Shootin' the Breeze

and random targets

Beau’s Hot Tub Etiquette

bunkhouse

We have a log bunkhouse on our ranch.  It was the original homestead cabin, but has been refurbished except for the logs themselves.  The roof, electrical, plumbing, and storm windows are all new.  It has a bathroom.  It has a sauna.  We advertise it on Air B&B.  Our guests seem to like it.  My wife, Sugar, goes overboard in the hospitality department.  She is a wonderful cook.  It is more than “bed and breakfast.”

This past weekend we had guests from another state.  They were recently married.  Both husband and wife are engineers.  Smart couple.  Supposedly.

For engineers, they failed to foresee obvious dangers.  They failed to account for our dog, Beau.  Big mistake!

Beau is, as loyal readers recall, a Yellow Labrador Retriever.  He retrieves items whether or not he has been requested to do so.  Hence the problem.

The young couple took advantage of the opportunity to relax in our hot tub located in the courtyard.  Beau took advantage of them.

They wore robes and sandals.  They carried towels.  Beau watched.

He watched more carefully than they did.  They placed their towels and robes over the cantina bar next to the hot tub.  They put their sandals on the step up into the hot tub.

Beau waited from them to get into the tub.  He waited for them to relax.  He waited for an opportune moment.  He caught them unaware.

Then he grabbed a robe and ran.  When the husband got out to fetch it from Beau, holding a towel around his waist, Beau circled back and grabbed the remaining towel, having left the robe 50 feet from the tub.  Faster than the man, Beau got a sandal before he got back.

Sugar looked out a window, observed the chaos, and intervened.  She retrieved the items for the couple.  They decided that they had relaxed enough and returned to the bunkhouse.

Beau had a wonderful time.  He hopes they come back to visit.  Fat chance.

Beaurunning

 

History of Violence

I met a young man who shared with me that he suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder as a result of “being involved in a murder trial.”  (I did not meet him as a law client or potential client, but in another manner).

I asked if he had been a witness or juror or defendant.  Defendant was the answer.

He explained further that when he was only 17, he entered into a plea bargain to avoid the risk of a murder conviction as an accomplice to assault and accomplice to murder.    It seems that his father had beaten a man to death and he, the son, was accused of being involved.  He had gone to prison as a result of the plea deal.  He told me that a book was written about his father’s case and trial.

I commented to the young man that I had gone to school with a guy with the same last name, but in another state.  I told him that the kid I knew was named Butch.

“That is my Dad’s name,” he said.  I told him where I grew up.  It was a match.  He told me the year his father was born.  It was two years before my birth.

Same guy.  What a coincidence.  I did not tell the young man the nature of my relationship with his father.

My wife researched the old news story about the murder trial.  Part of it described the father’s criminal history.  Butch was known in his town as a bully it said.  He had many arrests for assault and, well, various violent crimes. Tough man. Had pulled a straight edge razor on the victim in a bar during an argument about high school wrestling.  He wanted his 17 year old son to fight the 28 year old who had criticized his wrestling.  The 28 year old, 6’1″, 245 lbs, was invited by Butch to their home to finish the conflict resolution.  The result was a dead 28 year old.

Decades earlier, when I was 12 and Butch was 14, we went to the same junior high.  Butch was in 9th grade.  I was in 7th.  Butch was a bully, supposedly, by reputation, very tough and mean.  I had a foolishly exaggerated sense of self esteem.  I had watched too many cowboy movies.

So, since my peers were afraid of Butch, I thought it would be hilarious to mock Butch.  Remember the song about not tugging on Superman’s cape and not pulling the mask off the Lone Ranger by Jim Croce?  Well, the song had not come out yet when I was in 7th grade.

It would make a better story if I had saved someone from the school bully.  Rather, I teased him to show I was not afraid.  As he ran by on the way home from school, I ran after him.  It was unthinkable to the other 7th graders.  They were smart.

So Butch noticed the laughter and turned around and saw me imitating him.  He came over to me and knocked the books out from under my arm.  In those days, we did not carry books in backpacks nor, heaven forbid, brief cases.

The onlookers watched, fascinated, as I faced a beating.  To their surprise, and probably mine, I retaliated and knocked Butch’s books out from under his arm, to the ground.  Then he shoved me.  I shoved him back.  A crowd gathered in a circle.

Then a miracle happened.  Butch picked up his books and left.  I like to think that he wondered why I was not afraid.  I wonder too.  It has worked for me on other occasions.   My wife, Sugar, has witnessed the same phenomenon.  (See “A Cry for Help on a Downtown Street ” https://cowboylawyer.wordpress.com/?s=+cry+for+help+).

