OFF THE CUFF: A dog for the ages

He’s long and low.

He has deceptive power and speed.

He’s 35 pounds of relentless personality.

He’s our Big Lug.

Introducing Jamie, a four-year-old Pembroke Welsh Corgi.

Most dog owners love their animals and are quick to describe everything that makes their canine companion unique and amazing. And why not? Most dogs definitely have their own unique and fascinating characteristics.

At the risk of sounding like I’m exaggerating, I’m here to tell you that Jamie takes unique and fascinating to the next level. At very least, there have in history been few sillier representatives of the canine species than Jamie.

I realize he hasn’t cornered the silly market, but he’s definitely a major share-holder. He’s like silly on steroids.

Doug Davison

When my daughter and I first saw him at an animal shelter in Oceanside, Calif., we knew there was something more to him than the average dog. When I went back to rescue him a couple of days later, it was as if he had always been our dog. He got in the car like he felt he belonged there and looked at me as if to ask “so, what’s for dinner tonight?”

He made a completely seamless transition from shelter castoff to comfortable pet. But we had to do something about that name on his papers: Carlo. No way – his name is Jamie.

Now that he has been a resident of Texas County for a few years, we’ve had ample opportunity to observe all of his behavioral patterns. What a character.

He speaks (OK, barks) in a deep, throaty baritone and when he wants to, he can make walls shake, apples fall from trees and cats run in 10 directions at once.

If Jamie spoke English, we’re pretty sure he would do so in sort of a low-key manner with a slightly high-pitched tone, laced with a bit of Forrest-Gump like drawl and a very minor lisp.

“Hey y’all. What ya doin’? Just let me know if there’s anything you need help eating. I won’t mind.” Sometimes he asks questions. It sounds almost like Tim Allen (the Home Improvement guy) joking about the cave man characteristics of men – “uuuhhh?” And when he speaks in a quieter tone, he’ll at times clearly put an “f” on his “woof.”

There’s a lot of power in Jamie’s wide shoulders. He’s shaped like a horizontal version of that Disney character Mr. Incredible; like a wedge with four legs.

If he played in the CFL (Canine Football League), I’m pretty sure he’d be a linebacker. If he were a weapon, he’d be a battering ram – or maybe a torpedo.

He’s like a land manatee with a turbo engine. Like a small walrus with racing fuel powered legs.

Jamie’s thick build definitely belies his mobility. The Big Lug can motor big-time for short distances and has truly perfected the “drop ‘n’ roll” move. When he’s having a running battle with another dog, he can get out of trouble almost like an F-18 pilot, rolling on the ground at full speed and popping up moving in a different direction, without so much as missing a step.

Perhaps one of his most notable and unique traits is that he is 100 percent omnivorous. Most dogs seem to agree that acceptable forms of human food include almost exclusively meaty and starchy fare, and being attracted to fruits and vegetables is more or less against species policy.

Jamie doesn’t adhere to policy. If it qualifies as food, he’s interested.

Raw broccoli stems, romaine lettuce, dill pickles, olives, squash, tomatoes, lima beans – it’s all yummy. And apples – “oh my, now those ARE good.”

Jamie’s so tuned into edible enjoyment that he can “hear” food, let alone smell it. He, of course, knows all the standard sounds of potential dining opportunities, like a can being opened or crunchies piling up in his bowl. But his keen sense of food sound goes way beyond that. His big ears perk up and he slowly walks into the room when my wife unscrews the top from a plastic container of nuts (he likes them all, but pecans are his favorite). He could be napping at the far end of the house, but if someone in the kitchen opens a zip-lock bag of cheddar cheese or pops the lid off of a container of leftover cole slaw, the telltale click-click-click sound of his claws making contact with the hardwood floor inevitably follows as Jamie gravitates toward the source of the food-related sounds in his own unhurried manner.

He knows the sound of cabbage being diced, carrots being sliced, and he quickly connects with the rustling of a bag of chips. Pretty much any time he hears food, he’s on it, pronto.

And speaking of ears, Jamie’s are basically huge, and at times seem motorized. They can move independently, almost like a chameleon’s eyes.

Reach down to pet him and his ears automatically go back against his head as if to offer your hand a smooth surface on which to slide. They’ll lie to the side when he’s relaxed, but at the sound of a pretzel being munched they’re immediately straight up.

Jamie sometimes acts like a bulldozer, and my wife even calls him that at times. If he thinks the ottoman is taking up too much space on the living room floor, he just lowers his head, leads with his shoulder (he seems to prefer his left side) and moves it.

One of his favorite positions when he’s chilling out is on his back, paws to the sky. And it works – he has plenty of back on which to lie.

Sometimes having Jamie around is like having a real-life cartoon. When he gets excited about going outside or is just generally acting silly in the living room, he’ll start to run, but it sometimes takes him a moment to get traction on the smooth hardwood floor and he ends up running in place just like Fred Flintstone or Yogi Bear. He’s also not a great judge of how soon to put on the brakes, and his momentum sometimes carries him right into furniture or walls.

Jamie has few fears. He’ll herd cows, bark fearlessly at unknown sounds coming from the woods at night, and lift his left upper lip at the biggest of canine rivals.

But he absolutely and unequivocally cannot stand thunder, and barks at all of the bigger booms.

“I don’t know what that sound is, but I just know it’s a baaaad thing.”

People seem to enjoy meeting Jamie and they love the feel of his thick coat of fur. That’s a win-win deal, because the Big Lug thoroughly enjoys them enjoying it.

A friend and his girlfriend were visiting our house a couple of years ago and the lady seemed fascinated by observing Jamie as he went through his routine. Finally, she just sort of blurted out the statement “full-size dog, little legs.”

I would add full-size silly and big-time funny.

That’s Jamie.

