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In August 2002, I purchased my first Hangin’ Tree Cowdog. He was just a pup, but ready to work. I named him Bert and for the next four years, he and I completed all the ranch work ourselves. When we started our journey together, neither knew that a mere 14 months later, he would save my life. How do you ever repay a cowdog for such an enormous gesture? In the time after that, I came to realize the only thanks he wanted was the chance to work with me, beside me, day-in and day-out. Bert was larger than life. He was smart. He was athletic. He was loyal.

In every cattle working situation, he knew what to do without instruction. I could simply point out a sick calf in the wean lot and he’d quietly and respectfully take the calf to the corral and ease it up the alley to the chute. When we’d finish working a set of cows, he knew to gather them up and what gate to head them to to go out to pasture. I could leave him at a gate, go feed, come back and he’d still be at the gate, waiting for my return. If a cow’s calf was hidden in the timber, I could tell Bert to “find the baby” and he’d put his nose to the ground, search until he found it, return to me and take me back to the calf. He simply had the ability to size up any situation and apply the right pressure and make everything work. We’d get done working cattle and you could tell him, “Bert, thanks for your help” and he would look at me with a big smile – as if to say, “You are welcome, now come on let’s go”. We’d be driving down the road and he’d take his right paw and pull my arm so that I’d rub his neck. Or take his head and bump under my elbow and say, “Hey, rub my back.” And, he loved taking his pups out and mentoring them. His mate for life was Hawk and he truly loved her. They were an amazing pair and produced some tremendous offspring. Bert was majestic—more than any other animal I have ever known.

On September 6, 2010, after an accident on the ranch and the gallant efforts of the University of Missouri Vet School, I lost Bert. Tammy’s Cowdogs exists today because of Bert. He is the foundation of my cowdog program and the model all my cowdogs must live up to. He took more than eight of my years with him. I will forever be grateful for the joy and loyalty he brought to my life. Words will never be able to describe how much Hawk and I will miss him

-from the Welcome Page of the website of Tammy’s Cowdogs “Tribute to Bert”

Today, Sep. 05, 2014, the rural route mail lady stops. She’s got a box from Idaho. I can hardly sign the card. Scott Jason Hall, his wife Betty, and Bret Bret N Melanie Haskett? I cannot put words to the remarkable pendant. Scott, your are gifted my friend…the itsy bitsy engraving on the gold, the silver engraving of Bert…I am speechless. Betty, the rein chains are, “Some kind of wonderful.” Bret, your rawhide braiding of the romal reins is, “Perfectly completes this gifted piece.” Bert, 4 years ago today we sat out in the grass at the Univ. of MO vet hospital and took in our last conversation of how much we loved each other. And 15 hrs. later a blood clot to your lungs ended your life. I got the call around 9:30 AM to hurry to your side there were problems. I tried to get there Bert, I did. But, I drove home on the 6th of September with a dog in a box…heartbroken. My life has not been the same since. I will take you with me when I leave here to meet up with you again.

~I love you Bert.
Bert Pendant...Fri. Sep. 05, 2014 001

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Sitting at the cemetery on Memorial Day in May of 2013 and listening to the pastor read a verse from John, Chapter 8 verse 32. John 8:32, “and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” A lump welled up in my throat, my chest filled with pain, I choked back the tears. I did not want anyone to see me cry. I turned my face away from the people and looked out across a pasture at the far end of the cemetery. I’ve known that verse of wisdom for many, many years. In the late 1990’s, our pastor needed to leave to go home to North Carolina to be with a parent that was failing in health. The pastor (a woman) was so dedicated to her calling to her congregation that she felt she could not go home to be at her mother’s side. I was on the church council at the time and I offered to put together a service and take care of the Memorial Day event. The council agreed and we blessed our pastor’s desire to go home to see her mother and father.

Memorial Day at our cemetery, at the time, was a time of immense reverence and gratefulness to those young boys and girls – men and women – who left their homes and families to prepare themselves to fight for freedom on foreign soils. Our community sent many, some returned home alive, some returned home to be placed in the cemetery and some never made it back to our American soil. Memorial Day cemetery services were troubling to those who survived and made it home. So to provide a service on that day was frightening for me, humbling.

