Passed Pets

By Rob Watson

This is a postscript to the stories of my pet cats, Sandy and Dusty. You may choose to read those before this.

On top of my chest-of-drawers is a shrine, of sorts, to my pets. I have a picture of each, the cremated ashes of each, a favorite toy of each, and a picture of them together. As I spent a moment there today, I began to consider their spirits.

After Sandy died, it was a long while before I could feel his spirit near me. He had died at a vet's office while Wife and I were away. I was always afraid his spirit had clung to that place. His death was an especially sad affair because I was too cheap to find him a competent vet after we moved here. Near the time of Dusty's death I began to feel Sandy's spirit around.

Dusty died in my arms. He had signaled his willingness to go when he stopped eating and drinking. Because of his fear of his regular vet, I got a stranger to come to the house to put him down. The drugs put him to sleep and he died a short while later. During this time I would pat my chest and tell him I wanted his spirit to stay with me. Whenever I think about it, I feel his spirit around me.

The legend of the Rainbow Bridge says our pets wait there for us until we pass on. They come running when they see us approaching the bridge to Heaven. If so, I expect a crowd: Prince, Tippy, Lady, Tramp, Boots, Socks, Bernard, (all my dogs) then perhaps Jasmine (put to sleep because her owners thought she bothered us) and Sandy and Dusty. Then we all cross the bridge together... if I make it to that particular bridge.

Some people think all animals have spirits. The ones who have been loved go to Rainbow Bridge. The others to their own special place. Others say animals, humans included, have neither spirit nor soul. If the former is correct, that special place must be crowded with cows, pigs, chickens, deer, etc. I don't wish to sound insensitive, but if mosquitoes have souls and spirits, I hope they all go there, not the rainbow bridge.

I speak to the spirits of my cats. Dusty liked to sit on my lap in front of the TV. He would watch programs that had action and especially liked football. Otherwise, he would nap. Today I will pat the blanket in my lap and invite his spirit to nap in his spot. Sandy's spot was the bed. He never needed an invitation. Wife or I getting into bed was all the invitation he required. When I stand before my chest-of-drawers I tell my boys I love them and miss them.

You, the reader, may have decided that I am loony... something not outside the set of possibilities. For myself, I can see me and Wife sitting on our cloud, with Sandy and Dusty in our laps, watching the world below go past. I take comfort in that vision.

Hunting Hogs In Texas, Illustrated

By Rob Watson

If you are upset or bothered by the death of animals, and pictures of them, you will not want to read this Blog.

I have hunted many animals, killed most of those that were easy to find, and just hunted the ones that were hard to find. Until now, I have not gone on a professionally organized hunt. This is the story of that hunt.

About September, I was seriously considering what hunting I should do in the Fall. In searching the internet I found a website that offered feral hog hunts for a modest sum. The offer ended that day. After a short discussion with Wife, we decided it would be an enjoyable outing, and affordable. So, I signed up. (Next day when I went back to the site, the offer ended that day instead.)

I made several phone calls to the place for various bits of information. None of which prepared me for the reception we got. Arrival time was set for 3 pm. "We will meet you at the gate." I was told. We arrived at 2:30 and were met by a 16 foot fence and a locked gate. Some other hunters drove up shortly after us, saw the locked gate, and said they were here for the second year and were going to town until the gate was opened. Wife and I decided to follow.

We drove a few miles into a beautiful little South Texas town, looked

 around a bit then headed out on the wrong road. Fortunately we had gone only a short way before I noticed the error. After some more wandering around we got back on the right road. When we got back to the ranch, it was about 3:20 and we were met by a 16 foot fence and a locked gate. After a bit I called the phone number and got a person who offered to come let me in. I was somewhat unsettled by my perception of the level of service to be received. Things got better organized after we got in.

A meeting of hunters was held when all the new hunters had arrived. we were told where to go, when to be there, and given the chance to ask questions.  We unloaded our stuff in our room, fixed our beds, and headed to supper.

The "Ranch" was one mile (1600 meters) square; the hunting lodge was in the very center. The entire ranch was fenced with the 16 ft (5m) fence. For the right price you could hunt any of the animals

there. The buffalo is the lone survivor of 8. He seemed to take an interest in the goings on, as we ate our supper in the lodge. As did the horses.

