"Down that Red Dirt Road...#2"
Diane Loft
The following morning I went into breakfast for my first meal in twenty four hours and not a word was said about the injured horse. I wasn't surprised as the other employees knew there were problems between me and the boss and they wanted to protect their jobs. I have never had that much sense and have been fired and thrown out of class for standing up for employees or students when they were not being treated right.
Taking care of myself has never been a problem. To this day my pickup is stocked with camping gear, rations, ammunition, books and feed for my dog. My horse trailer is similarly equipped to care for my horses. There was always an outfit that needed a man that could start young horses.
Often, the positions were in remote cow camps and never paid much, but I was respected for the work I did and I didn't have to knuckle my forehead. For company I had Herodotus, Plato, Sir Walter Scott and other friends and teachers tucked in my saddlebags.
Seventeen years later as a drug agent on the Mexican border I would go head to head with a supervisory federal bureaucrat noted for his cowardice and blind eye to corruption. When I needed help from my fellow officers, there was dead silence as they protected their jobs rather than step up. For a long time I made the mistake of thinking that cops, who are supposed to be the good guys, at least back when they were the friends of law abiding citizens, would have the same standards of loyalty and courage that my brother warriors in Project Delta and other Special Forces Groups I served with displayed. I measured every group and individual by the standards of the men I was privileged to operate and fight beside. Big mistake and I was a slow learner.
A fellow Special Forces trooper and retired San Francisco police officer for whom I have enormous respect disagreed with me in a comment to one of my earlier posts about my opinion that "You are now what you were when." Good Irishman that he is, he is wrong. Folks are what they are and they do not often change. The imprimatur is stamped early on. No point in resenting it. Regard them with the contempt they deserve and move on.
The next few days were filled with saddling and riding horses getting them ready for the dudes. There was palpable tension whenever the boss came around and I did my best to avoid him. A curious event occurred that confirmed my negative opinion of the outfit's ownership. While getting the cabins and lodge ready for the summer guests, a woman from Cody was hired to help out. Preparing supper one evening, she cut her hand rather severely and required several sutures to close the wound. The Yale educated MD performed the procedure. I ran into her while picking up my mail one afternoon in Cody and she showed me a letter with an invoice from the good doctor requesting a payment of fifteen dollars for the treatment. Good Lord.
The owner had a pair of Chesapeake Retrievers named Bing and Bell. I called them Ding and Bat - further endearing me to the boss and especially his wife, Brown 1942. Bing weighed in near one hundred twenty pounds. He had the thick protective coat characteristic of the breed and had fought coyotes, dogs and other critters all of his life. He was a big, tough, competent dog. Bell, his female mate was his smaller twin. Both of the dogs were great and I liked them. But, Bing and Chance did not get on. They had had a couple of knock down, drag out fights and Chance had come out the loser. The forty pounds and thick coat gave the bigger Chesapeake a significant advantage. Chance was an impressive fighter, but he was very much outmatched in the engagements with Bing. I had had to sew him up from one of the previous encounters and so I did my best to keep them apart.
Standing beside a stock truck near one of the barns one afternoon, boss walked up asking about something or other and I was not paying attention to the dogs when Bing and Chance got into it. The big Chesapeake knocked Chance off of his feet and had him pinned up next to the dual rear wheels of the truck with his belly exposed. I was afraid that Bing would tear his stomach out and I dove into the fray under the truck. During the brawl, Bing bit me through and through behind the index finger on my left hand. He didn't mean to, I just got in the way during the fight but the hand would be stiff and sore for months.
Bing got Chance by the throat and was worrying him for all he was worth. I grabbed Bing by the collar and the Doctor grabbed a club and hit Chance in the head and face twice. Chance could not get away and it was Bing that had the grip. The dumb bastard swung the club again at Chance's head whose left eye was already blood red from one of the previous blows. I tried to protect Chance and the club hit me on the left elbow.
Enough was enough. When the man raised the club to strike again I let go of Bing and using the skills hammered into me for years in the dojo by my mentor Robert Koga, I stepped inside, trapped his right arm under my left arm, placed the web of my right hand against his throat and shoved him back against the stock truck. I was very gentle under the circumstances following my mentors philosophy of applying no more force than necessary to contain and control him. I had a duty not to hurt him though I did believe he deserved it.
