The ice storm cometh...

And Murphy and I are ready.

Fresh stock of groceries in...check.
SUV gas tank full...check.
SUV under cover to avoid being iced over...check.
25 lbs of ice melt purchased...check.
Generator tires inflated and it's gas tank topped off...check.
Extra gasoline jugs filled...check.
firewood brought in for wood stove and fireplace...check.
Two propane lanterns prepared with fresh tanks and new mantles...check.
Flashlights set out around house with fresh batteries...check.
Empty water jugs filled to provide toilet-flush water...check.
Ample supply of beer, chips coffee and dog biscuits acquired...check.
Stack of DVDs and books selected...check.

Weatherman says it's coming. Not much snow, but a ton of ice.
Murphy and I say "Bring it!" We're going to hang out until the power goes out, and then we're going to hang out some more. We'll be on line so long as we've got power, but knowing Allegheny Power the way that I do, I'm not thinking that it's going to be for much longer. Y'all take care out there now.

Now that's what I'm talking about--Amnesty for veterans and their war trophies!

Per the NRA, two Congressmen, Representatives Denny Rehberg (R)-MT and Leonard Boswell (D)-IA, just introduced H.R. 420--the "Veterans' Heritage Firearms Act." This bill would create an amnesty period during which veterans who served before 1968 and/or their lawful heirs could add machine guns that they brought back from their military service in World War two and Korea (and a bit of Vietnam) to the National Firearms Registry.

Before 1968, it was legal for vets to bring back guns that they'd captured in battle or otherwise acquired, and while many of them registered their war-trophy machine guns during the one brief 30-day amnesty period offered in the early 1970's, many others did not, either because they didn't trust the government to let them keep said trophies, or else because they didn't even know about the amnesty. (It was only a month long, and there was no internet back then.) Consequently, many of those historic firearms which would now be quite valuable if they were legal became contraband and the mere possession of them a federal crime. But now, thanks to this bill, the vets who missed the first amnesty period have a second chance to register them and make them legal again, allowing them to be brought out of the shadows and shot, displayed, or sold.

This bill won't lead to "blood in the streets", as any weapon covered under it will be registered with the federal government just like many thousands of other lawfully-possessed machine guns are, and the FBI's own records show that crimes committed with lawful, legally-registered machine guns are virtually nil. (I'm aware of only two such crimes documented since 1968 that involved lawfully-owned machine guns.) What it will do is allow any number of veterans who served honorably to once again use and enjoy the firearms that they lawfully (at that time) brought back from their time overseas.

Press release from Congressman Rehberg here.

“Arbitrarily treating law abiding citizens like criminals is one of the biggest problems with federal gun registration requirements,” said Rehberg, a member of the Second Amendment Task Force. “In this case, we’re literally talking about punishing men and women who put their lives on the line for our freedom. It’s unacceptable and I’m going try and do something about it.”

During WWII and the Korean War, many veterans acquired war relic firearms, which was a lawful practice at the time. Under current law, if the firearms were not registered with the National Firearms Registration and Transfer Record during a single 30-day registration period in the 1970s, the veteran or their heir may be convicted of illegally possessing the firearm.

The Veterans’ Heritage Firearms Act will provide a limited amnesty for veterans who served overseas between 1934 and 1968. During the amnesty period, veterans will be able to register war relic firearms without fear of prosecution. This amnesty also extends to the veteran’s lawful heirs who inherited these weapons. If the veteran or heir chooses not to keep the weapon, the law would allow them to transfer the relic to a museum or collection without penalty in an effort to preserve these valuable pieces of America’s military history.

“Having served more than twenty years in the U.S. Army, I know that many service members, myself included, bring home relics and souvenirs from their tours of duty,” Congressman Leonard Boswell (D-IA), who introduced the legislation with Rehberg. “Often times, a firearm from a tour becomes a family heirloom to a relative who doesn’t realize it should be registered with the National Firearms Act. We should give these veterans, service members and their families an opportunity to openly register these firearms without penalty.”

It might also add a few more Thompson SMGs, BARs, MP-39 and -40s, PPShs, or German MG's to the registry as these vets or their heirs decide to sell them to other gun enthusiasts or history buffs. We all know that those things are out there, hidden away in attics and basements; let's make them all legal again and get them back into circulation!

Saturday Man Movie from the seventies

If you were around back then, you remember this guy.

Sadly, he was a better daredevil than he was a movie actor. But I grew up wanting to be like Evel, and I still have a few scars as proof. I didn't have the custom Harley, but I managed to get in more than enough trouble with my orange-and-white Huffy--the one with the banana seat that I was sure could fly if I just did my part.
Man, I used to bounce that bike off of just about everything. Evel made it look easy.
That's probably why a decade later, when I was riding motorcycles across the country just for the hell of it, this song kept coming back to me every time I twisted the throttle open:

Tribute to our space heroes.

Today is the 25th anniversary of the Space Shuttle Challenger explosion, just 79 seconds after liftoff.

I remember watching the launch on TV. They were so routine back then than only one station was even broadcasting it live. I had just poured myself a large cup of iced tea and sat down on the couch when I saw the explosion, the booster rockets going off in separate directions. It took a second for it to dawn on me what I was seeing. I dropped the tea on the carpet.

Two of the seven astronauts are interred in Arlington National Cemetery. I have not located Michael Smith's grave but I've seen Dick Scobee's several times.

There's also a monument to the whole Challenger crew there, right next to another one for the heroes that died in the Shuttle Columbia.



Three members of Columbia's crew are at Arlington, too. They are Michael Anderson, Laurel Clark, and David Brown.


Also interred there are astronauts Virgil Grissom and Roger Chaffee, two of the three astronauts killed on January 27, 1967, 44 years ago yesterday, when an oxygen-fed fire swept through their Apollo space capsule as they were training for the first Apollo/Saturn mission.

At this time, 29 former astronauts are buried with honors at Arlington National Cemetery, all great Americans. But the graves and memorials to the heroes above, all of whom died in the pursuit of space, stand as testament to the very real risks and human cost of space flight, and the exemplary type of person that it takes to accept those risks for America and every other citizen of the planet Earth.

Neener, neener!

Hey, you remember David Kernell, that punk kid who hacked Governor Palin's e-mail account during the 2008 presidential elections and bragged about it until he got caught? If you recall, he was the sheltered and spoiled son of Tennessee State Representative Mike Kernell, a Democrat, of course.

Well after being convicted of a felony out of that case, he caught a break in the form of liberal U.S. District Judge Thomas Phillips, who sentenced him to an incredibly lenient one day less than a year in prison. The judge's goal was obviously to keep young David out of the prison system (because a sentence of more than a year would mandate incarceration) and in that vein, he also recommended that the federal Bureau of Prisons send him to a half-way house so that he could keep going to school and doing what other non-incarcerated college kids do.

However, the Bureau of Prisons declined, sending him to a real albeit minimum-security facility instead. In a rare written explanation, BOP Chief Jose Santana told the judge that he could not do so because the half-way houses are set up to help recidivism-prone inmates with limited social or job skills transition back into society, and that it would be wrong to deny one of these needy inmates that help just to give this coddled kid an easy ride. Santana's letter said, in relevant part:

“Our agency contracts (halfway house) bed space for inmates who have a greater need … such as those with limited job skills/resources and family and community support,” Santana wrote. “Mr. Kernell has attended three years of college and has the support of his family.”

The bureau instead sent Kernell, 22, to a minimum-security facility in Ashland, Ky.

So despite the best efforts of his dad's influential network of friends and connections--a network which apparently includes a district judge named Phillips, little David's going to actually pay a penalty for his efforts to disrupt and undermine a national presidential election.


I'm happy. Careful bending over for that soap, David!

Neighbor says: "Hey! Your dog is on my roof!"

So because it was nice and sunny outside today, and because there was a ton of snow everywhere, and because Murphy was having a ball in the snow--and because he'd been really good at coming when called at the dog park--and because I felt guilty for penning him up so long yesterday, and because I was tired...

