God's Creatures

My neighbor (Luie) came home one day with a black Lab puppy.

Over time, Turbo grew from a puppy to a huge magnificent canine with a coat as sleek as ebony.

Only one thing existed in Turbo's world and that was Luie. Luie was Turbo's alpha dog, mother, father, leader, and food source. If Luie took a step, Turbo took that step. If Luie spoke, Turbo focused full attention to try to please Luie with his response.

A month ago Luie passed to his heavenly reward by slipping the bonds of earthly matters.

For the first week after we lost Luie, Turbo sat in his master's chair in the living room and refused to budge (Turbo had never been allowed in that chair in his life). For the next week, Turbo alternated between pacing in the house and pacing the yard while constantly searching for the companion he worshipped.

For the last two weeks, Turbo has been in visible decline. His hair is falling out in clumps, his eyes are mournful, he refuses to eat, and he is all but lifeless.

Today I visited Turbo and he had not the strength to rise to greet me. I feel that Turbo has made the decision to stop living due to inconsolable remorse and that he is near accomplishing that "decision".

I guess my point is that there are a lot of things about God's creatures that we don't fully understand or appreciate. Makes ya think?

Big Dawg

Partnering with my tractor, Big Dawg, is an activity which sets my spirit free and allows mellow to creep into my soul as a soothing blanket of calm.

The baritone reservoir of the pulsing diesel mated to the heavy lugs of the agricultural treads transfer a sense of power to my control which is both aesthetically satisfying and production oriented.

While perched on my orange Kubota throne, I forget that any other world exists and feel a deep sense of peace and accomplishment.

Oh that the world could be reduced to such a simple pleasure in all things.

Deer - 1 Ranch Hand - 0

'Nuff said.

Houdini

The Tin Star Ranch has the world's most perfect deer sanctuary.

Tucked in the Southwest corner of this Eden is a pond which provides thirst slaking elixir. Adjacent to the pond is a corn feeder and the obligatory protein blocks. Surrounding all you will find adequate trees, brush and easy access.

Scouting the area will on any day produce a fresh jumble of crisp tracks, untold mounds of fresh shiny deer droppings, and heavily worn trails where the antlered ones have trod for years to this sustenance mecca.

Aint but one problem. In all my time of thrashing around in this little hunting paradise, I have yet to lay eyes on as much as a fawn? I've come early, stayed late, and climbed trees. I've laid in the brush, relocated to a distant vantage, and eased in on stealthy pads from the backside. Nothin'.

Sure, I've cogitated on the possibilities:

1. These are invisible deer.

2. My neighbor uses a set of deer legs to stomp around my tank to give the appearance of a vast herd.

3. There is a deer cave under the pond where they hide.

4. This has all been an hallucination?

Here's my prediction. Tomorrow bout 6AM, I'm gonna climb into my trusty camouflaged aerial ordnance tree stand at the pond. In the icy black beforn dawn, I will plan the timely demise of Ole Mossback. The Houdini sucker that has eluded me all these years will soon be mere table fare topped by a horned wall decoration.

Its just you and me Bucky so tread light, keep your eyes open, and prepare to meet the owner of the Tin Star in a most abrupt manner.

Life After Death

For my loyal reader, the latest word is that I have experienced redemption and glory after surviving my trip to that nether region below the "bottom of the barrel".

Yes sports fans, there is life after "death" as I can testify to after spending Friday through Sunday hugging the toilet preachin' to "Ralph" about a "Buick" while wondering if my other end would be best suited attached to the porcelain?
Once I get past the weakness (and backache from being abed for so long) I'll resume my blogalicious repartee.

Damn, gettin' old ain't for the faint of heart.

Rented Mules

Some folks would lead ya to believe that purgatory is an intermediate state after death employed for purification.

I tend to support the Catholic version that portrays purgatory as a temporary state of misery. This isn't a statement of religious belief on my part. It is more a personal quagmire I have endured since long before dawn this morning.

My self-diagnosis is that I have the "flu". Regardless, it has been a day of hades induced perdition that early on led me to pray to my Lord and Savior for His healing hand for my body and soul.

Now before you start jawin' about me gettin' soft in my dotage, consider the following:

I feel like if I fell into a pond, I could skim off miserable for a week.

I feel like a basket of rear ends with the best ones already picked out and my muscles feel like I was beat with a sack of bent nickels.

