one45auto
Member
I just thought that I'd share the good news.
My beloved second generation Glock 19 was stolen from my home over two years ago while I was working the night shift, and those who've been through similar circumstances will understand the emptiness I felt. It was rather like having one of your children lost "out there", not knowing their fate and wondering what had become of them. It took me months to track down and purchase a replacement but even though that, too, was a second generation it just wasn't the same. I faithfully preserved the original box from my first, hoping against hope that perhaps one day it would be found but as the months turned into years that hope gradually faded. Still, I continued to fax over the necessary paperwork every six months to my local police department, ensuring that it remained listed in their system.
Then last December came the call I'd always dreamt of receiving - my firearm had been recovered, though in another jurisdiction. A group of youths in a nearby city had drawn the attention of a neighbor who'd telephoned the police. Upon their arrival one in particular began acting suspiciously, and when the officers attempted to single him out for questioning he suddenly bolted, throwing aside the pistol in his frenzied flight. While his partner recovered the weapon the officer chased down and apprehended the suspect, who copped out to a guilty plea for illegal possession and a handgun violation. I was subsequently given a both a referral and case identification number, and promptly phoned to claim it.
It took nearly nine months of waiting, dozens of phone calls, notarized forms, and the patience of Job but eventually I was contacted by an officer in the evidence control department and arrangements were made for me to come down to the office to sign for it. It was returned along with the casings from the test firing they'd performed, comparing it with unsolved homicides in the area. It was in perfect condition apart from the scratches it had received being tossed onto concrete, and the evidence control numbers which had not only been written on the receiver with a Sharpie but also scratched into the underside of the trigger guard - probably with a Dremel. Still, those were a small price to pay to have my baby back home where she belongs.
Now, as I type these words, she's resting on the desk beside me. A little older, a little wiser, tattooed and somewhat battle scarred from her ordeal, but still reliable and best of all - mine.
Sometimes they do come back.
My beloved second generation Glock 19 was stolen from my home over two years ago while I was working the night shift, and those who've been through similar circumstances will understand the emptiness I felt. It was rather like having one of your children lost "out there", not knowing their fate and wondering what had become of them. It took me months to track down and purchase a replacement but even though that, too, was a second generation it just wasn't the same. I faithfully preserved the original box from my first, hoping against hope that perhaps one day it would be found but as the months turned into years that hope gradually faded. Still, I continued to fax over the necessary paperwork every six months to my local police department, ensuring that it remained listed in their system.
Then last December came the call I'd always dreamt of receiving - my firearm had been recovered, though in another jurisdiction. A group of youths in a nearby city had drawn the attention of a neighbor who'd telephoned the police. Upon their arrival one in particular began acting suspiciously, and when the officers attempted to single him out for questioning he suddenly bolted, throwing aside the pistol in his frenzied flight. While his partner recovered the weapon the officer chased down and apprehended the suspect, who copped out to a guilty plea for illegal possession and a handgun violation. I was subsequently given a both a referral and case identification number, and promptly phoned to claim it.
It took nearly nine months of waiting, dozens of phone calls, notarized forms, and the patience of Job but eventually I was contacted by an officer in the evidence control department and arrangements were made for me to come down to the office to sign for it. It was returned along with the casings from the test firing they'd performed, comparing it with unsolved homicides in the area. It was in perfect condition apart from the scratches it had received being tossed onto concrete, and the evidence control numbers which had not only been written on the receiver with a Sharpie but also scratched into the underside of the trigger guard - probably with a Dremel. Still, those were a small price to pay to have my baby back home where she belongs.
Now, as I type these words, she's resting on the desk beside me. A little older, a little wiser, tattooed and somewhat battle scarred from her ordeal, but still reliable and best of all - mine.
Sometimes they do come back.