The hunting lodge was outfitted with two TVs, with cable, large comfortable recliners for the 20 hunters, a pool table and a large card table. A little rearranging could have made spacious accommodations for 50 or 60. It was decorated in a western hunting motif with huge windows on three sides.

After supper we had a two hour break before going out hunting for the first time.  This "hunt" consisted of having the guides sprinkle corn ("Deer" corn supplied by me) around an elevated hunting stand.  We drove part way then walked to the stand, climbed in, then sat there waiting for something to happen.('we' is Wife and I)

It was 7:30 pm when we sat down. Sunset was about 8:30. We were to stay until 10pm. As we sat, we discussed what we should do after

dark. (I had read about hunting feral hogs on the internet and most hog hunting was done at night.) I had brought several flash lights and we discussed keeping a light continuously on the corn (as suggested by one web site) or just lighting the area when we heard something. Eventually it was decided to just light the area when we heard something. We sat quietly waiting. It got dark, really dark! No moon dark. Then we heard the unmistakeable sound of a hog munching dried corn. It was loud and it was close.

To the surprise of us both the prearranged plan worked flawlessly. I pointed the rifle at the sound. Wife pointed the flashlight at the sky and turned it on. She brought it down slowly until it lighted the animal. Fortunately, he did not know that lights ment people and people ment danger. (Other animals were better informed, as we were to discover the next night. ) I placed the sights on the neck (so as not to ruin meat) and fired. Our victim fell over and lay still. I shot him twice more, in the head, with my pistol, to be sure.

 One of the things given us was the cell phone numbers of the guides. We called, they answered, they came and picked up our prize. The 132 pound pig was taken to the lodge area and our soon to be new best friend, Sal, skinned, dressed, butchered, and wrapped it. And, me with not a drop of, well, anything, on me. (Anyone who has cleaned anything dead, knows how that feels.)

One of the things, not given us, was how to indicate our location. The guide asked where I was... "Hell, I don't know"... "is it the blue

 blind"... "well maybe"... "We'll be right there."  Look --> does that look blue to you? (Turns out the fence, 20 feet behind me has numbers on the posts, which they told us next morning, before the stalk hunt.) I was, in fact 1/2 mile due south of the lodge and have no idea how I was found, but, We suffered no undue delays.

Actually it is sort of a mystery. I checked in with Eli, who is the only person who had a way to associate my face with my name. Cody, 

,

who spread the corn and placed us in the blind was never given my name. (I thought Eli was Brad and only learned correctly two days later. I called "Brad" and identified myself by name, to come get us and the pig... Go figure. It was the only shots fired, maybe somebody was listening.

Next morning before light, we were taken back to the same blind. Pictures of the pond, pastures, and sunrise (all the pictures, were taken by Wife) were taken then. Lots of corn still lay on the ground.

Perhaps the other animals lost their appetite after all the shooting.

We sat in the blind until breakfast. After breakfast was a rest period then the "walk and stalk" hunt until lunch and again after lunch until supper. For the walk and stalk, the 20 hunters were divided into two groups. (Here you need to picture a square clock face set at 6:00.) Our group was the small hand lined in a line toward the 6 o'clock position. We were spaced out about 30 yards (meters) apart. Our task was to sweep around, like the hand of the clock, toward the 12

o'clock position, looking for pigs to shoot. the other group was to start at the 12 o'clock position and sweep around to the 6 o'clock position. The whole arrangement was to keep the two groups from shooting each other.

Our group moved slowly and kept our alignment pretty well. We saw nothing. When we got to the 12 o'clock position, there was an hour left before lunch so we decided to continue on around, presuming the other group was now about the 6 o'clock position. When we got to

the 3 o'clock position we walked up on the other group, apparently, scattered all over the woods and blazing away at... shadows? We came to a road back to the lodge and took it.

The plan for the afternoon was like that of the morning, except, the initial position of each group was swapped. Rumor had it that there was a herd of 20 or so hogs in the area we searched in the morning. Neither I nor any of that group believed it, so we took our afternoon assignment in good heart. There were a couple of sitting positions

near where a recent flood had "compromised" the fence. I secured those for Wife and myself.