I swear I ran a 40 yard dash in a 30 yard gym last night because my bones, eyes, hair, and brain are swollen and aching.

Now for the good part. I only had the "dry heaves" for four hours and the diarrhea should dissipate in a few days (or not?).

Now I know how rented mules must feel after a week with no-accounts.

Two Dollar Watches

Me and the beautiful bride have mostly kept our humble abode fairly respectable.

We swab the deck, dump the trash, and whack the weeds ever chance we get (and have for more than two lustrums). I reckon we thought we were maintaining the nest in a most respectable manner.

A while back we decided it was time to place our prized Austin real estate on the market and withdraw our equity for application to the Tin Star Ranch mortgage. No problem. Call a real estate agent, slap that metal "FOR SALE" sign in the yard, and wait for the rubes to lather their cash on ya.

One problem. Ya gotta spick and span that sucka like it has never seen before. I'm talking on your knees to wash the baseboards, up a ladder to dust the light fixtures, and behind the potty to make all shine?

Worse problem. You get it that way and ya don't want to do it but once.

You want to cook a meal; NOPE! Makes a mess and you don't even want to think bout the clean up. Chunk your clothes on the floor and climb in the bed at night; NOPE! Ya might fergit in the morn and a "buyer" will show up while you are gone and, yup, blow the sale? Don't leave the mornin' paper on the dining table, don't let your shoes dawdle by the front door, and for gosh sakes, don't leave one dang dish in the kitchen sink. (did I mention scrub that potty ever time you walk by?)

Just thinkin' bout it gets me wound up tighter than a two dollar watch? I'm sayin' this show quality house business is just thick in the middle and poor on both ends??

All ya'll pray for a quick sell because I feel like an unwelcome guest in my own house with a stranger bout to walk in at any minute and pass critical judgement on our personal investment of time and effort.

Invulnerability

OK sports fans, I'm thinkin' this might be a repeat, but at my age, I get the privilege of a few Alzheimer "do-overs"?

I was anointed a TEXAS HIGHWAY PATROL TROOPER at the ripe ole age of 20 years.

I was sent from the grandiose east tx piney woods to what I called "south texas" (San Antonio) after completion of Armageddon (Trooper academy).

My first partner was the oldest (39) and most senior (17 years) Trooper in the district.

Jim was already called "the old man" by the other Troopers. I naturally was called "the boy".

Kinda hard for me to imagine in my dotage that I was once thought of as a babe among men in a challenging profession, but I reckon all things come full circle?

These days, I am likely bout as smooth as a pig on stilts and often feel like I got ate by a bear and pooped off a cliff, but my mind still remembers that slim athletic "boy" that took care of business on the south side of ole San Antone.

Shore glad I did it when I could and can now bask in the memory of youth and invulnerability.

Priceless

November 1, 2008: Opening day of deer season

6:15AM: 55 degrees, no wind, clear sky, no moon, the stars are so bright that they are almost overwhelming in their brilliance

6:45AM: In the deer stand on the East side of the ranch adjacent to the oat patch

7:05AM: A ghostly buck(?) is easing along the road parallel to the back fence following the scent of a doe, but it is too dark to see anything but the hint of horns

7:10AM: A turkey gobbles in the San Gabriel River valley to the West signalling the time for the flock to leave the roosting tree for a day of foraging

7:15AM: Two doe are feeding at the protein block about 112 yards to the East and the tops of the distant trees begin to look like asparagus tops as the sun musters its courage to ease over the horizon

7:20AM: The river valley turkeys are engaged in multiples arias of operatic duelling solos

7:25AM: I am watching 10 does feed at the protein blocks, the corn feeder, and the winter oats patch with no care but the acquisition of groceries for the day

7:30AM: I remember that every year I wait til the last weekend of deer season to shoot my "sausage doe" and then they all hide in a deer "cave

7:31AM: I make a perfect "neck" shot on the largest doe at 88 yards with my recently acquired Remington model 700BDL .270

7:50AM: I remember why I haven't shot a deer in many years as I am "field dressing" the sausage material and up to my elbows in the entrails.

9:15AM: I pay the $85 deposit at the venison processing place and wonder how much the principle will be in addition to the "deposit" (it don't pay to figger the per pound cost)

10:30AM: Breakfast tacos at El Charrito in Florence with extra hot sauce and four cups of strong coffee

Total dollar cost for the day: ????? Value and positive influence on my psyche: PRICELESS