Cousin Harvey

--Guest post by Jesse Taylor II

My Daddy insisted this story was true. You'll have to make up your own mind about that.

My Cousin Harvey Taylor wasn't as tall as the rest of the family. He topped of at a very skinny 5-foot six. Daddy always said smoking and drinking had stunted his growth. Harv claimed to have smoked his first cigarette when he was only 5 years old. In a tobacco growing country, where "roll your owns" are common and kids will be kids, that may be true. But, one thing is true, by the time he reached 15 years of age he'd developed a healthy taste for alcohol. Boys grew up fast in the coal camps of old Kentucky. Times were hard and the poverty took its toll. When he was 16 years old, "Little Harv" lied about his age and joined the Army. Hard to believe, but it really happened. But, I digress. We're not really here to talk about Harv's younger days. Let's have a word about his hobby...and chief occupation. Namely, that of being a drunk.

Now, just because Harv was a drinker, that didn't mean he was lazy. A great many heavy drinkers are very hard workers. They know that if they quit working then the money for alcohol will disappear. Harv didn't have any trouble holding down a job. Things were very different from what they are, today.

Anyway, as it so happened, Harv's outfit had a three day weekend. This meant Harv had Thursday night, all day Friday and all day Saturday to practice his hobby. He set to the task with gusto, according to reports. When Sunday morning came, Harv woke up in the bar. Actually, he woke up on the countertop of the bar, proper. You might say he had been "over served". As bad as he felt, he knew it was Sunday. He also knew there wasn't any use in trying to call anyone to come pick him up. Them that weren't in church would be in no shape to drive, having spent their time involved in their own hobbies.

Harv claimed he had a ringing in his ears, blurred vision, stomach cramps and a headache. Also, he knew that, if he was going to get back home, he was going to have to walk. His thinking was clear enough to realize that he really didn't want to put up with the noise of passing traffic, should he take the "easy route" by walking along the highway. Unsteady as his legs were, he decided he'd be better off taking the more direct and private route, down along the river. If the birds weren't singing too loud, he thought he might be better able to stand it.

As Harv walked along the river, he heard a sound that, in his impaired condition, sounded for the world like someone shouting for help. Somebody might be drowning. This spurred Harv into action. He took off at a "lope". The route took him over a high embankment and he ran head-long into a big "baptising" service.

Now, Harv was no stranger in the community. Some of those folks recognized him and knew him well. They knew what he'd been up to and could see he wasn't "up to snuff", so to speak. Well, one of the fellows clamped Harv in a good, old fashioned, "hand shake". This involved a few hearty pats on the back and a round of "well-wishings". Its a common occurrence between friends in that part of the country. Also, its not an uncommon trait that good friends can sense a conspiracy when it comes up. The first man passed Harv off to the second man, who passed him off again, and so on and so forth. Next thing Harv knew, he was standing in the river, shaking hands with the preacher. The preacher, being no stranger himself, grabbed Harv and, promptly, dunked him under.

Harv came up spitting and slinging water. The reverend, still holding Harv by the shirt collar, shouted, "Have you found Jesus?"

Harv shouted, "No!!" So, the reverend dunked him under, again.

Harv came up blowing more water and waving his arms around. The reverend shouted, "Have you found Jesus!!?"

Harv shouted, "No!!!" Back under he went.

Harv came up spitting and clutching at the air and the reverend repeated the question, "Have you found Jesus, yet!!!?"

Harv reached out, grabbed the reverend by the shirt, drew him in close and asked, "Reverend...are you right sure this is where he went under!!?"

What Shall We Give?

Let's remember the reason for the season and celebrate the birth of the Christ child. We can give him a real birthday gift by giving of ourselves to others. I pray everyone has a very, merry Christmas.

City Evangelist, Country Church

--Guest Post by Jesse Taylor II

Back in the Appalachian Mountains of old Kentucky, when I was a boy, the churches were one-room, white, simple little buildings. They weren't anything fancy. Not that the size or construction of the church matters to the Lord, but our churches were simple and small because the people led simple lives and, when it came right down to it, didn't have the money to support the building and maintenance of a large church.