Look for a new addition soon to run every so often in the Herald. Jamie and I are going to do a new column together called “Doug and Jamie; Journeys in the Jillikins of a Dog and His Best Friend.”

We’ll travel places and I’ll write about our outings.

We might go to northern Arkansas, a Missouri state park or two, the national foxtrotter event in Ava, or down the road to a mile-away neighbor’s house, but we’ll always come back with a recap featuring snippets of both the human and Corgi perspective.

This was mainly Jamie’s idea and he’s really looking forward to it. I’ve given it plenty of thought since he brought it up, and I’m also thinking it should be pretty sweet.

This might not work with the average mutt at the end of the leash, but with the Big Lug at the helm it should at very least be worth a paragraph or two. And knowing Jamie, he’ll probably have plenty to say.

Should be interesting.

Doug Davison is a writer, photographer and newsroom assistant for the Houston Herald.  Email:  ddavison@houstonherald.com.

Jamie and his sidekick Doug Davison.

Jamie exhibiting his classic Corgi look.

 

Sign Right Here for Your Spot in TCMH History

TCMH has invited the public to take part in signing a steel beam that will be used in construction.

“The beam we have for signing is one that will be used to connect the new construction to the old portion of the hospital,” Murray said.

The steel beam is painted white and is located on saw horses next to the TCMH helipad. Hospital staff members have already begun signing the beam, and members of the public are also invited to sign the beam before it is used in the construction.

“There is a lot of interest in our construction project,” Murray said, “And the beam signing gives everyone the opportunity to have a permanent connection with the project.”

Murray invited TCMH department managers to be the first people to sign the beam.

The steel beam will be available on the TCMH grounds for signing for approximately one week.

In addition to the steel beam signing, TCMH is preparing a time capsule to be placed in the ground next to the new construction.

 

OFF THE CUFF: Horseshoe battle creates an Ozarks memory

We had a good old-fashioned outdoor get-together (a.k.a. party) a couple of Saturdays ago at our remote Texas County outpost.

My wife did an amazing job of orchestrating it, and it had all the trimmings of an enjoyable gathering in the south-central Missouri Ozarks. The guests included several relatives from the Springfield and St. Louis areas and a handful of folks we’ve met during nearly six years of residing in the Jillikins, who represented a detailed cross-section of what this area has to offer.

The food spread was one Guy Fieti would have been proud of, with a feature attraction of chicken legs and thighs that we smoked over apple wood for an hour or so in the morning and then brought to a crispy finish on the gas grill in the afternoon. The accompanying dishes pushed the culinary portion of the event over the top, such as tubs loaded with awesome coleslaw, baked beans, and mashed potatoes, and scrumptious dessert items brought to the table by several of the guests.

And to top things off, the weather was entirely perfect as has so often been the case this spring, (man, do we need some rain…), with temperatures were in the mid-70s, minimal breeze, and no detectable humidity.

It was the kind of scene my wife and I had hoped for: old people enjoyed sharing stories with younger folks, dandy photo opportunities were plentiful, and humorous moments kept popping up, like my wife’s nephew riding bareback on a donkey right up to the area in the front yard where all the people were gathered (it was Abe, who is turning out to be by the most amicable of the Three Amigos).

Doug Davison

But while the good eats, good company, and good mood were enough to send everyone away satisfied, the there was one thing that took place, one series of moments in time that transpired, one incredible situation that manifested that nobody in attendance will soon – if ever – forget: an absolutely epic horseshoe tournament.

It started rather innocently, with a few people randomly tossing shoes back and forth where I had set up the stakes alongside the driveway in front of the house. During planning for the day, my wife and I had envisioned trying to put together a bit of a tournament as one of the group activities, so I finally grabbed a clipboard, a pen, and a blank sheet of copy paper and went around asking each of the 20-plus attendees, “are you in?”

I could tell there was fun about to start when 16 said “yes.”

We decided upon a single-elimination format and I formulated a bracket with eight first-round matches featuring every imaginable age and gender combination, with old and young, male and female going head-to-head in round one. In the interest of beating sundown, games were played with four turns per thrower (up-and-back twice), each throwing two shoes per turn, and whoever led at that point advanced. In the case of a tie, matches went into sudden-death overtime.

I had set the stakes up on a grassy area about 32 feet apart (a few short of regulation), in between a large walnut tree and the utility pole just south of the east-west section of our driveway. Our horseshoes are lighter and stakes aren’t as beefy as regulation gear, but they’re metal, so good shots resulted in clinking and clanking sounds and subsequent “oohs” and “ahhs” from the gallery.

As the first match was about to begin, a line of folding chairs formed on the other side of the driveway occupied by anxious competitors awaiting their turns and desiring a good view of the carnage that was about to unfold. Not long after the competition began, heckling, rooting, and other banter could be clearly heard coming from the gallery.

“Maybe it would help if you put on your glasses!”

“Maybe it would help if you took off your glasses!”

“Come on what’s-your-name, get a ringer!”

And after some of the shots that went long and hit either the tree or the pole, “aim for the little stake, not the big one!”

Making advancing through the bracket even more difficult than it already was for some of the male throwers was the fact that some of their female opponents weren’t against attempting to secure victory by stretching the boundaries of sportsmanship. More than one tried to spook their foes by incorporating such tactics as sharp sounds and jerky motions at strategic moments. Nevertheless, male throwers appeared content to let chivalry reign, holding their tongues and keeping their hands still as their opposite sex opposition tossed a shoe.

Adding to the drama as the rounds progressed were several matches that went into OT, including my first-round loss to my wife’s nephew Alex. Also making things interesting were multiple occasions on which a ruling from a neutral party was needed to determine whether or not a shot was a ringer, of which shoe was closest to a stake.

