We have lost another friend. When he was rescued, he was chained in a backyard without shelter, food or water -- how could anyone do that to a puppy with a face like that? He was a mix of beagle and basset hound otherwise known as a "Bagel". He had the soulful eyes and mournful howl of a hound but the freckles and belly of a basset. His coat was so soft and silky that petting him felt as good to you as it did to him. When he wouldn't answer to Augie, he picked his own name - Harry Potter. Once, on a cold winter night, he went for a walk alone. My husband put on a long winter coat and, as it was icy, took a long walking stick with him. He stood in the middle of an intersection in our small town looking like Dumbledore and called for Harry Potter. Harry didn't appear so he headed home thinking people might call the cops about the drunk wizard calling for Harry Potter. When he got home, there sat Harry in the garage, waiting for him.. He was just a baby when we got him and outgrew his pillow before very long. He also outgrew our laps but managed to curl around us when we sat in our chairs instead of on the couch. Someone was very cruel to him before he was rescued and so he hated men when he came to us. It took him 48 hours to warm up to my husband but they really became friends when my husband had surgery and spent 6 weeks at home recovering. It was quite a "bro-mance". He was afraid of loud noises so spent many a thunder storm in one of our laps for comfort. He hated the buzzers on Family Feud so we quite watching it - sorry Steve. He loved cherry tomatoes!! We had a pot of them growing on the kitchen deck and, when he went outside, he had to check the tomatoes. He only ate the ones that were ripe. He loved carrots and broccoli and cauliflower. He appreciated it when we put vegetables in his food. His howl was a sweet greeting anytime he heard a car that he knew was us coming home to him. He loved to mess with the afghans on the furniture; sometimes he would drape them around his head so they looked like a shawl. Other times he would just snuggle, snuggle, snuggle till he was buried in the afghan. He had his own afghan but really preferred those in our chairs. When he wanted to cuddle, he would stand at your knee and just look - asking to get up. Because he was all hound, he couldn't be outside without his lead but that didn't stop him from hunting - squirrels mostly. When he quietly approached them and they finally noticed he was coming, up the tree they would go and then tease him because he couldn't reach them. That didn't stop him from trying to climb the tree to get them. Harry left us October 8 in the afternoon. He was happy and active, even trying to steal our tuna salad sandwiches at noon. Then about two o'clock he became very listless and weak. He ended up under a bench in the "mud room". We were working outside and kept checking on him. About 4:30 p.m., we came in and my husband knelt to check on him. He took Harry's beautiful soulful hound face in his hands and Harry looked at him, closed his eyes and stopped breathing. The only thing that's good about this is .... he's not afraid anymore.
Think about this - perhaps there is a "Cowboy Culture" that deserves as much hoopla as all the other separatist groups - black, asian, hispanic, native american, irish, women, and so on. Maybe it deserves more hoopla due to the fact that it is/was a diverse culture with members from all the other cultures listed before. The fact that the Cowboy Code represents much of what the older Americans still hold true! What the author below says is true: The Cowboy Code is also God's code. What ever you perceive to be the greater Power in your world would certainly agree with the code. It's difficult to understand, when there are so many things wrong with our whole world that we could be about fixing as a group, that the name of an airport or the motto of a college or the name of a sports team could create so much rancor and divisiveness. I would like to know - personally - when are the grownups coming out from hiding? It seems that the most childish of us all are making the most noise and the "silent majority" needs to raise a little particular hell and set things straight! (See Cowboy Code - every single one of them). Read the message below.
Tuesday, March 19, 2019
My friend Robert Knight, columnist for the Washington Times, has written an interesting article about how the "Cowboy Way" is under fire. In his March 18 column, Knight writes: "In 1949, as part of its "Riders in the Sky" promotion, a film studio released Gene Autry's 10-sentence Cowboy Code. The code resurfaced in 2007 in a biography of the movie star by Holly George-Warren, a prolific chronicler of America's popular culture. The reason it's included below is because cowboys are being thrown under the horse, along with "farting cows." They're the latest targets of the political correctness that seeks to replace American grit with a nihilistic creed of wimpery." I grew up a cowboy and try to live by The Cowboy Code.
Knight's column describes how activists in Orange County, CA want to rename John Wayne Airport and remove his statue over what they deem as "insensitive" remarks he made in 1971. In addition, Knight notes, "Meanwhile, the University of Wyoming is facing a leftist uprising over its new slogan, "The World Needs More Cowboys." The sports teams have long been called the Cowboys. Wyoming's license plates feature a cowboy on a bucking bronc, and the town of Cody boasts perhaps the world's most famous rodeo. Nonetheless, the slogan should be "shelved" according to the UW Committee on Women and People of Color, and replaced with one that "represents the diversity of the people and cultures" at the college."
Isaiah 5:20 says, "Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter!" Isn't that just what these crusaders of the politically correct do? Here is the Cowboy Code:1. The Cowboy must never shoot first, hit a smaller man, or take unfair advantage. 2. He must never go back on his word, or a trust confided in him. 3. He must always tell the truth. 4. He must be gentle with children, the elderly, and animals. 5. He must not advocate or possess racially or religiously intolerant ideas. 6. He must help people in distress. 7. He must be a good worker. 8. He must keep himself clean in thought, speech, action, and personal habits. 9. He must respect women, parents, and his nation's laws. 10. The Cowboy is a patriot. How can anyone in their right mind disagree with this?