You get the idea. I'm laying out an excuse field a mile wide here. That's generally an admission that I did something which, upon reflection, was stupid.

While talking to an neighbor (the cat neighbor) down on the road this afternoon, I left Murphy off his leash to see if he was as obedient as I thought that he might be.

He wasn't.

Actually he started out great. I unclipped his leash and put it in my pocket. he sat down on the street and just looked at me, trying to figure out what was going on. I told him that he was free now. Free dog. Have fun. I mean, he's surrounded by chest-deep snow. Where's he really going to go?

For the first minute, it was great. He bounded around me, capering in the snow. I tossed snowballs at him and he caught them in his mouth. The it hit him--the leash really was off. He spun around and ran a hundred yards up the road as fast as he could, then he stopped and turned to see what I'd do.

I called him once. He just stood there. So I yelled "Bye!" and walked back up my driveway. As expected, he ran back to the foot of my driveway to see where I was going. I got to my door and called him again, and he came towards me. Perhaps this might end well after all, I thought.

But then he saw one of my neighbor's several dozen damned feral cats. Off he bounded into the snow-filled woods, to chase it around the house. I tried to call him back a few times, but 'twas no use. He was having fun and not inclined to come back at the moment.

Ah, well. Like I said--chest-deep snow. He'll tire of that pretty quick. So I just resumed clearing my driveway and listened to the jingle of his collar tags which told me that he was either in my yard or the cat neighbor's. The cat neighbor really doesn't mind so long as he thinks that Murphy won't actually get his cats. I heard him calling Murphy a few times, trying to coax him over for a petting. But Murphy wasn't having any of that, either. The snow and the cats were much more fun.

Then I heard my neighbor yell. "Hey! Your dog is on my roof!"

Huh? I looked over, and sure enough, there was Audie Murphy Dog, standing atop my neighbor's attached car port, looking out over the snow-covered world as if it was all his. If dogs could talk, I have no doubt that he'd have been shouting: "Made it, Ma! Top of the World!"

Tracks in the snow indicate that Murphy was chasing one of the cats around the neighbor's house. The cat ran up a wood pile next to the car port and bolted across the roof. Now these cats had been running away from Lagniappe like that for years and he'd always stopped there. But Murphy, being a different dog, went straight up that woodpile behind the cat--right up onto and across the roof--stopping only when the cat jumped from the other side into a nearby tree. Murphy stopped at that point, then just walked back to the peak of the roof to look down on my neighbor and all of his other subjects below. He was still there when I got over there.

I coaxed him down with his red tug toy and got him re-leashed. He was panting hard from his workout and had that same glint in his eye that I've seen in both my past Shepherds--the one that says: "Do what you have to to punish me...it was worth it!"

Dogs...

My only regret is that I didn't have my camera with me at the time. But I did have it when I took these.
What? I'm not doing anything!


Enemy sighted! Cat! 180 degrees at 25 yards!

Snowmegeddon

So what's it like when everyone in the Washington DC area tries to get home at the same time on roads that are impassable? Well from where I sat last night, caught up in that mess, it was a lot like one of those "Day After" post-nuclear attack scenarios, with hundreds of thousands of people trapped on every outgoing road. Most of us wound up being trapped--repeatedly and for prolonged periods--not by the actual event but due to the careless, selfish or downright irrational actions of a relatively small number of other people.
First a bit of background. For those of you not caught in it, the whole Washington DC metro area got hit with a winter storm that brought down 6-8 inches of wet, heavy snow in a fairly short period of time. There was even more to the north and west--by the time I got back here to the safety and security of the Lair, there was over a foot on the ground. Fortunately by then, most of the weak were already off the roads and out of the way.

The snow started coming down heavy a bit before the normal rush hour kicked off. Almost immediately, car crashes began to pile up all over the area because people weren't exercising common sense in the weather. By the time I was able to conclude my business and attempt to escape, it was 6PM and there were a couple of inches of wet snow down. naturally, every road going over a bridge out of the District was a solid ribbon of red tail lights, none of which were moving. The crashes that were occurring and blocking the roads were mostly all very minor ones--people sliding into each other or into guard rails at very low speeds--but a lot of these people appear to have been stuck in "dependent lemming" mode because they were leaving their cars right where they were and waiting on the police to respond and take reports. When I got to the first of many that I encountered, it was a full-size SUV up against a guard rail at about a 45-degree angle, with it's tail end projecting out into the roadway, blocking one lane of the traffic and bottle-necking the bridge as people were trying to get around it. It had some front quarter damage but I suspect that it was still drivable. I saw it's operator standing by with his phone and called to him to move his truck. He angrily called back that he was waiting for a police report. Since I was literally stuck there by the traffic, I told him to go home and call the insurance company in the morning or at least get out of everyone's way. His response: "No, I want them to come out and see it just like it happened!"

So he was the first one of a fair number of people that I briefly contemplated shooting, just as my gift to the gene pool. Because his dumb, selfish ass could not drive, he's going to remain as an obstruction and mess things up for everyone else so that a police officer can come and see his truck after a one-car crash that was 100% his fault anyway. The only thing is, the police, like the rest of the area government, were overwhelmed and not responding to minor crashes, and even if they'd wanted to they could not get to them due to butt-heads like this guy blocking up most of the other roads on the way to this one.

And the local government was paralyzed, just like the rest of us. No disrespect intended to all of the police and fire folks who were out there trying to do what they could, but they were in the same boat. I saw several police cars that had slid into snowbanks or ditches and become stuck right alongside the motorists that they were trying to held. I saw ambulances and fire trucks sitting with their lights all flashing just ahead of or behind me in the same gridlock, taking 20 minutes to move a block because people would not and usually could not move out of their way. Then power lines and trees started coming down, the latter blocking part of roads or whole roads, and the former knocking out lights and traffic signals over large areas. And of course the tree crews and utility workers could not get out and reach the trouble spots any more than the police officers ambulances, tow trucks or snow plows could. It was chaos, and I was reminded of this quote from the movie Full Metal Jacket that described it perfectly:
(Link) View more Full Metal Jacket Quotes and Sound Clips
Now during my efforts to "Escape from DC", I saw some of the best as well as the worst of people. I saw people banding together to push stuck cars out of the snow or off of the icy patches that many were sitting on with their (typically) one little wheel spinning. I saw locals out with snow shovels walking up and down the roads digging random cars out. I saw a couple of SUV drivers who had tried using tow straps to pull others out of ditches only to torque themselves into the ditches too because they apparently lacked a basic understanding of the physics surrounding objects at rest and the problems of frictionless surfaces such as the ones that their vehicles were sitting on when they applied power.
And I saw government incompetence repeatedly in the form of bus after bus after freaking city or county bus, all stuck in the snow and blocking major roads. I'm sorry, but we all saw this storm coming. Who was the gutless wonder that refused to cancel these buses or call them back in off the roads when it became apparent that they weren't going to be able to get through? I saw well over a dozen just on my route, which suggests that there were probably hundreds of them out there across the whole area, all sitting empty with their "not in service" lights flashing as they blocked a lane or an intersection. Fucking thanks for that, eh?

Worse though were the jackwagons who, as soon as they found their little yuppie one-wheel-drive car bogged down on the road (or in a highway center lane), abandoned those cars and walked away, leaving thousands of obstacles in the pathways of all of the rest of us. I quickly lost track of the number of times that I had to maneuver around what appeared to be a perfectly fine car that was just sitting in the middle of the road for no apparent reason. Next time, I'll have a long-handled hammer in my vehicle that I can reach out with and whack a dent into each one as I pass it. Those cars really made a bad situation worse for a lot of the rest of us who were still moving.

