263, It's Just a Number...

 When I was a kid we had an old dog named Smokey. He was brindle colored and had some chow dog in his linage as evidenced by his partially black tongue. Smokey was aggressive and protective of the family and his food. He bit a neighborhood kid running by his food bowl and also the Avon lady when she knocked on the front door selling her wares. 

It was a different time. The old man could be pretty dismissive of some people which included door to door salesmen or women or some neighbors and I don't remember Smokey ever being subjected to the kind of regulations we have now that require reporting, quarantine and in some cases liability. I don't recall what ever happened to Smokey. My brother might but seems there was a bloody injury, out with the old dog, long live the new and I doubt the old man was sensitive to a  rainbow bridge crossing.    

In 1804 Lewis and Clark set out on an expedition to map the western part of the USA. It was one of the most well documented events of American history.  Both leaders kept extensive logs and the men themselves were encouraged to journal their experiences. This was a grueling experience often involving boating upriver against the current and to keep up the exertion the men required 8-10 pounds of proteins a day. They ate their way across the country consuming elk, deer, beaver, horse, birds and by the records they ate 263 dogs bought from the Native Americans. Eating dog is part of our history, our culture, out cuisine. 

It should be noted that Lewis did not eat his own dog, Seaman, and in April 1806 he wrote in his journal:

 “The dog now constitutes a considerable part of our subsistence and with most of the party has become a favorite food; certain I am that it is a healthy strong diet, and from habit it has become by no means disagreeable to me, I prefer it to lean venison or Elk, and it is very far superior to the horse in any state.”

Just as things were different in my childhood things were different from that in Lewis and Clark's days. There was not much effective first aid and at the first sign of illness expedition members were often administered a laxitive called Dr. Rush's Bilious Pills or "Thunderclappers." It was their CONCEPT that this mixture of mercury, calomel and jalap would cause the body to rid it's self of the aliment. My wife was able to retire a couple of years early due to insurance offered by the Affordable Care Act and this treatment was not covered or even an option under that plan. 

Back to the dog, my neighbor has elk in the pasture next door. I have pictured killing, butchering and transporting a carcass to my freezer and I just can't see it happening for me. I have extensive small game hunting experience and have skint squirrels, the occasional rabbit and plucked ducks. I could probably hull a dog out pretty easily so dogmeat, maybe. 

You know there's always those things you would like to ask your parents after they are gone and my mother used to say she hated cooking squirrel because it reminded her of cat. I'd ask her how she knew what cooking cat was like. I guess I'll ask the old man what happened to old Smokey and I'll double check that dog count with Lewis and Clark.             

I Have Good Neighbors, Sorta...

Out here on my little dead end road we are good neighbors. That means everyone kind of keeps to themselves in an unspoken agreement to mind their own business. My next-door neighbor, a hard working young man and his wife are some of those people with a travel trailer who go off to work only returning occasionally to mow the yard, take the boat to the lake and then do it all over again. There's another small house on the property that he seems to rent in a short term manner to women with children. They don't stay long and I don't know much about them other than learning first names to say hello. I can't imagine the rent being much and they seem to move on along, hopefully to bigger and better things. Right now there are two young women, a baby and Roscoe living next door. 

Roscoe is a Feist dog. He's not a full on outside dog and I can kind of imagine him usually in his Alpha male position of on the couch napping at most times. My boat garage abuts his territory and when he hears me doing my old man piddling in this structure he must cause a disturbance in the house that they can only remedy by putting him outdoors when on sighting me he proceeds to, in the words of my late father, "pile a good cussing" on the perceived threat. He also kicks dirt while doing all this barking which was probably a behavior evolved by this breed of dog over a millennium to make themselves look bigger than they were to the animals they were trained to hunt but in modern lay on the couch times it serves to uncover the feral cat landmines in the sandy yard dirt and the tasty candy buried there.           

The first few incidents of this behavior his master appeared and reined him in and apologized saying, "I don't know why he's acting like that." Another time, trying to analyze Roscoe's aggression she said, "he must really like you." Since then she no longer mediates and Roscoe's incursions sometimes reach my porch. I take that her declining interest means we are left to develop the relationship on our own. I have begun to fantasize about Roscoe captured in a landing net that hangs in the boat garage. There's actually two nets, a short handled one and one with a longer handle. I think I'm going to need the longer handle one.      