In fact, the day to day maintenance of the church was so simple that one man could take care of it. All that really needed to be done was dusting the pews and window ledges, sweeping the floor, and in winter, building a fire in the little "pot-bellied" stove. The outhouse might need some attention or, if the day was unusually dark or if the service was after dark, the kerosene lamps might need filling and lighting. Usually, this task was taken up by Uncle Jim Gibbons.

Uncle Jim was a simple man who lived alone in the same two-room cabin he'd grown up in. He never married, so he considered his only obligations were to his fellow man and his Lord.

I recall one Sunday morning when the whole community was "all a-buzz" because we were expecting to have a big revival, led by a big city evangelist. As luck would have it, Uncle Jim had been busy with his old mule, that morning. Seems the poor old creature wasn't feeling the best and Uncle Jim had been tending to him to the point where he clean forgot about the time. When he finally realized his mistake, Uncle Jim took off for the church in such a hurry that he didn't have time to grab himself a bite for breakfast.

Uncle Jim didn't drive, so his only way of getting to the church was to walk. He was accomplishing this with great speed that morning. He was going along at such a clip that he almost stepped on a possum. Now, Uncle Jim considered a possum to be some mighty fine eating...as did most folks around the area. Since he hadn't had any breakfast, he knew he'd be mighty hungry by the time church let out. So, never one to pass up a good meal, Uncle Jim found a stick and collected what the Good Lord had provided.

He didn't have time to run it back home, so he took it along, stopping only long enough to "field dress" it when he reached a stream crossing. He rinsed off his pocket knife and his hands and continued along to the church, freshly cleaned possum by his side.

As was mentioned, the church was a one-room, simple building. There weren't any closets...no "nooks or crannies". There wasn't anyplace to put the possum out of sight. The only place Uncle Jim could find was a ledge, just over the door, on the inside of the church. The menfolk used to put their hats on it, but that practice had ceased since someone had donated a double row of fancy, brass coat-hooks, which had been installed along the back wall. Now, there was ample room for everyone to hang their coats and hats and nobody had to strain up to reach the shelf.

So, it was up there, out of sight, that Uncle Jim decided to hide his possum. It seemed like the perfect place. After all, everyone would be in a church pew and would be paying attention to the evangelist, who would be putting on a real show from a little "riser" that ran across the front of the church. Nobody would be facing the back of the church, except for the evangelist and he would be too busy with the sermon to notice a possum tucked back up on that shelf.

The church service got underway. The evangelist was introduced and the "stage" was turned over to him. The preaching soon reached a fevered pitch. This was the old "fire and brimstone" type of preaching. These preachers believed you had to put the fear of God into your congregation. There was much pacing and jumping and stomping and waving of hands, gnashing of teeth and wailing of voices. The evangelist was putting on quite a show. As he paced back and forth, stopping every so often to bounce up and down for effect, he was laying on the gospel thicker and heavier. His voice was rising and falling. He was pounding his fist into his hands as he preached, "Every day of our lives we've got to get down on our knees and thank the Good Lord for the blessings we've received. Every day of our lives we've got to get down on our knees and thank the Good Lord for the food He puts on our table and the clothes He puts on our backs. Every day of our lives we've got to reach out our hands up to heaven, raise our eyes towards the sky and say.....Good God! What a rat!!!"

After that, Uncle Jim was always fond of saying that, "You can't hide what the Good Lord wants revealed." Bless his heart.

A Pigmas Carol

Written by the sister of Jean:

Hark! the Herald Piggies squeal, here it comes, our next slop meal!
We each try to get it first, rinds of bacon and liverwurst.
Sour milk and cracked up eggs, bits of veggies and chicken legs.
Jostle the bucket, make it fall, so farmer, too, can wear it all.
Hark! The Herald Piggies squeal, here it comes, our next slop meal!

The Christmas Pageant

This story was forwarded to me by a friend. You know, one of those e-mails that makes its way around to everyone's inbox. But I enjoyed this one so much I wanted to share it with you. The author is unknown but if you know who wrote it please let me know and I will be glad to give credit where credit is due for such a delightful story. I hope everyone has a very Merry Christmas and feels the joy of this blessed season!

My husband and I had been happily married (most of the time) for five years but hadn't been blessed with a baby. I decided to do some serious praying and promised God that if he would give us a child, I would be a perfect mother, love it with all my heart and raise it with His word as my guide. I learned never to ask God for anything unless I meant it. As a minister once told me, "If you pray for rain, make sure you carry an umbrella."

