My husband arrived home from the gun store recently and announced he had something to give me.  From behind his back he revealed a pink shiny package containing pepper spray.  He says it's because he loves me and wants me to at least have something to defend myself since I don't want to have a gun of my own.

Our family's take on guns is a unique perspective.  Growing up in South Dakota and spending the majority of my life here, guns have been everywhere, from a gun rack next to the pool table in my parent's basement, shooting black birds that were picking on robins and clay pigeon practice.

My husband on the other hand grew up in Canada.  As a child he'd meet up with his cousin on the farm and shoot at many make-shift targets.  As the laws continually encroached on gun ownership and usage in Canada, owning and operating a gun became much more difficult.

Back when my husband and I were first married in the mid 90's and he moved to live with me in South Dakota, I'll never forget his reaction to going to Scheels and viewing the sea of guns and rifles.  He was like a kid in a candy store, walking down the isles and pointing at various guns and talking about which ones he'd like to own someday.  That's when he turned to me and said, "I'll buy you a pink rifle!"

Um, no thanks.

If I decide to own a gun someday, I'll know it also includes the commitment of classes to learn how to use it properly and practice time to develop my skill.  It's just something I'm not ready for at this time in my life.

Years ago I had pepper spray in my purse, a gift from my parents.  It had to be thrown out before moving to Canada as it's not allowed for personal use.

Now that I'm back home in South Dakota, I'll still pass on the pink rifle, but I'll settle for the pink container of Ms. Whoop Ass Pepper Spray.