Rural Reflections

Garage Sales

Thu, 17 Jul 2008 11:29:16 -0600

Summer means vacations and fishing to some, but to many the word summer is interchangeable with the phrase “garage sale.” It’s the season of the year to seek valuable information contained on garage sale signs before they are removed for the week-end. No one wants to purchase old plastic flowers or bent aluminum window frames from a garage in the winter, so it’s time to strike while the iron (and weather) is hot. It’s time to garage sale.

Saturday morning will invariably draw early risers hoping for a great deal. Most garage sales have set times however those who arrive early with pockets full of money often make their own rules. I’ve noticed that some people price every item while some have various islands of goods organized by price, I prefer the island theme but that’s difficult unless you’re selling books or like items. Sunday afternoon is a difficult time at a garage sale; items competitively priced a ten cents that would have gone home with someone instead were priced at fifteen cents and are returned to storage. The seller’s high hopes of a little less clutter are only partially realized, and the effort to carry everything back inside is exponentially greater in comparison to what was needed to first display everything.

Some folks buy garage sale stuff and just use it, some are just looking for project ideas but the most interesting buyer is the one looking for parts. My mother in-law, Jeanette Walseth, looks for parts. Jeanette visits garage sales like parents visit an orphanage-everything can be saved. She build planters, bird feeders, benches and whatever her creativity demands, from items many folks throw away, or sell at garage sales. While doing a bit of research for this week’s column, I discovered Mr. Jalopy. Mr. Jalopy is like Jeanette in that he finds items bound for oblivion and creates something useful, interesting or both. He recently rewired an old stereo that he could record vinyl albums to an I pod. He also gives a lot of credence to those who garage sale creatively in that he is a leader of something called, “the Maker Movement.” This movement is composed of people who make items bound for a landfill into something useful. My Jalopy has even been consulted by large corporations who seek to market their products to people like him. The “Maker Movement” is supposed to be a new group in America’s culture, however I believe it’s simply making do with what you have, or with what you find at a garage sale.

Some garage sale for fun, others for their children’s dorm room, while others have a whimsy to satisfy. If times are indeed getting a little tougher, then garage sales make even more sense than ever. You can save money over buying new and a week-end of sales are much less expensive than the same time spent boating on a lake. Plus, where in the world are you going to find old plastic flowers or bent aluminum window frames, competitively priced, but at a garage sale.

Cattle Education

Thu, 10 Jul 2008 10:51:11 -0600

I’ve always liked cows, even when I was young I liked the cattle on our farm. Growingup on a dairy gave me an appreciation for cattle that led to my
own small beef herd; cows and I have taught each other quite a few
things which I’d like to share this week.

It’s nice to be among cattle that are calm and quiet. The truth is
that most cattle are calm and quiet until you add in human
intervention. Feeding cattle in the winter is pleasant because the
cattle let you get pretty close and some even become pets. Cattle
don’t understand my words, but my words shape my emotions which they
seem to sense. I sometimes tell our cattle about my day or how nice
they look as a way to maintain a voice that inspires a nice, calm
herd. I’ve found that I can walk right next to a skittish steer by
looking away from him and that I can make that same steer move by
staring at him or raising my arms above my head. Cattle appreciate a
little subtlety-maybe even more than people.

People who chase cattle would have more luck pushing Jell-o up a
hill. Chasing cattle is the last club out of my bag and an indication
that I haven’t planned how to handle them well enough. I remember the
first year at our farm how bad I felt when my brother and my dad came
to help me move cattle. I had made a corral out of bales and old
gates and the results were as bad as you might imagine. I swore I
would do better, and over time have taken steps to back up those
words. Cattle react pretty much the same in any situation; you just
have to tailor how you handle them to these reactions.

Farmers and cattle are a good match because they understand and need
each other. I like watching a farmer who loves his cattle as much as
I dislike watching someone for whom cattle are mere yard decorations.

