Damned Rain

It is in the late of day and still raining as I gaze upon the carnage of the day. Through the rain, the smoldering of cannon fire still lingering in the air. It has a acrid smell of gunpowder, mixed with the unmistakable smell of blood, and burnt flesh. The fences have bodies on them, and the valley has death written on it for all time. I see the wagons overturned, and some are still burning in the rain. The wounded still moaning for help as others are carried away. Some are dead, while others are dismembered. This valley was once a land of peace, till we came here. The rolling hills, and small creek running through this valley with its lofty soft pines, are now littered with broken men, and weapons of war.

 Men can do terrible things to each other in the name of god, and country, and never learn from their mistakes. The land however, heals itself, and re blossoms with life covering, all ravages man has done to it. Nether side won this day. Only death has won. The broken men, and cannons will be covered over with time, and no one will remember this day. It is raining harder now, and the creek is running red with bloody water. I think I will go back in my tent, and rest this shoulder wound. It is bleeding again, and my aid is worried. Brother against brother, father against son. Dam this war, and dam this rain.

The rain has finally let up. It's wet and mucky. Trenches are only good for killing you. The other side is using chlorine gas, and it hangs in the dam trenches blinding then killing you. No quick or easy death here, unless you catch a bullet. Even then, you might just linger on, and die slow, and painful of gangrene. War is a rotten way to try to settle a argument. Politicians never fight. If they had to, their would be less wars, and less lives lost. Dam... raining again. Now its going to get even colder, and the muck in the trenches will stick to us even more. Wait.. an advance on the other side in this rain. Are they nuts? Dam, I hate this damned rain, so cold so wet so miserable. Dam this rain, dam.


How did I get here? God, it so dam hot. This stinking jungle, I think every godforsaken bug on earth is here taking a bite of me. Dam, I hate this place. It's ether to hot or..... dam its raining again. Just great! I can't move from this spot. The bad guys are to close, leaches sucking my blood, rain running down my back, bugs biting, legs cramping, I hope they step into the trap we set for them. Pay back for tony. They got him the other day and..... dam what they did to him was inhuman. Half a click, that's all it was, and we could still hear him scream. We went out, and dropped a round in their lap. Poor guy, I hate this war. I hate this damned jungle rain. Go figure, it raining heavy now. I hate this rain.

Simple Times

The years fly by and you become nostalgic. You wish times were simple again, and your life not so complex. You withdraw to your inner mind, to find the peace you so badly need. You remember your childhood, and growing up. You fondly remember your grand parents, spoiling you with love, (and sugar) and teaching you new things. New to you, but passed to them from their grandparents with care and love.

Passed from old to new, new to old. The cycle of life, and how we learn, never really changes that much, just the form. I remember one grandfather teaching me how to milk the cows, feed the hogs, collect eggs, and use the heck out of that man or beast salve in a yellow can from Watkins. Grandpa used that stuff for everything on the farm, from cuts to greasing a gear. The stuff stunk like sulfur, but worked great. Grandma loved to make cakes and popcorn for me. And that home made cake icing just could not be beat.

My other grandpa taught me how to shoot, and fish. How to build a box trap for rabbits, set a snare, and how to hunt rabbits with only a stick in the winter. Grandma used to make the best oatmeal cookies, with raisins and walnuts. God, those were good with real cow butter on them, and cold milk. She kept them in a granite pot, with a tight lid, and a slice of apple to keep them soft. On a cold wet rainy day i would skip school and sneak in the house and butter a few, grab a glass of milk, and go hide in my cabin out back. I would curl up with a comic book and a old blanket, and dream. She loved to cook on that old cobs, and coal stove. She had gas, but to cook in the winter you could not only cook your meal, you could keep your house warm, and save money too. Folks were a lot more thrifty then, not like today's throw away style of living.

Time was simple then. On summer vacation, I would climb grandpa's apple tree to the top. I had a old burlap sack my dad gave to me, nailed, between two branches like a hammock. Can you just imagine how that felt, on a warm summer afternoon in the top of that tree. Your eyes closed, swaying with every cooling breeze. It was like you were adrift in the clouds, and one with the universe. Sounds corny don't it. I used to tramp the old munchkin drainage ditch line through town. Hunting and fishing in that old ditch seems kind of silly now, but not then. My fondest memory's of some of my friends, are in that ditch line. Patty, Benny, Ginger, Rusty, my good friends, how I miss you.

Patty, a cocker spaniel, loved to run with me but would always stop at the fence line and stay on top of the bank. Benny, a mix of lab and Heinz 57, was a short slick black haired dog, game for anything, and would chase muskrats all day if I let him. Ginger, a beagle, was a dog you could hunt rabbits with, without a gun. Just listen for her last yelp, and you would find a rabbit. Rusty, a Shepard, was always on the lookout for something to chase, dig out, or fetch what I shot. I remember one time we were trying to get this groundhog, and he looked so funny with his butt sticking straight up in the air ninety degrees, tail swinging in circles, and half way in the hole on the top bank.