Of course there is that old silver lining that you find in most situations and I am a glass half full kind of guy. As long as I don't get bit, infected and lose a foot there will be declining amounts of cat candy in the yard. If someone asks I'll say, "Yeah, that Roscoe, he a good neighbor."  

 

I Am Not Going Your Way...

A big hippie picked me up and carried me down the street grids of straight America and past all the square box houses. In those houses people, screens, one in every room and one in every hand and pocket. All looking at the same thing, calling it different, calling it freedom while we passed them going our own way. 

I and the hippie were one in our recognition of our differences. Not that our differences were so great to set us apart in our own square box house but there were some rules that were universal truths to be held through time and space by enlightened Buddhas like ourselves. 

Those rules that had me carried, swept away by the expectations of a tired old world were that it would not be ok the climb on the cabinet and put my feet in the butter dish, that warm, greasy room temperature soul bath of happiness. 

The big hippie picked me up and carried me...going our own way. 

  

 

Everybody Hollering Cat...

It's Valentines Day. We both got each other cat cards. Must be because we recently got a cat which is the first pet we have had in quite a while. Somebody said that having a pet makes you a nicer person. Really I just made that up but it's probably been said by some one even though we all know a dude we can't stand that has a dog. 

This cat, who goes by Percival or Percy or Perseverance because he persuasively hung around is really named Balls. We just use the P names because the grandkids automatically knew there was something inherently wrong with an adult standing in the backyard hollering "Balls" when what she really wanted was the cat to come here. 

What ever you want to call him he has fit in well. He's very tolerant of children and a good snake catcher. He helps me with wild duck plucking and catfish skinning. Judging from the hand to mouth by the grandkids in the photo they might help Balls with eating cat food.         

He is a young cat and does not have the proper strategy in place to catch a squirrel. There are some terrain features near our bird and squirrel feeder he could use for concealment but at this time he prefers the dead on stalk followed by a so far unsuccessful quick rush that is not fooling anyone.      

Balls, who is tame and loving has a Doppelganger that has begun hanging around. The Doppelganger looks pretty much like Balls but is wild and unapproachable. I think Doppelganger really belongs to some nearby neighbors because I see it head off that way after it's come by to check on Balls and it appears fat and well fed. 

They don't seem to have a real close relationship but Cathy thinks that this is Ball's mother.  

On Valentine's Day I could give lots of advice. Get a cat card, stand in the yard and holler "Balls", pluck a duck, make a dead on stalk with a quick rush but whatever don't be wild and unapproachable when your sweetie comes calling. 

 

The Dog Blog Post...

I used to have dogs and I liked them. I don't have them now and certainly don't want one but recent remembrances, ancient history and the Lufkin Daily News Police reports certainly has me thinking about them. 

I had a dog one time called Buckwheat. Maybe one of the best dogs I ever had and for sure one that caused the least amount of trouble. If I ever figure out the difference between a dog that causes trouble and one that don't I'll write a blog about that too. Old Buck was good and I would let him drink Schaefer beer and drive the boat. 

Recently remembering good times gone by a friend sent me a photo of Buckwheat, also taken at the lake. The Back of the photo says, "Carl's dog singing while they were fishing, Oct 25, 1987. That's 32 years ago. 

It was easy to make Buck sing. You could just start howling, you could play the harmonica or you could put on a Peter Tosh Album called "No More Nuclear War" which had a song that opened with a wolf howl and Buck would raise his voice in song. If you are wondering about the title of the Tosh album it came out during the Reagan years when Ronnie once made the announcement into what he thought was a dead mic that the bombers had been launched and his Secretary of State Al Haig suggested that a nuclear "warning shot" was an effective diplomatic opening to get Russia's attention. 

Speaking of the end of civilization that brings us to the Egyptians and Romans and their relationship with their animals. They did not give them Schaefer beer to drink but we know the Egyptians dressed their cats in clothes and the Romans once elected a dog mayor. Where are these people now? This summer I saw a family swimming at the lake. The dog had on a life jacket. The kids did not. As songwriter Randy Newman says if I may paraphrase, our time at the top may be over. 

