The most bummed puppy on earth

is the one who does NOT get to go running with me. I have to run for time next month, so I figured I should plot a course and get an idea of where I was. This pretty much ruled out taking Puptard.

So this morning I got dressed and put on my running shoes, and he started doing backflips, and then I slammed the door in his face.

I think we can safely assume he's going to eat all my stuff while I'm gone. Retaliation is a mother around here.

Off to ensure the gunsafe is locked and all shoes are in our room.

Totally

gratuituous lab pic!



That is all, you may all continue on with your daily routines.

Range trip!

Finally got the Garand out to the local range. The place was packed, but it was a nice day for it.

I was shooting at Alpine and, like most ranges right around here, they're anti-FMJ ammo, so I had to pick up another box of 150 grain softpoint.

The older gentleman behind the counter was helpful, after we got on the samge page.

"Need targets?" he asked.

"Yes, please. And if you have a large target, that would be nice. I have a new gun."

"You boresight it yet?" This, folks, is the part where doubt crept in.

Boresighting is a process wherein you line up the crosshairs on a newly mounted scope with the barrel (or "bore") of your rifle. You can do it Old Skool and simply remove the bolt from a bolt-action rifle and line up the crosshairs with what you see peering down the barrel, or you can get all high-tech and use a laser device stuck in either your chamber or in the barrel of your rifle. You can save a lot of time, energy and ammo that way.

I've never heard of anyone boresighting with iron sights, but you know, logically, it could be done.

This whole thought process resulted in me standing in front of the gentleman at the counter like an idiot for several seconds before saying, "no."

He pointed out that they could do that for me for $5, but I declined and pointed out that I was not using a scope.

"I've got a new Garand," I explained. "Well, an old Garand, but new to me."

Only at this point did the gentleman behind the counter decide I was not a maniac, and that, in fact, I should hear all about his Garand-related experiences. He was a nice guy, so that was fine, but I did finally have to break away while there was still daylight outside.

Ladies and gentlemen, to paraphrase Larry the Cable Guy, this looks like a good time no matter who you are.



And it is a good time, oh yes. The poor gentleman several benches down from me with his deer rifle was a good sport until after shot number eight, when the ping and clatter of the clip hitting the concrete made him look over with great concern.

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," I giggled. "That's a good sign."



I started out low, and slowly adjusted. After getting pretty close, it became clear to me that I don't think I've got the rear sight tensioned correctly. This will either require much reading, or a pathetic call to Charley.

But in good news, it shoots realiably and straight, and works wonderfully as a conversation starter. And since it works, I'm now all about getting a good sling (leaning on Santa about that issue - tan and numbered, if you're reading, Santa), figuring out the rear sight, and then finding somewhere where I can back off the target a little more.

I hate working Saturdays

but it allows me to peruse the news.

Which occasionally makes you feel good about your life choices. For instance, it was not at my house where Oregon Police Find 8 Dogs in Freezer, 24 Running Loose While Serving Child Porn Warrant

Lt. Jim Anglemier says investigators today found two dozen poodles running loose or in cages, some near death. Eight puppies were found dead in a freezer.

That, for instance, makes me feel okay about having three dogs running loose, and only some sausage, frozen veggies and lemonade concentrate in my freezer.

Anglemier says trash was strewn throughout the place and dog feces were caked on the floor, beds and clothes. The odor was so strong, that some detectives needed to wear breathing respirators.

And although there may be "dog feces" in my backyard, and possibly even "caked on" a pair of sandals, it is not caked on the floor, bed or clothes.

Sometimes you just need a pick-me-up, and the horribleness of others can provide it.

Supply meets demand

...and it's a bummer.

I love Blackhawk. I've used their thigh rigs (I roll, when forced, with an Omega), and I like them. I scored one of their range bags on clearance, and it rocks.

(If you don't cruise the Blackhawk clearance section, you lose. Great gear, great prices.)

Anyway, I was checking them out a few days ago, and clicked over to "new products" or "pending products."

And found this.

“At Blackhawk we get up every morning dedicated to using our resources to help save lives,” explained Noell. “When medics and doctors that deal with combat and tactical medical needs see the system, they at once understand the immediate life saving potential. Four tourniquets in the pants and four tourniquets in the shirt (two in the short sleeve version), correctly positioned and oriented to the upper and lower extremities, are immediately accessible under existing gear and can be operated by the wearer, their buddy, or a medic.