Our agreement stated we could kill a total of two pigs. We already had one. Our instructions for guarding the hole in the fence were: "Kill everything that tries to get out, even if it is 30 animals.") Not to worry. I had 4 shells for my single shot rifle, six for my pistol, and Wife had 7 for her rifle. I expected any more than a half dozen, trying to get out, would surely find their freedom.

We sat quietly for our time guarding the hole in the fence. Every once in a while we would hear a shot or shooting. Then we would see someone sneaking through the trees. Near the end of our time, a small pig came through at half speed. As I raised my rifle, Wife says, "No, don't shoot it." and I let it pass unmolested. A couple of minutes later three hunters came through, hot on the trail. After they went past, Wife says, "Well I should have let you shoot it"... well, next time. The pig drew some fire but made good it's escape.

After supper I requested the same blind we had before. By now I was certain there were few or no pigs left in the place. Corn was generously piled under the stand and across the little pond by our faithful guide Cody. Sal, the butcher, helped as none of the hunters had gotten any animals in the afternoon. Within a few minutes a herd of half a dozen elk cow looking animals came to help themselves. They noticed us in the stand and decided to eat elsewhere.

Just at 90% dark we heard the sound of hogs eating corn. It was coming from across the pond, just under the tallest tree in the picture above to the right. The phantom herd of 20 hogs had made their appearance. When I raised my rifle, half of these wisely decided to eat elsewhere as well. Through the scope I could make out a large spotted hog, but settled on a smaller one. My shot took the animal down immediately, but it was off a bit. I had ruined two perfectly good pork shoulders by hitting behind the neck.

After my phone call, Cody and Sal came to pick up the pig. It weighed 67 pounds. They gutted, skinned, quartered it, and put it in the freezer. As before, my hands were not soiled.

It should be noted that Wife is a pleasant companion. She is not, however, a killer. I was not surprised when she agreed to come on this hunt with me; but was surprised when she carried a rifle. (Sometime, a few years in the past, while we were chasing some elusive varmint through the mountains of Colorado or Wyoming, she

had declared she was done with "armed hikes".) Probably, she was recalling our last pig hunt, where she had to shoot one in self defense. (another story all together)

Wife is also a sturdy helper in the field. After the game is down she has always helped in any way necessary, usually carrying two packs and two or three guns, after lending a hand with skinning and field dressing a deer or pronghorn. This is to explain why she loved this hunt. Her hands were never soiled, and her heaviest load was her pint

bottle of water, besides the six pound rifle. She had two hikes of just over a hundred yards each and a 2 1/2 mile Stalk. No cooking, no washing dishes over campfire, a queen size bed to sleep in, no food to hide from the bears... just doing her thing: wandering around taking pictures and enjoying the scenery. Wife loved this hunt.

I can honestly say I was pleased as well. If I had more money, or were less attached to the little I do have, I would do this a lot.

The food was the weakest point. (New cook) There was plenty to eat, just not much selection. The guides were pleasant, knowledgeable, and accommodating. The butcher, and former cook, was skilled at his assigned task. All of them worked 16 hour days while we were there. When I asked, each declared he got time off and made good money, including tips. The buildings were way more than large. They were pleasingly decorated and furnished, and well designed. The only thing to keep it from being a five star hotel was, you had to handle your own bed linens and the outhouse was a separate building.

The fellow guests, as are most people, pleasant and easy going. A few were jerks. We had no problems with the groups with which we associated. The second night, a new group of hunters had come in. They spent the entire night talking loudly outside our room, instead of over in the lodge.

We had harvested our quota by the second morning and did not go to a blind. After Breakfast we socialized a bit, paid our bill, left a generous tip, picked up our packaged and frozen meat and hit the road for home. A grand time was had by all.

Two days ago we had our first rib roast, not highly seasoned, so as to determine the quality of the meat. It was great. Only 78 pounds left.

An Apology For Hunting Hogs.
Sis-in-Law, for reasons, beyond my imagination, people from all over the world read my blog. I fear some may not be entirely honest. I try to avoid identifying information on anyone. I also hope there are enough Rob, Robert, and Bob Watsons out there to make me difficult to identify, while remaining identifiable to my friends. If you re-read my Christmas story you will find yourself identified only as Sis-in-Law, your daughter as Niece, and your husband is Brother... all useful information to scammers.