Meanwhile, our 35-pound Welsh Corgi, Jamie, took in the whole deal while sitting in a chair by himself, barely moving as he remained riveted to the action going on in front of him.

Finally, after 14 entertaining and mostly tightly-contested matches, the tournament came down to a fitting championship between my wife’s brother’s friend Michael and my youngest daughter’s boyfriend, Jory. The final was designated as a first-player-to-seven points affair, and a round of applause went up as the two warriors stepped up to the playing pitch.

Despite his obvious lack of experience tossing shoes (he said he hadn’t done it before), Michael had made it through the bracket by dispatching two opponents with extremely timely ringers and downing another in overtime. Conversely, the experienced Jory had sent preliminary round opponents packing by piling up “closest to” points with a consistent onslaught of accurate tosses.

With the moonless evening sky darkening, what had been a fine competition from the get-go culminated in appropriate fashion, as the two men found themselves tied at two apiece after splitting closest-to points through four turns.

Michael was first to throw in the fifth turn, and stuck a shoe in highly respectable proximity to the stake. The drama continued to mount as Jory’s first toss bounced away from the stake, leaving Michael in good position to take a lead and be only four away from the title overall win.

But his hopes were quickly dashed when Jory then secured the championship in decisive manner by recording the final five points with a perfectly executed walk-off ringer.

As the champ let out a victory yell and was congratulated by his fans, Michael walked away with a big smile. I looked at him and shrugged.

“You live by the ringer, you die by the ringer,” I said.

Jory left with the tournament bracket in hand.

“I’m framing this,” he said.

I’d be surprised if the tournament isn’t repeated at some point in our little corner of the Ozarks. In fact, I think the phrase “second annual” has a nice ring to it.

Doug Davison is a writer, photographer and newsroom assistant for the Houston Herald.  Email:  ddavison@houstonherald.com.

After his victory in an epic Ozarks horseshoe tournament, Jory triumphantly holds up his trophy and the shoes he used to prevail.

 

 

 

HORSE SENSE: Observe, Remember, and Compare

Last week my brother called and told me Jimmy Allen had died recently.

This was a man I had really looked up to as a teenager who was just getting into horses. It really caused me to reflect on where I have been and where I am now. Also my view of God and church, then and now.

My dad died when I was 10 years old. I was drawn toward animals as long as I can remember. My mom let me get some rabbits, and soon I was raising them, and selling them. I got into chickens, but when the roosters got old enough for their full-throated crow I had to back off, because we were living in the suburbs and people frowned on being awakened at 3 a.m. (I had some real early birds).

I then asked my mom if I could have a dog. She agreed, as long as I would continue to spend time with him. I actually picked a rabbit dog – a beagle. He learned the difference between leaving my rabbits alone, and chasing wild rabbits instead.

Mike Daniels

At age 14, I asked my mom if I could have a horse. She said, “fine,” as long as I would get a job, find a place to keep it, buy it myself, pay its board and see how I do. I found a paper route nearby paying $60 a month, and saved $150 in three months, meanwhile finding a barn two miles away that pastured horses for $20 a month.

I found an appaloosa gelding in the paper I was delivering, and bought him. I re-channeled my teenaged energies from getting into trouble to practicing with horses. I settled into a routine of taking my beagle behind my 10-speed bike to my horse after school everyday, and on weekends. I was (and basically still am) shy, but I was consistent about spending time with my animals. This particular horse died of colic six weeks after getting him.

My mom lent me $175 to buy a sorrel mare, and I was back in business. Jimmy and Betty Allen owned the business where I kept my horse, and were inspirational to a 14-year-old boy trying to find his wings. Jimmy was a 27-year-old cowboy who knew horses well, and was skilled beyond his age in many ways. I looked up to him probably more than he knew (shyness can hide a lot). Betty showed a good example of what a skilled farm woman was about – gentle enough with her kids, but tough enough to deal with all the chores, and us boarders.

She basically ran the business and put out fires while Jimmy was on the road. Jimmy had a good work ethic, and taught me many things that I attribute to him today. Everyone at the barn liked getting together and socializing before and after riding together (we later actually had barn reunions).

We didn’t talk much about God, in fact I remember thinking that most everyone there was probably hell-bound since they seemed to have no interest in God or heaven (I was not too inspired about heaven either, due to some of the boring life insurance commercials about it). I felt that the main thing was to have fun, and it seemed that religious folk were too serious to have fun. I actually felt that hell probably wasn’t going to be too bad with all the fun people who were going there. Plus it seemed like it was real easy for religious people to get kind of “uppity,” and I was more comfortable with these guys. I guess I didn’t know any religious people willing to associate with us who could show me a good example at that point.

My first serious consideration of the things of God came about three years out of college. I had started a horse rental business after hosting a Monte Foreman clinic, and then a Ray Hunt clinic (I remember picking Hunt up at the airport with his saddle in a duffle bag). I was starting to get pretty fed up with the selfishness in some of my customers when a college church group called Campus Crusade for Christ came out to ride. Their attitude was so willing to learn, and they were doing exactly what I asked, and even more (after that I started advertising for church groups to come ride).

They handed me a four spiritual laws tract, and when I read it later, it made sense to me. They were asking me if I knew Jesus, and I said I knew of him from the Catholic church, but my main objection was he lived 2,000 years ago and that was then and this is now. I said sandals, long flowing robes and donkeys have been replaced by boots, jeans and high boy four-wheel-drive Ford trucks!

A guy by the name of John Lopez cared enough to prod me to go back to church (I had stopped going because I needed to work weekends while going to college – I kind of felt I was just going through the motions anyway). I really owe gratitude to this church that John pointed me to for teaching me so much about the Bible. I soaked it up like a sponge, and found it very practical in dealing with my attitude toward my customers. The church showed me how naturally we humans start blaming others for their selfish ways, not realizing that we all are selfish but are so easily blinded by our own faults. That church was not perfect but it sure catalyzed my understanding of a very practical down-to-earth Creator who I began to truly admire and look up to, and hoped to meet when the dust of this short life settles.

