Buster

When I was a child, we had a dog named Buster.  Buster and I were inseperable.  My two older brothers were in school and my little sister was a baby.  So, I hung out with the dog.  I guess that is a way of saying I went to the dogs.  LOL

Anyway, Buster loved all of us kids.  He also loved to go over to my other grandparents house.  He would go no further than their house.  Often when we got back from town from peddaling and buying groceries, Buster would be at my grandparents house.  He always liked to hitch a ride back home.

On one particular Saturday, we stopped at my grandparents house to unload my grandfather and their groceries.  We had the green Rambler station wagon then.  Well, I guess one of us left the car door open.  Before you know it, Buster had climbed in the car.

While we were getting the groceries secured at Pop’s house, Buster decided to peruse the bags of groceries still left in the car.  And, as luck would have it, my mother had bought a chuck roast to have for our Sunday dinner.  Well, old Buster did not know that and he got the roast and gnawed on it some.

Needless to say, my mother was none too happy when she found that Buster had helped himself to the roast.  I know that she was pretty darn angry.  I was really too young to understand why at the time. 

Money was always tight at our house.  We always had vegetables because we had a garden.  We had milk because we had a cow.  And, we had chicken and eggs because we had them too.  Some times we would have beef because the cow would have a calf (to keep her in milk).  But, often, we would have to buy beef. 

 Buster was banished from the car but he was not banished from our lives.  He was persona non grata for a while at the house.  And, I don’t think he ever go another ride home with us.

Why Bears Have Short Tails

Here is another story with some type of moral.  I think there is probably more than one moral depending on how you understand the story.  It could be “use the proper tool for the job”.  It could be “don’t poke body parts where they should not be”. 

Seems that Mr. Bear decided he was hungry and that he needed food.  He decided to go fishing.  Well, Mr. Bear did not have a fishin pole so he decided to use his nice long tail.  Only problem, it was winter time and the lake was frozen over. 

So, Mr. Bear goes out on the lake.  He breaks a hole through the ice and he backs up and puts his beautiful long tail in to the hole.  He swishes the tail back and forth hoping to attract a fish.  Mr. Bear sits for a while before he gets a bite. 

Boy!  What a bite too!  When Mr. Bear felt the bite, he tried to pull his tail out.  Lo and Behold!  The ice had closed up around his tail.  He pulled and pulled and finally go himself loose minus his tail.  So every since then, bears have had short tails so they could not use them as fishin rods.

Obedience School

We decided to take Ranger to obedience school to help us train him properly.  He is eager to learn and wants a job.  So, we found a local trainer and signed Ranger up.  Andy is very good with dogs.  He is definitely the Alpha…  and all dogs respect and listen to him. 

Andy cares deeply for the dogs and does not desire to harm them in any way.  He is there to train the owner as well as the dog.  When both are trained properly, the dog and the owner are both happy.  Today, was a training day for me.  Poor Ranger simply had to participate.

When it became aparent that Ranger was stronger than a “regualr collar and leash” and even a “choke chain” we had to resort to the “E” collar.  I was at first adverse to the collar because of all of the bad stories I had heard about people abusing their animals with them. 

Andy had us try out the collar first so we could feel the stimulation.  Then he put it on Ranger and showed us how to operate it.  Range caught on very quickly.  Actually, we can keep it on the lowest of voltages and he responds. 

The collar is quite more humane that people would lead you to believe.  No dog tugging agains a collar, choking himself.  And, no human being pulled around or knocked down.  (I have skinned knees to show for that.)  Also, if you are using it, and you are not abusive, then the collar is not abusive.  It just gets the point across with less effort on both the animal and the human.

Last week, we were taught heel, sit, stay and place with the new collar.  After the hour of education, we were sent home to “work on” all of those tasks.  We have heel and sit down without a problem.  And, I had a problem with place and stay.  Not Ranger….me.

So while I had to go to “remedial training”, so did Ranger.  We worked out in the rain today.  Both of us got sopping wet.  And, I learned my lesson.

My issue last week was that when Ranger got “confused” about place and started flying around the house looking for that place, I felt bad giving him the “nudge” he needed to make it to his place.  The idea here folks is to “nudge” the dog until he goes to the “place” you have indicated.  It never occurred to me to use the leash the first couple of times to direct Ranger to his “place”.  Therefore, he was running around the room looking at me asking “Where is the place!!!!”  Andy explained that to me today.

Once again this week, we are working on place and stay.  Not because of Ranger’s inability.  He proved just fine today that he understood the concepts.  It was me who was trained today.  Because the dog only does what his humans allow.