God answered my prayers and blessed us with a son. The next year God blessed us with another son. The following year, He blessed us with yet another son. The year after that we were blessed with a daughter. My husband thought we'd been blessed right into poverty. We now had four children, and the oldest was only four years old.

I began reading a few verses of the Bible to the children each day as they lay in their cribs. I was off to a good start. God had entrusted me with four children and I didn't want to disappoint Him.

I tried to be patient the day the children smashed two dozen eggs on the kitchen floor searching for baby chicks. I tried to be understanding when they started a hotel for homeless frogs in the spare bedroom, although it took me nearly two hours to catch all twenty-three frogs. When my daughter poured ketchup all over herself and rolled up in a blanket to see how it felt to be a hot dog, I tried to see the humor rather than the mess. In spite of changing over twenty-five thousand diapers, never eating a hot meal and never sleeping for more than thirty minutes at a time, I still thank God daily for my children.

While I couldn't keep my promise to be a perfect mother (I didn't even come close) I did keep my promise to raise them in the Word of God. I knew I was missing the mark just a little when I told my daughter we were going to church to worship God, and she wanted to bring a bar of soap along to "wash up" Jesus, too. Something was lost in the translation when I explained that God gave us everlasting life, and my son thought it was generous of God to give us his "last wife."

My proudest moment came during the children's Christmas pageant. My daughter was playing Mary, two of my sons were shepherds and my youngest son was a wise man. This was their moment to shine.

My five-year-old shepherd had practiced his line, "We found the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes." But he was nervous and said, "The baby was wrapped in wrinkled clothes." My four-year-old "Mary" said, "That's not 'wrinkled clothes,' silly. That's dirty, rotten clothes." A wrestling match broke out between Mary and the shepherd and was stopped by an angel, who bent her halo and lost her left wing.

I slouched a little lower in my seat when Mary dropped the doll representing baby Jesus, and it bounced down the aisle crying, "Mama-mama." Mary grabbed the doll, wrapped it back up and held it tightly as the wise men arrived.

My other son stepped forward wearing a bathrobe and a paper crown, knelt at the manger and announced, "We are the three wise men, and we are bringing gifts of gold, common sense and fur." The congregation dissolved into laughter, and the pageant got a standing ovation.

"I've never enjoyed a Christmas program as much as this one," laughed the pastor, wiping tears from his eyes. "For the rest of my life, I'll never hear the Christmas story without thinking of gold, common sense and fur."

"My children are my pride and my joy and my greatest blessing," I said as I dug through my purse for an aspirin.

Jesus had no servants, yet they called Him Master. He had no degree, yet they called Him Teacher. Had no medicines, yet they called Him Healer. Had no army, yet kings feared Him. He won no military battles, yet He conquered the world. He committed no crime, yet they crucified Him. He was buried in a tomb, yet He lives today.

I feel honored to serve such a Leader who loves us.

The Don’t-Sue-Me-Santa Clause

CHRISTMAS COOKIE TRANS FAT LIABILITY AND
INDEMNIFICATION AGREEMENT

Santa Claus, AKA Kris Kringle, AKA Jolly Old St. Nick (hereinafter referred to as “Santa”) acknowledges receipt of Christmas cookies from ______________________ (hereinafter referred to as “Baker”).

Santa acknowledges and understands that no warranty, either express or implied, is made by Baker as to the nutritional content of cookies. This document is offered to duly warn Santa that dangerous conditions, risks, and hazards may result from over consumption of cookies. Santa is hereby informed that cookies may contain trans fats as well as any or all of the following: calories, carbohydrates, sodium (salt), fat, saturated fat, polyunsaturated fat, monounsaturated fat, nuts, sugar, caffeine, chocolate “chips” and/or “chunks,” and good cheer. Santa acknowledges that eating way too many cookies may incur risks including, but not limited to, satiation, indigestion, heartburn, laziness, holiday spirit, “food coma,” and “that bloated feeling.”