And then there were the lines and the open fighting at the gas stations. People stuck in traffic for many hours were running low on gas and it seemed as if they were all trying to shoe-horn into the same gas stations that still had power. There were lines backing up into traffic lanes, much horn-blowing, and not a few unkind words being yelled back and forth as I passed some of these gas stations. Could you imagine these people if it was really an emergency, like a nuclear evacuation or the re-election of Nancy Pelosi to Speaker of the House? I could see shots being fired, especially later when many of the gas stations began to run out of gas. As for me, I'm thankful for a longstanding, unbreakable policy that I follow under which I never, ever head downtown without an ample fuel reserve. I didn't have a full tank when I went down yesterday, but I had more than enough to get me back home without the need to fight for a refuel, even with all of the extra idling and detouring that I had to do. I was also grateful for my emergency Bug Out Pack that I knew was in the back of my vehicle. I knew that if things got worse, I had what I'd need to wait things out for a bit or even walk home if I'd had to. And of course I was armed, and the presence of that firearm and it's extra ammo was an added reassurance more than once as I had to thread through crowds of newly-minted pedestrians or locals out for a lark. (Yeah, I had a firearm with me in Washington, DC. Sue me.)

I also had a real 4x4--a no-nonsense full-size SUV with high ground clearance, a powerful engine, and tires appropriate for the weather and terrain. Many of my peers and neighbors have mocked it over the years for it's less-than-stellar gas mileage compared to their little yuppie-mobiles and hybrids, but that machine was sure-footed and had what it needed to claw over, around or through whatever it needed to, and it needed to do a lot of that stuff on the trip. Of course it helps that I know how to operate a 4x4 effectively and don't mistake it for a "go-anywhere, do anything" wonder machine. Even my 4x4 has it's limitations and I know and respect them. That's why I got home and didn't wind up in the ditches like so many other trucks and SUVs that I passed in the night.

But more important than the SUV, the survival gear and the gun, I had the survivor mindset. I quickly realized that this was going to take a while, so I put time-frames out of my head. My only goal was to get home, period. I also realized that I was responsible for my own progress and that I could not depend on the government to get me out. This point was driven home in spades as I found myself stuck on one roadway for nearly two hours, blocked in on all sides by other motorists and moving so sporadically than many times I shut my vehicle off to conserve my fuel. When I finally met up with a police officer who was manning a barricade to keep us from another road that was blocked by a stuck tour bus across both lanes, he told me that they were still waiting on tow trucks for the bus and a few other stuck cars.
"Where are those tow trucks?" I asked.
"Behind you, about four miles or so. They can't get here because of the traffic jam."
So the only trucks able to free up traffic were stuck in the traffic that they were sent to un-stick. Wonderful. And when I pointed out that his bosses clearly knew that this roadway was impassable but had declined to block several of the the ramps leading to it and countless more cars were trying to merge in, adding to the problem and finding themselves also now trapped unnecessarily, he just shrugged.

That road was blocked for most of the night, and many thousands of people were trapped for several hours. I might still be stuck there too except that I'm not a lemming. I respect the law, but sometimes when I have to, I'm willing to override it.
I used my 4x4 to get up out of that mess by crossing a median, driving on a shoulder, and going the wrong way up a ramp that had actually been cut at the top, exchanging friendly waves with the guy manning the closure barricade at the top. He obviously understood.
And I did this despite the horn-honking and light-flashing of several other lemmings who just sat there waiting for "the authorities" to re-open the road. For all I know, they're still there waiting. If, instead of a snowstorm, it was the threat of a mushroom cloud rising over the National Mall, I suspect that archeologists would find their remains centuries later after the area cooled down, still sitting in the remains of their cars, waiting forever.

Still, the prize for planned incompetence had to be the brain trust in charge of the Dulles Toll Road, who, when faced with a loss of power at their automated toll gates, decided to just funnel everyone through one or two lanes that actually had human toll-takers instead of just opening the other eight gates and letting traffic flow free for a few hours. They even reportedly held gates closed when someone got to one with no cash and made that person fill out the "promise to pay" collection form while everyone else waited in line behind him or her. Needless to say, the back-up caused by that bone-headed move was epic.

I admit right now that I committed numerous traffic violations getting out of that mess. I drove into oncoming lanes where there was no traffic, I drove where there were no lanes. I cruised through intersections with red lights where there was no cross-traffic, exchanging stares with sheep sitting at those lights who didn't comprehend that everyone driving now on this road is going the same way, and that by sitting through whole cycles of red lights, they were just slowing everyone more. In short, without taking undue risks or subjecting anyone else to risks of my own causation, I did what I had to do to get home, including whipping out the map book that I always keep in the truck and plotting new routes when the ones that I usually use (like the Dulles Toll Road) were stalled. And I eventually managed to get here at 2:30AM, just EIGHT AND A HALF HOURS after leaving on a trip that should normally have taken no more than an hour, or an hour and a half in average traffic.

Ironically, after all of that, I was almost ditched twice in the last half-mile by two local idiots who each abandoned their vehicles partially blocking the small, steep and un-plowed one-lane dirt roads that I live off of. If I wound up stuck within sight of my house after all of that, I'd have snapped, of that I'm certain. One is a neighbor that I know to be old and in poor health. I went down this morning to help dig his vehicle out. The other...It was gone when I got there, otherwise I might have just completely buried it in snow out of spite. And of course I had to walk up my drive, get a snow shovel, and carve out a niche at the end of my driveway for my SUV to fit into. Then I had to play with Murphy for a bit. I felt bad getting back so late, especially after watching him pee for almost a minute solid, but not bad enough to resist tossing a shovel-full of snow on him. Big mistake. He dropped right into that "play crouch" and I knew it was on "full-contact" even before he leaped onto me with his whole eighty-plus pounds and knocked me down into a snowdrift for some wrestling. But I didn't mind a bit. After all that I'd been through, it was just good to be home with my friend.

News story on abandoned cars and government inability to deal with problem.

Demented Dem shows his love for "the little guy"

Do you believe this guy? Whack job Congressman and failed presidential candidate Dennis Kucinich,(D)--Crazyville, bought a wrap from the House cafeteria back in 2008. He claims that there was an olive pit in the wrap, which rendered it "unfit for human consumption". He further claims that said olive pit hurt one of his teeth. So this guy--a guy who makes $174,000 a year AND gets free dental care courtesy of the US taxpayers--is trying to sue the cafeteria contractor and pretty much everyone who ever had anything to do with making or selling that wrap. He's demanding $150,000 for "current and future dental expenses" even though he gets free lifetime dental care, and for "pain, suffering, and loss of enjoyment".

Does he care this this suit takes money out of the pockets of all of those "little people" that he and his party claim to represent? Obviously not. All he really cares about, apparently, is enriching himself by any means, even if it takes food off the tables of many people who will never land a cush job like he's got...one where he gets paid mad money and gets lifetime medical and dental care (none of that "Obamacare" crap for him) just for showing up most days.

$150K. Just because he bought an olive sandwich with an olive in it. Half of me hopes that he never orders a fish dinner lest he find a fishbone in his meal. The other half of me hopes that he does and chokes on that fishbone.

What a scumbag. No wonder that neither he or his lawyer are willing to answer questions about this suit. Dennis Kucinich is a poster boy for the old saying about us getting the government that we deserve.

Wait--that's not correct. The losers in Ohio may deserve the guy, but I sure don't. How about you?

It's cold outside

But at least I've got my trusty stove to keep me warm inside.


Or at least I once did.
Mmmmmmmmmm...Nice warm heat...and it's all mine.

Saturday Man Movie

In this clip from The Kentuckian, Bodine, played by Walter Matthau, is plenty big and bad with a whip in his hands. But can he whip Burt Lancaster's Wakefield?

Shooting the classics.

So since it's 2011, one hundred years after 1911, the year that the best combat pistol the world has or will ever seen was accepted by the US Military for service, I figured that today might be a nice day to shoot my own pistol, caliber .45, Model of 1911.

I've got a few 1911A1's around, but only one original 1911.

