That's Grandpa's .410. He had it as long as I can remember. Im 26 and he gave it to my brother when I was 8, then he got a pump .410 that Christmas and I inherited it. My favorite memories was him unwrapping it from an old heated blanket that the element went out in(that generation never threw anything that useful away), then dusting the old box of ammo off to get one shell from. Loaded up but still broke open he'd walk out to the "old house" that was his temporary house after WWII he converted into a barn after he and the local Amish family built his permanent home. He'd find what animal had scratched in and was riling up the chickens and dispense it with one shot.
One day we had a "Pet" Boar get out and turned mean on everyone who tried to get him back in his cage. My brother and cousin tried shooting it with several arrows to kill it which didn't work. Grandpa grabbed the .410 and a shell from the "Special" box teasing my brother saying "they couldn't kill time". He went out and stood about 10 feet away from the wounded animal aiming for behind its ear and shot. It flinched and turned to face him. Walking back to the house he laughed and said "Hell, guess I can't either". Our neighbor came over and went out back and finished off the pig with a larger rifle. He came inside to tell us and noticed the Razorback sticker and made a few jokes (he was a LSU fan).
This is the gun my little boy gets when he gets old enough.
Show your favorite heirloom and share a few stories if you want.