As consideration for accepting Baker’s cookies, Santa indemnifies Baker from all liability for injury or other harm (including obesity) which may be caused, in whole or in part, by said “too many” cookies. Santa agrees that neither he, nor his agents or personal representatives, will sue Baker for any injury suffered, in whole or in part, as a consequence of ingesting cookies. Santa assumes full responsibility and will indemnify Baker for any damages in the event that he transfers cookies to any third party (including, but not limited to, potential claimants Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen, Rudolph, Mrs. Claus, and various elves).

This indemnification includes an agreement not to haul Baker into court on the basis of:
1. Failure to provide nutrition information and a list of ingredients (the "Grandma’s secret recipe" clause).
2. Failure to caution of the potential for overeating because cookies taste "yummy" and are provided at no cost.
3. Failure to advise that walking, biking, and jogging will shed pounds, but riding around on a reindeer-powered sleigh will not.
4. Failure to warn that Christmas lights, lawn ornaments (plastic reindeer, snowmen, etc.) and other holiday decorations may constitute manipulative marketing to lure Santa into over-consumption.
5. Failure to offer "healthier" cookie alternatives (e.g., tofu bars, carob blobs, or carrot sticks).
6. Failure to affix warning label acknowledging that milk, should it be provided, must not be consumed if Santa is, or could possible be, lactose intolerant.
7. Failure to notify that eating too many cookies may lead to even greater levels of obesity for St. Nick.

SANTA HAS READ THIS DOCUMENT AND UNDERSTANDS IT. SANTA IS SIGNING IT FREELY AND VOLUNTARILY, AND PROMISES NOT TO APPEAR AS A WITNESS IN SUPPORT OF ANY PERSONS WITH LAW DEGREES WHO CANNOT OTHERWISE FIND MEANINGFUL EMPLOYMENT, AT ANY TIME IN THE FUTURE.

Santa__________________________________________ Date__________________

Provided by: The Center for Comsumer Freedom
For more information, visit ConsumerFreedom.com. To schedule an interview, contact Allison Miller at 212-463-7112.

Talon's Finally Here!

After a harrowing week on a horse transport trailer, several delays due to the snow storm, the trailer being stuck in a 3' drift then plowed in by a snow plow, and the trailer unable to get up the 1st big hill on our road, Talon is finally here!

When the transport was stuck on that hill only 4 miles from home, 1/2 the town turned up for the event. A local man plowed a space in a field down hill which allowed the transport trailer to back into the field, out of the road, and to turn around. Then he borrowed someone elses 2 horse trailer and drove Talon the rest of the way, helping me unload him and getting him into his paddock, which was no easy task given it was after dark and in the middle of a nor'easter.

I showed Talon where his hay and water were in the shelter, then removed his halter. He promptly went out of the shelter into the storm and wouldn't let me anywhere near him. I can't say as I blame him after all he'd been through the past week. And there wasn't even another horse to tell his troubles to, only sheep and goats in the next pen looking at him like he was Mr. Loch Ness, and wildly barking LGDs 2 pens over that had never seen a horse before. I know he went back into the shelter after I left but wasn't taking any chances being around this human who had captured him in the great unknown.

This morning, however, was quite a different story. "Yes, I am quite ready for breakfast, thank you." I even got some kisses on the cheek. I had to have Nate come out for pictures because I couldn't get far enough away from him to take a picture of anything besides a close up of his nose. I think he was seriously thinking of eating the camera!

So this morning I am thankful for having nice, warm shelter from the storm, for Talon arriving safe and sound, and for living in a town where folks go out of their way to help a neighbor in need. And, as always, thankful to have a wonderful hubby who indulges my horse habit.

Meet Dexter!

Meet Dexter, an English Shepherd puppy that's a Christmas present for my 11 year old grandson, Austin. Dexter is staying with us until Christmas.

Now meet the lamp that Dexter decided shouldn't be just sitting around on the end table. Dexter 1, lamp zip! Hey, Santa - I could use a new lamp for Christmas!

Please leave a comment. I love hearing from you.

What I'm Getting for Christmas

A few weeks ago I posted about a gorgeous horse I saw and titled it "What I Want For Christmas". Well, I'm not getting him.

But here's what I am getting. In the past few weeks I've gone from "No way can I afford a horse!" to "Wow, I'm getting a horse!" And isn't he just magnificent?!