I worked and worked on that service. The service went off without a hitch and I was relieved. Since then, the same Bible references I used in my message deliverance have been used over and over again for our Memorial Day services. I used John 8:32 that day. In all honesty, I felt then and still feel to this day that the verse bears significance to every aspect of life. “If you speak the truth, then you do not have to worry or wonder about what you told or said to someone. The truth stands on its own. It never changes. It may hurt to face it, but the truth IS the truth.”

At the time I gave that sermon message in the late 1990’s I was going through a divorce. I held on to the verse through those times and I give the verse credit for pulling me through the mud, the blood and the tears of what that divorce brought to me. Divorces are like a death. They are the termination of a life. A life you pledged to give to someone else through all kinds of times – good and bad, happy or sad, sick or well. And that divorce came fresh on the heels of the sudden death of my father. The pinging in my head was, “the truth will set you free, the truth will set you free, the truth will set you free.” The death of my dad, the distress of a divorce, the punishing impact of the abuse from my husband. All I had to hold onto was, “the truth and how the truth would set me free.” I held on despite the punishment.

Though a strong person, I was beaten to a pulp by holding onto the notion of “the truth”. I made a professional career transition to return home to take care of my mother, take care of my father’s farm which he quietly called, “his ranch”. My mom and I regrouped over a number of years. We took my dad’s “ranch dream” and let it grow, change and live on. My dad died on Labor Day weekend of 1996 and his ranch is still here. It has been a retained ownership cow-calf operation since he left 2522 State Rt. U. It is no small feat to be a retained ownership cow-calf operation.

A teeny tiny percentage of cattle producers have forged into the territory to say they are a “retained ownership outfit”. We have been through some tough drought cycles, historic snows, historic heat, historic rains, historic cold. And all the while, have had the ability to be north of breakeven on our cattle operation. Some years a slim above breakeven, but more is better than less when it comes to profits. Inputs have raged out of control. Cattle prices, to some, have raged out of control. But I will say this, “It all appears to be relative.” Relative because I recall the days of being able to fart around on the weekends with friends for a couple of dollars and have change left by Sunday. Things change, yet some things should never change. Like, “the truth”.

Since those late 1990’s I have taken two adventures in life that turned out to be unfortunate errors of choices I made. One constant has helped me get through those times – John 8:32, “and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” Here are those two adventures: (1) on January 08, 2008 I purchased the business of Trayers’ Cowdogs and (2) I married again. Both of these adventures, at the hands of two men, turned out in the end to be adventures at the hands of two very dishonest people. The Trayers’ Cowdog retirement sale turned out to “not” be a retirement from the cowdog business. It was a mere relocation from one state to another of the former owners. Unfortunate event #2 – the marriage – was a means for a man to finance the growth and development of his farm property.

To allow the truth to help me through these two adventures I needed or used legal representation. The cowdog business adventure taught me that trying to help people unravel bad dog deals was not a future I wanted and I certainly did not anticipate it was going to be a part of the business sale. I recall clearly the conversation when the former owner told me in a chuckle, “It’s your business now, you take care of it.” I never anticipated the former cowdog business owner would be calling me a dike. I never anticipated the public pronouncements from him that I never paid one red cent for the business. I never anticipated the conversations that I just drove to Kansas, loaded up stuff in the middle of the night and drove off to Missouri like a thief in the dark.

I vividly recall a conversation which a relative of the former cowdog business owner engaged me in while at the personal property sale of the former cowdog business owners’ surplus personal property. A person introduced themselves to me and asked, “How did you meet C______? Over the internet?” I looked at the person and two other people standing there and replied smiling in disbelief, “Over the internet? No, I came here with a friend in 2002 and ended up buying a pup, then came back to get the pup when it was old enough to be weaned.” They proceeded to tell me a story that I wish I had never, ever heard about internet dating.

Yes, I was shocked. But, by then, I had secured a loan for over $50,000 to buy the cowdog business stuff and another significant sum to build some secure facilities to house 16 new dogs and the 12 I already had. As I drove out of the drive on the last of a few trips that I made to Kansas to get things, the former cowdog business owner trotted up to the driver side window, point his finger for me to roll the window down and he said, “Be careful because you will have dog fights and you need to learn how to break them up without getting bit.”

It took 3 very diligent and vigilant years, to try to rid those dogs of lots of chronic physical and mental illnesses or injuries and various genetic disorders that were/are highly heritable. Needless to say, his parting words to me of dog fights were an understatement. At the end of all the horrible years of trying to fix dogs, fix unhappy customers with their purchases before my business ownership time, I ended up with a lot of experience in “how to fix sick dogs” and “how to fix unhappy people”.