Why Rabbits Have Short Tails

This is one of the stories I was told as a child.  I think it is an Uncle Remus story but am not totally sure.  It does have a moral.  I am not sure if it is “don’t trust sneaky characters or strangers”.  Or it could be “cover your a**”.  Or “make sure you understand what  exactly your deal is”.  Regardless…it is how rabbits ended up with short cotton tails.

It appears that one day Rabbit needed to cross the river.  Not being a good swimmer and afraid of the alligator in the river, he was not sure how he was going to make it across.  There was not ferry going at the time.

Rabbit was standing on the bank of the river trying to figure out how to get across.  Alligator came upon him and asked Rabbit why he was so troubled.  Rabbit replied that he needed to get to the other side of the river but being afraid of Alligator was not sure how he was going to make it across.

Alligator told Rabbit that he would gladly ferry him across the river on his back.  Rabbit did not trust Alligator so he turned down the offer.  Alligator said that Rabbit could ride on his head above the water and get safely across the river.  Rabbit said that Alligator could simply go under the water, leaving Rabbit in the river to flounder around and then be eaten.  Alligator promised not to dive under the water so Rabbit would not drown in the river.

Rabbit said that Alligator could bite him and kill him if he trusted Alligator to take him across.  Alligator promised not to bite Rabbit when he was getting onto Alligator’s head to go across the river.  Alligator told Rabbit if he rode on Alligator’s head, that he could not bit Rabbit because his jaw only opened from the bottom.

So, Rabbit thought about it for a while and decided that since Alligator promised not to dive under the water and also promised that if Rabbit rode on Alligator’s head he could not bit him, he would take up Alligator’s offer to ferry him across the river.

Rabbit got on Alligator’s head and Alligator ferried him across the river.  When they got to the other side, Rabbit jumped off Alligator’s head.  Quick as a wink, Alligator raised up tried to bite Rabbit.  Rabbit heard a “snap” and felt a tug on his long tail.  Alligator had him.  Rabbit pulled and pulled until he got away from Alligator.  But alas, Alligator had Rabbit’s tail still in his mouth.

To this day, rabbits don’t have tails to remind them not to ride across rivers on alligator’s heads.

Stories

I got started on my blog entry last night.  Then, for no reason, the screen went blank.  Oops!  No words.  So, I will start again.

When I was a child, I loved to have my elders sit down and tell me stories.  My grandmother did most of the telling.  She was a retired school teacher.  She would tell me fables, fair tales, brer rabbit (briar rabbit) stories and much more.  All of the stories she told had some type of moral.  Uncle Remus was good for that as were the fables and fairy tales.

My mom would supply us with “Little Story Books” every time she came home from town.  At that time, the grocery store had them on the aisles in racks just like they do the latest gadget they are trying to sell now.  We used to wait excitedly for her to come home so we could rifle through the bag to find not snacks but the sotry book of the week.  It was a wonderful time.  The book was food for the mind.  Snack food maybe…but food none the less.

I am often reminded that there are many of these stories that are not being read or told anymore.  Some because of “racial/political” reasons and others because they have fallen out of favor.  It disheartens me that children spend more time in front of a gameboy than reading.

Story time was always a favorite time of mine.  What was even better was when I learned how to read for myself.  Then, any time I wanted, I could imerse myself in the world of a book.  I could travel to far away and some times make believe places simply by opening a book and turning the pages.  It has always been a talent of mine that I can willingly suspend my disbelief and fall into the pages of a book. 

One of my favorite stories was Little Black Sambo.  Rather than thinking it had any type of racial connotations, I enjoyed the story for what it was.  It was a story to remind us not to venture away for our parents.  And, I thought that Sambo was pretty smart to get the tigers to fight with each other rather than eat him up.  He made them so mad that they chased each other around the tree and made butter which he carried home so that they could have pancakes, syrup and butter. 

I thought that was wonderful.  It is only devious minds that reads the racial connotation into that story if you ask me.  I was simply a child hearning a story about a child that dressed up in his Sunday best and went out in the woods to play.  He got into trouble and found his way out of it.  Although, I don’t know what I would have done with the clothes that had butter all over them…. After all the tigers were wearing his clothes when they melted!  So, maybe there was more than one moral to the story.  Don’t stray away from home into the woods because things can happen.  Don’t wear your good clothes cause something could happen.  And, use your brains when you actually get into trouble.

I will try to relate some of the stories I heard as a child….  There are plenty if I can just remember them.  I don’t know what happened to our treasure trove of Little Story Books.  I would assume they ended up being donated to Toys for Tots way back when….