Many, many thanks to Sharon Teague at Big Sky Gypsy Horses for helping make this possible. And of course, many, many thanks to my wonderful hubby. Although he's definitely not a horse person he indulges me. Thank you honey, I love you. (Don't tell him I said this but I suspect he likes them more than he's willing to admit. Every time we're around horses they all come to him because he gives wonderful scratches. Horses know!)

Please leave a comment below so I know who's been visiting. Thanks. I love hearing from you all.

Let's Say Thanks

If you go to this web site, www.LetsSayThanks.com you can pick out a thank you card and Xerox will send to a soldier that is currently serving overseas. You can't pick out who gets it, but it will go to a member of the armed services.

How amazing it would be if we could get everyone we know to send one!!! It is FREE and it only takes a second. Wouldn't it be wonderful if the soldiers received a bunch of these? Whether you are for or against the war, our soldiers over there need to know we are behind them.

This takes just 10 seconds and it's a wonderful way to say thank you. Please take the time and please also pass it on for others to do. We can never say enough thank you's.

Thanks for taking to time to support our military!

What I Want For Christmas

Have you ever had the experience of seeing something that was just so beautiful you dreamed of having it? Something that spoke to your heart so much that you found yourself thinking "what if"? That hasn't happened often in my life but here's something I found that has done just that. To me he's just about the most beautiful animal I've ever seen. And ironically, his name is Romeo. Just his picture has captured my heart, it was love at first sight (now don't breath a word of this love affair to my husband). There's just no way I could ever afford him, so I'll just admire from afar and hold him in my dreams. P.S. - all donations accepted - LOL, just kidding. Don't you dare! P.P.S.S. - Just found out he's not for sale anyway. Phew, I'm safe - temporarily. There are lots of other gorgeous and captivating Gypsy Cob horses at Aisling Farm in NH.

Say Thank You!

This video is an absolute must see! And please pass it along.

Thank You God!

This is why parents start each day praying for the safety of their children. Car ended up upside down in the middle of the road. My 16 year old grandson Nate, who lives with me, was driving and only has some soreness in his chest from the seatbelt and some bruising and cuts on his hand from trying to punch out the window to get out. His 16 year old friend Mike was a passenger and suffered a 4" laceration on his head that went down to the skull but there wasn't even a concussion. And somewhere this morning there must a guardian angel nursing a big headache. Thank you God!

Illegal to Ground Your Kids?

If you think Monday's post about being convicted of murder for shooting a middle-of-the-night burglar is scary, take a look at these two stories. They are both concerning the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC). The first link is specifically about children's rights that, if passed, would take away all parental control. That could mean it would be illegal to ground your child, take away your kid's cell phone, or restrict internet content. And the second link is about abolishing all firearms worldwide. Now you think this doesn't apply to us here in America? Think again. International treaty overrides any U.S. law, even rights guaranteed by the Constitution such as the 2nd Amendment. When I read George Orwell's "1984" my thoughts at the time were that you could never have a totalitarian government. It would be against our Constitution. Well, it seems like we're almost there. The only fantasy about "1984" is the wrong date!

Please leave a comment and tell me your thoughts.

Think This Can't Happen In America?

You're sound asleep when you hear a thump outside your bedroom door. Half-awake, and nearly paralyzed with fear, you hear muffled whispers. At least two people have broken into your house and are moving your way. With your heart pumping, you reach down beside your bed and pick up your shotgun. You rack a shell into the chamber, then inch toward the door and open it. In the darkness, you make out two shadows.

One holds something that looks like a crowbar. When the intruder brandishes it as if to strike, you raise the shotgun and fire. The blast knocks both thugs to the floor. One writhes and screams while the second man crawls to the front door and lurches outside. As you pick up the telephone to call police, you know you're in trouble.

In your country, most guns were outlawed years before, and the few that are privately owned are so stringently regulated as to make them useless. Yours was never registered. Police arrive and inform you that the second burglar has died. They arrest you for First Degree Murder and Illegal Possession of a Firearm. When you talk to your attorney, he tells you not to worry: authorities will probably plea the case down to manslaughter.

"What kind of sentence will I get?" you ask.

"Only ten-to-twelve years," he replies, as if that's nothing. "Behave yourself, and you'll be out in seven."