I have communicated in other columns (hopefully clearly) and I will continue to do so, that I am absolutely convinced that I will go to heaven. I make this bold claim knowing that I cannot base my entrance on anything about me – my record, my heart, the right church, rituals, whatever. On my “good” days, when I think I am so spiritual and everyone else is so blind, I might think I am 99.9-percent good, and .1-percent bad. God cannot accept that any more than he can accept rat poison, which is identical to me on my best days (not any more than a creamery can accept a truckload of milk that includes a dairy farm that had a hot cow in their tank).

The biggest pity I have for us humans is closed mindedness. C.S. Lewis once said, “In order to remain a sound atheist, one must guard what they read.” I have never heard a logical rebuttal of trusting in God in the flesh, Jesus Christ, 100-percent as the only way I will spend eternity with God. It does away with all bitterness of “the heathen around us (who, or whatever it is we blame or are paranoid about).” It contains the humility, and volunteer spirit we need to grow ourselves and our stagnant economy far better than anything else available.

More than 20 years ago, I wrote to Jimmy Allen that I was disappointed in him for causing pain to the people around him, but I also told him that his work ethic far out-shined anyone else I knew (that may still be true). I also told him that his volunteer effort to help Paul (a fellow worker) and I load some semi trucks by hand with small square bales of hay in a snow storm was the picture I saw vividly (even today as I write this) of how I see my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ and how he continues to put up with our spoiled, complaining, finger-pointing selfish selves.

I don’t know if Jimmy ever made a decision for Christ. I didn’t keep in touch with him because I felt we grew apart, and could not talk with each other (what a lame excuse). I know that when my life flashes before my eyes when I die, I will be kicking myself for sitting on the bench so much when I could have had the courage to lead others to Christ  more. But I know that feeling will soon be dwarfed by being in the presence of the author and finisher of our souls.

I will always remember the Jimmy Allen, who showed me how to work, and John Lopez, who showed me the value of the local church. What did I learn from them about Christ? That the true believer has a dynamite volunteer work ethic that never quits, and that God wants humility in us above all else so that we will recognize at least a part of him through everyone we meet.

The biggest test of our obedience to the master of our souls is our willingness to sharpen each other through the local church and not give up on them, as we are so quick to do. Like an unsharpened pencil, life without Jesus has no point. The most spiritual thing we can do is let each other sharpen one another in genuine humility.

Then it will be easier for us to see the greatest cowboy of them all – the one who rode an unbroke colt through the streets of Jerusalem in the midst of a bunch of yelling, screaming people throwing cloaks and branches in his path.

I can see him now saying, “saddle up your horses, we’ve got a ride to make, through the wild, colorful yonder in my amazing grace!”

Mike Daniels is a horsemanship trainer and barefoot hoof-trimming specialist from Raymondville, Mo. Email: rlhorse58@yahoo.com.

 

 

HORSE SENSE: I just want to ride, that’s all

By far the most common comment I get when I’m trying to inspire others to improve their horsemanship is, “I just want to ride, that’s all.”

In other words, “I really don’t care to know more, or get much better.”

The reasons I would give for us to become better would start with safety. Better horsemanship also gives us the ability to do more, therefore having more opportunity for fun. This goal gives us a reason and a channel to become more fit, which helps us in the rest of life. The foremost reason to improve our horsemanship is to put us into position to be able to help the people around us better.

Mike Daniels

With regard to safety, we always need to think in terms of preparing for battle. We can understand our normal human nature, and find ourselves doing only what feels good and base our process on that, rather than envisioning it as an end goal.

When calvary men prepared for battle, they had to try to practice to be ready for anything. Realistically, we cannot envision every single thing that might happen, so while we are practicing we had better be relying on a genuine plea to God to fill in the details (remember our first president’s example).

Horse owners who do not think this way are realistically accidents waiting to happen. We can easily be lulled into complacency, thinking of just sightseeing along the trail. This is really unfair to the horse and the people around us, because this form of gambling sets us up to blame anyone or anything but ourselves when something does happen.

We need to seriously ask our Creator in true prayer to show us where we are part of the problem so we can then do something about it. The fallen world we live in should keep us thinking about a reality check as much as possible. We might only want to go slow, but our horse or others around it might spook into a run. Therefore we need to be confident in riding a horse while running. Any horse has the capability of kicking up its heels when it feels good. A person who has been practicing at the trot or run is more able to ride this out, whereas some riders will hit the ground when it happens. Any horse can make sudden turns, or jump to the side quickly from being startled or being threatened by another horse. If we purposely practice turns, slow then fast, also practicing sideways movement, we should not be fazed by these natural occurrences.

Adults can get boring, and forget what it was like to be a kid. Remember the Peter Pan story?  Peter didn’t want to grow up because he saw how dull adults can become. It seems that God has designed our bodies to last longer when they are stretched a little. I f we use a building block approach by remembering the eagerness of youth and apply the wisdom of age, we have a good chance of avoiding the pitfalls of both. If nothing else, we can use faith to look ahead to the satisfaction of being able to do more with our horse when we determine to improve our skills and abilities.

The commandment we can acknowledge here would be the no adultery rule. True responsibility and self-control puts us into position to help horses and people around us rather than create victims or be victims ourselves. I would propose that the adultery commandment is the one we all struggle with the most in the luxury-oriented society we live in today. This commandment is all about delayed gratification. This involves doing what we would rather not do, and not doing what we want to do, because we have faith that there will be a better result ahead if we do (some of these rewards are reserved for heaven). When we normally think of adultery, we think of the misuse of sex. But think of all the other indulgences we can misuse, like eating, sleeping, working, playing and talking, to name just a few.