Heh. That's only laughable if you've never given serious thought to rolling out the gate with a tourniquet on each limb, and not done it only because your unit didn't have enough to pull it off.

Dear Santa, this year, all I want for Christmas is for all the warriors to keep all their limbs.

Watchin' the politics

I'm tuned into the Democratic debate on CNN, but this is requiring the consumption of beers, so I won't....

...hold on....

who is this freakin' Marine who is letting his mother trot him out to yap about our future policy in Iran?

Alright. Nevermind. I'm just going to watch, and drink, and not blog about politics.

Critter magnet

I took off down the road at a blistering trot this morning, with my trusty shiny black running buddy doing his best to drag me. Glancing over into the neighbor’s yard, I noted a small dog there.

Huh, I thought. They don’t have a dog. I trotted on.

I swung out onto the trail behind the house and picked up the pace from trot to painfully slow shuffle. I was just settling in when one of the other morning regulars, a gentleman of maybe 70 years or so, flagged me down.

“Have you seen a dog that might have been hit by a car this morning?” he asked.

I shared that I’d seen a small dog in the neighbor’s yard and didn’t know the story behind it. The old man continued on his way, and I continued on mine. Jack and I finished our run (poorly), after we were forced to take two pee breaks and one poop break. None of these, I point out, were for my benefit.

As we passed the neighbor’s house, I noted the small dog was still in the yard. Startled by a large truck passing, he got up, and I could see he was holding a rear leg off the ground. Ahh…the injured dog.

I shoved Jack in the house, found a phone, and went back outside. He was gimping at a good pace, headed back into the open area behind our row of houses. I called the animal people, since they pick up injured critters. And if it was my injured dog, I’d want whoever saw it to call it in.

After letting them know the dog’s description, condition and location, I went out in the back yard to scoop some poo. As I finished, it occurred to me that the little gimp may have been wandering toward the busy road. Taking a cup of coffee out the front door, I went walkabout around the perimeter. There, on the strip of grass the separates our side fence from the busy road, was Injured Dog.

I placed my coffee cup in the grass and said, “hey, come here.” And he did. I looked him over, seeing an obvious case of road rash on the right back leg. “You going to bite me if I pick you up?”

He looked at me, and I scratched his ears. I scooped him up, and rather than flail or bite, he snuggled up against me, shivering. I carried him into the garage – he only weighed maybe 12-14 pounds. I made him a little bed out of a towel and an old sheet, then went in and called the Broken Animal Division of the local PD.

“Hey, this is Abby. I called earlier about an injured dog in the area. I found him next to my house, and he’s in my garage.”

I handed him off when the Broken Animal Lady showed up (I want her job). She looked at him, “We’ll get you to the vet for some good drugs!” She looked at me, “He looks like a pit bull puppy, but he’s got adult teeth. I don’t know. I hope he’s not a pit – because…well, we don’t adopt out pits. We’d have to put him down.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I hope not, too. He seems like a nice little guy, and I think he might be an adult.”

There was a collective shrug, and she carted off the little injured guy.

I hope he does okay, and I hope the verdict is not “too much pitbull,” because he sure seemed like a sweetie. Honestly, I’d be inclined to think he was more of a smaller terrier, but I’m not sure what sort that would be.

T'ain't all bad

...when the Mister is out of town. Last night's dinner - tuna sandwich and root beer. Tonight? Polska kielbasa and a pot of coffee.

The downside? He normally gets home first and the dogs do their major spazz at that point. When he's gone, they have to amuse themselves an extra 90 minutes or so (for a grand total of nine hours of time during which nobody is fussing over them).

I thought someone had been doling out cocaine dog biscuits by the time I came through the door.

I got nuthin'

Does anybody want to read several paragraphs on why I'm thrilled to have new checks from my new bank? No? I didn't think so.

Interested in another breathless discussion of the whole Supreme Court Parker vs. DC possible pending potential maybe-gonna-happen decision? I really don't want to write it - sorry. Go here - it's done very well.

I thought about writing about the desecration of what sounded like a very nice veteran's memorial in the Kansas City area - but it was so soul-sucking that I decided to let it lie.

I guess I shall just head off to work and hope to run into, rather than a non-merging DFW driver, a metaphorical caution cone of inspiration.