I always think it’s sad when a good cattle farmer gets so big that he
has to hire lots of people. They seem to lose touch with the very
reason they farm-the cattle. Instead they have to manage people whose
reactions often make no sense and are much less predictable than the
cows. A cattle person should be on the ground with his/her cattle
so they can decide what their cattle may require. A cattle farmer may occasionally need to sit at a desk, but that should be reserved for times when they are meeting their accountant in the morning and they are several months
behind in bookwork, at least that’s how I do it.

You can tell much about a person by how they act around an animal,
even a cow. Go watch young people show their cattle at the fair and
how cattle respond to positive attention from their handler; a little affection goes a long way-a good lesson learned.

Project Flagpole

Thu, 3 Jul 2008 09:09:00 -0600

I love seeing the flag of the United States flown prominently in front of businesses and homes. I believe the American Legion can provide you with the rules for proper flag display but they are fairly simple; just treat the flag like you would any symbol for the greatest country in the world and the shining beacon of democracy and you should be okay. I want to focus on lighting the flag as I see a lot of United States flags that are flown overnight without being lit. I think most do-it-yourself folks can erect a pole to hold the flag without my instruction however here is one rule to remember; for every three feet of pole height you should have one foot firmly driven into the ground.

Let’s light the flag; it’s pretty easy and not that expensive. I believe 150 watt halogen lights, ran 24/7 are probably overkill and that a low voltage system with a 50 watt flood light should light the flag properly. Some folks will probably just push a solar-powered light into the ground and call it good, which is fine; just remember that the light needs to shine the whole night and few solar lights, even when exposed to full sun during the day, can handle this task.

Our flag is lit by a low-voltage controller that is wired underground to the spot light. The controller was about thirty five dollars and the wire is cheap and easy to install; I usually just slice the sod with a shovel, pull on the grass to open the cut then slide the wire under the top layer. A light that simply sits on the ground, in front of the flagpole, will be subject to lawnmower abuse and it will be hard to trim the grass around it to the point the grass may block the light. I placed our light on top of a concrete column about three feet above the ground. I used a cardboard forming tube, placed one foot into the ground for stability, then ran the wire through before I filled it with concrete. I did us a favor but removing the sod around the tube and filling the empty space with concrete set to ground level which prevents grass re-growth. I hate trimming and if you use this little trick you can trim with your rider or push mower. The use of string trimmers is punishment for certain crimes in some countries and I usually lose my will to trim by the time I get that little two cycle engine running. After the concrete set for about 4 hours, I removed the top 6 inches of the cardboard tube then shaped the concrete with my gloved hands. I then wired the low-voltage spotlight and used it’s mounting spike to attach it to the soft concrete.

There are several symbols which have represented our country including the Statue of Liberty which was originally called “Liberty Lighting the World.” When you light the flag of the United States, you return the favor to the symbol which inspired this statue and the idea of our country. It’s an important act and a great summer project for those who need to make a little concrete, do a little digging, and try some basic wiring to make a summer holiday week-end complete.

The Singin' Swede

Thu, 26 Jun 2008 06:11:20 -0600

The Singin’ Swede

The title for this week’s column was so easy; I’ve wanted to write about singer Jimmy Jenson for a long time. My dad liked Jimmy Jenson so he was played in a very heavy rotation around our house when I was young. He enjoyed the sort of status normally reserved for Lowell Lundstrom , Tennessee Ernie Ford or the Beatles if my sister came to visit; I even brought his records to High School to play at noon during Christmas. The Singin’ Swede has always had a nice spot in my memory which is fine but this week I want to pull that memory out and take a look at it.

Christmas was made so much better with Jimmy Jenson playing in the background. I liked to hear my dad sing along with “Life in the Finnish Woods” while “I Yust Go Nuts at Christmas” really created a picture in my mind of Christmas Chaos. I loved listening to Jenson describe, in this song, how a family of Minnesota Swede’s gather for Christmas dinner when a fight breaks out. Meanwhile, Gabriel Heatter’s WOR radio program plays in the background with wishes for “peace on earth and good will to men“ -it‘s quite a contrast.