Butch was either scared of me or he was just in a hurry to beat up some other kid.  I ain’t saying I could whip Butch.  I am just saying that he did not beat me to death like he did that other poor feller.

Winning for the Gipper

This is a sequel to “Accidental Coach” reblogged yesterday.

Shootin' the Breeze

There are times when athletes draw inspiration from friends and family to motivate them to try even harder.  To try their best.  To better their best.  To win as a tribute to a loved one.

There are many examples.  Knute Rockne’s half-time speech urging Notre Dame’s football team to win one for the Gipper (George Gipp, a teammate who had died) is famous.  There was another movie about John Cappelletti, who won the Heisman Trophy in 1973, being inspired by his younger brother, Joey, who was dying of leukemia.  If I recall correctly, it was called “Something for Joey.”  People are more familiar with “Brian’s Song” about Brian Piccolo’s friendship with Gale Sayers and his fight with cancer.

I myself have written in this blog about swimming in the Senior Olympics and thinking about my father and his “do your best” attitude when I felt like slowing down.  See https://cowboylawyer.wordpress.com/2012/06/08/something-for-dad/…

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Accidental Coach

Shootin' the Breeze

Olympian 020

When I first started training to swim in the Senior Olympics, and was going to the pool a lot, a man in the lane next to me one day was waiting for me to complete a lap.  When I stopped to rest, he gave me a tip about how to improve my butterfly stroke, which was his specialty.

His advice to me, though unsolicited, was not unwanted.  I truly wanted to get better.  I wanted to qualify for the national championship.  So I thanked the man, who introduced himself as Slava.  He is from Russia.  He used to be a swimming coach there.

As we saw each other at the pool on other days, Slava continued to critique my swimming.  He complimented my breaststroke, which had been strongest event as a competitive swimmer in my younger years.  He helped me tweek my freestyle.  He gave me training tips on conditioning. …

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Budweiser Puppy’s Friends

Shootin' the Breeze

Beaurunning
A favorite SuperBowl advertisement for Budweiser has a “plot” about the Yellow Labrador Retriever puppy who lives in the barn with the Budweiser Clydesdales. In this year’s ad, the puppy gets lost and on his way home encounters a wolf. The horses save him from the wolf. It is heartwarming.

We have two Yellow Labs, Beau and Sadie. They are no longer puppies. Beau in particular hangs out with the horses and a donkey. Maybe he was at the Budweiser farm when he was a pup. We got him at a shelter when he was two, so we do not know about his past life.

He also gets along with cats. Below are some photos of Beau and various friends which you might find amusing.3amigos
Beau and burro
scamp crossing bridge
Beauwithhorses
Scamp trotting
Pussy
beau with horse
scamp bowing
And he even has a friend who is a dog, Sadie.labs
And he is my buddy too.
Beau and me watching owl
Oh, he even hangs out with fishes.
closeswim

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Internship

puppy

Sugar and I went on a little weekend trip to Vail. Ski season just ended. Many places in the village were closed but enough were open. Few people wandered the area. By the melted skating rink, a young couple was playing with their Golden Retriever puppy. They said it is 8 weeks old. It is as cute as any puppy you have ever seen.

There was an older dog, a Black Lab with a gray muzzle , who was also by the rink. He had a squeek toy that his owner was throwing. The Lab would fetch it gladly, then squeek it again so he’d get another turn. The puppy watched and tried to join in, but he was not fast enough. The older dog could even catch it in the air. The puppy did not have a chance.

Yet.

Now he has seen how it is done by an expert.  Wait until next year, after he has completed his internship.

Dream Date

He was clutching a handful of cash.  He looked happy as he walked away from the bank teller.  He came over to where I was sitting in the bank lobby and I commented that it looked like he had lots of money.

“I do have a lot of money,” he agreed.

“Do you have plans for how you want to spend all that money?” I asked.

He grinned.  “I am going on a date.”

“That sounds like fun.”  He agreed and volunteered to tell me about the planned date.

The young man appeared to be about high school age.  He has Down’s Syndrome.  I wondered if he was going to prom.

“We are going to Olive Garden restaurant to eat and then we are going to a movie at the brand new movie theater and then we are going to watch the sunset.”

“Wow.  That will be a wonderful date.”

“Yes.  I always wanted a girlfriend who has cowboy boots and a cowboy hat.”

“Do you have boots and a hat?”  I asked because he was not wearing any.

“Yes.  I like horses too.”