The next day, the shooting is the lead story in the local newspaper. Somehow, you're portrayed as an eccentric vigilante while the two men you shot are represented as choirboys. Their friends and relatives can't find an unkind word to say about them. Buried deep down in the article, authorities acknowledge that both "victims" have been arrested numerous times. But the next day's headline says it all: "Lovable Rogue Son Didn't Deserve to Die." The thieves have been transformed from career criminals into Robin Hood-type pranksters. As the days wear on, the story takes wings. The national media picks it up, then the international media. The surviving burglar has become a folk hero.

Your attorney says the thief is preparing to sue you, and he'll probably win. The media publishes reports that your home has been burglarized several times in the past and that you've been critical of local police for their lack of effort in apprehending the suspects. After the last break-in, you told your neighbor that you would be prepared next time. The District Attorney uses this to allege that you were lying in wait for the burglars.

A few months later, you go to trial. The charges haven't been reduced, as your lawyer had so confidently predicted. When you take the stand, your anger at the injustice of it all works against you. Prosecutors paint a picture of you as a mean, vengeful man. It doesn't take long for the jury to convict you of all charges.

The judge sentences you to life in prison.

This case really happened.

On August 22, 1999, Tony Martin of Emneth, Norfolk, England, killed one burglar and wounded a second. In April, 2000, he was convicted of murder and sentenced to a life term.

All of Martin's neighbors had been robbed numerous times, and several elderly people were severely injured in beatings by young thugs who had no fear of the consequences. Martin himself, a collector of antiques, had seen most of his collection trashed or stolen by burglars.

An appeal was considered in October 2001 by three senior judges. Submissions by the defense that Martin had fired in self defense were rejected by the appeal court. However, on this occasion the defense submitted evidence that Martin suffered paranoid personality disorder specifically directed at anyone intruding into his home. This submission was accepted by the Court of Appeal and, on the grounds of diminished responsibility, Martin's murder conviction was replaced by manslaughter carrying a five year sentence, and his ten year sentence for wounding one of the burglars was reduced to three years. These sentences were to run concurrently.

Martin was imprisoned in Highpoint Prison, Suffolk. When he became eligible for parole and early release, the Parole Board rejected his application without stating a reason. The chairman of the parole board, in an interview with The Times, described Martin as "a very dangerous man" who may still believe his action had been right. Martin challenged the decision in the High Court, where the parole board's decision was upheld. Probation officers on Martin's case said there was an "unacceptable risk" that Martin might again react with excessive force if other would-be burglars intruded on his Norfolk farm.

On 28 July 2003, Martin was released after serving three years of his five-year sentence, the maximum period for which he could be held following good behavior.

Also during 2003, the wounded burglar received an estimated £5,000 of legal aid to sue Martin for loss of earnings due to the injury he sustained. However, the case was thrown into doubt when photographs were published in The Sun suggesting that his injuries were not as serious as had been claimed. He later dropped the case when Martin agreed to drop a counter-claim.

How did it become a crime to defend one's own life in the once great British Empire?

It started with the Pistols Act of 1903. This seemingly reasonable law forbade selling pistols to minors or felons and established that handgun sales were to be made only to those who had a license. The Firearms Act of 1920 expanded licensing to include not only handguns but all firearms except shotguns.

Later laws passed in 1953 and 1967 outlawed the carrying of any weapon by private citizens and mandated the registration of all shotguns.

Momentum for total handgun confiscation began in earnest after the Hungerford mass shooting in 1987. Michael Ryan, a mentally disturbed man with a Kalashnikov rifle, walked down the streets shooting everyone he saw. When the smoke cleared, 17 people were dead.

The British public, already desensitized by eighty years of "gun control", demanded even tougher restrictions. The seizure of all privately owned handguns was the objective even though Ryan used a rifle.

Nine years later, at Dunblane, Scotland, Thomas Hamilton used a semi-automatic weapon to murder 16 children and a teacher at a public school.

For many years, the media had portrayed all gun owners as mentally unstable, or worse, criminals. Now the press had a real kook with which to beat up law-abiding gun owners. Day after day, week after week, the media gave up all pretense of objectivity and demanded a total ban on all handguns. The Dunblane Inquiry, a few months later, sealed the fate of the few sidearms still owned by private citizens.