I had to learn to take care of business and that meant making some seriously tough choices of process of elimination. I cared for some very sick dogs that could have lived longer lives if someone had paid attention to the details of what was ailing some of the dogs. I went above and beyond to care for two dogs that had significant and special meaning to me and their former owner – Lil and Sage. Lil was my cowdog Bert’s mother. Bert was the pup which I got in the summer of 2002. Sage was my cowdog Hawk’s mother.

When I brought Lil home, I found she had a uterine infection. I inquired and was told her last litter was about a year and a half beforehand and that she only had one very large pup which did not make it. I did emergency surgery on Lil to save her life, fed her with a 12cc syringe each hour, every day for several weeks. She did well until one day in May of 2008 out in the yard she had difficulty breathing, I gave her mouth to mouth resuscitation and she could not recover to breathe on her own. I buried her in her favorite place where she laid and watched the cattle while I cleaned dog pens. I emailed the former owner and gave him the bad news. It was hard for me. It was hard for him too, I think.

Sage. When I brought Sage home, she was deaf, nearing blindness and had a tumor in her brain. She carried her head at a tilt to the side and puttered around with her arthritis filled joints. She had a chronic mouth infection/disease, a ruptured umbilical cord from birth that had walled off and formed a tumor in her abdominal lining. I healed her up as good as could be and don’t you know, she like Lil, had a heat cycle. Sage snuck off with Oscar one day when she was past her 30 days of lockdown. She bore a son and I named him Shorty. He was a little blue fuzz ball. Cowdog Jewell (Bert’s sister) handled the daily nursing duties. At night, Sage cuddled him, cleaned him, tucked him under her front legs next to her chest and cared for him. Sage was a genuine mother to the core. She loved Shorty…aka Short Dog. She and Shorty, Jewell and her 8 pups, and I took daily adventures together. We had a blast raising Shorty.

Shorty, the Short Dog, is the spittin’ image of Sage. Tough, a keen eye for cattle, a bite that is strong, firm and like no other, smart, extremely loveable and endearing. Shorty’s only flaw is he bears one hind foot which only has one toe. Sage had scooted the whelping box around and had caught Shorty’s foot under the edge on the night that Shorty was 2 days old. I found his wounded foot and simply had to pinch the dead toes off. Sage kept his foot clean and he healed like a champ. He moves with a slight offness to his gait but you would too if you only had one toe as your foot. And, just to explain further, Shorty is anything but short. He is a large, stout, tall, long-bodied and rugged cowdog.

I decided I would try to salvage some of the cowdog business by setting up a structured breeding program with the few dogs that had the least amount of undesirable traits. The question was, “Is there anything to salvage out of all these dogs?” I DNA tested the dogs for genetic relationships. I had enough supposed brothers, sisters, and parents to establish if the brothers, sisters and parents were truly related. If they were related, did their pedigree information match exactly? If the DNA stated they were not related yet their papers said they were siblings, then I knew I had some genetic unraveling to do. The research began. The DNA proved I had brothers and sisters that were not brothers and sisters. The DNA became more reliable than the conversations and papers. And, the matings in my second and third generations show the benefits of the planned matings.

The lawsuit resulted in affirming the terms of the sale of the business, the payments for the business were completed early and finality was granted to put an end to the misguided hoax. In the end, the November 14, 2008 threats made to me of, “I’ve got three lawyers who are going to help me ruin you in the cattle and dog business,” proved to be just one of 1,000’s of vile, foul, derogatory filthy comments hurdled my way over the years by the former owner of the cowdog business. As the time passed, John 8:32 helped me through the cowdog business debacle, “and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” I can look back and reminisce about the travelers that came here to get stuff, the phone calls, the fingers in pockets discussions at ranch rodeos and festivals and be glad that I stayed the course of the truth. I did not allow the years of bullying to drag me into the pit of the “drama lifestyle”. Some people simply thrive on drama and are addicted to having drama lead their lives.