I remember the song, “Ingevald” because it scared my young mind. As I recall, it was the tale of a man gone crazy and the wrath he visited upon a fictional Minnesota town. More happily, was Jenson’s tune “Nicolena” which my dad used to sing as he cleaned up after milking cows. “You Gotta’ Have a License” took a gentle poke at how almost anything fun, requires a license; the song actually reminds me a little of “Signs” by the Five Man Electrical band but I’m guessing that they and Jimmy never toured together. All of Jenson’s songs painted such a vivid picture; although he was not a writer he phrased the songs so I really understood them.

Okay, here’s the kicker to this column; I recently spoke with Jimmy Jenson. I took a chance and looked up everyone in the Alexandria, Minnesota area with the last name Jenson. I called the person who’s first name was Jimmy and it was him! I was so excited; it was an honor to talk with the talented man but I also felt like I was shaking hands with my own childhood memories. Jimmy Jenson is doing fine, although he has been a little sick the last year. Last week-end he played at the Vet’s in Alexandria and the Galaxy in Barnesville, Minnesota although he’s delayed any future performances until he feels better.

Jimmy Jenson has quite a history in entertainment. He played the organ on the WDAY television show “Party Line” from 1957 through 1958. Jenson hosted his own television show on Sunday at noon in Alexandria at a time when there was only one station. He’s also played at the Flame Café and Brady’s in Minneapolis in the mid fifties at a time when they featured a Grand Ole Opry performer each week-along with Jenson and two other bands. Jenson’s music was popularized in the Twin Cities by the children’s show “Lunch with Casey.” Casey, who’s real name was Roger Awsumb, like to pantomime to favorite Jenson songs like “Yingle Bells” and “Winter Wonderland.”

Jenson told me that there is a book about him that someone wrote for friends and family but it caught on with fans and so is for sale, his seven albums are on compact disk and are also available. A simple internet search will find pretty much anything that was created by, or written about, Jimmy Jenson. He gave me quite a bit of his time and evened listened to my stories about the place his songs had in my memories.

Jimmy Jenson’s music always sounded like a party to me, and the words to his songs reminded me of what was going on around me in my little home town of Viking. Jenson made me feel that eating lefse, listening to Polka music and being Lutheran was something tremendously special and worth singing about; maybe the folks who bought all of those records felt the same.

Under the Sun

Thu, 19 Jun 2008 11:22:03 -0600

This week the sun came out, finally. I feel like I’ve been living in Ireland for the last few weeks and it was nice to see the rain give way to sun this week. It made me feel like farming, so that’s what I did.

I like the process of raising crops; digging, planting, fertilizing and harvesting keeps a farm boy close to the land. This week I hooked up my tractor to my dad’s disk and headed out to prepare some ground to plant alfalfa. It’s a great feeling to sit in a tractor. I pass by our pet cemetery and think about the joy these little guys gave while they were with us. My mother in-law, Jeannette Walseth, recently made headstones and crosses from concrete patch and they look really nice. Next I make the bend and follow the field road out to my work.

I used to worry so much about how deep I should dig but no matter what, it always seems to work out. I give the depth on my no-tillage drill more attention but when I disk, I pretty much let the disk make the decisions. After a few trips over the field, I go visit Phil Knott in St Hilaire and get my seed and fertilizer which I apply with a spreader. The spreader has a metal conveyor belt the delivers a measured amount to a pair of spinners which then evenly fling the mixture onto the ground. Next it’s the harrow, which performs like a yard rake, to cover the seed a little and firm up the seed bed.

