Friday, May 25, 2012

Happy Birthday Satchel

And to the rest of the gang - Justin, Zack, Burnette, and the two Tickles.


With his smile as sweet as a warn wind in summer;
He's got me flying like a bird in a bright June sky.
And then just when I think that I've got his number;
He brings me back to the ground with his wintry eyes.
That's my Satchie;
He can be all four seasons in one day.

And when the night time comes with no interference;
To our warm summer love with all its charms;
But like a thoroughbred horse he can turn on a sixpence;
And I find that I'm back in Mister Winter's arms.
That's my Satchie;
He can be all four seasons in one day.

How will I know?
How can I tell?
Which side of the bed he takes when the day begins?
He can be kind; maybe even cruel.
He's got me guessing like a game show fool.

Well he can change his mind like he changes bibs;
From one minute to the next it's hard to tell.
He blows hot and cold just like stormy weather;
He's my gift from the Lord or a fiend from hell.
That's my Satchie;
He can be all four seasons in one day.

Watching the weatherman's been no good at all;
Winter, spring, summer, I'm bound for a fall.
There are no long term predictions for my Satchie;
He can be all four seasons in one day.

So if it's a sunny day, I take my umbrella;
Just in case his raindrops start to fall.
And you could say that I'm just a cautious fellow;
But I don't want to be caught in a sudden squall.
That's my Satchie;
He can be all four seasons in one day.

Yes, that's my Satchie;
And I wouldn't have him any other way.

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Saturday, May 12, 2012

Way Back Home

Oh, I'd give anything
Just to smell that scent
Of honeysuckle growin'
On a backyard fence
Oh to go way back home.

I'd love to smell the wetness
Of grass and trees
And see ground kissed By honey bees
I'd like to go way back home.
Oh, but childhood days
They surely are gone
Well, but the memories
Still linger on.

Oh, have you ever gone swimmin'
In a muddy creek
With nothin' on your body from head to feet?
I want to go way back home.

How you play for the game
Like hide and seek
To sneak through the weeds
And overhear the streams.
Well, I know some kids
Still play those games
But when they play
It just ain't the same
Like way back home.

Oh, I really miss those things
That have faded away
I remember them
Like it was yesterday
Oh how I'd love to go, way back home.

Oh keep us with each other
My brother and I
For then never I'll be lonely
I'll never fear or cry
As deep down in my heart
One thing that life has shown
As long as we're together
We're always way back home.

Monday, May 7, 2012

For Jack

Not a day goes by, my precious boy.

Thursday, May 3, 2012

The Ideal Newfoundland: A Working Dog

From "The Twentieth Century Dog (Non-Sporting) - Compiled From The Contributions Of Over Five Hundred Experts", Volume 1, Herbert Compton (1904):

"Miss E. Goodall's Ideal Newfoundland"

Royal in mien, gentle in manners, docile yet full of dignity, true as steel and faithful unto death, my ideal Newfoundland dog looks as noble as the work for which he was born - the work of rescue.

When the Creator endowed him with that sublime instinct which leads him without training or direction, but out of his own consciousness, to save life at sea or in perilous waters, He bestowed on the dog an attribute that makes it not merely the king of dogs, but first in the animal kingdom. Not only to save his master is his understood duty, - there are many gallant hounds who are competent to understand that call upon their intelligence - but to succour the stranger in danger, and to carry from the shore, through surf and breakers and angry waves, assistance to wrecked vessels, labouring at the self-imposed task with a reasoning power and indomitable courage and perserverance that is not to be equalled in the annals of dumb creation.

Truly and emphatically a Member of the Royal Humane Society, and worthy to be ranked with the lifeboatsman of our coasts, and the heroes of our Fire Brigades. My ideal Newfoundland must be great in body as well as soul, with a grand and massive head; broad benevolent brow; small, dark, very intelligent eyes, ordinarily soft with affection but capable of flaming with anger on occasion; small ears hanging close to his head; deep muzzle, not too long; and the whole head and face covered with short hair that feels like velvet to the touch. His neck is rather long and very muscular; his body proportionate and compact, with well-sprung ribs, and clothed with a dense, flat, water-resisting coat of a deep, rich black colour, long in the neck, where it almost assumes the proportions of a mane; plenty of feather on the tail and fore legs, which must be straight and strong with ample bone, for with these he chiefly battles with the waves, and wins his way. His hind legs are not quite so powerful, and less feathered.

He must be a low-built dog, for anything like legginess would detract from his appearance - that grand, solid, reassuring bulk suitable for a life in the sea. No water animal in the world is long-legged, least of all should the Newfoundland be so. His gait is that of a bear, without the clumsiness; that is to say, he advances the front and hind legs of the same side simultaneously. It is a sea-dog's walk, but he is active withal, as you shall find our British sailors when there is work to do on land with a naval brigade. And let him but glimpse the sea, and you can realise the spirit that is in him, as his exuberant delight carries him with a rush to his favourite element.

For the rest, affectionate, tractable, and especially kind to children, he endears himself to all. As a guardian unsurpassable; always mute except when there is actual danger to be apprehended. Finally - and this is the greatest tax upon his nature - my ideal Newfoundland is not quarrelsome with others of his kind, but bears with them all, his lofty spirit comprehending that though he is their king, out of consideration for his mistress's prejudices he must not insist upon being their autocrat."