Clutter

The huge difference between me and Mr. Greenhouse, besides the obvious man/woman thing, is that he thrives in clutter and I feel like I am drowning.  In deference to him, I try really hard to abide with some clutter.  However, if left to his own choice, I feel we would just have little paths carved through the clutter to go from room to room.

I wait, before I say anything, hoping that he will notice when the clutter is beginning to really bother me.  But, unfortunately, the man is clueless.   At least, I choose to think he is clueless rather than thinkin that he just doesn’t care about how it affects me.  Maybe he waits for me to wave the flag before he gets busy trying to straighten things out.

We are different because, he always had to live a neat and orderly life when was a child.  Everything had to be put up and neat.  He vowed that when he lived away from mom and dad that he would be able to do what he liked (usually involved dropping clothes where he took them off…dropping tools where he used them…etc) without the consequences of mom making him clean up.  It is funny, but his way of control for his life is a seemingly life of chaos.  He loses things.  He can’t find things.  His office is a mess.  Even if he tries to clean, he seems to deliberately leave something undone. 

Me, well, I grew up in chaos.  Things were everywhere.  Don’t get me wrong, I did not grow up in a pig sty.  It was just that there was always clutter everywhere.  My way of control was to keep things nice and neat.  I knew where I put something because I put it back in the same place every time.  If I finished a magazine or paper, it was properly disposed of. 

Now, I find myself in clutter again, each and every day.  I am sure that Mr. Greenhouse feels the same way about the neatness.  Although, he likes my neatness when it comes to his clothes.  He even leaves at least two complete outfits (shorts and t-shirts) in the bathroom right outside the shower.

When we moved into this house, he agreed to keep the clutter downstairs.  He has the run of the downstairs.  His office is down there.  He has a great view of the gully behind the house.  But….guess where he really wants to be?  Yep!  Upstairs where I want to keep it clutter free.

On being Moses and Joshua

Today, the sermon at Lakeforest was on Moses and Joshua.  Actually, I guess you could say it was about being prepared.  The whole series is called “Stretch”.  It you stretch before you work out, you are better prepared to face the workout.  So, it is important to be prepared.

One of the things we can do to be prepared is learn from experience.  Our minister, Mike, gave the example of Moses and Joshua.  He said that they both had lots of stressful situations to face.  They would go to the “tent” and talk with God about what to do.  Moses, at first took Joshua as an apprentice.  He was a helper and assistant.  He was to learn from Moses and be prepared for when it was his turn to take the helm.

Everyone should have a Moses and be a Joshua.  And, everyone should be a Moses to someone who is a Joshua. 

I have several Moseses in my life right now.  And, it scares me to think I might actually be someone elses Moses.  One of the people I consider my Moses is Dr. B.  Yes, Dr. B., you are a Moses in my life.  I would hazzard to say that you are and have been a Moses to a lot of people with whom you have had contact.

I enjoy reading Dr. B’s blog.  It amazes me how he keeps us interested by what he writes.  I can’t wait for the latest installment with Indee.  It inspires me to keep on plugging away to see if I can actually put enough words together to make a story.  I have plenty little “grains of truth” to use to make up stories that might amuse people.  But, can I put it together on paper to make it interesting?  I can “spin” stories but do I have the talent?

Comfort and Release

We have all heard the saying “music calms the savage beast”.  I am also sure that we wonder where that comes from.  Imagine if you will a frantic mother, her baby keeps crying and fussing and wiggling.  She has been up most of the night.  The baby is dry.  It has been fed.  It does not have a fever and does not appear to have an ear ache or a stomach ache.  The baby simply cannot be consoled.  Can you see that in you mind’s eye?  She is so tired she can barely hold her head up.  The baby just won’t calm down.  What does she do?

If she is like 99% of us, she will start humming and singing.  She is hoping that eventually, the little one will calm down.  What she is doing is also calming herself too.  Some where in the back of her mind, where she cannot even reach it with a conscious thought, she knows that music actually helps.  And, lo and behold, it does.  It not only calms her, but as she calms, the baby also calms.  The steady heartbeat of the mother and the low humming or crooning finally do their job.

I come from a long line of singers and hummers.  I find that when I am in distress I catch myself singing or humming a song.  Often times they are hymns.  But, I have been know to sing “Why don’t you love me like you used to do”, “I want a buddy not a sweetheart”, “Ragtime Dolly” and a lully bye by Mark Heard called “Little Child”. 