Speaking of farming, I want to update you on the Farmall tractor which I got from my dad. My co-worker, Seth Vettleson, told me his dad had a grapple fork for it which has been mounted along with the proper hydraulic hose and valve. This week I also converted it from 6 volt to 12 volt which makes it very easy to start. Dad stopped by this week, climbed up into the seat and cranked her up, then we leaned the old M and talked, it made a good day even better.

Lyle Swanson came over this week to cut a little alfalfa for me. There is no more conscientious man than Lyle Swanson-any job he does, he performs it to perfection. All of my alfalfa ground is surrounded by fence but Lyle wanted to get every bit of available forage and so drove his hay cutter closer to the fence than I even dare to when I walk by it. My water pipeline is above-ground in this area, a fact which I should have shared with Lyle. Lyle always keeps a nice, sharp cutter bar and it performed well not only on the alfalfa but also on my pipeline. Actually, when I got home and turned the water back on, I considered that our new fountain would have made a nice addition to our farm if it weren’t for thirsty cattle. It took about a half hour to fix and it was my fault for not telling Lyle, but that sparkling spray of water was really kind of pretty. I guess everything looks betters under a nice, bright sun.

Grizzly Man

Thu, 12 Jun 2008 08:19:00 -0600

Lisa and I decided to watch more movies this past winter. We quickly
watched all of the Academy Award nominated shows and a few recurring favorites. We’ve even seen a few at a theatre with my arm around Lisa’s shoulder trying not to wipe popcorn butter on
her jacket. We have now moved on to independent movies; these are the
ones that rarely include talking ducks, explosions and the typical Hollywood ending. We saw such a movie this week called “Grizzly Man.”

Grizzly Man is the story of Timothy Treadwell, a lover of grizzly
bears who documents his interactions with bears in the Kitmai
National Park and Preserve in Alaska. Treadwell spent thirteen years
amongst the bears and filmed them so intimately that I wondered at
the sanity of the man holding the camera. He seems only at peace when
his focus is totally absorbed by the grizzlies.

Treadwell’s sanity is questioned in this movie, and rightly so. He
appears almost manic in his rants about hunters, the National Park
Service, his love of the bears and the fact that he feels he is
becoming a bear. He also displays something I don’t like; he
represents himself as a teacher but his education consists of only his own
observations without a good base of knowledge with which to compare these observations. He also speaks of past chemical abuse problems and that he was only salvation was to
embrace this passion.

That said, I felt a kinship with Timothy Treadwell. I love animals
and at times they seem a key part of what gives me peace. Treadwell
names all of “his” bears and tries desperately to be one of their
pack. He actually pets the grizzlies and stands his ground when they
approach within a few feet of him. I think part of this is that he
really wants a replacement for the human community in which he has
found nothing in common. These close proximity encounters may also be
a death wish; Treadwell does journal an assumption that his work
would gain more exposure if he were killed by bears. In the end, this
is exactly what happens when he and a companion, Amie Huguenard, are mauled to death. An exposed film found at his camp site likely shows Treadwell’s killer standing in a stream, catching fish to prepare for hibernation.

Treadwell is odd (really odd) and the few human friends interviewed
for this documentary are pretty odd also. The movie was produced by
the Discovery Channel so it’s not just propaganda for the
environmental movement and there are interviews with established
scientists who give perspective to grizzly bears and Treadwell’s
interaction with them. It’s pretty well established among experts
that Treadwell’s actions were dangerous not only to him but others who
may walk grizzly territory in the future.

Grizzly Man is not a primer for a trip through Yellowstone. It is the
story of a man who finds what he cannot find in human society; a
beast he can respect. In the end, he is rejected by the grizzly
community who he wanted to humanize for others as a way to inoculate them from
harm. It’s a sad story, but the footage of the bears and their
habitat is beautiful and it will hold your attention for a couple of
hours. Man, those bears are big.

