AT THE DERBY

I know one thing about horse racing. I've won money betting on it.

Fellow teacher Mike Gibbons always went to the Kentucky Derby. Mike liked the horses. And the atmosphere. And, I suppose, mint julips. None appealed to me.

One day in the Teachers Lounge, my buddy Will Lee talked me into splitting a two dollar bet with him on some horse. So I invested my dollar. We gave our money to Mike to place the bet at the 1977 Derby. Our horse came in third, which means he "showed" which means we won $6.40 or $3.20 each.

That's the only time I ever played the ponies. I never watch the races. It's the same with the Indy 500 and cars. I'm just not interested.

But when Barbaro went under the knife, I became interested in him. I often wondered why they shoot horses, but read an article about colic and the dangers that poses to the horse. I sure hope Barbaro can make it. That break(s) hurt to watch, similar to Joe Thiesman's compound fracture of his right leg.

Thiesman made it. And if I were a betting man, I'd say Barbaro will be fine, too.

AWESOME PIC

Why is it that most people who like birds are older? I'm talking about the Audubon people and serious bird watchers. The zoo goers who flock (oh yeah, that was intended) around the birds and that cool aviary at the St. Louis Zoo.

The eagle watchers who brave icy roads to drive to Hermann, MO to see them in their nests. The ones who feed the birds in Midwest Winters when snow can last and make it hard for birds. The ones who set out hummingbird feeders. Sidebar: faithful readers have probably heard this one before. About five years ago I was standing on the third rung of a six foot step ladder trimming some bourganvillas when I heard this loud noise to my left. I turned thinking it to be Mark, my next door neighbor. I hadn't heard him in his yard but it sounded like a leaf blower. Upon further investigation, I found that a hummingbird was hitting on the red plastic guard on the top of my ladder, very near my ear. Those guys can really move those little wings to create a loud noise.

About a week ago, I got into my golf cart after having secured a bogey on a par 5 when I was only twenty yards off the green in two. I started to drive away when my wife yelled, "Stop." I responded with "What?" or something of that nature. "A bird," she stated. And she couldn't move him. A baby quail wanted the shade of our front right tire. We tried to shoo him out and he kept running back to the same spot. I took an eight iron and still mad from my bogey-- no, no... I'm just kidding re-directed his route till we could drive away. I hope his mother, neglectful or thoughtless or frantically searching, found him before the next cart parked in the same place.

Enjoy the birds. Whatever your age. God gave us the animals for our enjoyment. Don't wait. And if you ever get some love birds as in the picture, give me a call.

TODAY IN THE OLD WEST

I didn't see a snake as I did two weeks ago on the golf course. Somehow my ball found its way into the desert at the TPC Desert Course. As Caroline and I were searching for it, I rustled up a big snake, slick with diamond shapes on his snake body.

I checked for rattles and finding none walked over closer to get a better look. He was a couple of inches wide and maybe five feet long. I called to Caroline who was searching a shrub for my errant tee shot. Surprisingly she wasn't quite as enamored by it. and only gave a prefunctory look in my direction.

Later in the week, I found out that sometimes rattlesnakes lose their rattles, so you have to check the head, too. I had, but I just assumed no rattler. And while I wasn't armed like the pin guy in the picture, I did carry a five iron with me for protection and availablility in case I found my sliced drive. I didn't.

I also didn't see a javelina (wild pig) as I had seen a couple of Friday nights ago. Actually I saw two eating cacti at a friend's house. Now those are tough porkers. But there were none visible at Phantom Horse today. We didn't even see any horses today.

What my buddy, Bob and I saw was a marshall who was helpful. Many times in Arizona they drive around, stop to talk and ask you how things are going, but they rarely try to hurry up slow golfers in front of you. But today, Allen the marshall gave us mango scented cold towels to help with the 95 degree temperature. He even refreshed them once for us taking our dirty sweat soaked towels and dipping them in ice water scented with mangoes. Now that's a good marshall.

Just another reason to love the Old West.

IT'S ALL ABOUT THE SEXES

Mrs. Chicken. That's all we know her by. Foghorn Leghorn is being carried by her. Literally. How many times do the little ladies take care of us big slobs?

