A dear uncle gave me my first gun, a J.C. Higgins Model 31 tube-fed .22 semiautomatic. Manufactured by the long-gone High Standard Corp. and sold through Sears, that rifle kicked off a lifelong rimfire romance in which fidelity has never played a role. Over the years I’ve wandered widely. My high-school flame was a Remington Speedmaster, another tubular autoloader, which I will occasionally secrete out of the gun safe like a hidden love letter. I had a serious college fling with a bull-barreled Remington 541T bolt action. Next came steady relationships, sort of, with a succession of factory Ruger 10/22s. Right now, my current rimfire love is the equivalent of a trophy wife with a loyalty card at the plastic surgeon’s office: a pimped-out 10/22 with aftermarket trigger, carbon-fiber barrel, rimfire-specific scope, and a few other upgrades that toll a death knell for squirrels.