All this brings me to the Lufkin Daily News Police report. Each day they have something about a dog in it such as:

A man called officers and reported his ex would not return his dog. 

or:

A woman called in a report said she walked her dog and two dogs barked at her. 

or:

A man reported to ACSO that a dog came in his yard. 

As I said earlier Buckwheat was a dog I had that caused the least amount of trouble. While I was wondering if these things should even be in the police report my wife, from whom many good things come came up with a game we could play. She said read a police report item inserting the word "dog." 

"A dog stole sunglasses and cologne from a truck in the __ block of __ Avenue Wednesday."

"A dog was arrested passed out in his vehicle in the Taco Bell Drive thru"

I think you get it. I may have made up the part about electing a dog mayor. The stuff about Reagan and Haig and our time at the top is the truth. If you want to make the police report real funny take a drink of Schaefer beer every time you insert the word dog.  

Street Photos of People With Dogs...

I don't have a dog. I've had lots of them though, especially when the kids were growing up. Teaches responsibility and stuff. Like when the kid don't feed it and you end up taking care of it. Basically though I enjoyed the dogs and the kids as well. Glad they all have their own places now. 

Things have changed with dogs. I remember when it was ok for a man to shoot his own dog. Probably go to prison now.  I used to doctor on sick and injured dogs. Probably would be deemed malpractice Mary can recall all the times it took both of us to hold down the big white dog to address some injury he had come home with. She drew a picture of us doing this and labeled it "dad the mad dog doctor." The dogs I attended to, baring massive internal injures always got well. 

I am amazed when on social media some one posts a photo of a dog on the street and says "saw this lost dog today." When in college A friend had a dog named Al and in the course of his college career (my friend's, not Al's) he moved, sometimes several times a semester. Al often came up missing. He could usually be found at the last residence they shared miles away. A dog going down the street, in my experience has either been dumped by a cruel master or is looking for a good place to poop. It's a 50 50 chance the dog knows what he is doing. 

So this brings us to today's topic which is a topic I often address and will probably, as I get older, uglier and slower get my butt whipped. It's more photos of people on the street I have collected, miles apart and in different cities that were doing something that I can cobble together into an attention seeking blog post. It has to do with dressing to walk your dog. 

I took this photo at the Galveston Mardi Gras. Cute dog and pretty girl but I'll be darned if I dress the dog better than myself for a big street party. Of course I realize that photos of how I was dressed this day are viral on social media but then I don't care. 

A different crop on this photo and I could have blogged about how the guy hiding his face used to be in the Ramones or that the big guy smoking the cig probably don't have as many to smoke as he thinks. 

This photo is from a walk in a Chicago Park just off Lake Michigan. The wind was cool to me but here was a guy in shorts walking his dog. From a distance the shorts looked black and it seemed that with the white leg stripe he was perfectly matching the black and white dog. In fact I think they are the same kinds of dog in both photos. 

I must have some kind of sickness because I admit when I took this photo  I was thinking about the photo of the girl and writing this blog post. I might even get a dog one day but it will be far in the future when I am no longer able to wander the streets looking at people. I won't ever wear pants with a stripe down the leg unless the are red pants, the stripe is gold, the cuffs have fringe and I'm playing accordion in an Eastern European punk rock band.  

Who Done This?...

Seems like that is a question I have asked many time throughout the years of raising four kids and except for the big white dog of course, providing shelter for numerous pin headed canines.

So now with most of the kids out of the house and the two resident pin heads totaling about 20lb combined weight, not really enough to do much damage, I ask that question again. Who done this?

What you see is damage to one of my flower areas from an unknown source. This shaded area has a couple of azaleas, Indian hawthorn, and here you see the shoots of some bulbs that look to have been used as a bed. No real damage here, the flowering done they are just waiting to be cut down by the weed eat to do it all again next early spring. One thing that may be lost is an Easter lily that has been coming up and blooming for some years. It hasn't done it's thing yet so I don't know if it can recover, the stalk is broken and the plant lies on the ground.

This really looks as if something about 6 or 8 feet tall laid on the cool green stalks and crushed them. This looks like such a cool comfortable place I almost tried it on for size myself. So I ask again, who done this? A swamp ape? Aliens? Buford and Brenda? Those thing loom large in the lore of this blog, popping up to inhabit our dreams and visions, to provide explanations to the unknown and to provide that ever needed re-enforcement that no, we don't know all and there are things out there that are hard to wrap our weak minds around.

