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.
[to top of second
"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 backyard."
[Text from file received from
Have you seen "Home Country Minute" on
television? Here's a little sample for you: