They pull out their guns
From gun sleeves in time.
Pick up their bags together 
And up the hill they climb.
They put on identical glasses,
Taken from identical tins,
From behind they could be,
The dark and fair haired twins.

They stand and measure clays,
Arms up in the air,
Give each other
The very same stare.
Their heads move in unison 
As they watch the others shoot,
They both rest their guns
Upon their right boot.

They congratulate each other 
On a job well done,
Share a bit of banter,
Have a lot of fun.
Discuss with other shooters 
The angle of the clay,
"What is your score card
Looking like today?"

So my darling daughter 
Your weekends could be a bore.
When he gets back home again 
He'll sit and analyse the score.
We'll have to get a hobby 
That is just for us two,
'Cause Dad and Tom jointly 
Will stick together like glue!

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