This one was made back in the summer of 1918, and it still retains all of it's early features, such as the flat mainspring housing and lanyard loop. It bears the "United States Property" stamp on the frame and "US Army" on the slide. It also has the "ordnance bomb" acceptance stamp and the "G" on the top of the frame that indicates that it was built for the government contract. The frame also has a faint stamp from Major John M. Gilbert, the government inspector who was accepting these guns in 1917 and 1918. It was apparently still in military service during World War 2, as it's frame also bears a stamp from the Rock Island Arsenal than indicates that it was inspected or rebuilt there. The inspector's initials are FK, which would have been Frank Krack, who was the Assistant Foreman of inspections there from September 17, 1941 until he retired on July 19th, 1946. Somewhere along it's service career, it was parkerized (it would have been blued originally) and it saw it's walnut grips swapped out for the later-issue plastic ones. The finish is worn down to practical nonexistence now, but it still retains it's HP barrel.

This one has clearly been around the block a few times, and how it got from Rock Island Arsenal to the small gun shop where I found it in the late 1980's is anyone's guess. All I know is that it's been mine ever since, and I'm glad that I did not listen to the friend who was there when I bought it; he thought that I was getting gypped by the $300.00 price tag. (He thought that I should have bought his used Smith and Wesson Model 3000 pump shotgun for the same price instead. What a pal, eh?)
I shot it some when I first got it, but eventually I realized that while it wasn't the best shooter with it's tiny sights and heavy trigger, it was worth something as a piece of history. So it wound up spending most of the last two decades in my gun safe.

But with 1911 being the 100-year anniversary of the gun, I just had to bring this one out again and let it do it's thing. And I'm proud to say that it shot flawlessly and tore the center out of a target from 15 yards away. It's no match pistol, but it still goes "bang" every time I squeeze the trigger, and that's saying a lot for a pistol that is at present 93 years old. I may shoot it once or twice more this year, or I may not. Maybe I'll use it for the Aim Fast, Hit Fast class that Aaron talked me into signing up for in June...or maybe not. It's definitely coming back out in 2018, though. I'm looking forward to shooting a hundred-year-old piece of history. I have no doubt that it'll be up to it. John Moses Browning knew what he was doing when he designed this pistol, that's for sure.

A traumatic day for Murphy

I took him out with me to run some errands today, and the poor fella had all sorts of bad luck.
First, he followed in the pawsteps of German Shepherds past when he pulled his head back inside the car but didn't get his ear clear as the power window was put up. Every one of my Shepherds has done that once or twice, and now Murphy has a little bare patch on the tip of HIS ear where the window got him. It'll grow back, but the loud yelp broke a few decibel records.

And then not ten minutes later, as I got out of the vehicle and specifically told him to stay out of the front seat, he stepped up into the front seats anyway, and put his paw down on top of my coffee cup, with predictable results. I was almost into the auto parts store when I heard that scream, signifying that someone had just dunked his paw into a hot cup of coffee.

Poor Murphy...he just was not having a good day.

So I took him to the park and we played with his toy. And here's a clip of him engaging in problem-solving when I "accidentally" toss his toy up onto the playset.

OK, I tossed it up there on purpose to see how long it would take him to figure out how to get it. And as you can see, it didn't take him long at all. He immediately realized that it was up there and found a way to go get it. Good boy!

He also contemplated the little twisty slide when I threw his toy down it, but wisely he decided that it probably wasn't his best option. He ran back to the steps and went around to get the toy. Smart dog.

Another tool calls for more gun control.

This time, it's author Larry McMurtry, an Arizonan who made his fortune writing Western novels about free men roaming the range, protecting themselves and settling the West with guns.

I guess that it's fine when he sensationalizes such things in his books, but when it comes to life in Arizona today, his opinion piece that was published in the Washington Post makes it clear that he really just wants to pass laws to limit our guns.

The conservative governor of Arizona, Jan Brewer, leapt to the defense of Tucson last week, well aware that if the city should lose tourist dollars, it would soon be broke.

What can be blamed, however, is the foolish absence of reasonable firearms legislation, which Brewer refuses to seek.

He also rambles on about us not being kind to Mexican "immigrants". (He twice states in his letter that the ARE immigrants, and not "aliens".) Then he launches into a defense of Pima County's loudmouthed partisan Sheriff Dupnik, saying that he agrees with the man who calls Arizona a "mecca for prejudice and bigotry."

I thought that he was magnificent and his point obvious. Ask the Indians and the Mexicans; the latter are usually referred to as "illegal aliens," though none of them comes from outer space.

So I guess that if we don't like people coming into our country to commit crimes, take jobs away from Americans, overcrowd our schools with their kids and run up massive bills at our hospitals and social service agencies, we're just racist bigots, according to McMurtry.

And he finishes up by suggesting that perhaps those who attacked Sarah Palin for saying that journalists for saying that political rhetoric somehow caused the Giffords shooting were right, and blaming guns, not Loughner.

Sarah Palin has attacked journalists for suggesting that violent speech might provoke violent action - but mightn't it? We don't know for sure. I also doubt that Jared Lee Loughner fired 30 shots into a crowd outside a Safeway because he had a particular gripe against one of Giffords's policies. He did it because he was crazy and he could get a gun.

What a toad. What a totally opportunistic, attention-seeking, limousine-liberal partisan toad. I just wish that we could make him and those who think like him live in the sort of world that they want to craft for us--one populated with foreigners that they have to pay high taxes to support and one in which they are denied access to firearms when the need to defend themselves arises.

Birdmen of America...LAUNCH!

Today seemed like a good day to drag my metal friend out of his nice, warm house.

Clouds were low, as were the temperatures, and the winds were not what I'd have ordered up, but what the hell...it's not like you get good if you only fly on perfect days. So ignoring the looks from the hangar guy who obviously thought me a bit mad, I taxied out and took off down the centerline of runway 26. For some reason, a song came to mind at that moment so I sang loudly as the plane lifted off: "There's a star man, waiting in the sky..."
Apologies to David Bowie...I can't carry a tune in a suitcase, but I was having fun and my finger was off the radio button (this time) so I sang and flew along, making up new words to replace the ones that I couldn't remember, which was actually most of them.

Clouds.

The ice monsters are lurking up in these clouds at these temperatures, but so long as I stay down here below them, they can't get me.

Plenty of ice on the Shenandoah river below, though.


Heading up the river towards the Potomac.
"There's a star man waiting in the sky. He told us not to blow it, or he'll poke us in the eye..." (checks again to make sure finger is off radio button.)


Here's where the two rivers come together at Harpers Ferry. That's the Shenandoah on the right, entering the Potomac.

Going up the Potomac , I come to Shepherdstown. The little road on the right (north) side of the river is the one that I love to run on in the summer. Got to get back to working on that. I've been slacking.

By this time, the darn clouds were really starting to push me down. So I went back.

I got back to the airport and set up for my first touch-and-go. Despite the tricky eleven-knot wind, I greased it in nicely, and then nearly skidded off the runway before I figured out that my prosthetic foot was on the left-side brake. Dumbass! Power to full, carb heat off, flaps up, and try that again. And get it right this time!

As I go around again, I hear a taxi request for C-5B Heavy, one of the Air Force Lockeed C-5 Galaxy cargo haulers based at this airport. I can see two of them on their side of the field with their nav lights on now, and since I don't want to get caught up in their games, I call this landing for a full stop. I ace it in on the centerline nice as pie and roll off onto my taxiway. Another Cessna that's right behind me decides to go it one more time and he executes a touch-and-go.

As I shut down, the first C-5 gets back taxi clearance and starts lumbering down the runway. Now the other Cessna has to wait, because these guys get priority.
The first C-5 back-taxis, and suddenly there's a problem. He's got something wrong with one of his brakes. (Idiot with his foot on it, I wonder? It's been known to happen.) Now he's stuck, and so is the Cessna that wanted to come in and land. The Cessna just has to go circle somewhere and wait until the Galaxy crew either fixes the problem or calls for a tow back to their ramp.