During the years in which the British government incrementally took away most gun rights, the notion that a citizen had the right to armed self-defense came to be seen as vigilantism. Authorities refused to grant gun licenses to people who were threatened, claiming that self-defense was no longer considered a reason to own a gun. Citizens who shot burglars or robbers or rapists were charged while the real criminals were released.

Indeed, after the Martin shooting, a police spokesman was quoted as saying, "We cannot have people take the law into their own hands."

When the Dunblane Inquiry ended, citizens who owned handguns were given three months to turn them over to local authorities. Being good British subjects, most people obeyed the law. The few who didn't were visited by police and threatened with ten-year prison sentences if they didn't comply. Police later bragged that they'd taken nearly 200,000 handguns from private citizens.

How did the authorities know who had handguns? The guns had been registered and licensed. Kinda like cars.

Sound familiar?

WAKE UP AMERICA, THIS IS WHY OUR FOUNDING FATHERS PUT THE SECOND AMENDMENT IN OUR CONSTITUTION.

"..it does not require a majority to prevail, but rather an irate, tireless minority keen to set brush fires in people's minds."--Samuel Adams

If you think this is important, please forward.

Here's to the Heroes

My husband absolutely amazes me. Every times he sees a person in a military uniform he goes out of his way to shake their hand and thank them for their service. We went to the Lancaster fair Monday and it took a little while to get past the Army exhibit. I said to him that if he were younger he'd probably be over there now. He said he definitely would. I replied that I'm glad he's not younger.

But he's so right. These are ordinary people, not any different from you and me. They may be firemen, policemen or rescue workers who sacrificed so much in the wake of the 9/11 attacks, or the passengers on Flight 93 who brought that plane down in a field, stopping the terrorists from reaching their intended target, or members of our military who fight each day to preserve our freedoms. Whoever they are, wherever they're found, whatever they're doing, God bless them and their families for their service and sacrifice.

Today is the 8th anniversary of the 9/11/2001 terrorist attacks. Let's all remember the heroes of the day, and of every day. Make sure to fly an American flag to show your support.

GoD and DoG

Be sure to leave a comment below so I know you were here. And that way I can also come visit your blog.

Jack

We have a new English Shepherd pup who is about the cutest thing ever and of course he's a big hit with the grandkids. Nate, who's almost 17, has already borrowed him to act as a chick magnet at a local soccer game. Several of his guy friends wanted to borrow him as well so they could also impress the girls.




Jack is actually Roxie's half brother. She wasn't too sure what to think of him at first and let him know on the ride home that she didn't want him accidentally, or on purpose either, sitting on her tail. She quickly drew a line in the sand and informed him that he needed to stay on his side of the backseat. But after the long ride home, and a much needed nap for both of them, Roxie decided he wasn't so bad after all. I mean, how many times in your life do Mom and Dad get you a friend who already knows how to play tug-o-war?

Of course, now I'm seriously outnumbered. Today while I was working on my laptop and munching on cheerios, 2 heads peaked around the computer screen to try and convince me to share. Now how could I refuse those faces?

Don't forget to leave a comment below so I know who stopped by. I'll come visit you as well.

Farmers Will Drive Lamborghinis

Jim Rogers predicts that farming is the vocation of the future. I don't know if we'll ever be rich but surviving better than most would be nice for a change. Besides, most farmers I know are way too practical to drive a Lamborghini even if they could afford one. Maybe a souped up tractor though.....

Please leave a comment below so I know you've visited. I'll come visit your blog as well.

Got Corn?

Not only does this farm sell fantastic corn, they have quite a sense of humor, as evidenced by their series of roadside signs.

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Hint of Autumn

Up here in the north country summer is all too brief. Even now a chill can be felt in the night air and the crisp, cool stillness of early morning sends a message that a change of seasons will soon be upon us. Bright summer greens are starting to fade and get a yellowish tinge, there's lots of yellow in the fields as the ragweed is in full bloom. Even some trees are showing their eagerness to begin the change by trying on part of their new wardrobe just to see how it will look when they're in full color. We are quickly approaching my favorite season of the year. Autumn has so many wonders from the bright reds and yellows of the leaves to the smell of apples ripe on the trees begging to be picked. It's a season when I enjoy scuffing through the fallen leaves with the delight of a small child, and basking in the warm sunshine during the day and relaxing in the refreshing, crisp coolness of a fall evening. I've heard some people say they don't like Autumn because they know winter comes next. To me that's like saying you can't enjoy your vacation because you know you'll have to go back to work when it's over. Each day of our lives is a wonder. That summer and fall are so short makes them even more precious.