As you may know, feral hogs are becoming a problem in much of the southern US. Some of them were imported for Game farms and some are regular domestic pigs that have escaped. They do a huge amount of damage to farms and crops by rooting. One place Wife and I hunted, some years ago, was covered with rooting holes three feet deep and ten to fifteen feet across… not the thing one would want in his corn field or cattle ranch.

At this "ranch" the management buys the animals from area farmers. The farmers have traps and bring the pigs to a holding pin by the main gate. All but one of the pigs we saw butchered were male. My guess is, the farmers are keeping the captured females to breed with good domestic stock, and selling the males, for which they have no use. If you look back at the picture of my pig, you will see it has almost no fat. And, unlike domestic pork which is mostly white meat, these feral pigs are mostly dark meat. (probably from having to be active to find food.)

Other farmers and ranchers with large land holdings are leasing their land out for hog hunters. It is becoming popular because it is mostly unregulated, the amount of meat a hunter gets is a lot more than one would get from a deer and, the pigs do not carry the wasting disease (Deer version of mad cow disease). Pigs are actually quite smart. When one learns about humans, it becomes very difficult to capture or kill. This "ranch" entertains about 3,000 hunters a year. Sal tells the story of one identifiable hog that survived for more than six months before someone was able to harvest it. It was black and white spotted like the one I saw on our last day hunting. (most of these animals are all black)

Graduation

Graduation.

By Rob Watson

A couple of days ago, I watched as several young people received a special blessing from the bishop in our church. As I watched, my mind drifted back to a warm evening in late spring. It was the 23rd of May 48 years ago. I was standing outside the auditorium of my high school waiting to process down the isle and be graduated.

As I stood there I knew I would change the world. I knew I knew how and I knew I would. I had already made a bet, of one case of whiskey, that I would be the first to make a million dollars… That was back when a million dollars would actually buy something… the winner was to pay the loser.

In evaluating this 48 years I can fairly claim that I have changed the world. In one sparkling instant of time, I was the instrument for changing the whole world.

I explained to a software engineer how the hardware interrupt sequence of the TI 990/12 worked to cause the computer to behave as you would have it behave. The software engineer changed the way the computer software code behaved and taught engineers at Jet Propulsion Laboratories how to install it on their computer. This computer, using this new software, received the first close up pictures of the rings of Saturn. You can look it up. Just Google Voyager 2 pictures  of Saturn's rings.

Later, recent pictures are better. (Google Cassini Saturn Photos.) But it took them nearly 30 years. And they were second behind me.

In reality this changing of the world could be pictured as two pyramids point to point with me between. The lower pyramid is of my computer instructors, science teachers, then other teachers, then parents and friends and the institutions that made my life and learning possible. The upper pyramid is the software engineer, the JPL, the astronomers, then scientists, professors and students…

Back then I saw myself as captain of my ship, navigator extraordinare. Two days ago, the whole truth made itself known to me in a flash of inspiration. We in that church, like those people waiting in that auditorium those many years ago, were casting their children upon a wild and stormy sea, in a small and leaky boat, hoping for the best.



A few quotes I picked up recently:
"You know you have hit rock bottom when the man, who hanged his predecessor in a military coup, says you have character flaws." Charlie Wilson's War

"Never argue with an idiot. The best outcome you can hope for is that you won an argument with an idiot" Anonymous

"I suffered from chronic hypochondria for years. Eventually, I went to a Naturopathologist and was cured with a course of broad spectrum placebos." M. Cullen

Self Defense is the Best Defense

By Rob Watson

DISCLAIMER: Follow these rules and suggestions at your own risk. I am not a self defense expert. To the best of my knowledge my suggestions below have been tested only once. That person violated all of the rules, save one, and is alive, well, and unharmed. ( The rule she followed was to give the target a chance to run, which he did.)

Serious emergencies have, from time to time, been a part of my life. (My stories on the Merry Bee, "Attempted Robbery", or the "Fear…" pieces being examples.) Other events, the 1956 hurricane or the 2007 Big Freeze could have been problems but were not… not that any actually ended up being harmful to me in any way… just lucky so far. It could all be summed up: I thought I was in danger but I was wrong.