Who done this?...

Cold and wet...

Bunch of rain here. I hate that because the bottoms where we duck hunted this weekend will be flooded and hard to hunt. Ducks will be able to get anywhere instead of just being confined to the slough like they were with the water level banks. Oh well, some places in the world have near not enough water.

Any way the cold. Makes you want to snuggle. Here is an old snuggle picture looks like it was made on Christmas day 2004. These two guys have been missing in action for some time. I think the big white dog disappeared about the time the Micheal Vick thing broke. Always knew he was kind of shady and that other guy has been long gone. Any way I am guessing that's about 150+ pounds of dog snuggled up together there.

Here is what this dog house looks like today. That's El Guapo all by himself in there, about 9+ pounds of dog. I know one thing for sure he is

a heck of a lot cheaper to feed that those other two. I buy the cheapest sack of dog food weighing 5 pounds and it lasts a month. Of course there is a hidden cost, because he sits right beside me at the dinner table in a special little high chair and eats the same thing I eat. I am careful to make sure he gets the proper size portions. I read some where you should not eat a piece of meat bigger than a deck of cards. El Guapo seems to be real pleased with a meat this size.

They say...

They say I rode an elephant one time before. I couldn't remember so I rode one again. With my wife. And some kid I did not know. We wanted to ride it just us two, maybe do some of that crazy stuff we do when we both get on the ski tube behind the boat in the hot summer time, but no, they said the elephant had to be loaded.

Wait a minute, I am riding a loaded elephant? Reminds me of a joke. What's the difference between a place you get a drink and an elephant poot? The place you get a drink is a barroom. An elephant poot goes ba-roooooom.

Any way people ask me stuff all the time. Stuff like why I wouldn't remember riding an elephant. Stuff like when I stayed underwater two days what those bubbles were. They ask me when I went on that space walk how long my hose was and what I was carrying in that sack. Most of all though they ask about the big white dog. Where is he?

Of course I have questions too. Does this elephant make my butt look big?

El Guapo missed and where did the big white dog go...

Got home from work yesterday. Went in sat around a few minutes and me and Cathy decide to go to the lake. Did a little crappie fishing, give the cats a rest, two keepers, a cat and a drum were all we managed.

Getting ready to go I noticed El Guapo was nowhere around. He is usually right there in my business helping with whatever business there is. We called, check to make sure he was not sleeping in the house and headed on to the lake.

We get back, Mary is home from work, now driving self and I ask if she has seen him. She opens the door to look and we see his head pop up from the backseat of my car. Some how he must have jumped up in my car without notice when I got home from work. he seems none the worse for wear for being in a shut up car several hours. Probably found food scraps to make a meal.

Fans of the big white dog may have noticed no mention of him since late winter. That was about the time of the last sighting. If you remember he always kept his own schedule. May be when the weather cools I will mount a search. I would hate to have to drag him from a cool spot.

Country Evening...

I had the best day at work yesterday that I have seen in some time. Cathy had no patients either so she stayed home that evening on call. Course the on call kept us from going anywhere but we kept ourselves amused with the spring day and cooking steaks.

Should have taken a picture of these boys when they started. I think planted during Holy Week. They have doubled in size this past week. Some kind of water from the bottom tomato grower that Cathy bought and planted. Works good. I have a few pepper plants slipped in there somewhere. You say tomato, I say tomato, we all say tomato before long. There will be more pictures of this progress.

Here is my neighbor, I mean my neighbor's mule. I call her Jenny. Cathy is feeding a handful of vetch she could not reach. Looks like we have made a friend for life and a possible re-occurring blog character. We need a replacement since the big white dog has not made an appearance in quite sometime now. He usually had a way of appearing when out of town company visited, but failed to show last time.

Morgan showed up about dark and picked up his drums. He said he had a friend that bought one of those pointy guitars. I said wear safety glasses during the jam. You can Google a picture of a pointy guitar if you like.

Dogs...