Creepiest thing ever

A few years ago, I went to Madagascar with World's Coolest Grandmother, my Mom and one of Mom's Nursing Buddies.

One night, we were camping...somewhere. We'd been out trudging through a national forest in the dark, spotting lemurs with our flashlights by looking for eyeshine. This was highly cool, since some of the lemurs were inclined to leap around in the treetops, and you could follow their eyes.

Our guide seemed pleasantly surprised that four women from somewhere called "Michigan" were really, really good at spotting glowing eyes, and had no clue what we meant when we explained that years of looking out for roadside deer had left us very hip to shining eyes.

We returned to our camp, and Maurice (the guide) wanted to point out just one more very cool thing. He shined his flashlight around the tall grass in the clearing, revealing dozens of bright, shining points.

I, foolishly, had always assumed this was drops of dew. But I was wrong.

They were spider eyes. The eyes of what we call here Wolf Spider. Dozens and dozens of sets of spider eyes in that one patch of grass.



Ugh.

I shined my light around now when I'm out at night, and I really, really regret that I know what all those shiny points in the grass and on tree trunks are.

(image above courtesy of SpiderzRule.com, a very nice site owned by one of those odd people who really believe that all spiders are not vicious and evil)

Oh yes...

And a public thanks to Texas State Trooper Harn (or Hearn? Or Hern? - his handwriting sucks), who passed up the opportunity to hit the Mister with a decent speeding ticket at mile marker 583 this morning and let us proceed with a warning. Even though we were filthy and smelled like a campfire.

Appreciated, Trooper. And yes, we kept the speed much more reasonable for the remainder of the trip.

Question for any of my LE-types out there - is it normal now for an officer to approach the passenger window during a side-of-the-highway stop? It seems like a good idea (that is, the officer does not have to stand on the same side as traffic), but I don't think I've seen it done like that before. It's sorta awkward, though. I mean, I'm in the passenger seat, and although I understand the officer needs to speak to the driver, it seems rather rude for me to ignore him.

I opted to go with the "good morning, sir," then just leaned back and ignored him. Which must not have been too offensive.

We have returned!

And, yet again, all the happy little animals of the area where we hunted are safely still in their homes, distinctly unshot. Hell, they were distinctly unseen. Fortunately, we are easily pleased, and a weekend in a tent with a campfire was just dandy, even if we did get skunked.

However, things did get a little horrifying yesterday evening when I was perched in my tree stand, waiting for that last magical hour fading light when, according to people who occasionally hunt successfully, animals come out and walk around and are easy to shoot. I looked left, noted something moving on my arm.

Ick! Green hairy spider about the size of nickel. Brushed it off, continued to sit, and wait. Was mildly creeped out, but carried on. These things happen in the great outdoors.

Looked right...there was another green hairy spider about the same size hanging out on my right arm. Brush/fling...I was safe, but disturbed.

I caught another one on my arm, then one on my back, then I climbed down out of my treestand and got the hell away from that tree.

Edit to add: I guess there aren't any images of this critter on the internet. Just your standard jumping spider, it seems, but white and green. [shudders]

I dislike spiders, and I dislike hairy ones especially (hair should be reserved for mammals).

Admin note before departure

[ahem]

Attention to orders!

Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday to you!
Happy 232nd birthday, US Marine Corps,
Happy Birthday to you!

That is all, you are dismissed.

More camping!

This time, without the help of the US Army.

The truck is loaded, the Bad Dogs have a reservation at Dog Camp, and we are duly licensed. That's right - we're off to attempt to fill the freezer.

Ok, Mom, you can stop laughing now. We have so got this hunting in Texas thing figured out. It's going to a smashing success.

Unless there's an unexpected source of unsecured wireless acress out in the sticks of east Texas, we won't be posting until Monday.

The Madness Never Ends

It’s not that I don’t love you all – I’m just lazy. And the insanity level has been high.

The Mister came home last night to two big dogs, no small dog, all the interior doors open, and a city police officer’s card on the counter.

Long story short, it appears I neglected to throw the deadbolt in the front door when Jack and I came back from running yesterday morning. It further appears that sometime between 0940 (when I leave for work) and 1015, the front door went from closed-but-not-locked to wide-freakin’-open.