I would offer that one of the strongest motivations to avoid overindulging is the servant heart. The servant heart that Jesus Christ (God in the flesh) pioneered, and maintains today through those who truly love and trust him.

Think also of what genuine love is. False love is interested in only what we gain out of an arrangement. True love is focused on what is best for “others” around us.

With horses we don’t show love by feeding them carrots (bribing them). We show love by not learning to bounce on their back, and having a goal of signaling them by not pulling on their mouth all the time. We show love by helping them become more maneuverable, and getting their bodies and ours into shape.

The biggest problem I have with most horse and dog clinicians is how they equate love with giving animals treats or petting them. I feel this definition of love is kind of wimpy. True love is “everything” I do to help grow the lives around me. In fact, is it not the things I would rather not do, like pick up trash, mow the lawn, and do the dishes? God sent his people into captivity because they forgot how to do these things in a teamwork type of way. We all hate recycling, or reconciling. We would rather just discard, and find something or someone new we can make old instead.

God uses true love to grow us because in our selfishness we may not want to learn a certain skill or improve. True love motivates us to learn that skill so we can help our kids, relatives, or friends around us.

Last year, I started conducting “horsemanship cowboy church gatherings,” and I noticed that we humans specialize too much. We tend to either just ride in the arena, or just ride on the trail. I decided to plan get-togethers that should simulate real life. We first gather to help each other with horsemanship (I implore us all to get better so as to put ourselves in position to help each other better). We then eat, hopefully getting to know each other better. We then go trail riding, trying to keep the servant-hearted attitude we have fostered earlier.

I hate to see trail rides where everyone gets all strung out like it’s everyone for themselves. Instead, faster riders practice circling back to keep track of others, whereas slower riders learn to keep up a good pace and vary their speed from time to time. Anybody can move a horse faster in a straight line, but it takes more skill to vary direction and speed.

Using the 10 commandments, and real life roles such as mom, dad, kid and God (as ways of communicating), we do what we can to balance servant-heartedness (work), learning, fun, food and relaxation. Remember, the best reason to improve our skills is for the benefit of those we might help, not just ourselves. Besides acknowledging the God who gives us our every breath, and saves us into eternity, is that not true church?

Feel free to call me at 417-457-1015 or email me for more information about our monthly gatherings.

Mike Daniels is a horsemanship trainer and barefoot hoof-trimming specialist from Raymondville, Mo.  Email: rlhorse58@yahoo.com.

 

OFF THE CUFF: Changing the shape of things

When we moved a significant portion of fence line at our remote Texas County outpost a couple of weeks ago, the result was everything we had hoped for and more.

Never mind that it probably should have been done years ago, just the fact that it’s done is cool. And that point is echoed by all three horses and all three donkeys who have reaped the benefits.

Basically, I have for a long time been looking at this one section of land to the west of our house, wondering why in the heck it was in the “mow zone,” and why on Earth the fairly lengthy list of previous residents left it that way. It’s probably between a third and a half-an-acre in size, and features a few young walnut trees, a random cedar or two, and a couple of other trees whose species I’ve identified in the past (thanks to a Missouri Department of Conservation booklet I picked up at the local ranger station) but have since forgotten.

It’s a pretty area, and the view of the adjacent pastures, forest and ridges is beautiful. But it just doesn’t make any sense (to me) to have to navigate a riding mower around it every eight or nine days during more than half of each year.

Especially if the property’s owners keep quadruped herbivores.

Doug Davison

But wondering aside, I’m just glad the change has been made. And thanks to lots of valuable help from a buddy who’s in way better shape than most 50-something guys (including me) and who has a definite spirit of servant-hood and a youthful acquaintance with plenty of endurance, it’s now not uncommon to come home, reach the top of the driveway, and be greeted by six quadruped herbivores with 12 erect ears and jaws in motion.

The Three Amigos (you remember them – donkeys that split time being comedians and escape artists) have in particular made this new section a favorite hang-out. They wasted no time in identifying the area with the thinnest layer of grass and creating a drop-and-roll area where they can enjoy taking nice dust baths in the sweltering, um, spring heat.

I knew going in that the fence line move was going to cause the loss of a couple of bushes that previous residents planted as landscaping beautification, as they would surely be sacrificed to the appetites of a trio of Ozark burros. And sure enough, the John-Boys enjoy sampling the out-of-the-ordinary flavors of the sacrificial shrubs.

But the trade-off is well worth it, because moving the fence also allowed easier access to a few volunteer multi-floral rose bushes, and the donkey patrol has been doing plenty of munching on the multi-branch annoyances (I can’t believe anyone ever planted those things on purpose, but that’s a whole other story).

Of course, the horses aren’t allowing the Amigos complete control of the new territory. To the contrary, when they feel led to occupy the zone, they do just that. They don’t chase their smaller subordinates away, but if they feel one is standing where it shouldn’t, they’re quick to offer a reminder of their superiority.

When we did the move, we reused the t-posts from the existing four-strand barbed wire fence, but use a three-strand electric set up rather than go again with the barbed variety. It worked like a charm.

My buddy came up with an ingenius way to connect the new section to an already existing section of electric fence on our property, so it can be “hot” if need be. But as we suspected, all six of our animals respect the boundary even when it’s cold, no doubt because they have all in the past felt electricity surge through their skin by unsuspectingly leaning against a hot wire and getting zapped.

One of the trees in our equine tenants’ new world is an apple tree that has millions of apples on it this year (must be the mild winter – more bugs, but more fruit, too). In a few months, the horses will probably be greatly concerned with protecting that resource – even though the donkeys won’t be able to reach most of the prizes hanging on the low branches.