On December 27, 2013, the second adventure – my marriage – drew closer to closure. On December 30, 2013, I received the judgment from my last and final divorce. Through John 8:32, I will survive this adventure too, “and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” Freedom. Freedom from two adventures that I entered into with friends. Both friendships were with people who thrive and survive on drama and deliverance of pain to others. If they do not get things to work as they “planned” then they will work to destroy you. Yet, I know this, “and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” has served to help me through times of unfortunate situations. I will remain true to my promise to my father, “to let his ranch live on as best I can.” It’s been an adventure Dad. I apologize to you for my errors and wastes but I do not regret living by your advice and the words of John 8:32, “and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”

So here is my long overdue penning of, “Death of Friendships”. I could go on with all the shocking details, but there is no point. If one wants to know more of the legal details of the cowdog business rap sheet, one can access the legal renderings with the public information on the internet in the County of Cole, Missouri. Those days were long, tedious and unfortunate. But sometimes you just do not expect “friends” to lean on you for the sole purpose of benefiting themselves, their alter egos and deceitful ways. Some friendships die. For me, friendships die when there is a failure to adhere to the truth and live by the truth. The truth will never let you down. It might hurt to face it – the truth – but it is better to stay the course and stay true to the truth. Needless to say, I am a person that does not believe in, “What you don’t know won’t hurt you.”

Chapters closed? Yes, shutting the doors on all the lies of these two adventures. Mere memories. Friendships dead and gone. And yes, I do know the truth and the truth has set me free – twice. ~Movin’ On

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From Wednesday, December 11, 2013 to after January 02, 2014…
I am going to have very limited time to be able to give tours and visit time for folks interested in stopping by to look at cowdogs and pups. It is time to AI cows and with the short days I just don’t have enough hours in the day to get my regular work done and to visit. So in fairness to visitors wanting to look and get cowdog demonstrations I am shutting down cowdog looking until after the 1st of the year.

Returning calls has been hard and in way too many cases impossible to do. I’m gone all day and getting home late. It is hard to return calls to folks as they are busy too with ranch, farm or feedlot chores. The cold, the snow, the ice, and family holiday routines take time too. We are all a hard bunch to catch up with. I do not have anyone to take phone calls during the day. My landline and cell phone are pretty much full each day with messages and a lot of folks are left hanging. I get about 5-7 folks called back each day and that’s about it. I’m sorry I cannot call each and every one of you back the day you call. Disheartening, I know.

So, in fairness to everyone I just thought I’d post a note. I just finished up a deworming/external parasite trial with 3 litters of pups, some 6-9 month old pups and some yearling to adult cowdogs. This is another phase of a health management project that I have had going on in conjunction with the DNA/genetic project of the last 3 years. The results are impressive and conclusive as to how the health of my Hangin’ Tree cowdogs can be more effectively managed and have greater and longer term health results. I appreciate the companies that have participated in this little endeavor. I do not know of anyone else in the Hangin’ Tree cowdog business that has DNA tested their dogs and followed a strict structured breeding and health program. Plus, I don’t know if what works with my cowdog program will work for others. One reason for stating this is that other breeders have infused dogs of other breeds or mixed crosses into their Hangin’ Tree cowdogs. So, what works here may not work for others. I have a closed cowdog breeding program and do not use outside dogs or people to breed, raise and handle my cowdogs. The closed practice keeps outside illnesses, diseases, genetic abnormalities, people problems, paperwork problems and fraudulent representation and various other known/unknown headaches out of my cowdog program. Closing things off has been a very good thing. I know what I have, I know what I am producing, I know what my customers are receiving, I know who my customers are and I am better prepared to help the folks who are having issues with other sources of information or dogs. It is a win-win situation with no second guessing. And because of what I want to produce, how to get there and to keep “it clean”, I do not send or share any of my proprietary information (DNA testing, health management or breeding strategies) to any club, group, organization or association. If you need or want a club dog, I will not be able to help you.

Being a progressive breeder is important to me so for now I think I am on the right track for what I want to do and produce with my cowdogs. I do know that my desire to create cowdogs with more frame, body, bone, brains, easier to handle, good dispositions, lots of grit, loyalty to me, respect for all classes of livestock, elimination of genetic and reproductive abnormalities, hunting ability, heading and heeling desires…is working. I do not focus on ear style of short/prick/upright ears, cut high/shallow in the flank, color of hair, color of eyes or dogs with savage/wreckless instincts or tendencies. There are plenty of folks infusing more Border Collie, Catahoula, Kelpie, Bulldog varieties, Pitbull varities, and many other crossbred dogs into their Hangin’ Tree cowdogs in an effort to tinker or add “more of this, more of that”. But for me, I have no need or desire to venture away from what I want or need in a cowdog and the “how” of getting to what I want or need.