For the big white dog fans. Here he is. He has only spent about 7 days at home this year. He is missing his collar and is nice, fat and sassy. Not like he has been roughing it or anything. Gotta love that face. That's El Guapo in the background trying to be a big dog too.















And how about this guy? I made this picture, Cathy made up a lost dog poster because he had on a brand new designer John Deere Tractor collar and we started to get in the car to head down to Huntington to post notice at the post office, the Dairy Queen and the store, but as we got it the car a loud whistle rang out and he took off toward a house across the Farm Road from the church about 200 yards from us.

Turns out he was a new arrival to the man that rides the horse around the neighborhood. His name is Hairy. Hairy had a little trouble learning to stay at his house, but I think he has it figured out now.

Had a weekend off...

First whole weekend off since school started. Wish the weather had been a little better, would have gone to the lake, but a little wind stirring in the trees and temps seeming like they might not get out of the 40s made me decide that it could possibly feel like the 30s on the water. Also the boat ramp we have been using was closed due to high water last time we tried to go so I spent a bit of time on the mower bagging a few leaves and dumping them in flower beds around the house.

Afternoon me and Cathy went for a hike on the 4-C trail in Davy Crockett National forest. Here is the trail:











I think those camo coveralls have been her favorite get up this winter. She had been wearing Morgan's but at a post hunting season sale she bought her own. They were a little long in the leg, but Mo's had got a little short in the leg for him so they traded. Both feel like they got the better deal.

A different bridge here, check the sand river bottom in the background, swept clean by recent high water. We met a swamp ape and had him take the picture.











Saw several hunters. One was set up on the trail, we were on a long straight stretch and could see a log in the distance that looked like a good seat, but a guy with a rifle poked his head up about 70 yars away and so we turned around and went back. I thought hunting season was over. One group of two we saw walking on the road as we left had a rifle with a bipod set up, I guess you can hunt hogs or varmits year round. No one wearing hunter orange. I would have if I had known those guys were around.

Back home I took a picture of Mary and El Guapo being cute.











Also the big white dog graced us with his presence. Have not seen much of him since Christmas. He was just as fat and slick as could be. He must be living else where, but has not completely forgotton us.

So he says hey...

"Holmes." The man called me "Holmes." I think that's what he said. Maybe it was "Homes." It sure sounded like "Holmes." He looked to be younger than me, maybe 10 years it's hard to tell on well fed white men sometimes. He asked me to do him a favor and I complied. He was polite when I returned in two minutes with his simple request, maybe he expected me to give him a hard time, want to fight, use foul language or something like that. You get that from some people you know.

How did he peg me as a "Holmes?" I was dressed in a way that gave away absolutely nothing about myself or personal style other than I was a white male. In other words I had a uniform of the most nondescript kind. I was silent when he approached me, I would like to have surprised him with "No comprehende" in some obscure Balkan tongue. I would have liked to say, "just a minute, it is time to turn and face Mecca to pray and I will be right with you." I would have like to asked him if he wanted to buy a watch real cheap. I could have broken into song, "Help, I need somebody, Help!"

When I got home I looked at the big white dog and said, "Hey Holmes."

You just never know what kind of weirdo will come up to you these days.

I'm 50 years old today...

That probably disappoints some of you. I know you thought I was 12 what with the internet being the great equalizer, but I don't feel 50. Seems like the other day I was 20. Time passes I guess. I have done the best I could to not let it pass me by.

No great party planned, got to work this weekend. Gifts have been nice and the big white dog even showed up for the occasion. Here is me having a big birthday with the loot that I was able to haul in by combining a gift card to academy from Katie and Travis with a little cash from my mom. I got a new pair of nice neoprene waders and a big net. Water proof clothes and big nets are in much demand since we have been on the trail of Ol' Ginormus.

Yes mom, I wear under garments with my waders, this is not another one of those naked pictures like you see other places on the net. I mean, my mom is not looking at naked pictures on the net, but there are some out there. You know what I mean.

Other nice gifts included hand made wearables from my wife. I'll post pictures of them some other time.

My sweet wife also gave me the ultimate gift, her share of the emusic downloads for the month of February. That's sacrifice, let me tell you.

Cold weather...