It Looks Like Rain

Thu, 5 Jun 2008 10:22:25 -0600

My dad and I were milking cows one evening about twenty four years ago. It had been so dry that year and suddenly that evening, it finally rained. I thought we should perhaps go dance in this million-dollar rain like the pioneers did in old black and white movies but my dad simply said, “now if it will just stop.” I never understood what he meant until I started farming a little for myself. This week’s weather has really made me consider what rain means in my daily life.

What is rain? Is it just a return of what evaporated last week two thousand miles away, a boost for newly-planted grass and mosquitoes or it a metaphor of life? Maybe it’s the rain of daily struggle and problems that everyone suffers or maybe it is just plain water. If it weren’t for rain, we’d be missing a lot of songs on the radio as it would leave us only love and mama upon which to create lyrics. I always liked Neil Sedaka’s song “I Hear Laughter in the Rain” but also enjoyed “Rainy Days and Mondays” by the Carpenters as well. I’ve happily watched hours of rain water my new alfalfa while a few tenths viewed from the same window have brought anxiety and a sort of depression when I needed to bale the same field. I guess rain can mean much to even one person.

So here’s the thing; as rain eventually creates an environment that splits light into rainbows, this same environment divides and arranges emotions into something more easily understood. It refracts what shines from each person in such a way that they can tell how they’re doing inside. If rain gives you joy, then figure out what is making you happy and do more of it. If rain reveals sadness, then figure out what makes you sad and eliminate it. If rain makes you lonely, then find out what’s missing in your life and go get it.

It takes rain for a plant to grow but rain can also help people grow. If ever there is a time for self-reflection, it’s during a good thunderstorm. Rain provide the essential ingredient for looking at one’s own soul-time. There’s not much else you can do, or wish to do, during a storm. It provides the perfect reason to just sit and question whether you’re living your life as you should. If a gentle soaker lacks the impetus for some soul-searching then Nature has seen fit to provide an intensity continuum as rain graduates to hail or even a tornado; one of which is sure to get you attention.

Rain provides growth in character as sure as it provides the same for your flower bed. Rain may sharpen your focus on an internal problem or give you the time for a much-needed nap. Perhaps it can even make a lazy columnist get to work; I have to mow lawn today-and it looks like rain.

As a bonus, I have provided the lyrics to "Laughter in the Rain" with this week's column.

Strolling along country roads with my baby
It starts to rain, it begins to pour
Without an umbrella we're soaked to the skin
I feel a shiver run up my spine
I feel the warmth of her hand in mine

Oo, I hear laughter in the rain
Walking hand in hand with the one I love
Oo, how I love the rainy days
And the happy way I feel inside

After a while we run under a tree
I turn to her and she kisses me
There with the beat of the rain on the leaves
Softly she breathes and I close my eyes
Sharing our love under stormy skies

Oo, I hear laughter in the rain
Walking hand in hand with the one I love
Oo, how I love the rainy days
And the happy way I feel inside
I feel the warmth of her hand in mine

Oo, I hear laughter in the rain
Walking hand in hand with the one I love
Oo, how I love the rainy days
And the happy way I feel inside
Oo, I hear laughter in the rain
Walking hand in hand with the one I love
Oo, how I love the rainy days
And the happy way I feel inside
(repeat and fade)

Pastor Brekke

Fri, 30 May 2008 01:28:48 -0600

I recently received an email from Dan Brekke who lives in Berkeley, California. Mr. Brekke found a picture of his grandfather, Pastor Sjur Brekke, seated with the 1923 confirmation class of Zion Lutheran church on the Viking, Minnesota website. Brekke’s email is the story of how his grandfather emigrated from Norway to Chicago and eventually became pastor at Zion Lutheran Church; I will share an abbreviated version of it with you.

