Before moving on to a guest post from Slim Randles, I want to share this picture of Dusty and Harry. The kennel is Dusty’s “safe place” where he is supposed to be able to get away from the cats, but Harry has other ideas. Today, Dusty had to walk over Harry to get comfortable for a nap. Neither Harry or Dusty seemed to care. Dusty quickly settled down for a nap and Harry? I’m not sure what he was looking at.
Today, Slim has a fun story about dogs and other critters down at the livestock auction barn. That’s a great place for friends, human and otherwise, to meet and greet and have a good time.
When I was much younger and went to auction barns, I always enjoyed a refreshing cool bottle of beer, root and otherwise. But today, we will be sharing root beer. Not the otherwise. 🙂 Enjoy…
One of the great pleasures of hanging around down at the livestock auction barn each Saturday morning is being able to take your dog along.
Why do we go to the sales barn? We love agriculture, and it’s part of living here to see who buys what and rejoice in their good fortune, even if our own grass is stressed to the limit by whatever varmint we’re currently feeding.
Or, it could be that we figure we’ve already lived too long, and if the right horse or cow comes through there, and we buy it, our wives will see to it that we don’t suffer in agony for untold years.
This weekly auction is a treasure house for our dogs. It’s a dog’s day out, a chance to scrounge under the bleachers for dropped hot dog portions and the occasional sweet bun crust. It’s a chance for them to get reacquainted with dog buddies and to check out any new pickups in the parking lot whose tires have not yet been properly baptized.
My coonhound loves it. She had done her munching, scrounging and socializing and was curled up under my truck, waiting for me, as we were getting ready to leave.
Dud’s blue heeler was flitting around in the bed of his pickup truck, guarding against anything that might deign to trespass.
And Doc had a new dog, of non-obvious parentage, on a leash, which meant he was not yet broken in to sales barn etiquette. Once he got used to it, and had been introduced to the other dogs, he’d fit right in and the leash would be history.
“What kind of dog is that, Doc?” we asked.
“Why, he’s an Egyptian shepherd.”
“I never heard of an Egyptian shepherd. Does he work cattle?”
“What’s he do?”
Doc grinned, “He makes pyramids in the back yard.
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Check out all of Slim’s award-winning books at www.slimrandles.com, and in better bookstores and bunkhouses throughout the free world.
All of the posts here are from his syndicated column, Home Country that is read in hundreds of newspapers across the country. I am always happy to have him share his wit and wisdom here.