Just analyze the expressions. (I resisted saying foul expressions). Rooster's in trouble or plum tuckered. Whatever the reason, he can't carry on. He sorta reminds me of the la clippers trying to chase the fluid Suns around the court to stop them from burying threes last evening. Mrs. Chicken could have perhaps kept up better. What did they do with their three days off? Oh, well. At least she's there to save the day for her big guy.

In her face we can detect no anger, no pain, no disappointment in her man. She's just there to help. To serve her man the only way she knows how. Will he appreciate it? Nope. He's a man.

In his face, we can see his mouth agape. Probably in the same way he keeps her up at night with his snoring. But he's totally spent. He's oblivious to his surroundings. He's like every one of us guys without our gals. Useless.

To all the Mrs. Chickens out there--thanks. Thanks a lot. We can never repay you. We can't remember. We can't stay focused long enough. But mainly we can never admit.

GLOBAL WORMING

In yesterday's blog, I wrote of a time in 1964. Today, my focus is on 2013. Or thereabouts. At least that's when I figure global warming will have gotten a good grip on planet earth and California will have drifted into the ocean. Making Arizona a coastal state. Thus, today's picture of a Scottsdale boy enjoying a perfect day at the beach.

Do I really believe in global warming? I'm not sure. I know there are cycles and we're certainly in one now. I know the ozone layer is depleting. Or it was. I know fossil fuels hurt the atmosphere. And I know people don't care. Certainly not enough to ride mass transit or even fund monies for light rail in some communities.

I know they don't like carpooling or small cars. I know they complain about gasoline prices, yet they don't want to go to war over in the Mideast. And they don't want to drill in the USA. Even in the small, small area of the Arctic where there's lots of oil and little wildlife. And they certainly don't want George W. and Cheney's cronies to make a good profit from taking all the risks and expenses it takes to find oil.

We're a nation that loves oil but hates how we have to get it. We hate the byproducts but won't do anything to curb the usage. We talk of alternative forms of energy, but offer nothing viable or feasible as an alternative. We are a people whose minds are in one age and whose attitudes are in another.

We trust algore (former veep in case you've forgotten who claimed to have invented the internet). It seems he has a new film out about global warming. George W. is supposedly opposed to the notion of global warming. Yet his administration has spent or allocated $20 billion dollars to global warming. Much more than clinton/gore who are seen as the environmentalists.

In the day, when one of our animals started acting out of sorts, differently, we took him to the vet for a good worming. I'm not sure about global warming, but as the title of my blog suggests, there are many who seem to warrant a good global worming to get straightened out. I'd suggest we start with al.

JUST ABOUT THIS COLOR

My best man at my wedding, Russ had one of these. Maybe I better back up.

His was real. The 1964 and 1/2 Mustang. His was a three speed. It was about the color of this print.

The Summer before our Junior year of high school, he talked his parents into letting him go work in the pea factory in Rochelle, Illinois, about 3 hours north of our hometown. I couldn't talk my parents into it, so I mowed yards yet another Summer. You see, I wasn't sixteen yet and in those days with all us Boomer kids, you had to be 16 to be able to work. (So I probably couldn't have gone to Rochelle anyway(s), but parents have always served as a great outlet for assessing blame.) In fact, I used to tell our kids that if somebody wanted them to do something they didn't want to do, to fall back on the "my parents won't let me." I don't know if either ever used it, but I suspect they did.

When Russ returned from his pea factory job, just in time for football practices, he stopped by my house. In his new car. Which he had bought with his Summer job. Keep in mind that I had just finished Driver's Ed, with Mr. Lee that Summer and wouldn't get my license for practically another month. All because he had a February birthday and understanding parents. Not me, or so it seemed.

I was at his house the night before he left. He was packing his clothes and the world awaited him. All I had was Mrs Heidler's, Mrs. Fitzgerald's, my Aunt Bertha's, and a few other lawns. Also included was our own for which I didn't get paid.

Back to Russ. When he pulled up to my house in that car, I was stunned. But also he had a full beard. Also he was smoking a pipe. Man, where had my buddy gone? I was sure he had all kinds of stories, too. He was more like my dad than my best friend now. And I don't mean this to sound like The Wonder Years, but I hadn't even had my first pimple yet.

What a car! It's still one of my favorites. And it represented so much more to the fifteen year old boy. I was kinda like the kid in the picture. Russ had passed me by.