Not a thing was missing from the house, but all my dogs were milling about the apartment complex parking lot across the busy road from my house.

My theory is that someone watched me leave, then tried the front door. My Bad Dogs appear to have earned their keep and chased the potential thief away.

Cops returned the big dogs to the house. Sparky wasn’t wearing his collar, so he went to Doggy Jail, where the Mister picked him up after work.

The front door is now, of course, locked. I was sorely tempted to leave in a normal and conspicuous manner, then park nearby and walk back in through the backyard and wait in the house for visitors. However, I think that my canine sidekicks have discouraged unwanted visitors for the time being.

Cool stuff from the internet

I was cruising the internet today, wasting my employer’s time and money, looking at Wilderness Tactical Belts. I like the titanium ones, and I think I might spring for one the next time I play Army for an extended period.

You got your people who love all this odd, tactical crap. Loves our pouches, and our carabiners, high-dollar flashlights, and all that. Have been heard to utter phrases like, “flat dark earth is the new black!” You will hear these folks referred to in less-polite company as Gear Queers.

Then you’ve got your crazy dog people. That’s those of us who have all the sizes of the Cuz toys, and a collapsible water bowl in each vehicle.

As I was clicking around the Wilderness Tactical website, I found the strangest thing. I found an item that can satisfy both the impulses of the Gear Queer and the needs of the Crazy Dog Person at the same time.

Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present the Wilderness Tactical Kong Belt Pouch!

Constructed of tough 1000 denier Cordura® with a signature Wilderness quick-detachable wraparound belt loop. The wide, stay-open mouth is reinforced to allow easy retrieval, yet affords a secure housing for the kong or other reward treat. Available in black.

You don’t need to thank me – I’m here to help you out with those hard-to-buy-for folks on your Christmas lists!

You thought I was lying

I was out cleaning up the yard in the morning light, and found this disturbing array back behind the pool.



Good lord. I apologize for the poor quality of the picture - I had to use my phone because the real camera temporarily MIA. Either the Mister took it on his road trip, or they've stolen that, too.

Discussion of stock work on the M1 this evening. There's a possibility I'm actually going to have time to shoot it this weekend, so I'm quite excited.

Blaah.

I'm blaming this lethargic melancholy on the time change. Or maybe it's melancholic lethargy. Either way, I've been dragging around the past couple days feeling mildly grumpy about not much of anything.

Then again, it might be because the Mister is out of town (in the military sense), and I seem to spend every moment I'm awake and in the house collecting the socks and other objects Jack is dragging around.

You know, I've been trying to work on this whole thing where you exercise your dog, and so then they're like all calm and mellow and nice to have around, right?

That's a giant load of crap. You know what exercise has done for my little puptard? I have a really really fit Bad Dog. He's like a damn triathlete. Jump on the dining room table? No problem! Streeeetch way up to pull the household copy of FMFM 6-5, The Marine Rifle Squad, off the book shelf? No problem! Race tirelessly around and around and around the yard with my favorite pair of boot socks? No problem!

(This is of course an entirely separate issue than trying to figure out why, of all the books on the shelf, he wanted that one. Is he plotting something? A coup?)

Major bummer

This whole time change thing catches me off guard every year. I walked out of the office tonight and it was dark.

Ick.

Temps are still nice here (although the Texans tell me it shall soon be cold - colder than you can imagine, they promise, because this is Texas, and everything is more something than one could ever imagine, it seems).

But I grew up in the north, when the time change was the final nail in the coffin for the year. There was no going back, it was hibernation season, and you were going to be hunkered down and cold for months. Although I like winter, it was always a bit of a downer when the dark started falling early.

So, for some reason, I was made grumpy by walking out into the darkness tonight. In a few days it will seem normal and the spring time change will feel decadent, like we're getting too much light.

Home again

Well, that was fun.

Postive things about camping with the Army:
1 - it's camping with lots of guns
2 - lots of group lifting and shouting in the early morning hours
3 - there's always coffee
4 - no dogs stealing your socks
5 - boots, boots, boots

Not positive things about camping with the Army:
1 - 0500 is not a decent hour for anything other than fishing
2 - cots
3 - not allowed to shoot giant deer seen near the M9 range
4 - $5 zillion in communications gear, and we're using walkie-talkies from WalMart because they're the only things that work
5 - general disapproval of addressing officers as "dude."