Sjur Ingebrettson Brekke was born in Vik, Norway in 1876. Vik currently is home to about three thousand people on the Sognefjord River and has been a settlement for centuries. The area is well known for the presence of 12^th century Stave kirks (medieval wooden stave churches) and glaciers that reside on the nearby Atlantic Ocean. Sjur Brekke was on of five children and came to the United States in the 1880’s. He attended seminary in Red Wing, Minnesota and at a seminary which would be the future site of Wrigley Field in Chicago where he was ordained in 1905. Sjur was a minister of the Hauge Synod which arose in Norway as a reaction to state-run churches and emphasized personal prayer and religious meditation more than religious ceremony.

Sjur Brekke pastored from 1904-1905 at Ebenezer Lutheran and Hauge Lutheran in Chicago which is where he met his wife, Otilia Sieverson who had been born in America. Otilia’s family moved from Frederikstad (near Oslo) in Norway to Chicago which is where she was born in 1884. The Sieverson’s were founding members of Hauge Lutheran in 1900 and it stands to reason that is where Sjur and Otilia met then married in 1905.

Sjur Brekke served at other churches but came to Alvarado, Minnesota in 1918 and served at Bethlehem Lutheran Church. From there, he ministered also to Kongsvinger Lutheran near Alvarado and Zion in Viking; that’s a fair commute but there was a strong train schedule at that time so perhaps that is how Pastor Brekke traveled.

In 1921, Steven was born to Pastor Sjur and Otilia at the hospital in Warren. Steve Brekke is the father of Dan Brekke who then gathered the information upon which I based this column. Steve Brekke still has a collection of letters sent by his father to Otilia during their courtship that are written in both English and Norwegian. Norwegian was probably the first language in the Brekke household and the reason for much teasing for young Steve when the family moved back to Chicago in 1926.

Back in Chicago, Sjur Brekke was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease and began a slow, devastating decline. He gave up his assignment at Ebenezer, which is where he had first served, in 1930. Pastor Sjur and Otilia moved to Pasadena, California where Sjur took long walks to maintain his health but soon returned to Chicago where he died in 1932. Otilia kept her feelings for Sjur private until her death in 1975. Her son, Steve, found the letters Sjur had sent Otilia which she had treasured all of those years. Pastor Sjur was known to be a very serious person as evidenced by the stern countenance in the confirmation picture from 1923 but perhaps revealed a more playful side in one of his letters, this time written to his parents. At the time, Sjur was living at his brother’s place near Clear Lake, Iowa and his letter was to inform his parents that he had proposed marriage to Otilia. It was a letter that required privacy and Sjur had written his mother that, “you would smile if you knew where I was writing.” Sjur Brekke-spiritual leader, pastor to many, husband and father, was writing his letter in the outhouse.

(picture caption)

1923 – (standing) Floyd Greenley, Solveig Samuelson, Ernest Melvie, Sr., Clarence

Grindeland. (sitting) Selma Holden, Rev. S. J. Brekke, Olga Urdahl

Letter to Dave

Thu, 22 May 2008 21:07:01 -0600

Dear Dave,

This week’s letter is more than just a tool for communication, it is a test of my character. I am writing this letter under great pressure as I simultaneously water the lawn, try to keep our cat, Magoo from walking on the keyboard plus deal anxiously with the specter that Lisa will soon be home and I’ve yet to even consider what to make for supper. I guess it’s really not as dramatic a situation as first I thought.

Farming is in full swing here and last week this fact caused me to consider an idea. The writer Kurt Vonnegut once said, “I can think of no more stirring symbol of man’s humanity to man than a fire engine” which is certainly true. I wonder though if the hopper-bottom bin has ever been considered for that lofty symbol. When you consider what rugged work it is to clean out a bin, then how nice it is to instead stand outside of a hopper bin and let gravity do the work, it’s seems like an awfully humane invention. I see a lot of them filled with seed this time of year and it just got me thinking.