My favorite pro-gun statements are: "When seconds count, Police are just minutes away." and "Gun control advocates tell you, a woman, raped and strangled with her own stockings, is somehow morally superior to one explaining to police how her attacker got his fatal wound." A case in point happened this week when a social worker returned two boys to their father. His reactions caused her to fear for the children's lives. She called 911. For various reasons the dispatcher did not think it was an emergency and notified police 20 minutes later. Any delay would have been fatal and was. The father locked the doors, cut the boys throats, and set the house on fire from the inside. While nothing could have changed this tragedy, You can hope your emergency call reaches a different dispatcher.

One night while living in a house with the bedroom in the basement, I awoke to the sounds of the floor above creaking. The creaking moved slowly as if made by someone walking slowly through the house. I drew my large magnum pistol from its place beside the bed and advanced slowly up the stairs… Rethinking this situation in later years, I have concluded I made a huge mistake. In short, seeking out trouble is surely the best way to find it. (The sounds may have been made by a resident ghost, as I never found a thing opened, unlocked, or out of place)

There is a sign, sometimes found in gun stores: "There is nothing in here worth risking your life for." Or in my case, I have nothing, except my life, and that of my wife, that I wish to put myself in danger to protect. My new plan is to move to the most defendable position in the house (woods, mountains, etc.) with my large magnum pistol in hand, and wait for the other person to seek out trouble. (The other theory here is to have a pump shotgun… the loading of a pump shotgun makes an impressive sound in a quiet room.)

Once faced with one of these situations the question becomes "who to shoot" and "when to shoot?" I began reading the news papers at an early age. A story that sticks with me was of a 12 year old girl who went outside, at night, to quiet the family dog. As she walked back to the house, her father walked out the front door and shot her with a 12 ga shotgun. Her last word were "Oh, Daddy".

Another story from only a few years ago, is of a man who lived in a dangerous neighborhood. He went to the gun store and bought a handgun for self defense. One night he heard a person walking down the hall in his home. He came out shooting and killed his 18 year old daughter. A study shows this happens about 30 times a year in the US. On the other hand, armed citizens kill about twice as many criminals  as do police. Firearms may be use as many as 1,000,000 times a year, for self defense, without being fired. (Many people secretly, really, really want to shoot a criminal. If you have that urge you need to get control of it now.)

Police, people in constant danger, kill about 300 innocent people a year. A case in point: A trucker saw a police officer being fired upon and pinned down by armed criminals. He took his large handgun and ran to "help". The officer turned, saw a man running toward him with a gun in hand, and shot him dead. Or place yourself in this picture: You hear a person trying to break in your house and you see he has a gun. You call the police and report an armed person outside your home… You frighten them off with your own gun and are standing in the yard, gun in hand, when the police arrive. The best you can hope for is to be disarmed and arrested. Or, you could become one of the 300.

My thought is, one should pre-plan one's confrontation with a dangerous person. A police officer on the Dr. Phil show recommended carrying a roll of one dollar bills wrapped in a rubber band… the bigger the better. When confronted, let the criminal see the roll, throw the roll in one direction, (preferably behind the attacker, such that he has to turn around) and run the opposite direction. they probably won't shoot. ( of the ones who shoot, a huge percentage will miss entirely. Lots of the few hits will be non disabling.) Plan B is if a person uses a firearm to try to abduct you… run!!! Being shot will certainly be preferable to what they wanted to do to you. (Every victim who has ever survived an abduction will tell you the criminal fervently promises to not harm you if you go along, and they are all LIARS)( Promises like I will kill your… wife, friend, lover, whatever… if you run, only means you will both be killed when the time comes.)

Never draw your firearm when you are within easy reach of the criminal. He will just take it away from you and shoot you with it. Run first. Then draw your weapon and fire only if necessary. I do not believe in warning shots, especially if the other person is armed.

98 percent of criminals, and other bad persons, when faced with an armed citizen, will flee if given a chance. If they are not armed, give them a chance. Shouting "RUN STUPID" may get their thinking back on track. It will save you a lot of legal problems. The other 2 percent are mentally defective. They either think you will not shoot, or they think they can take your firearm from you. If the person does not flee after a few seconds, they need to be shot… the smaller your weapon the more times they need to be shot before you stop shooting. Four bullets, center of the target will EVENTUALLY be fatal. NOBODY EVER FALLS DOWN DEAD ON THE FIRST SHOT.

As a hunter, I can assure you, unless I hit an animal in the spine or the head, it did not fall down dead… no matter how big the rifle was. Humans are the same. In combat, unless the wound is disabling, 65% of soldiers do not realize they have been hit until some time afterwards.