25 minutes later...




Glad I quit when I did. One more take-off and I'd have been in the air another half hour. And Defense Secretary Gates would have been getting a bill for the extra flight time.

I'm happy.

Kangaroo fail

Frankly, I have no idea why anyone would turn their back on an animal that size, but I'm betting that he won't do it again soon.

That was just kanga-rude!

Saturday Man Movies

It just doesn't pay to underestimate a man who knows how to use his weapons.

Not if it's Robert Duvall with a rifle.




Or Tom Selleck with a revolver.

A dog at cross-purposes.

If he wants to go for a walk so badly, then why does he keep grabbing at my socks when I try to put them on so I can take him walking? I'm trying to explain to Murphy that him repeatedly pulling the sock away from me and dropping it on the floor just beyond arm's reach isn't going to get him outside any faster. But everything in the world is a toy or a game to a young Shepherd.

"A snow shovel! What fun! You push it, and I'll grab it and yank it away!"
"Firewood! What fun! You stack it by the stove and I'll paw the pile apart!"
"Newspaper! What fun! I can't read, but shredding it is a blast!"
"Your desk! What fun! Watch me get all the way under it when you're trying to use your computer. Whoops! I unplugged it again! Fun!"

If he wasn't so cute, he'd be dead.

Overheard at the Sheriff's office today...

So I'm standing in the lobby, waiting to talk to a friend of mine who works there, when this large old man (LOM) walks in. He strides up to the counter. and the ever-cheerful, always helpful receptionist (ECAHR) asks in she can help him.

LOM: "Yeah. I work for the Post Office, and yesterday I didn't go into work because it snowed...I don't do that...nope...don't do it. So now I need a letter from you all because they say that they're going to mark me as AWOL for the day unless you give me a letter that say that the roads were impassable."

(By way of background, we'd gotten a little bit of snow the day before that one. It had stopped by 8PM, it was only an inch or so, and the roads were all perfectly clear by the next morning.)

ECAHR: "I'm sorry, sir. We don't do that."

LOM: "Oh yes you do."

ECAHR: "No, sir. We don't."

LOM: (wagging his finger at her) Now before we get to arguing over this, let me set you straight right now. You people have done it before for me, twice!"

ECAHR: "Who did that, sir?"

LOM: (Gives last name of the previous sheriff...the one who left office a year ago.)

ECAHR: "Well he's not the Sheriff any more, sir. And I'm not doing it."

LOM: (turns around and stomps towards the door.) "You can go to Hell then!"

ECAHR: (waving.) "Have a nice day."

Whatever happened to "Neither rain nor snow nor gloom of night..."? I'm thinking that Benjamin Franklin would be disappointed in this guy. But then Dr. Franklin never had to deal with parasitical unions like this guy undoubtedly belongs to.

Such is life in Dueling Banjo country.

Sigh....

Did you ever have one of those days when you forget one step in a long-ingrained process? An essential step? I did that today.
I put the water in the coffee maker.
I put the filter in the coffee maker.
I put coffee in the coffee filter.
I turned the coffee maker on.
I walked away.

I did not notice that the actual carafe (the glass coffee pot thing) was sitting on a table in the other room. It wasn't actually in the coffee maker...the one that was making coffee.

Now Lagniappe, my trusted old friend, would have alerted me to this problem the moment that the predictable result began to occur. He was a champ at monitoring things in the kitchen and barking his head off when something was amiss, be it the oven timer (or smoke detector) going off, a pan starting to smoke, or a coffee maker running out 12 cups of coffee onto the counter and down onto the floor.

But Murphy? Not so much. He's obviously not one to let a good crisis go to waste, however. When I walked into the kitchen with my empty coffee mug, savoring the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee and anticipating that first hot sip, I found him greedily lapping up as much of the spilled coffee as he could.

I've just spent nearly ten minutes out of my life cleaning that up, and now I have a highly-caffeinated 2 year old German Shepherd who is already beginning to shake and dance around the house.

Sometimes life does imitate art.

But was it a Triple Dog Dare?

WOODWARD, Oklahoma -- The Woodward Fire Department was called out at 7:24 Tuesday morning to rescue an 8-year-old boy whose tongue was frozen to a pole.

Firefighter Shane Pingry said firefighters arrived on the scene at 7:27 a.m. to find the boy standing on his tiptoes with his tongue frozen to the pole of a stop sign across the street from the Woodward Middle School.

A teacher saved the day with a bottle of drinking water. Firefighters poured it on the boy's tongue and it took about a minute before the boy was free.

Pingry estimated the boy had been stuck to the pole for about 10 minutes. He was taken to the hospital for treatment.

When asked why he'd stuck his tongue to the pole in such cold weather, the boy said it was because his older brother had dared him to do it.

The boy's name was not released.

Some people's kids...

The practical home-defense shotgun

Shotguns. For defense of hearth and home, there's not much that's better. A good shotgun is easy to use, relatively child-proof compared to that pistol on the nightstand, and can deliver awesome knock-down power without the over-penetration problems that may come with rifles and many pistols. And they're also affordable, with a good used shotgun selling for about half of what you'd pay for a decent handgun. And used is fine, so long as it's been taken care of.

My personal home-defense shotgun is a Remington 870 with just a few modifications intended to increase it's utility as a fighting tool. If you're serious about defending yourself and your loved ones, I would recommend some or all of these modifications to your shotgun, but the weapon still works just fine without any of them.

I started out with a basic used Remington 870 12 gauge shotgun with an 18" barrel that looked a lot like this one and cost well under $200.
This gun, as it sits, is perfectly adequate as a defensive tool. In fact, it's last owner was a police department and they never saw fit to modify it before issuing it to their knights in blue.

Now the biggest complaint that can fairly be levied against a shotgun is that it doesn't hold a lot of shells. Well that's true, to a point. The shotgun above holds four shells in it's magazine tube, and if you like, you can keep a 5th shell in the chamber. While it's a fact that most defensive uses of a firearm involve either a display only (you show the gun and the bad guy runs away) or the discharge of relatively few rounds fired, there are always those exceptions. And I'm one of those who plans for the exceptions.

I chose to increase the magazine tube capacity from 4 rounds to six with the addition of the Choate Machine & Tool extended magazine.

I further increased my access to ready ammunition by adding a sidesaddle shell holder to the left side of the shotgun. It installs in a couple of minutes and it puts six more shells at my fingertips. This also increases the gun's versatility, because now I can carry buckshot in the magazine and slugs on the sidesaddle (or vice-versa) and it only takes a second to pop one round out of the chamber and toss another one in from the sidesaddle, thus allowing you to transition from one ammo type to the other should your shooting situation change. So now I've got 12 rounds--6 in the gun and six on the gun, and a shotgun's magazine can be "topped off" during any lull in the firing just by grabbing a shell and stuffing it into the mag tube opening. People trained to run a shotgun generally do this automatically.

Going further, I replaced the wood stock on my gun with a Speedfeed 1 synthetic stock that also has two short magazine tubes--one on each side--that each hold two more shells. Now I have 16 rounds available the moment my hand touches the gun and even more choices as to what kind of shells to carry and where to store them. I don't have to fumble around in the dark looking for extra boxes of shells or silly elastic bandoliers that never seem to work right. I'm good to go right from jump street with enough ammo to ensure that I'm not going to run out any time soon.

Now this brings me to what I consider to be a very important upgrade--a tactical light. Since it's dark approximately half of any given day, I prefer to put a quality light on my gun to ensure that I can identify my target before making that final decision to fire. Since I like quality, I use Surefire weaponlights almost exclusively because they make good stuff and stand behind it with excellent customer service.