Not fit for bream fishing that's for sure. 34 degrees right here, heck a couple of days ago I had fixed a big glass of iced tea to drink on the way to school and I got there and stayed from 9-2pm and when I got back to the car I still had a couple of ice cubes in my glass.

Anyway here is how a couple of residents around here handle the cold. That's one of those plastic dog houses you can buy with the snap on top, better quarters that 3/4 of the humans in the world have, with the top unsnapped because of the size of someone who eats more each day than 3/4 of the worlds humans do. There is a homemade dog house, built and painted a few years ago by me and Mary that the big white dog used to prefer, but I have only seen him in it once this year so far. Maybe he is getting old and has arthur and can't fold his bones up like he used to. Speaking of arthur, I have a test on him next week, got to study.

Hey guys, mommas working tonight, you can both sleep in, she will never know.

Sometimes...

I just scrubs his little belly till it is plumb pink.

You can't really see real good in this picture, but when his hair is wet his shin is all spotted like a little hog underneath. No not my belly, my skin, the dog's!


Be careful giving a dog a bath. When you do that it does something to their brains and they don't know who they are for a few days till they get all dirty again. You can see the mystified look on their faces when they get out of the tub. Lost looking they are. The Big White Dog never gets a bath. He needs to know who he is at all times because as much running around as he does we can't afford to have him in altered states.

You know, someone is going to tell my mamma that he put a picture of himself taking a bath on that blog. She won't say anything to me though. She will just call the wife and then I'll have to answer to her.

What not to write in a blog...

Nice little editorial in the Kilgore student paper about writing something about someone in your blog, then they find it and are pissed. It happens. People lose friends. Lose jobs. Just an extension of gossip I guess.

So here are the Older You Will Get blog guidelines:

Always write about youself, not other people. If you can't fill pages and pages you are not busy enough or are watching too much TV or something. I often see friends and I say, "did I tell you about what the big white dog did," they say, "I read it on the blog," I say, "know how many catfish I caught," they say, "I read it on the blog." Hey, this thing keeps me from staying over at your house for hours and spilling my guts.

Don't write about the things your friends and associates do that push your buttons. One day you will grow up and not be so bothered.

If you delve into political postings use the Sermon on the Mount as a standard to judge the behavior of those that should be acting in the public's interest. In fact use the Sermon on the Mount to guide you in most anything.

Don't write about your boss. There will be one like him at the next place you work also.

Post pictures. One picture is worth a thousand words.

Keep in mind that most stuff on the net is worse that yours.

Mistaken Identity

Cathy answers the phone. She says "no I'm looking at him." The she says, "I just put him out."

It was the neighbor. she called to report the demise of the Big White dog. When Cathy informed her that this report was premature, she thought may be it was El Guapo, the Little White dog. He is alive and kicking also.

Seems a pretty good size white dog had come to be dead under her house. Stinking dad. When she had called we were just walking out the door, I did the neighborly think walking out to see if I could help, but she said she was OK. That was good, I think maybe she did not want me to see her throwing up when she pulled that stinking mess from under the house.

If you are curious about what the Big White dog might look like dead, look back a few posts, there's a picture. Looking at that it is pretty easy to see when some people might suspect lifelessness on his part.

Big White Dog...

I know he has some fans here that like to hear of his adventures. Right now he is enjoying the cooling days by laying in his favorite spot, a hole he digs right behind the garage space where my wife parks her car. He could scoot over a couple of feet and dig behind my car, after all I am the one that likes him, but he likes that spot for some reason. May be it is because of the special way he and Cathy relate to each other. He does real well as long as he keeps me between him and her.

He has kept up his traveling ways. He is here for a week or two and then gone for a week or so. Each time I think I will never see him again, but he returns to dig the hole back out, soak up 30 or so pounds of chow and it's off again. I suspect one day he will be gone for good and I will wonder stuff like did he just find a better place, he was traveling when he turned up here and I will wish I had a bathroom scale so I could know just how much he weighed.

It's going to be cool tonight, might make him feel like the road. I am sure it will be a spur of the moment decision because for right now the boys are preparing the night watch. They are very good at ensuring that the possums eat no more dog food than they can hold. Cathy is working or later tonight she would hollar into the dark, "Stop that ugly barking."

I hope Cathy sees this picture so she will have proof that yes, The Big White Dog stands up some of the time.