But I suppose if you’re a horse, it’s a matter of principal.

“No donkey is getting no apple of mine.”

Fortunately, there’s enough fruit appearing on the higher branches that my trusty ladder should allow me to secure plenty for us humans. Chalk up another advantage to having thumbs.

We still have a significant piece of real estate that requires mowing (maybe not require, but looks better from it), but a change to just how much is in the offing. I’ve had my eye on another section of fence that’s about 25 yards too far to the south.

Its days where it is are numbered, and the equine bunch will soon know what the grass tastes like in another former mow zone.

More for horses and donkeys to eat, less for humans to to mow. Now that makes sense.

Doug Davison is a writer, photographer and newsroom assistant for the Houston Herald. Email:  ddavison@houstonherald.com.

 

OFF THE CUFF: Things that could happen in the Ozarks

We who live in the Ozarks of south-central Missouri (specifically Texas County) can potentially experience many things that folks who live in other places might not.

Because of this area’s largely rural nature and the proximity of fairly large to very large expanses of wilderness, stuff can and will take place here that would be foreign to folks living in places where there are fewer critters, changes in weather, or geologic oddities.

For example, you might find yourself standing outside your home listening to your dog howling in harmony with two separate packs of coyotes located no more than a third of a mile away in opposing directions, and then look up and see a large bat flying so closely overhead that you feel like you could reach out and touch it.

You could attend a horsemanship clinic, have a gelding tied up to a trailer shed its halter and run off, locate it a couple of miles away only to have it run away again, be assisted by a dozen people on horseback in an all-out search for it, see a granddaddy-sized bobcat during the search while driving your truck along what used to be a road but is now little more than a wide trail, and finally end up finding the horse inside a fenced corral owned by a woman who captured it simply by opening a gate to allow it to visit with her two mares.

Doug Davison

You might go swimming in a river at the point where a large spring branch converges with it, and stand in shoulder-deep water with astoundingly differing temperature layers where it seems like the bottom two-feet or so are cold enough to freeze your toes off while the top layer feels almost like warm bath water.

You could have cows show up in your yard after wandering out of the neighbor’s pasture through a damaged fence line, and then witness your small female dog fearlessly chase them back where they came from as if she weighed about 30 times her actual weight, and basically bark the bovine intruders half way to the next county before relenting.

You might hear that same small dog barking her head off outside your house one morning, go out to investigate, and find a mother possum with a baby inside one of the two dog houses that sit on your side porch.

You could see a pair of snow-white turkeys hanging out with four or five normal ones in a cow pasture not far from your home, and then a few months later have a neighbor confirm you aren’t crazy by telling you he saw some white turkeys the other day.

You might see a pair of ducks from a species rarely seen at this latitude frolicking in the waters of a seasonal creek that runs through the valley near your home.

You could learn to tolerate ticks, ­understand the value of house centipedes, or find the sound of millions of cicadas to be somewhat pleasant.

You might even have a storm rip dozens of shingles from the roof on the west side of your house and scatter them all over the yard on the east side as it blows through your property packing such strong winds you wonder if it was a tornado, but then find yourself feeling thankful that it wasn’t an EF5 that scattered your entire house all over the immediate area.

The reason I believe all of these things could happen to a resident of the south-central Missouri Ozarks (specifically Texas County) is because I know they have. They all happened to me or my wife  – within the past year.

Ah, yes, there’s no place like home.

Doug Davison is a writer, photographer and newsroom assistant for the Houston Herald.  Email:  ddavison@houstonherald.com.

 

OFF THE CUFF: Awesome power, humble grace

On a recent Saturday afternoon, after I had just finished working with my horse Sean and was turning him out to pasture, I noticed something on the dirt road near at the top of our driveway.

I called out to my wife, who was nearby.

“Look, there’s a horse-drawn wagon coming.”

It was our neighbor Don Rutherford (who lives about two miles away as the crow flies) and his team of Belgian mares, Annie and Ruby.

Now, I’ve seen wagon teams before in person. But I had never seen anything like this.

As the gigantic horses turned the corner at the top of the driveway and approached the area where I was standing, I swore I could feel the ground shake and see the trees waver. The mares moved in shared harmony, high stepping so their massive hooves could clear the ground as they moved forward.

It was truly awesome sight.

Doug Davison

Don said the gigantic Ruby pushes the scales at more than 1800 pounds and the even bigger Annie goes more than 1900. But as he parked the wagon under a walnut tree, it was obvious that the nearly two tons of equine bulk had no qualms about submitting to the wishes of a 200-pound human and seemed almost glad to respond favorably to his commands.

As I walked up to these immense horses, I could see the kindness in their eyes – although I had to look up (way up) to do so. I had to almost fully extend my arm to pet Annie on the forehead, something my 6-foot-3-inch frame and I are not accustomed to.

“Man, Don, these girls are something else,” I said.

“Yeah, they take up a lot of room in a trailer,” he said.

After we sat on the porch and drank a glass of clean well water, Don and his big ladies took my wife and I for a ride. It was hard not to imagine what is was like in the Ozarks back in the 1800s, when people used similar rigs to pick up a month’s worth of supplies in town and haul them to their remote residences.

As we bounced slowly along, sitting on the basic wooden benches suspended on shock-absorbing metal rails, a sort of peacefully historic atmosphere set in. The clinking and clanking of metal parts of the harness and wagon gear, the horses’ huge hind ends rhythmically moving to and fro, and the smells and sounds of the outdoor surroundings made for an almost mesmerizing series of moments.