I’m sure you’d appreciate it if my deeps thought abruptly ended after that last sentence but I also thought about cats recently and how differently they regard their own tails as opposed to the human perspective. I for one, can never pet a cat without reverently running my hand the full length of it’s tail. I also watch their tail for signs of mood and temper which, for me, makes the tail an important part of any feline. I’ve observed our cats and found that they seem more detached from the end of their spine. When exiting through a door, I’ve noticed they will sometimes leave their tail dangerously perched between door and frame and when they finally do bring their tail to safety, they seem regard it an a most impatient way. It seems a cavalier and distant way in which to care about something so closely attached but that can be the way of a cat.

Well, enough dime store philosophy-thank goodness I didn’t waste my time learning that stuff in college as apparently I was born with all I need. The last we spoke, you were busy at the Case/IH dealership in Carrington, North Dakota and I know that is a steady-state situation so I won’t bother to ask if anything has changed. I am constantly seeking to live my life as though today were 1973 and tomorrow I will continue that course. I plan to look at another Hesston haystack maker for use around the farm. I borrowed one a few years ago from a neighbor but decided then that it was easier to hire it done. I have since reconsidered but suspect the real reason for this change of heart is that I just crave this 1970’s era technology. It seems things were more simply made with extra steel instead of extra technology during that era. I now have seventies era snowmobiles, farm equipment from that time and a taste for that period’s groovy music. As a bonus, my wife and I have a manufacture date from a time prior to the seventies so she and I are both a little retro. All I need is that ‘73 Plymouth Fury and muttonchops sideburns and I will be set.

I guess this letter got to be pretty much about me, didn’t it. I’ll try to do better next month.

Your little bro’

Dog Gone Deb

Thu, 15 May 2008 12:08:24 -0600

Today’s column will end with an email and picture I recently received from my sister, Deb. First I have to give you some background to give the story context.

Deb is the oldest of my siblings and has always looked after us. I would describe Deb’s matronly ways as part mother hen, part border collie and just a dash of drill sergeant. Debbie likes to know that every member of her family (human or animal) is happy but protected under her benevolent umbrella. If something bad happens to one of us, it also happens to her. She is a person who many have looked to (including me) during times of need and has a very deep well of compassion.

Deb and her husband, Mike, have three Rat Terrier dogs that are energetic and smart enough to get themselves into trouble from which they cannot extract themselves. Tigger, Miss Scarlett and Woody recently rediscovered that they are also included under the Debbie umbrella when they took off on an adventure that was neither planned nor approved by Deb. This caused a lot of anxiety for Deb as she seeks guarantee danger stays far from her three little rats. Her pursuit and recovery was successful and none came to harm but the dogs received the pointy end of a heart to heart conversation with their human mother. There’s a certain investment Deb makes in those she cares for and she protects that investment with diligence. Although always kind, she also lets you know what her expectations are and I’m sure these expectations were explained in great detail to Tigger, Miss Scarlett and Woody-perhaps in a louder than “indoor voice.” I’m sure they were as relieved to get back home as was Deb but for totally different reasons. This is where my part of the narration ends, I’ll let Debbie tell you the full story through the email and picture she sent to me a few weeks ago.

“I let the Rat Terriers out the door after dinner tonight. I ran back in the house for something and found they had headed down the road. I blew the whistle, called, and the only one who'd come back was Tigger, the first one we purchased. I got in Mike's car and drove the 1/8 mile down the road where Miss Scarlett and Woody were investigating the deep ditch. I ordered them in the car. I'd taken Tigger with me as he had hopped in the car in the yard. I bawled them out on the way home and ordered them into the house. Mike was sitting in his recliner trying to heal from the day and all three terriers jumped in his lap as if to say, "Dad! Protect us from Mom!" It made me laugh so I took a few pictures so you could see what three dogs, in trouble, and seeking shelter from "Dad", look like.”

The picture of Mike and the Terriers was too large to post so to see the picture, click on this link: http://grantnelson00.tripod.com/sitebuildercontent/sitebuilderpictures/mikeandterriers.jpg