When all is done, my gun looks a little different that it did before, but it's a lot handier and still cost me about what I would have spent on a quality handgun. Now it looks like this:And that's really it. No silly-assed heat shields on the barrel, no clumsy folding stocks or bayonet lugs...none of that extra goofy crap that tells a savvy bad guy that you haven't a clue about what you're trying to do. Simple works, and simple is best, because when the glass breaks at 3AM, you need something that's simple, reliable and intuitive to operate, and all of that extra mall ninja/rambo crap is just going to slow you down and fuddle you up.

Frankly, if you're serious about defending yourself or your loved ones, you'd be hard-pressed to beat the venerable 12 gauge shotgun in most home environments. If you already have one, good for you. If you don't...well what are you waiting for?

Good Boy...and getting better every day

Murphy just met the UPS man again today. This time, we were in a back room when I heard the UPS truck's horn. I acted all excited, and Murphy picked up on it, first with a curious "Wurf?", and then with some serious barking as we ran to the front of the house and he saw the truck down at the road and the driver walking up the hill to the house. "Good boy! Go get!" I let him out on the deck, and he ran to the rail, thrust his head through, and began barking loudly at the driver. I gave him some praise and once Murphy realized that he was supposed to bark at people in the yard, he really got into it. So enthusiastic was he that he was actually somewhat of a hindrance as the driver tried to hand me a package through the rails without getting nipped. And to his credit, Murphy was really trying to get at him. I'm just glad that he didn't realize that ten feet to his left, there was nothing blocking him from the steps but a couple of deck chairs and a cheap baby gate.

And as the UPS man gave me the box, he paid Murphy a great compliment indeed.
"Wow, I thought that this one was going to be all nice, but he's turning out to be as mean as that last one." By "the last one," he, of course, meant Lagniappe.

I laughed and told him that Lagniappe was a friendly dog when he was off the deck and out on the street, and that this one would be, too. The driver looked at Murphy, head jammed through the deck rail, hair up on his neck and teeth bared as he barked furiously. "I don't know..." he said. "I hope I never have to find out."

Murphy got more praise and a cookie. Hopefully he'll be as discriminating as Lagniappe was, ignoring anyone down on the street but warning anyone coming closer and taking more direct action against anyone who ignores the warnings and attempts to gain entry into the Lair. Realistically, that's why he's here and that's his job--to alert me to visitors when I'm here and to deal with intruders when I'm not, without getting excessive, of course. And I like what I saw today. I'm as proud as the father of a Little Leaguer who just saw his kid hit a bases-loaded home run. He's still got a lot to learn, though. But he's getting there and making real progress. And as I write this, he's now running around the house with a big strip of bubble wrap that came wrapped around the M60 barrel assembly that was in the box. He's loving that bubble wrap. Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

He's coming along well in other areas, too, although he is developing a few harmless quirks. He's fascinated with my leg, and when I go to put on, he's not above grabbing at the liner, sock, or the leg itself, trying to get them from me. It's cute, but he's earning raps on the nose every time he does it and I'm waiting for the day that he dares to try to run off with it. I've told him that he's not too big to fit in PetCo's night-deposit box for adoptable pets, but I'm not sure he buys it.

He's also acquired a fondness for beer bottles, it seems. Three times now, I've caught him walking around with one in his mouth, or lying on the floor peeling the label off one. So why exactly did I spend all that cash on high-end pet toys? It seems that he's just as happy with bubble wrap and the odd beer bottle.

We're also working on his habit of bum-rushing me when I open the door to leave without taking him with me. He wants to accompany me so badly whenever I leave, that if I'm not quick at the top of the stairs, he's past me and dancing around down in the basement by the walk-out door in a second. Then I have to chase him back upstairs and shut the door on him to cut off the anguished cry of abandonment that often follows. Now he's learning to sit at the top of the stairs as I open the door. I have some treats there, and if he waits nicely, I will either summon him to come with (depending on where I'm going), or reward him with a treat and some praise. And agian, he's getting it. When I summon him to join me, he races downstairs to the door and he often grabs his leash from where I put it and brings it to me. I did NOT teach him that, but it still makes me laugh every time he does it. Smart dog.

He's doing so well and he fits in so nicely that it'd hard to believe that he's only been here a month and a day. I think I'll keep him.

Here! Trade ya this $20 aardvark for some bubble wrap!

The Last "Doolittle Raider" pilot passes.

Every day there are fewer heroes from that great generation among us.

Col. William Marsh "Bill" Bower, the last surviving pilot of "Doolittle's Raiders" who bombed Japan in 1942, died Monday at his home in south Boulder.

He was 93 and "lived a completely full life," said his son Jim Bower.

"My dad was a hell of a guy," he said. "He was a brave soul, a warrior. He was everybody's friend. He did all kinds of volunteer work. He was an exceptional human being."

Bill Bower was hailed as a hero for his role in the United States' first air attack on Japan following the bombing of Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941. He volunteered and was chosen for the mission, which was planned and led by Lt. Col. James "Jimmy" Doolittle.

On April 18, 1942, 16 B25B Mitchell medium bombers took off from the decks of the U.S.S. Hornet in the western Pacific Ocean. Because landing planes of that size on the Hornet was impossible, the pilots continued toward China after bombing their targets in Japan.

All but one of the aircraft, which landed in the Soviet Union, crashed in China or were ditched at sea. Of the 80 crew members, 11 were either captured or killed; the rest returned to the United States.

On his return, Bower married Lorraine Amman in 1942.

Bower continued to serve during World War II, assuming command of the 428th Bombardment Squadron and joining Allied invasion forces in Africa. He remained there and in Italy until September 1945. He was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for his role in the raids.

After the war, he worked as a planner and accident investigator for the U.S. Air Force and served in the Arctic as commander of a U.S. Air Force transport organization. He also served as commander at Dobbins Air Force Base in Marietta, Ga.

In 1966, he retired and moved with his wife and four children to Boulder, where he was involved in the real estate and sporting goods businesses for many years. His family described him as deeply involved in the community, from volunteering with Second Harvest, Community Food Share and Meals on Wheels to founding the Central Optimist Club to serving on city of Boulder committees.

His family described him as "the best outdoorsman," saying he was a big-time fisherman who also enjoyed bird hunting and guiding hunters in the Colorado mountains. He also enjoyed annual "Raider" reunions. Five Raider crew members, including two co-pilots, survive him. But Bower was the last living pilot.

In 2008, he was recognized for his distinguished service to his country at the Bolder Boulder Memorial Day race.

But to the children in his neighborhood, he was simply a handyman and caretaker, his family said.

"All the kids on the block at the time gravitated to him," Jim Bower said. "He took care of all the kids."

Michael Carrigan, a University of Colorado regent whose family lived on the same cul-de-sac as the Bowers, said part of his daily routine as a child was to ring the bell at Bower's house for a Jolly Rancher.

"He would give us a Jolly Rancher," Carrigan said. "Every day was Halloween at Col. Bower's house."

It wasn't until he was in college that he learned that the man who helped with the neighborhood children's projects and passed out candy was a war hero.

"He never drew attention to himself," Carrigan said. "He was very humble, kind and generous. I'm grateful that my children will continue to enjoy the liberties and freedoms that he fought so hard for."

Thank you for your service, Sir.

Source: Boulder Daily Camera

Tragedy in Arizona and a sad response.

In Arizona, Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords has been shot, along with at least 18 other people. One of the dead is a nine year old girl. The Honorable John Roll, federal judge has also been killed.

This is a tragedy that should be uniting all of America behind the victims here. Yet every single on-line commentary I peruse on news services and forums across the country is already filled with screeching posts by countless haters all trying to politicize this incident by linking it to the Tea Party, Sarah Palin, Glenn Beck, and Conservatism in general...and we don't even know anything about the killer yet except that he's a reportedly 22 year old male.

At a time when we should be coming together to denounce evil and support the victims and the families, thousands of left-wing lunatics and political hacks are already trying to use this horrific event to advance their cause and slander their political opponents.