Our Welsh Corgis Jamie and Gertie came along, too, and clearly enjoyed the ride. Jamie almost couldn’t stand how much fun it was, illustrated by the way the back legs on his long and low body quivered and shook now and then – a sure sign of alert excitement. He spent many minutes leaning his head on the edge of the wagon’s “box,” relishing the open-air view and working the air with his sizeable snout.

As we covered multiple miles of Texas County back roads, I never got enough of watching the huge beasts of burden obey a man using only non-threatening voice commands and gentle motions with basic leather tools. And the verbal instruction was fascinating, made up in large part of a language common only to driving teams.

When Don wanted the girls to pull the wagon to the left, he would call out “come ha!”

To the right, “come gee!”

When he did, the wagon would turn in a surprisingly tight radius.

Of course, we’re talking about a wagon with rubber tires, but that’s OK. I have no doubt that people living in the 1800s would have used Michelins, too, if they had been available. Who wouldn’t want a bit smoother ride and more control?

Being the personality-plus mammals that they are, all horses are naturally prone to somewhat comical behavior at times. On a couple of occasions, Don caught Ruby cheating a bit, allowing the larger Annie to do most of the work, especially on uphill grades.

But with a pat of the long leather rein and a call of “step up, Ruby,” the team would even out without missing a beat.

Annie never seemed to mind her partner’s ploy, though. She just kept digging in, seemingly understanding that she was the transportation machine’s main engine and appearing to embrace that notion with equally strong senses of duty and pride.

When we got back to the house and had another round of well water, it was like the only thing we could do was smile. As far as I’m concerned, after witnessing the coordinated give-and-take that existed between the two big horses and their much smaller master, it would be folly to argue that God didn’t intend men and horses to work as teams.

From beginning to end, that wagon ride with don and his Belgians was an experience my wife and I won’t soon forget.

Add that to the list of the many reasons I enjoy life in the Jillikins.

Doug Davison is a writer, photographer and newsroom assistant for the Houston Herald.  Email:  ddavison@houstonherald.com.

 

HORSE SENSE: Reviewing the 10 Commandments related to horsemanship

This column titled Horse Sense has been going through God’s 10 Commandments in horsemanship language every couple of weeks for the past five months.

We were able to compare our quest to improve harmony between human and horse, to real life situations. I communicated that I had found these comparisons through the back door, so to speak (the servants’ entrance). In this installment, I will do a simple summary on the 10 Commandments, showing application in horsemanship and real life. I will offer to the reader which commandment I feel is the most important and why.

In the future, Horse Sense will focus on topics relating to horsemanship, always trying to acknowledge the 10 Commandments and the original author while staying down to earth in a Jesus Christ type of way.

I obtained the 10 Commandments in nature from Pat Parelli, who decided to spell out what it would take to be really good with horses. Through much information and analysis, he narrowed it down to 10 basic dimensions or qualities. He reasoned that these qualities cross over to all other endeavors, and admits he was not looking at the Bible when brainstorming. The only thing he was focusing on was excellent horse/human relations.

It is remarkable how we can find these 10 Commandments by studying God’s creation. But we should not be surprised; Romans 1:20 tells us, “for since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities – his eternal power and divine nature – have been clearly seen being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse.”

Mike Daniels

The first three Commandments get the brain thinking and giving credit, rather than reacting and being paranoid. The game “Simon says” is a good way to illustrate this. In Commandment I, this game helps us to focus on the leader (only one God), No. 2 helps us balance the “nothings” by ignoring false signals (no false gods), and No. 3 helps us move on an authentic call (no misuse of God’s name).

The next three Commandments “reflect” on the thinking process and determine how it could be made better, trying to detect any flaws, prejudices, blind spots, or hypocrisies. I feel the church should be able to do this better than anyone when humility is in place. Commandment IV has us ask, is the observe-remember-and-compare process in place (observe Sabbath)? No. V has us ask, am I tapping into others’ personal experiences (honor father and mother) so I might live longer?  And No. VI brings up the question as humility drives the prior two, are we keeping the “good teacher” attitude at the forefront so as to avoid frustration, panic, or anger that leads to brokenness (no murder)?

The next four Commandments show the most important skills we need to be valuable to the people around us, and of most use to ourselves and the world. No. VII deals with responsibility (no adultery). No. VIII covers respect and sensitivity to the needs of others (no stealing). No. IX is about crystal clear communication (no lies). And No. X deals with flexibility (no coveting).

I feel the third commandment is the most important, because this is the one that gives credit to the true author. It also cuts all the frills and gets right down to the meat (movement, action). We live in a world where we are easily deceived, and therefore the most important thing we can do is be detectives for true authenticity and be willing to be open to it with the intensity of a gazelle. The directive to not misuse God’s name challenges us to find our creator’s truths and put his name on them specifically so we can praise God in living color, rather than in a fuzzy, gray way. Remember that the Third Commandment in horsemanship looks at the three ways we move a horse, pressure, rhythmic pressure, and the two combined. Just like plumb, level, square in carpentry, God gets the credit because no human can “own” these basics.

This theme also has us acknowledge others whom God has used to communicate his truths to us.

The Bible communicates to us that one of the worst sins is pride, and one way of interpreting this is to say we would rather have the credit rather than give it to God, or our fellow brothers, and sisters. Remember, when we misuse God’s name, we steal his lumber and put our name on it. We do the same thing when we take credit when we need to attribute it to someone else. We know that the opposite of pride is humility, and it stands to reason that humility not only grows us better down here, but also determines true religion. The clear gospel in true humility gives 100-percent credit to Jesus Christ for our only payment for eternal salvation. I would challenge anyone to find a more humble stance than that. Pride is by far the biggest reason we would not accept this hat-in-our-hand approach to the one who did it all.