I will be starting another draft of pups and young cowdogs after the 1st of the year. I will post pictures, video clips and more information here on my blog and on my Facebook Page…which is Tammy’s Cowdogs Page. My Tammy’s Cowdogs Facebook personal timeline is max’d out by the limit of 5,000 friends. But you can follow other ranching news if you select “Follow”. But, rely on my website blog and Tammy’s Cowdogs Page on Facebook to keep in tune with the cowdog program.

Thank you very much for following along on the ranching adventures, work and journeys of Tammy’s Cowdogs. Maybe with a little luck, Mother Nature cooperation and Divine intervention, the land here will receive Spring rains to help ease the drought or maybe even enough rain to end the multi-years’ drought! I am grateful we received some rain in April 2013 to get some grass up. Cattle numbers are about 1/3 of what one can normally run and I am learning to live with only a couple of hundred cows. Maybe less is more! Until later though, thank you for your interest in my cowdogs and cattle. So for now, my cowdogs and I will be gathering pairs, sorting pairs, inserting CIDR’s, and setting up more cows for AI work during the days before Christmas. Once the AI’ing is completed, we will have pairs to haul to winter pastures. The natural service cows have bulls in now and cows are cycling all over the place. So, despite the cold, windy weather, the short days and lots of work…life is pretty normal around here.

Working Pairs...Sat. Nov. 30, 2013 010

Merry Christmas! ~Tammy and the Cowdogs
Christmas Cowdogs...Mon. Dec. 24, 2012 004

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This is just a “preview”.
Don’t call or write yet, please.
I need to work out the details of pricing, shipping, payment methods.
But here is a “PEEK” at the new caps.