House Speaker Boehner says it very well: "I am horrified by the senseless attack on Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords and members of her staff. An attack on one who serves is an attack on all who serve. Acts and threats of violence against public officials have no place in our society."

I agree with him. this is a time to be outraged, not to gleefully dip your fingers in the still-fresh blood and run around trying to smear it on your political opponents. My thoughts and prayers are with the victims and their families tonight. And if you are one of those salivating haters who is already crowing about this incident and trying to use it to score partisan points, well then I pray for your soul, too.

(And that includes you jackasses at Little Green Footballs. I can't believe that I ever liked your blog.)

Saturday Man Movie

In this scene from the 1956 western Seven Men From Now, Ex-Sheriff Ben Stride, played by Randolph Scott confronts villain Bill Masters, played by Lee Marvin.
These were men like you'll not find in Hollywood today. They were real men on the silver screen and real men off it. Randolph Scott was a veteran of World War One, having served in France as an artillery forward observer. Lee Marvin was a former Marine who'd enlisted to fight in World War Two. He was wounded on Saipan and is buried today in Arlington National Cemetery (section 7A, next to Joe Louis and just down from Gregory "Pappy" Boyington). These were the kind of men that I'm hoping my nephew, The Spud, grows up to emulate.

Don't be like Johnny Depp, kid. Be a real man. Be like Randolph Scott or Lee Marvin.

A Dog's Tale

This one I dedicate to Brigid. And Barkley.


It was many years and several good dogs ago. I was on one of my many camping trips and I was staying in a rustic state campground with my faithful, loyal Golden Retriever, Brandon. It some time after dark, and I was walking Brandon around one of the two loops in the campground on our pre-bedtime walk, looking at all of the other campers. I was in the other loop, and this one was filled with bicyclists who were on some long, multi-day ride. Like me, they were all camping here this night, and like me, they had their tents all set up and their fires going, and were undoubtedly looking forward to a nice, relaxing evening under the pines. The campground was at peace. The world was at peace.

Cue the dumb-ass. And on this summer's evening, that would be a much younger, slightly inebriated me.

I was walking with Brandon when suddenly he stopped and went into his "I see something" stance. He let out a low growl, and in the beam of my flashlight, I saw a creature run across the road ahead of us. And because I was young, and a city boy ignorant of things in nature, (and because I'd had a few beers,) I reached down, unclipped Brandon's leash, and gave the fateful command: "Go get it!"

Admittedly I was thinking that it was something that he could just chase around for a bit like he did the neighborhood cats. It never dawned on me that he might actually catch whatever it was. But catch it he did. He grabbed the creature and began shaking it for all he was worth. The threw the creature about ten feet, and before the creature could get back up again, Brandon the formerly gentle and docile Golden Retriever was on it again. I ran over, fumbling for my flashlight. "What is it, boy? What've you got?"
The answer was revealed to me seconds later when he shook it and threw it again and it landed at my feet. I shone the light down on the small black creature, and I immediately recognized it for what it was: a SKUNK!

"Oh, HELL NO!" I yelled. "Leave it! LEAVE IT!"

But Brandon's blood lust was up. My gentle companion had gone all Cujo and he was having this critter no matter what I said. He ran for it again. I recall seeing the skunk shakily getting back to it's feet.

Now until this time, the only skunk I'd ever seen was that French one that used to pal around with Bug Bunny. But even with that sparse understanding of these animals, I instinctively knew what was coming. I backed up fast...then I turned and ran. "Leave it alone, dog!" I yelled. "Leave it!"

The next thing I heard though was a loud yelp. It was anger and shock and pain all rolled into one. And I knew that it wasn't the skunk making that noise. I shone the light and I could just make out Brandon, whimpering and rubbing his face on the ground. And then the smell hit me, wafting over everything like a cloud of mustard gas. Oh, hell...

Brandon came back to me in a few seconds, and as badly as he wanted some sympathy and reassurance, I wanted to keep him at arm's length. He REEKED to the point that I wanted to puke. I managed to get him back to my campsite, and I tethered him to a picnic table and tried my best to wash the skunk off of him with the water that I had on hand. Needless to saw, it didn't come off.

So because he still stunk royally, and because I was worried that the skunk spray might actually hurt him, I left him there and jogged up to the campground pay phones at the junction of the two loops. I flipped through the phone book and found a number for a 24-hour vet. Calling the number, I reached an answering service who put me on "hold" while they rang up their on-call vet. Meanwhile, a group of people walked up and one of them got on the other phone. His call was something like this:

"Yeah, Rudy? Listen, we're are going to be a bit late getting there tomorrow. We've all got to break up our campsites and move somewhere else because some asshole let his dog get a skunk right upwind from us...yeah, we've all got to move in the middle of the night now!"

At this point, the doctor came on the line, asking what the problem was. "Uh, this actually isn't a good time right now, doc..." I whispered. "Let me call you back in a couple of minutes."

Soon enough, the disgruntled bicyclists went back to their packing and I called the vet back. He assured me that no harm would come to the dog, but that it was going to take a lot of washing with tomato juice and vinegar-and-water douches to get the stench off. That, of course, had to wait until morning and a trip home. Brandon manged to do ok out by the picnic table all night, and once the sound of all of the bicyclists breaking camp dissipated, it was actually a peaceful night. The next day, however, saw me trying to drive home with this dog in my Ford Fiesta, which, as anyone familiar with that car knows, doesn't really allow for any distance between occupants. But fortunately, the car was a hatch-back. So with Brandon secured sufficient to keep him from either sliding out the back or getting up into the front, I drove home with the hatch open and all windows down.

And we almost made it without further incident, but as luck would have it, I drove past a state trooper, and he promptly stopped me.

The trooper put his trooper hat on and got out of his car. About half way up, I could tell that the skunk smell was hitting him. He paused, then stepped out into the roadway away from my car as far as traffic would allow.

"I stopped you because your license plate is on the tailgate and it can't be read. But I think I know why your tailgate is open," he said.

"Yeah, my dog kind of got into it with a skunk," I told him.

"OK, the next time you drive the car, make sure that your tailgate is closed. And for the dog...lots of tomato juice and vinegar."

I got the dog home without further incident. He didn't come clean as quickly as I'd have liked, and the smell lingered on him slightly for a couple of weeks, all the more so whenever he got wet. And the Fiesta never did stop smelling like skunk.

And that was the last time that I've ever let one of my dogs off a leash so that he could go play with some harmless woodland creature. Oh, hell no...never again.

Legal Definition: Alford Plea

Today's legal term defined: Alford Plea.

1. A type of guilty plea where the defendant asserts his or her innocence while admitting that sufficient evidence exists with which the prosecution could likely convince a judge or jury to find the defendant guilty beyond a reasonable doubt

2. What you get when Orleans Parish Prosecutor John Alford goes to a bar in Wyoming.

When you've had a few too many, taking a taxi is usually a good idea.

But it's best to leave the driving to the cabbie.

Authorities in Wyoming say John Alford, an Orleans Parish assistant district attorney, didn't heed that advice while visiting the Rocky Mountain resort of Jackson. He ended up in a courthouse, accused of driving off behind the wheel of an empty taxi that had been idling in front of a bar Sunday night.

Alford, who appeared in court on Monday, didn't go far in the taxi, ending up at a hotel about a mile away, said Jackson police Sgt. Cole Nethercott.

When police tracked him down the next morning, Alford told them he didn't remember how he got back to his hotel because he had been intoxicated. However, Alford did tell police he didn't think he walked back, Nethercott said.

The taxi snatching was captured on video by a security camera at The Virginian, a hotel and bar where Alford had been hanging out.

The Jackson Hole Daily reported Thursday that Alford entered a not guilty plea on Monday to the charge of unauthorized use of a vehicle, which is a misdemeanor offense in Wyoming. He was not arrested, but was simply issued a citation, Nethercott said.