We should all recognize that we can learn from anyone, knowing that we all have a tendency to think we are better than we are by seeing hypocrisy in others before we see it in ourselves. By far the biggest obstacle to growth in horsemanship as well as real life is this (besides justifying laziness). So lets not misuse God’s name by being ashamed to give God credit where credit is due as well as people he works through to build our eternal character!

This quote by Ray Kroc (founder of McDonald’s) is always worth repeating: “If we are green we are growing, if we are ripe we are rotting.”

Mike Daniels is a horsemanship trainer and barefoot hoof-trimming specialist from Raymondville, Mo.  Email: rlhorse58@yahoo.com.

 

OFF THE CUFF: Amigos update – escape artists at work

After a good bit of effort last weekend, I’m pretty sure the situation is taken care of.

But for a while there, the Three Amigos were too frequently enjoying visits to a fairly expansive area in the neighborhood of the pasture that as of a couple of weeks ago was supposed to be their new home.

I always heard donkeys were smart, but I guess I underestimated to what extent. After staying put for the first several days following their approximately seven-mile, in-county move, the John-Boys apparently decided to venture out and take a look at what surprises and treasures they were missing out on that lay just the other side of pretty much every ridge in our neck of the woods.

Basically, they kept escaping (for lack of a better word). We always located them (sometimes in a neighboring pasture, sometimes on a dirt road), and by employing the sure-fire tactic of shaking a bucket of sweet feed in their vicinity, we were always successful in getting a lead rope on their commanding officer Joe Cool and parading them back to base camp.

Doug Davison

But having to walk three donkeys any distance back to where they belong is too far (let alone a mile or two). So putting a stop to their Houdini-like antics became priority No. 1.

At first, I thought maybe they were ducking under the bottom strand of a portion of barbed wire fence where the contour of the ground creates a low spot midway between a couple of metal t-posts. I’ve seen deer that were apparently not in the mood to jump do that kind of thing a time or two, and I envisioned Joe, Bernie and Abe (Alex’s name has been changed) using a similar method.

But no, their escape route was much more clever and logical than that. And, of course, I found out the hard way.

Late last Saturday morning, after I had already added some lengths of wire to block off two such low spots along the east fence line, I was working on another on the south end of the pasture.

It was the last one I knew of and I was feeling all manly for being on the verge of winning this battle against three worthy equine opponents.

Suddenly, I felt I was being watched. Then I felt like I was being breathed on. I looked to my right, and sure enough Bernie was about two feet away acting as if he was wondering something.

He was.

He was wondering what I was going to do about the fact that Joe and Abe were also staring at me – from the dirt road side of the fence!

Dang it, how’d they get there?

Knowing I had no time to dwell on that question because a couple of donkeys were possibly about to head for Shannon County, I rapidly headed for the outbuilding that houses our Kawasaki ATV, fired it up and set out to round up the two loose Amigos.

Naturally, when they saw me coming they headed pretty quickly in the opposite direction from whence they had come. But as they made their way up the steep hill just the other side of the concrete bridge that spans the year-round creek that flows through the hills in our neighborhood, their mini-trot slowed to a walk. I seized the opportunity and blew past them before quickly making a u-turn in their direction. As hoped, the rogue John-Boys turned back and headed back down the hill to the west.

But when they reached the bottom, their desire to distance themselves from the internal combustion small engine that was making a racket behind them took over, and they began to pick up the pace.

A lot – I was shocked at how much.

In no time, Joe and Abe were in full gallop, kicking up dust and gravel like a pair of 750-CC dirt bikes. In order to keep pace, I pretty much kept the four-wheeler close to full-throttle. As the two equine speedsters and I maintained that status for a couple of hundred yards, I had a flash that I was pursuing Secretariat and Seabiscuit as we zoomed toward the entry to the driveway.

While donkeys more of less have a reputation of being lazy and spending most of their time hanging out being stubborn, I’m here to tell you that they can motor big-time if and when they feel led. Their well kept secret is that they can absolutely fly, and when they have the pedal to the metal, I’m not so sure they wouldn’t keep up with that quarter horse your neighbor says is the fastest thing in the Jillikins since Great Uncle Ned’s Morgan filly in the 1930s.

Stocky bodies and short, thick legs? That’s what speed looks like.

Anyway, with help from my wife’s timely use of our SUV as a roadblock, we caught the four-legged fugitives and got them back inside their fence-lined prison.

Next up was to figure out how they had made their latest break. It didn’t take me long to realize the answer, and when I did I could only shake my head and smile.

About half way from the road to the house, our driveway crosses a small concrete bridge that goes over what is usually a dry wash, but is sometimes a raging torrent of run-off. Based on hoof print evidence left in soil near the underpass, the Three Amigos had obviously been doing some passing under of their own.

The opening they had been using is basically square, and doesn’t offer enough room for a horse, which explains why our trio of those had never made their own visit to neighboring acreage. But said opening is plenty tall for a standard donkey, and no doubt required much less ducking than the under-the-barbed-wire technique I had given them undue credit for using.

Simply put, the problem is now a non-problem, as a couple of t-posts and a few strands of barbed wire now stand between the Amigos and any further usage of their tunnel to freedom.

What’s funny about the whole thing is, these animals are very content on a regular basis and don’t appear to be in any hurry to do anything, let alone escape. We’re having a ball riding them (particularly the attention-loving Abe), and they just spend most of their time wandering around looking cute, munching grass and chomping those annoying sticker bushes.

So in only a couple of short weeks, my wife and I have learned a lot about donkey behavior and donkey nature. There’s a lot more to these guys than big ears and funny voices.

But even if they are silly animals that have a bit of a wild streak and a zeal for exploration, I still think they’re still cool and I like ‘em just the way they are.

Doug Davison is a writer, photographer and newsroom assistant for the Houston Herald.  Email:  ddavison@houstonherald.com.