Where do the hymns come from?  They were sung to me by my grandmother.  They are the old hymns that were taught to here when she was a child.  Songs like “Blessed Assurance”, “He Lives”, “I’ll Fly Away” and many others too numerous to name.  I have also included some of the religious songs that we currently sing at our church, Lakeforest.

I find myself hearing the music and words in my head even if they are not actually vocalized.  Some times, when I cannot sleep, I catch myself singing in my head.  It calms me down and makes me sleepy.  I know it’s working when I repeat words or miss words. 

How many of us have held little ones in our arms and put our heads down on theirs and hummed and rocked.  We smell the cleaness of the baby that is laced with baby powder.  We hear and feel them gently sucking on a bottle or a pacifier.  Their little eyes are at first wide open while they take in the world.  But, soon, their little head droops and their eyes go to half mast.  Soon you feel the dead weight of a child that is asleep in our arms.  Sometimes, the moment is so sweet that we don’t want to “put the baby down”. 

Comfort and realease come from all different kinds of places.  I only hope that when I am breathing my last that my “head singing” will continue to be there to soothe me as I fall into that final sleep.

Myrick and the incredible bucking horse

Myrick was the first grandchild born.  He is the child of my “second” brother and is a junior.  We all were excited when he came along.  When he got old enough to start crawling and standing, my brother bought him one of those black and white spotted horses from Playskol that had wheels.  When the reigns were flipped, the horse would whinny.

Along with this, Myrick had a cowboy hat and a guitar.  With the guitar, he would strum and sing Elvira.  I think that is a Statler Brothers song.  It was popular when Myrick was a toddler.  He was really cute when he would dance and sing that song.

I think Myrick aspired to be a singing cowboy much like Roy Rodgers or Gene Autry.  He was certainly encouraged by all the adults at the time.  He really posed a wonderful picture.

Well, Myrick would climb on his stately steed and he would “ride the range”.  (really around the den in the house)  That horse was an unpredictable sort.  Every once in a while, he would get a “wild hair” and throw Myrick right over his head with a whinny to boot.

What would happen, is that Mryick would run into a door jamb, the wheel on the horse would stop and Myrick wouldn’t.  So, over the head of the pony he would go.  True to being a cowboy, Myrick would get back up and get back on that old horse.

I can still hear my brother saying:  “That dang horse just threw Myrick again.” 

Myrick finally got to old to ride the horse and it was put out to pasture.  I really don’t think the other two children in that family ever really took to the cowboy life.

I No Wolf

Reading the comments for Dr. B’s latest post, reminds me of my own nieces and nephews.  Children tend to “pick on” one of the group when they all get together to play.  That person can change depending on who is leading the pack and what is being played.  And, names get called based on the game.

No “history” of a family would not be complete without stories about the latest generation to grow up and become husbands, wives and parents themselves.  One reason is because the current generation may not remember some of their own antics.  Or they may not be willing to tell their mates about gaffes.  Or they don’t want the “little ones” to follow in their own footsteps.  So, here is a story about Myrick, Torie, Kristen and Ashley. 

Way back before Newt and Judy moved their brood to Lake Charles, they used to live in Charleston.  That made it easier for them to come back to Sampit for family functions.  Myrick, Torie, Kristen and Ashley are all fairly close in age.  Ashley was the youngest for a while.  All of the kids probably have seen some of the family videos.  So, it will come as no surprise that Ashley was the shortest and the “pudgiest” at the time. 

It was really a treat to see all of those little kids running around and playing with each other.  They all had curley had and fair skin.  Torie had the most beautiful red hair, got that from Granddad.  All of them had light colored eyes and a few of them had freckles.  I am sure that Grammy got a little tired of hearing the screen porch door being opened and closed while the kids ran through the house and out into the yard.  But, I can tell you that she would not trade one creak of that door opening and closing for all the pleasure she got seeing those little faces.

I remember one particular day when they were running in and out of the yard.  They were playing a game of chase.  As it happened, Ashley was “it” that particular time.  The three older ones were running from her and squealing.  She was running after them trying to catch up.  I can still see all of those little legs running and hear all the laughing and squealing now.

Anyway, they were calling Ashley the “Big Bad Wolf”.  Ashley was running after them yelling that she was not.  On one particular run through the house, Ashley stopped in front of me and said with tears glistening in her eyes….”I no wolf!”  I assured here that she was not a wolf and that they were just playing.  Thankfully the game changed soon after that.

I should mention that today, Ashley is a very beautiful, tall, thin and graceful young woman.  She is following in her father’s footsteps by working in the health care industry.  I am very proud of her.  I am also hoping that she and Aaron will have beautiful, sweet and playful children of their own.