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?

 

 

 

 

The Night on which He was Betrayed

Today is Maundy Thursday.  We remember the Last Supper in the Upper Room, watching and praying in the Garden of Gethsemane, the arrest of Jesus, his “trial” and Peter’s three denials.  Oh, what a night!

Many have experienced various types of betrayal.  Few have been crucified as a result.

Jesus was celebrating the Passover with his disciples that night on which he was betrayed.  Tonight we remember that night.

 

The Welcome Committee

Shootin' the Breeze

The weather is wonderful.  It seems like Spring is here.  The birds are singing.  We have birdhouses to attract our feathery friends, but so far, no takers.  Any suggestions?

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Beau Gets a Friend

Duke is not a puppy.  He is a six year old German Shorthair Pointer.  Miss Sugar, my kind-hearted wife, saw on Craigslist that Duke needed a new home.  (I do not understand why she was looking at pet ads on Craigslist.)  As an historical note, we previously were owned by another German Shorthair Pointer, Rover, who was a wonderful dog.  Rover and Max, pictured above, got along well.  Sadly, both have passed on.

German Shorthair Pointers like to run.  They probably need to run.  The family that posted the ad had decided that their living situation was not meeting Duke’s needs for lots of room to run.  We have lots of room to run so Sugar said we would take him.  That happened yesterday.

Duke adjusted well to our family and home immediately.  We introduced him to Beau and Sadie, Yellow Labs, and the horses, and even a cat.

We took all the dogs for a long walk in the pasture, with Duke on a leash, to show him the place.  We took a chance letting him off the leash, hoping he would stay by the other dogs, and he did stay by them, sort of.  He runs circles around the rest of us.  Literally.  He runs in big circles.  But he came back.  That was yesterday.

Today, we took the crowd out for another “walk.”  Even the cat came.  Beau spotted some Pronghorns (antelope) and Duke was glad.  They chased the fastest land animals in North America.  Beau gave up after awhile.  Duke did not.  The Pronghorns and Duke all disappeared from sight.  Sugar and I worried that we had made a mistake letting Duke off the leash.

To our relief, he eventually returned.  Sugar met him with joy.  The prodigal son returned.

In the house, Duke is a gentleman.  He has accepted us.  And we have accepted him.

Beau seems glad to have another buddy.  They are both “sporting dogs.”  So they have that in common.  They are supposed to be bird dogs, of course.  That is what the antelopes would like them to be.  The rabbits in the vicinity also feel strongly in favor of these dogs sticking with retrieving birds.

Pecos Bill and Me

There are tall tales about Pecos Bill, a famous Texan, like my own trophy wife, Miss Sugar.  This here is a true tale about what I done, just like old Bill.  I done it at the urging of Miss Sugar.  I’d do anything for that gal.

The reason I am writing this now is that a good friend of mine called me to say he enjoyed reading Sharpshooter, which is a true story as well.  His only question was why I used any tool to kill that rattler I wrote about.  He asked that because, growing up with me and all, he is very aware of how quick I am.  So is Miss Sugar.  That got me thinking about what I done a few years back without no shovel, nor gun either.

If y’all have read some of my previous posts, you know that Miss Sugar and I live in a log cabin in Colorado.  Miss Sugar loves birds.  She feeds ’em and takes pictures of ’em.  Well, one time some birds built a nest on a light fixture above our front door.  It was pretty smart of them bird brains cuz that light is beneath our porch roof out of the rain.  Miss Sugar occasionally checked on the eggs in the nest and, after they hatched, she would hold a mirror above the nest so she could look at the baby birds per the photo above.

Well, one fine day as she checked on the bird nest, she saw something that bothered her a mite.  What she seen was a mean old snake climbing on the logs aiming toward them baby birds.  So, since I’m her hero and all, as reported in previous posts, she decided to casually mention to me that it appeared a snake was fixin to bother her favorite birds.

I caught her subtle drift.  As always, I come a runnin’.  What she had carefully described in colorful language was indeed true.  A damned snake was slithering up the house to the nest.  I did not have time to get a gun or tool.  My favorite gal was upset.  So I did what any fearless hero would do.  I grabbed that snake by the tail, swung it around and around with centrifugal force so it  could not bend back and bite me.  I knew what to do because I had read about Pecos Bill doing the same thing.

After a few swings around my head, Miss Sugar suggested that I quit showing off and let go.  Which I done.  I let go with an appropriate wrist motion, sending that snake off the porch a ways, where it landed on the ground.  I went down the porch steps to finish the job.  Miss Sugar confidently assured me that it was a bullsnake, not a rattlesnake.  They have similar patterns.  She called her brother Mike because he knows about stuff like that.  He agreed that it was surely a bullsnake.

Now there is a difference or two.  One is that bullsnakes do not have rattles.  Another is that they are not poisonous.

So I went over to the bullsnake.  Apparently, it held a grudge.  It coiled up, imitating a rattler.  It was so good at imitating that I imagined I could hear rattles.   It opened its mouth and flicked out its forked tongue in a threatening manner, revealing its fangs that Mike and Sugar knew were not poisonous.  Silly me.  I felt like a big old chicken.

If I was as brave as Pecos Bill, I’d of picked it up again, just for fun.  But since I already had saved the birds, I kilt it with that sharpshooter shovel I wrote about in my blog called Sharpshooter.

I cut the rattles off the bullsnake because everyone knows bullsnakes don’t have rattles.   This one had not gotten the memo.  At least it wasn’t poisonous.  That could have been dangerous.

What Pecos Bill did was very dangerous.  What I done was similar, but, like Mike told Sugar, was perfectly safe.   Those rattles almost fooled me.