“I do too.  I have some horses.”

“Oh.  What are their names?”

I told him our horses names and then asked him the name of his girlfriend.

“I don’t know her name yet because I have not met her but when I do we will go on a date.”

His mother had overheard our conversation and smiled about it.

I got kinda choked up.  That is a nice young man who knows what he wants.  He has goals about getting a girlfriend who meets his criteria and has planned out a wonderful date night.  Lucky girl!

 

Girls’ Afternoon Out

My lovely wife, Sugar, aka Miss Texas, on occasion goes to a nail place for manicures and pedicures.  Some women do that.  Girly ones that is.

As you, dear readers, know, it is a universal truth that manly men do not get pedicures, nor do they get manicures.  It is also an undisputed and widely known fact that I myself am a manly man.  Well, until today that is.  This very afternoon I committed an act which likely will lead to me being required to turn in my manly man club membership card.

But I can explain….

Several years ago a horse stepped on my left foot, resulting in an injury to my big toe.  I don’t rightly know whether it broke my toe because I am too tough to get it checked out by medical personnel.  I just know that the subject toe turned black and blue and the toenail fell off.  The injury affected my gait for awhile causing me to go on “injured reserve”  which as you can imagine prevented me from playing in any NFL games for that entire season, whichever season that was several years ago.

Unfortunately, that severe toenail injury resulted in the replacement toenail growing back in thicker and misshapen.  Up until then, my appearance was without flaw.  Since then, I have been unable to model sandals.  Losing gigs as a sandal model has been costly by limiting my opportunities to earn a decent living.

So, out of economic concern, when Sugar, who was sharing a car with me, thus stranding me at the nail salon, suggested that I get a pedicure while I was stuck there waiting for her anyway, I conceded.

So I did, very self-consciously, take a seat in one of those pedicure chairs, carefully watching the front door in case someone I knew came in.  I was ready to duck.

That toenail on my left big toe now looks and feels mahvelous!!!!!!!!!

Hey, before you judge me, walk a mile in my boots.  It was pretty difficult with that thick, ugly, jagged toenail tearing holes in all my socks.  Now my boots are more comfortable and, darn it, I am more secure about my masculinity than ever.  (Just promise to not tattle to the National Football League Players Association.  I don’t want to be laughed out of the locker room).

 

 

 

Unmeasured Decisions

Instead of taking measure of all options

In order to carefully decide

One might let things happen

Without deciding

Without even choosing to not decide

And live with the unintended, unforeseen consequences

With regret.

Or get lucky.

Which also is not within one’s control.

Unless you are God.

Which you are not.

Nor am I.

 

Holy Week Adjusted

Today I got a haircut.  My barber, Randy, is very knowledgeable about the Bible.  We talk about politics and religion.  He is a Messianic Jew and celebrates the Sabbath from sundown on Friday until sundown on Saturday.  He celebrates the resurrection of Jesus Christ, but counts the days of Holy Week differently than how I was taught.  I will try to explain.

Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem that is celebrated on Palm Sunday, my barber says, coincides with bringing the lambs who would be sacrificed down that same route.  The people who came out would have come for that parade anyway.  It was part of the preparation for Passover.  So far that coincides with the traditional beginning of Holy Week, but with a slightly new perspective.

Randy says that the Day of Preparation for Passover would have been Tuesday and so the Last Supper was Tuesday night, not Thursday.  On Tuesday night, Jesus was arrested and put on trial.  However, they could find no fault in him.

On Wednesday, Randy says, the priests would sacrifice the spotless lambs found to be without flaw.  Jesus, the Lamb of God, was without fault or flaw.  Wednesday was the day that Jesus was crucified, not Friday.  The Jews needed the crucifixion to be completed before sunset, when Passover began.  The lambs were sacrificed on a certain schedule — the same time frame as Jesus being sacrificed. Randy also said that when the High Priest completed the task of sacrificing the lambs, he would say, “It is finished.”  Jesus said the same as his last words on the cross.

This was before the start of Passover on Wednesday sunset, which as Randy explained, is then Thursday.  Really that is not very different than beginning a new day at midnight.  Rather than midnight, the new day began at sunset of the prior day.

Jesus said he would rise after three days.  Per Randy, the three days were Thursday (technically from sundown Wednesday until sundown Thursday), Friday, and Saturday at sunset.  The resurrection probably occurred in the night (i.e., after sundown) which was Sunday.  The women came to the empty tomb on Sunday morning.  Easter!

It makes sense to me.  How about to you?

 

 

 

 

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