I firmly advised him to stop hitting my dog with the damn club, released him and jerked the bludgeon out of his hand tossing it over the back of the stock truck. It would not be the last time I would have to call upon the skills I learned from my Sensei and closest friend.
http://www.kogainst.com/
Seventeen years later as a drug agent on the Mexican border I would go head to head with a supervisory federal bureaucrat noted for his cowardice and blind eye to corruption. When I needed help from my fellow officers, there was dead silence as they protected their jobs rather than step up. For a long time I made the mistake of thinking that cops, who are supposed to be the good guys, at least back when they were the friends of law abiding citizens, would have the same standards of loyalty and courage that my brother warriors in Project Delta and other Special Forces Groups I served with displayed. I measured every group and individual by the standards of the men I was privileged to operate and fight beside. Big mistake and I was a slow learner.
A fellow Special Forces trooper and retired San Francisco police officer for whom I have enormous respect disagreed with me in a comment to one of my earlier posts about my opinion that "You are now what you were when." Good Irishman that he is, he is wrong. Folks are what they are and they do not often change. The imprimatur is stamped early on. No point in resenting it. Regard them with the contempt they deserve and move on.
The next few days were filled with saddling and riding horses getting them ready for the dudes. There was palpable tension whenever the boss came around and I did my best to avoid him. A curious event occurred that confirmed my negative opinion of the outfit's ownership. While getting the cabins and lodge ready for the summer guests, a woman from Cody was hired to help out. Preparing supper one evening, she cut her hand rather severely and required several sutures to close the wound. The Yale educated MD performed the procedure. I ran into her while picking up my mail one afternoon in Cody and she showed me a letter with an invoice from the good doctor requesting a payment of fifteen dollars for the treatment. Good Lord.
The owner had a pair of Chesapeake Retrievers named Bing and Bell. I called them Ding and Bat - further endearing me to the boss and especially his wife, Brown 1942. Bing weighed in near one hundred twenty pounds. He had the thick protective coat characteristic of the breed and had fought coyotes, dogs and other critters all of his life. He was a big, tough, competent dog. Bell, his female mate was his smaller twin. Both of the dogs were great and I liked them. But, Bing and Chance did not get on. They had had a couple of knock down, drag out fights and Chance had come out the loser. The forty pounds and thick coat gave the bigger Chesapeake a significant advantage. Chance was an impressive fighter, but he was very much outmatched in the engagements with Bing. I had had to sew him up from one of the previous encounters and so I did my best to keep them apart.
Standing beside a stock truck near one of the barns one afternoon, boss walked up asking about something or other and I was not paying attention to the dogs when Bing and Chance got into it. The big Chesapeake knocked Chance off of his feet and had him pinned up next to the dual rear wheels of the truck with his belly exposed. I was afraid that Bing would tear his stomach out and I dove into the fray under the truck. During the brawl, Bing bit me through and through behind the index finger on my left hand. He didn't mean to, I just got in the way during the fight but the hand would be stiff and sore for months.
Bing got Chance by the throat and was worrying him for all he was worth. I grabbed Bing by the collar and the Doctor grabbed a club and hit Chance in the head and face twice. Chance could not get away and it was Bing that had the grip. The dumb bastard swung the club again at Chance's head whose left eye was already blood red from one of the previous blows. I tried to protect Chance and the club hit me on the left elbow.
Enough was enough. When the man raised the club to strike again I let go of Bing and using the skills hammered into me for years in the dojo by my mentor Robert Koga, I stepped inside, trapped his right arm under my left arm, placed the web of my right hand against his throat and shoved him back against the stock truck. I was very gentle under the circumstances following my mentors philosophy of applying no more force than necessary to contain and control him. I had a duty not to hurt him though I did believe he deserved it.