The Jackson newspaper contacted Alford at the Orleans Parish district attorney's office on Wednesday. He confirmed he was the man who appeared in court in Wyoming on Monday, the article noted.

Chris Bowman, a spokesman for the Orleans Parish district attorney's office, said Alford has kept the office "apprised of the situation." The office will wait for the case to be resolved before deciding whether any action should be taken against the prosecutor.

And the good people of New Orleans (all two dozen of them) wonder why so few of the criminals arrested in that city ever go to prison.

Well ok, there are other reasons, but still...

Progress...to an extent.

Yesterday I took Murphy out while I ran errands. And then we went to the park to train for a bit. I put him on his lead and we worked on coming when called, staying when put, and...well ok, that's about it. But what else do you really need a dog to do?

Here he is, getting miffed because I keep making him sit, then walking away. Sometimes I call him to me, and other times I just walk back to him. Either way, he gets a treat if he doesn't break move until I release him.He did good. Real good. So we came home and I put him out on the deck for a while so I could make dinner in peace. A short time later, I heard a sound that I've been waiting weeks to hear: BARKING!!! A neighbor had pulled into her driveway and Murphy was barking at her. YAY!

Now you can only understand how happy I am once I tell you that Murphy has been a very quiet dog since coming here. He hasn't barked at anything or anyone other than people like The Spud who've tried to pet him. But I want a watchdog that barks when people come around, if only so that I know that they're there. So I've been waiting for him to do this, and finally, yesterday, he let loose with a great, deep, ferocious-sounding barking. It was great. I was so proud of him. I brought him in and lavished praise upon him. I petted him and told him what a good dog he was. I was still praising him when he reached up and grabbed a catfish fillet right off the counter.

Damn dog.

Just because it amuses me.

So what happens when two entertainers doing a live show are working with horses that obviously haven't read the script? Enjoy watching two great stars of days past as they joke and sing and improvise repeatedly due to the restlessness of their horses.

Modern-day "stars" like George Clooney, Brad Pitt or Leonardo DiCaprio would have stomped off in a hissy fit ten seconds into the horses' antics, but Dean Martin and Lorne Greene were better than them and the rest of today's crop of no-talent pretty boys on their worst day.

Be warned...

The next person who gives Murphy a toy that honks, squeaks, rattles or clunks loudly on my hardwood floors will rue the day...and I mean RUE it! (<--note that "rue" has been capitalized here. That denotes emphasis and implies that I'm serious, dammit.)

You know who you are.

I'd forgotten what a two-year old dog can be like. He'll play right next to me for hours, usually when I want to sleep or have other work to do that requires my undivided attention. It's just lucky for him that he's so cute, otherwise he'd be dead.

First idiot down of 2011

All over the country, there were Public Service Announcements imploring people not to shoot guns off at midnight on New Year's Eve. Granted, most people with even a lick of sense know this, but still, there were TV and radio commericals and newspaper stories warning of the dangers the the possible consequences if caught.

And still, we had these eight morons in North Las Vegas who just had to be stupid.

A North Las Vegas Police officer shot and killed a man while investigating celebratory gunfire in the area of Glendale Avenue and White Street on Saturday shortly after midnight, authorities said.

Two special operations officers who are part of North Las Vegas’ SWAT unit were participating in an intensified patrol looking for people shooting guns into the air to celebrate the new year, police Sgt. Tim Bedwell said during a Saturday afternoon news conference.

The officers noticed gunfire coming from the front yard of a house in the 600 block of East Glendale Avenue at 12:09 a.m., Bedwell said.

They saw a large group of people in the front yard and saw numerous guns, including at least one high-powered rifle, Bedwell said.

“The officers felt that the danger to the community was such that they had to intervene immediately and they challenged the persons to drop the firearms and they approached them,” he said.

The officers, who were in uniform, identified themselves before giving orders, Bedwell said.

The scene became chaotic, and one of the men pointed a handgun at one of the officers at arms-length, Bedwell said.

“The officer, in his own defense, brushed that firearm away and tried to control it,” Bedwell said.

During the struggle, the officer felt he was going to be shot and fired multiple times at the man, who ran a short distance before falling to the ground, Bedwell said.

No one else at the scene was injured in the incident, including the officer, officials said.

After the shooting, officers conducted a search of the yard and house and found a .357 magnum revolver, a 9mm pistol, a 30-30 rifle and a 380 pistol. Inside the home, two other weapons suspected of being used were recovered: a .38-caliber revolver and a .22-caliber revolver. Numerous boxes of ammunition and numerous spent shell casings were recovered.

Police identified eight people at the scene, but Bedwell said some might have fled before officers arrived.

Of those eight people, Bedwell said five were shooting guns; one of the five was killed and the other four were arrested and booked on suspicion of discharging a firearm where persons could be injured, a gross misdemeanor. Police identified the men as Heriberto Diaz, 31; Adam Sauceda, 23; Jose Rodriguez, 35; and Francisco Aguirre, 21.

Hopefully the remaining seven will reflect on this when tempted to try it again next year. I'm just glad that the officers all made it home safe at the end of their shift.

Murphy's Day Out

This morning I took Murphy out to Harpers Ferry for a bit, just to spend some time with him. Admittedly, it felt a bit strange being there with a dog that wasn't Lagniappe, because that place was a big part of our shared time together.

I took Murphy over by the Armory Engine House, the building in which America's first terrorist, John Brown, was bottled up and captured by then-U.S. Army officers Lt. J.E.B Stuart and Col. Robert E. Lee and a detachment of U.S. Marines from the Washington Navy Yard. I put him on a 30-foot training lead and hooked it to a fence, and we spent some time working on recall and staying where he's put even when I go out of sight. Rewards for good behavior came in the form of bacon treats and some playtime with a tug-of-war toy, since he's progressed to the point where he and I can play tug-of-war without him trying to go all Alpha Dog on me. And he did very well, following my commands instantly and usually not moving until he got a command, and this despite the hikers and tourists walking on the nearby paths. I continue to be impressed with how well he's coming along. The comedy occurred when Murphy would start to get excited and jump around. The training lead would start to wrap around his legs, and he'd respond by spinning in circles to try to get away from it. In seconds, he'd do five or six revolutions and the lead would be wrapped tightly around all four legs and he'd fall over, self-hogtied. I almost felt guilty laughing at him as I helped him get loose. But he'll learn.

Fortunately, as we were leaving, we happened upon on of Lagniappe's favorite people in the whole world, Sharon, owner of the Swiss Miss ice cream shop. She was just arriving at her store as we were leaving, so naturally she had to meet Murphy, and Murphy, typically a reserved and aloof dog, took to her right away. And that was before she gave him an ice cream cone.

And he did get a small vanilla cone, just as Lagniappe got countless cones there over the years. Although whereas Lagniappe would have snatched the cone from whoever handed it to him and wolfed it down in seconds, Murphy was much more deliberate. First he sniffed it, unsure as to what it might be. Then he gave it a tentative lick...and then another lick...and then another lick...and he continued to lick and nibble at it as I held it, making no effort to take it from me at all. In fact, he seemed to think that it was my job to hold the cone while he licked it, and I had to work at it to get him to eventually take the cone from my hand after he'd licked all of the ice cream out if it. But his tail was wagging and his eyes were shining as he polished it off. I think that it was probably his first ice cream cone, and I know that it was the first "people food" that he's had since I got him, the pound and a half of bread that he stole the other night notwithstanding, of course.

How does a 80lb. dog eat a pound and a half of bread in one go, anyway? I could not eat all that and I'm a fair bit bigger than he is.

Post-ice cream, we came back here, and now he's lying at my feet as I type, just the picture of contentment.

Yep. Lot of potential in this dog.

Saturday Man Movie

In this scene from A Bronx Tale, a pack of bikers screw up big when they decide to drop into a bar owned by mobster Sonny. Sonny is nice at first, but they disrespect him and his place...and they pay for it. (Language warning.)

"Now youse can't leave..." Heh, heh, heh...