As much as we would like to have simpler times, unfortunately, it is not possible now days. The closest we can come to that now, is to unplug, turn down, and just sit still for a few minutes.

No, wait, If we do that we might miss something. Too late, I am in my memory's, off in another world of my own, with my friends. Please take a note, I may be gone for some time. My friends, my friends want to play.

The Road Home

It' is early morning and the sky's are gray with rain. I am sitting in my rocking chair on the back porch. I enjoy a good rain. It makes the air fresh and clears the mind. A thought comes to mind as i turn back in time to when i was a kid, and played hooky from school on such days. I had a cabin behind my dads house I played in. I would hide in their and sneak into my grandmothers next door, and get home made oatmeal cookies with butter on them, slip back out and curl up with a old blanket. Close my eyes eat cookies, and listen to the rain. I have never been at peace as much as I was then. Simpler times, safer days. I don't get to relax like that any more. Except on days like today. No work to do today, and nothing pressing to do. Just sit here and relax. Maybe once a year if I am lucky.

I am soooo... relaxed. Just taking in the smell of the air, how clean things feel. Tilted back in my rocker day dreaming. Suddenly, I am jolted back by a racket bounding up the porch, chain and all. The neighbors dog, a half Shepard half Hinze 57 has broken loose again. The varmint is soaked to the skin, and coming under the back overhang. Wait, stop, Oh man, now I'm soaked. Dam dog ruined a perfect time. I start to get up, when he jumps up on my lap with a paw on either side of my shoulder, pushing me back down. He is wagging his tail to be petted. I raise my hands to push him off, and get a big Slurpee lick across my face. Ucko, dog slobbers, nasty. He does it again, and I cant help but laugh, and he knows it. All I can do is pet him. and rub his head. He lays his head on my shoulder, and the smell of wet dog floods my senses.
 
Then I remember all the dogs I have had in my life. Patty my first. She was a black cocker, and kept me constant company. Always at my side, and ready to play till I was thirteen, when she passed.
Then ginger. A high strung beagle always ready to go hunting. I will never forget that howl type bark she had. I could always tell when she had a rabbit on the run, and when she caught it. We hunted together for years then one day she vanished without a trace. Dad said the Carney folks got her.
 
Then Benny. As I think back now, he must have been part lab, as much as he liked the water, when we hunted the michuchan ditch line. He would always be in the water after the muskrats I shot, and even enjoyed soaking me when he got the chance. I swear that dog had a sense of humor.
 
Then rusty a full blood black and tan Shepard. My fondest memory of him was when we were at the old bridge, and he cut his paw real bad going after a ground hog, across the bank. He was soaked to the bone, I had to put him over my shoulders an carry him home, about a mile or more. I don't remember who enjoyed it more, him or me. I do remember mom getting mad because now I stank like wet dog, and my shirt would never be the same.

 Then there was duke, bad to the bone. I was working private police in Florida at this one hotel unit. Word got out that a full blood Shepard was to be destroyed because he bit to many people. 34 to be exact. I got hold of the owner and asked if I could see the dog, and maybe have him, if I could control him. Sign this wavier of liability , and you can go for it . I warn you, he is bad mean. I went to the back found he was in a fenced in area , around a thousand gallon propane tank. He stormed the fence when he seen me, and I ordered him to obey a command, and he did. Did I mention that he was professionally police trained, and that his handlers did not know the proper commands to control him. I took him home that night, and my wife loved him from the start. He protected her and or new baby son right away. If we put the boy on the bed, duke jumped up and made himself to home. Did you know that a dog wet with sea water has a different smell than fresh water? Funny I should remember that. We had him for many years of joy. 

Then, lets see, little girl was next. Full blood doberman, black and tan with a white star on her chest. Runt of the litter, she never got full size. But she was aggressive as a dog twice her size. I loved that dog. she went with me every place.
 
Then the last, Bear. She was a cross between Shepard and Rottweiler. Fawn in color, she looked like a young deer. She loved the water, and riding in the boat. Had to pull her in the boat the first time. After that, I could not keep her out of it, even if it was on the ground in the yard. She loved to go fishing. She would sit and watch the end of the pole. Then, when it moved, she got all nervous and started to whine and fidget.

I wont have another dog. I'm to old to have a big dog and I don't want a ankle biter. But this varmint, this big, muddy, wet varmint in my lap.He is stirring something inside me. With his wet coat and good humor, I just cant stay mad at him. He took me home to my friends. Home to my best friends over the years. Maybe, hell maybe I'm not as old as i think. Just maybe I just need another friend to help me remember just how much fun a wet dog can be, muddy paws and all.
Come on boy ill take you home, the rain will do us both good.