Knight concludes: "If they could just get enough power, the cultural vandals would wipe out all mention of white males in U.S. history - except for the self-hating ones in today's Democratic Party, including the Virginia governor and attorney general who appeared in blackface but, well, they're Democrats, so all is forgiven." How true. But what they fail to recognize that white males have, and continue to, contribute wonderful things to the global society. Cowboys represent part of that contribution, and they were and are not all white men. To men around the world: It's all right to be a man irrespective of what color you happen to be born. Follow the Cowboy Code, which is also God's code, and you will lead a blessed life, even though the politically correct will curse you.
He was a beautiful, gentle friend ... part appaloosa and part palomino. Just look at him ... all that muscle. He had so much draft in him that we used to say we could serve tea on his back. He might even have stood still for it. He didn't stand still for much though. If coyotes got in the corral, Tanq just watched him bare his teeth and chase them out of their home. In the summer of 2006, my husband came home from doing horse chores and said, "Honey, you'd better go out to the farm. There's something wrong with your horse." I did go out to the farm and found my powerful beautiful gelding wilting. There's no better way to describe how he looked. His head was hanging down and when he walked he dragged his feet like he had no strength to lift them anymore. He came to me and rested his head on my shoulder and, while we waited for Doug to come back with the vet, his head got heavier and heavier. I was so afraid he would collapse and I wouldn't be able to get him up. After a million years (or so it seemed), Doug came back with the vet and he diagnosed West Nile Virus. We had been really good about getting the vaccine for the virus for our two boys and the vet said, when Polky was back to his old self within a week after steroids and antibiotics, that was probably what saved him. He was around for another 12 years. In 2016, we discovered he was going blind. We were using a weed whip to clear some tall weeds and, when we started it, the noise scared our sweet boy and he nearly went through the barn wall to get away from the sound because he couldn't see where the door was. We never determined the cause of his blindness but he adapted well, in the corral and pasture that he knew so well. He always came running to the barn when he heard one of us pull up to groom and feed him. He LOVED his carrots. Once tried to eat my husband's orange shirt. Time passes and we all grow old and so did Polk. He was probably totally blind by this past summer and had no appetite so had lost around 200 pounds. He wouldn't take his sweet grain but he still loved his carrots. Unfortunately, that wasn't enough to keep him healthy and strong. Doug watched him fail, hoping he would rally this spring and be our old Polk but time passes. Time passed and we knew that Polk was just tired and wanted to be with his old friend, Tanq.. Now he is ... they are running free without fences and their manes and tails flying in the air behind them.. A smart man once said, "There's nothing better for the inside of a man than the outside of a horse." They are beautiful, gentle creatures and we were lucky to share the lives of Polky and Tanq. Bless you our sweet boys.
Put on your Chirstmas lights - help guide Mira across the rainbow bridge. We finally listened to her. With broken hearts, we helped her cross the bridge to join so many old friends and some she never met that had been part of our lives before she joined us. But ... she joined us so many years ago. She came to us as a fuzzy little fur ball from the Humane Society. She picked us and we are so very glad she did. She was the most intelligent and social dog one could hope to meet. We took her to the Renaissance in Minnesota and she wowed them. She had such class; the other dogs were all dogs but Mira was Mira. Little kids would come up and say, "Can I pet her?" Almost before we could say yes, she would wag her tail and smile at them and they would just pet and pet and pet. When my mom was in her last few years, she would call to me and say, "Your dog is teasing me!" I would come into the living room find Mira placing one of her toys in Mom's lap and, when Mom went to grab it ... Mira would and pull it away and smile ... One cold winter day she explored the fish pond too closely and ended up in a snowbank that became the pond. There she was, curved tail up, head in the pond struggling, until my husband pulled her out - by her long beautiful curved tail. She was lab and Elkhound mix and got the best of both breeds. Just look at that picture. Who could say she not "best in show". It was our show and she was always best. She used to dance under the feet of our horses - maybe she and Tanq have renewed an old acquaintanship. She used to patrol the neighborhood. All the property in this area was her's to guard and take care of. And she did -- she walked the neighborhood -- she watched over Orville and Marilyn Lewis's property and Ken and Jo's and the Adams which by the way was where her boyfriend, Cruiser, lived. She was frightened by fireworks and one fourth of July ran away when our neighbors, Todd and Kim, set some off. She was gone for about 12 hours - but guess who found her and brought her home? Todd and Kim. She had strayed five miles away - at 14 years old and full of arthritis. When they brought her back, she looked like "What? What? What's the big deal?" My husband has just remembers how she used to "box" with him. She would sit up beside him on the couch just waiting for the invitation. Then - the fight was on. She was the best "helper girl". No matter what you were doing, she would ask in. "Can I help?" So after 18 1/2 years, today we hleped her and said good-bye. We have empty Mira pillows all over the house and empty hearts as well. Christmas will be different for us but turn on your Christmas lights to guide her to her new home. It's hard to share more when there is so much more to share. She was one of the best things that God ever gave us and we thank him for the gift. Merry Christmas.
It's hard to lose a friend and this is the second one we've lost this summer.