I firmly advised him to stop hitting my dog with the damn club, released him and jerked the bludgeon out of his hand tossing it over the back of the stock truck. It would not be the last time I would have to call upon the skills I learned from my Sensei and closest friend.
http://www.kogainst.com/
Over my decades of living, I have observed that women, social progressives, people of privilege, academics and geeks do not seem to realize that there are times when behavior will result in physical consequences. Spend a little time in a Mexican Cantina, biker or cowboy bars and one learns to walk softly.
The dogs were still struggling but getting tired as I turned my attention back to getting them separated. I told the boss who was grumbling and glaring at me to grab Chance by the hind legs and hold him in place. I reached under the Chesapeake's lower jaw and C-clamped his trachea. At the loss of oxygen, he let go and I pulled him aside. I collected my dog, and surprisingly, he was not badly hurt but the dumb ox actually thought he had won.
At supper that night the story of the fight and my "assault" on the boss was the chief topic of conversation. The stories I heard certainly didn't match my recollection of the incident but I said nothing to correct them. I was surprisingly unmarked from the ass kicking I had supposedly received except for a very sore elbow.
The next morning after breakfast, the boss walked up with a check in his hand. He simply said "I can't use you here." I replied "I'll get my gear". Minutes later I was pulling out. Unknown to me then, I would be back in the fall starting colts and cowboying for the Fear Ranches 100 miles south near the Wind River Range.
As I rolled past the dining hall, Ms. Cracky walked out and said "Too bad it didn't work out." Goofy broad. Why are liberals and the rest of those that bleat about sensitivity, inclusiveness, tolerance, diversity and all the rest of that nonsense such bloody hypocrites? In my experience with those that make up my political and social opposition I have found that they are often moral and physical cowards that preach non-violence because they lack the ability, courage and will to apply justifiable violence against those that have it coming and they want all of the rest of us to rely upon agents of the state or thugs wearing badges to protect us. Remember that when you vote.
Don't get your panties in a bunch. Many of my close friends are liberals by political affiliation and philosophy. They are decent, kind people that I care about very much and they probably truly believe in the rightness of their leanings. I think they are in need of clinical intervention.
My dear friend and brother, Brad Steiner, the founder of Combato - Jen Do Tau, one of the finest "practical" self-defense systems in the world goes ballistic every time I even mention Ms. Cracky or those that make up the constituency of the liberal left. He makes me laugh but I am of a gentler nature.
http://www.americancombato.com/index.cfm
I didn't say a thing as Chance and I headed down the road.
Far Rider
See to your weapons and stand to your horses
http://www.americancombato.com/index.cfm
I didn't say a thing as Chance and I headed down the road.
Far Rider
See to your weapons and stand to your horses
3 comments:
" In my experience with those that make up my political and social opposition I have found that they are often moral and physical cowards that preach non-violence because they lack the ability, courage and will to apply justifiable violence against those that have it coming and they want all of the rest of us to rely upon agents of the state or thugs wearing badges to protect us."
Well, Bro, you have the sheep, the sheepdog and the wolf. Sometimes the sheepdog needs a little wolf in him... but just a touch.
“At supper that night the story of the fight and my "assault" on the boss was the chief topic of conversation. The stories I heard certainly didn't match my recollection of the incident but I said nothing to correct them. I was surprisingly unmarked from the ass kicking I had supposedly received except for a very sore elbow.” IF you allow a lie to continue, you foster that lie and become part of it. Don't you think it would have served EVERYONE involved for you to tell what actually happened? Doesn't a truthfull accounting of what actually happened in this matter have any value? The truth is the silver bullet. It identifies you for what you are and what you stand for, and it leaves a mark where you have been. This part of the story was weak.
Anonymous said,” Well, Bro, you have the sheep, the sheepdog and the wolf. Sometimes the sheepdog needs a little wolf in him... but just a touch."
I agree with this statement. However, as I see James' credo applied, it leaves no room for gray in areas of moral behavior, no crossing over of sheepdog behavior and wolf behavior, no mixing of even a drop of evil into a sea of good, yea even for a supposedly “good moral purpose.” And if you did mix a bit of wolf into the sheepdog, the fact that you mixed it defines that sheepdog for life and taints all other sheepdogs.
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