Curved Bill Thrasher

Shootin' the Breeze

In my blog called By the Dawn’s Early Light, I mentioned that my trophy wife, Miss Sugar, aka Miss Texas, is a bird watcher.  She purchases a variety of bird feed to fill a variety of feeders in hopes of attracting a variety of birds.  She has been very successful in that pursuit.

We have a room on the west side of our house that has wall of three picture windows, giving us a great view of mountains, a stream, trees, and bird feeders.  Miss Sugar has binoculars and a couple books near at hand which identify types of birds.  One of the books is just about birds known to be found in Colorado.

One day, a few weeks ago, Miss Sugar, while monitoring her bird feeders, exclaimed that she saw a new bird, and excitedly looked it up in the Colorado book.  She identified it as a Curved Bill…

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Sharpshooter

This is a re-blog of a story that fits the subject matter of Deadly Dangers at Cross Creek Ranch, yesterday’s post.

Shootin' the Breeze

My trophy wife, Sugar, was outside with the dogs while I watched Chisum.  As it turned out, viewing the John Wayne movie was a good way to prepare for my imminent deadly showdown.

I heard my wife’s alarming scream.  Then she called out to me, “Al, come out here.  Hurry!”  I moseyed up from the couch, ever obedient, ever vigilent.

I still did not know what she was frightened about.  (Girls can be overly dramatic and mysterious).  I empathetically inquired about what was troubling her.  Her response was not responsive to my question.  She uncalmly commanded, “Get a gun.”  Well, that was the main idea.  She was much more eloquent.

As an aside, in order to give some background to the scenario, I want you, gentle readers, to be informed that Sugar grew up in Texas.  Also, she is of Italian extraction.  You may combine your prejudiced stereotypes as you imagine  her emotional communication.

Further, Sugar’s…

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DEADLY DANGERS AT CROSS CREEK RANCH

Beau’s trip to E.R., described in my prior post, reminded me of another Yellow Lab’s experience at a summer party.

Shootin' the Breeze

              It was high noon.  Miss Sugar, my trophy wife, was fussing in the kitchen when she hollered, “Big Bronc, they’re coming!  Lots of ‘em.  You better be ready.  I’m gittin plumb nervous.”

           Soon they commenced to coming up our lane to the ranch house.  Dozens of folks arrived in waves.  We was surrounded.  

            Me and Texas Bob took our stations, him by the cantina, me peeking out from inside the house.  We was ready, providin’ there warn’t too many of ‘em.  I lost count at 65.  That seemed about right for me and the little woman and Texas Bob.

            Also, Texas Bob had brung a woman with him, as was his way.  She was a spunky redhead, a fancy dresser, name of Ginger.  I’d seen her before.  Once down in Fort Worth Stockyards, at the Cattlemen’s Club, Bob and Ginger was there with me and Sugar and…

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Beau Visits E.R.

The meeting was scheduled for 1:30 p.m. at a location in another city about forty miles from our home.  I wanted to leave in plenty of time, so I let the dogs out around noon so they would have a restroom break before being left in the house for a few hours.

As it turned out, the restroom break was not what I expected for the usually exuberant Beau laid down on the porch and would not go down the steps.  When I urged him down the steps, he laid at the bottom and whined.  I got him to go another ten feet into the yard and he laid down again and whined again.  I had to decide what to do.

I decided to put Sadie, who seemed fine, back in the house and Beau into my car.  I drove away with him and wondered if I could make the meeting on time if I took him first to the veterinarian on the way.  I decided that he is more important than this important meeting with the C.E.O. of a new hospital, but maybe I could still make the meeting.  I called the vet clinic, arranged to drop Beau off on my way, and did so.  Of course, I could not merely drop him off.  We had some paperwork to take care of.  They weighed Beau.  He weighs 90 lbs.  Then he laid on the floor in passive resistance mode.  We coaxed him into an exam room. Still it went pretty fast and I got away in time to make the 1:30 meeting with the C.E.O.

I called my wife and told her Beau was at the vet’s.  Sugar called to see how he was doing.  She authorized x-rays in order to determine the reason for his gastric distress.  We both went to get him at 5:00 p.m.  Thankfully, he seemed to be feeling better.  The x-rays did not reveal any tumors or even pantyhose or 3 lbs of three bean salad, which have been discovered in other Yellow Labs we know, but I digress.  See https://cowboylawyer.wordpress.com/2012/06/04/deadly-dangers-at-cross-creek-ranch/.

Without  going into a complicated medical explanation, I will simply report that Beau seems better after the treatment by which he was treated.

The veterinarian included in the diagnosis that Beau is a funny character.  (We knew that already).  We were told that he would not walk on what he had determined to be “the carpet of death.”  I do not fully understand, but apparently Beau refused to walk on a certain carpet and they could not make him do so, being 90 lbs of dead weight when he passively resists, like protesters of yesteryear.  See also, https://cowboylawyer.wordpress.com/2016/02/19/a-canine-follower-of-gandhi-2/.

Sadie was glad to see us all come home.  All is well that ends well.

The Arrogance of Pride

This is a companion to Victimhood as a Choice.

Shootin' the Breeze

A few days ago, I wrote about Victimhood as a Choice.  My point was that we usually do not choose what harms us but can choose how we react.

This is on a topic that is the opposite of seeing oneself as a helpless victim.  It is about taking credit for blessings that are simply gifts from God.  This is sort of the flipside to victimhood.  It is about undeserved pride.

Are you smart?  What did you do to accomplish being smart?  Ask the same about being pretty or athletic or healthy or even wealthy.  You inherited your genes and maybe inherited your money.

Our talents and opportunities come from God.  Just like having choices about reacting to bad things in life, we have choices about reacting to good things, to our blessings.  We can use them, share them, or bury them and waste them.  Even if we use those…

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