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Some Days Are Just Like That

Indy, our older Weimaraner (picture in sidebar), started limping yesterday and his right front foot began to swell. He'd had a foot infection in one of his other feet last year so I figured it's probably the same thing. Had to get up at 5:00 a.m. to take my grandson to work so I could have the truck to take him (Indy, not the grandson) to the vet. Got home and went back to bed for a little while.

Tried calling the vet about 8:00 and got their answering machine that says their office hours are between 8 a.m. and 6 p.m. I've learned from past experiences not to leave a message because they won't return it. Tried every 15 minutes, finally reaching them about 9:00. I was told to bring him in about 9:45 and they'd squeeze me in. The vet's office is a little more than 45 min. away and I hadn't completed all my barn chores yet. I hurriedly finished up and scooted out of here, arriving there about 9:55. Waited about 40 min. in the waiting room with a VERY talkative teenage girl and her boyfriend who was taking cellphone pictures (the girl, not the boyfriend) of all the animals that came in, and showing me all the pictures she's taken of her pets for the past 10 years (well, probably not that long but it seemed like it). Then in comes a woman with a young daughter and a large and VERY unruly young boxer named Junior who she was about choking to death trying to keep him off everyone. "Junior, come back here. Junior just wants to play. Junior, don't jump on the lady. Junior, don't eat that cat." To top off the whole experience, the vet's office has a couple of resident cats, one of which loves to parade around in the hallway in full view of all the dogs. Now to Indy this is like someone waving a juicy steak in front of a starving man. But other than his whole body being as rigid as a steel girder and trembling uncontrollably in anticipation that the cat might get close enough for him to scoff it down, he laid obediently at my feet. Finally got to see the vet for 5 min. who agreed it was probably the same cellulitis problem as last time and gave me a prescription - $58.

Put Indy in the truck, went back in to pay. By this time the unruly boxer was about climbing the walls, choking on his collar so hard he was hacking up all over the place. He even tried to eat one of my shoes - while it was still on my foot! Finished paying, went back out to the truck, started backing out of my very crowded spot in a very small parking lot and BANG! Turned a little too sharp and ended up clipping the fender of a gray car parked next to me. Nothing major, just a small dent and a scratch as you can see in the photo.

I went back into the vet's waiting room and asked "Who owns the gray car parked on the end with the license plate 'Big Gun'?" (Yeah, I know - never hit a gunmetal gray car that says Big Gun on the plate. LOL) Guess who - Ms. Boxer! She became as anxious as her nutty dog, and began fretting about needing to leave on vacation for FL tomorrow and not knowing what to do. I tried explaining to her it was just a little scratch, nothing major. But if she'd had a collar on I swear she'd have been choking herself like her dog did.

Out she comes, dragging her obnoxious dog who, by this time, has his tongue hanging out one side, eyes bulging, and is covered in drool, her daughter following behind. She surveys the slight damage to her car, grabs her cellphone and calls her insurance company right there on the spot, all the while worried about her vacation, and the unruly dog trying his best to dislocate her shoulder. I give her and her insurance agent all my information. And because of my DIL and her example of taking pictures of everything so she can put it on her blog I happened to have my camera with me. I took pictures of her car and the bumper of my truck, which had no damage, only a little paint from her car rubbed on it. I sincerely hope the woman, her daughter, and her crazy dog have a great vacation. And most definitely an uneventful one.

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Go Ahead, Make Our Day!

Dirty Harry has nothing on these men who enjoyed some much earned "man time" target shooting in the back yard. Jim's oldest son James paid us a visit over the weekend with granddaughter Riley. Left to right in the picture are 16 yr old grandson Nate who lives with us, James, and husband Jim. And where was Riley while the guys were being macho, you might ask? Inside where it was much cooler, relaxing on the couch. What a gal!

Hairdos for Dogs

Here's a new hairdo for a dog that has fuzzy hair on the top of her head. If I used a little gel maybe I could give her a punk rock look.

Of course, I can't roam around with a camera without having lots of help from the girls. Brownie, my favorite Nubian doe, is always the first one to offer assistance.