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Today my family bid our spiritual farewell to my dad’s brother Hugo. Uncle Hugo was a veteran of World War II and passed away on Veteran’s Day. Pretty fitting. He had spent the past 5 years in a care facility as the devastating impact of Alzheimer’s disease grasped his mind. Our society is filled with the sadness and horrors of the multitudes of cancers that take the life of many and I have often felt that Alzheimer’s, multiple sclerosis, Lou Gehrig’s, dementia and other various diseases are worse. Cancer related cures and fixes are becoming very common anymore and other disorders seem to be still lagging behind in being decoded. The genome puzzles and mysteries continue in many areas of what takes our lives away from us. Uncle Hugo is in a much better place now. Of the 12 kids in the Otto Sebastian Wolfgang and Josephine Clara (Horak) Goldammer family there are now 4 left. The family is getting very small. Uncle Hugo’s wife Esther is still living and fine as are his sons Gary and Mike. Most of my memories of my Uncle Hugo, Gary and Mike go back to the days of their helping my dad with summer haying when the boys were growing up. They helped with the custom square bale haying that my dad and Uncle Jr. did around our community. We put up 100’s of 1000’s of square bales of hay in some horribly dirty river bottom fields, fought off bees, ran from wasps and choked on the dust from those crappy red clover fields. That damn red clover baling was one itchy, head plugging, nasty task. And Uncle Hugo and the boys loved to hunt – squirrels, rabbits, deer. Our other family good time memories go back to the butchering days. The Goldammer boys were known for doing a wonderful job with butchering hogs, curing hams and making all those old family German tradition sausages. You know how they say, “Use everything but the squeal”…well, dad, Jr. and Hugo, Grandpa and Grandma used the squeal too. My butchering day initiation was one of the most traumatic events in my entire life. I was coming on to my 11th birthday. It was a cold Saturday and I was in my Grandma’s kitchen. My Grandpa came to the house to get “the bucket” and “the spoon” and “me” from the kitchen. The rest of the women were in the basement setting up their “cleaning” tables. No clue from me what a “cleaning chore” was. My Grandpa gave me the bucket, the spoon, and marching orders of, “Come on, you go with me to the shed.” I confess I was scared because my dad had told me they shoot the pigs in the shed. I did not want to see this. But off I went with my Grandpa. We get to the shed and the men and boys are standing around talking. The arrival of the bucket and spoon was like dropping the green flag at a speedway. My dad had a 22, a large grin and said, “Are you ready?” My Grandpa barked as he grabbed me by the back of my neck and coat and said, “Yes, get in there.” We go into the shed and it is crowded with pigs in a pen, men, boys and me with some dang bucket and spoon. I had no idea what I was supposed to do…not a clue. But my Grandpa barked at me to not spill any of it. I asked, “Any of what?” He looked at me and gruffed, “blood”. I was frozen…instantly frozen. About that time, my dad shot the pig, the pig fell and my Uncle Hugo stabbed the pig in the neck and I was headed out the door with the bucket, I had dropped the spoon, I was screaming, horrified and crying and my Grandpa was pissed as all get out, men were screaming curse words and shouting, “Get the blood! Get the @^&*!+#%&@ blood!” About the time I was going to go from 3rd to 4th gear my Grandpa caught me by the back of the neck with one hand and the other hand was on my arm with the bucket. He picked me up, promptly dropped me over the fence into the pen with a bleeding pig and shoved me and that bucket down to catch the blood and waved that spoon at me like a weapon and screamed, “Get to stirring the $%^&@!!)%^&$ blood.” I couldn’t even see the bucket, the spoon or the blood because my eyes were flooding tears down my red flush face. I was screaming to my dad to, “Help me!” My dad and the others were not laughing because they were in fear of my Grandpa too…knowing full-well that he was po’d. I was in deep doo-doo with Grandpa. A lot of the blood was lost, I heard about only having ½ a pail and that he was going to use that %^#&))!! &@ spoon on me. I for the life of me could not figure out what they were going to do with that blood and why they cared if there was a pail full or a ½ pail full. All I knew was I was now being escorted back to the house with one mad Grandpa hollering at me and demanding I, “Stir, stir, stir, stir.” All I wanted was to get the heck out of the mess I was in. We get to the house and he barks at me, “Here, go to the basement.” My Grandma was waiting and she looked at the ½ full pail and began to scream about how having a ½ pail of blood was bad and where the heck the rest of it was. My Grandpa cussed me, my Grandma cussed me and the women looked at me with ½ grins but they were not going to crack any smiles. I could tell they wanted to smile but far be it from them to smile at the moment. I was still shaking, crying and just wanted the heck out of the basement. My Grandpa let go of my arm and told me to, “Stay out of the shed!” He huffed back toward the shed and I was quivering in the yard and could see they were hauling that dead pig out of the shed with a tractor and had it hanging in the air and were going to do something to it. Men were buzzing around everywhere and all of a sudden the pig disappeared into a big black thing that had steam rolling out of it. Then, it reappeared and the men and boys were rubbing the pig all over and the pig was getting slick and shiny. They hung it back up and one of the men with a big knife started to cut the pig open from top to bottom and they had big wash tubs they used to collect the insides of the pig. I was so scared at what I was seeing that I couldn’t stop crying. Pretty soon, men carried tubs of guts to the basement, tubs of stuff to other sheds and moved the pig to the other shed. My Uncle Hugo and my dad headed to one of the sheds with a wash tub. I followed at a distance, too scared to get close. But, I was going to find a safe place and that was with my dad. I peeked around the corner of the shed door and my Uncle Hugo saw me, grinned big and announced, “Got in trouble, didn’t you?” Then he laughed. My dad grinned at me and said, “It’s okay.” He then told my Uncle Hugo with a grin, “That’s enough.” I got razzed for years about that day in the pig shed with my bucket and spoon. To this day, it still horrifies me about how traumatic that day and that experience was. It is burned into my brain. As is that damn grin of my Uncle Hugo. Rest in peace Uncle Hugo. You sure did not deserve to be in such a terrible place the past 5 years. Alzheimer’s is a terrible thing. I will never forget the day of my 1st butchering. I still believe we used even “the squeal”. ~Squealing Me!

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4:00 AM…AgDay news.
5 Bells, All’s Well…
Cowgal Hawk and I made the pre-dawn, pre-5 AM lap through the heavy lot. All is well. 11 PM fella, cozied up to mom. Another baby just up learning to walk, another baby looking for the 1st teat.
6:00 AM…Next? Buttermilk biscuits, omelet w/ green peps & provolone. Thank you to my neighbors Pete and Jan who have been bringing me green peppers by the bucketful 4 wks. ~Feeling Blessed w/ Minimal Stress…lol

Was there a baseball game last night? Got waxed, eh?

7:00 AM Breakfast is served…love my mom’s natural gas stove, my mom’s skillet (my grandma gave it to her daughter – my mom – for a wedding gift) and mom’s mom’s Bake King sheet. Nothing fancy…but dang good. And my mom is diving into her breakfast!


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Jefferson City News Tribune Front Page
August 27, 2013
Thank you Bob Watson.

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