You should hope, along with me, that we never face an armed criminal. If my weapon is put away, there are way too many questions to be answered, if and only if there is no place to run. If my weapon is out, loaded, and safety off, and there is no place to run. My plan is to shoot first and ask questions later.

In close quarters, with no place to run, there are other considerations. Your firearm and the criminal firearm may be partly or totally disabled if either is within easy reach. Most handguns have an exposed hammer. When they are cocked, anything between that hammer and the ammunition will totally disable that firearm. They all have triggers. Revolvers and double action semi auto pistols, prior to being cocked, have the trigger in a forward position. Anything behind the trigger, inside the trigger guard, will totally disable that firearm. Also, anything covering the ejection port of a semi auto pistol will disable it after one shot. The "anything" in these cases is the hand, or parts thereof. A firm hand on the cylinder of a revolver will keep it from being cocked. If the web of that hand is down in front of the cocked hammer, your revolver has been reduced to an extraneous object.

Parts of clothing also are an excellent way to disable your own firearm. Sleeves and pockets work best if the weapon is held close to the body. Scarves, handbag straps, and other articles of clothing on or near the handgun can do the same disservice. This leads to a simple rule: When shooting someone, keep your weapon clear of your clothes and his hands.

There are non fatal means of defending ones self. Some better than others. Read my post on "Tasers Don't Work" ( On this blog, September 2011 ) Pepper spray works well on all but determined attackers, where it works not at all. I have no experience with rubber bullets but I would guess they would work only if the target was wearing light clothes, like a T-shirt and shorts. I have seen shot bags fired from shotguns. A center of mass hit was impressive. The cutest one was a net fired from a shotgun, except it needed some distance to work. But, if you are using a shotgun anyway, one of the above might encourage the target to make an exit, and still be easily followed by lethal projectile(s).

Another consideration might be, where will the bullet(s) go after being fired. 9mm and larger arms will frequently exit the other side of normal sized humans and small animals. (This is less of a problem with smaller weapons.) For clean misses off target, even a .22 rimfire will penetrate five or six layers of sheetrock and still deliver serious or fatal wounds. ( Family members in other rooms)

Glazer bullets were made to limit this problem. They become non lethal after a couple of layers of sheetrock. They also become non lethal after two layers of heavy clothes. Here shotguns have an advantage even when loaded with bird shot. Almost any bird shot will be fatal within 3-4 yards. And, at any range it will be "discouraging" to most targets.

Choice of weapons? A sharp chefs knife is very short range but easy to operate and easy to reload. (and nonfatal in all but the most energetic applications.) It will need training to be used effectively. Small caliber revolvers and semi autos .22 to .38 should hold 6 or more rounds. Five shooters do not leave much room for error. Stopping power is right up there with the chefs knife.

Semi autos are an operational nightmare… what else need I say. Yes, all the TV cops use them. But there if they screw up a scene they get a do-over. You never will.

Larger handguns are more effective with fewer hits on target. Unfortunately they are harder to control and harder with which to make hits. Shotguns lack portability, not going under the car seat or in the glove compartment. Rifles, in anything but .22 rimfire, have way too much penetration.

A friend was recently given, what I consider, a fine compromise. An N-frame, S&W, Polished stainless steel, .38 special, revolver. Smith and Wesson revolvers are among the best made. (Reliable) The N-frame is the largest they make, along with the polished stainless finish it "shows" well to those inclined to act normally when faced with a large handgun.  It can easily be mistaken for Dirty Harry's .44 magnum, "The worlds most powerful handgun". The combination of large frame and .38 Special makes the weapon easy to control, easy with which to practice, and easy to find all sorts of ammunition. The bullets are inclined to stay in the target. While not the most lethal caliber, it still has a moderate sting. The weight will make it useful, once the ammunition is expended, against genitals, knees, adams apples, and skulls. Portability lets it fit in medium size handbags, under car seats, in glove boxes, and beside the bed. No safety, just point and shoot.

On the other hand, I once saw a small revolver, painted with pink and purple teflon (To protect it from rust.)  It was very difficult to take that dangerous weapon seriously... and now manufacturers are selling handguns in designer colors. TOYS!. They look like toys! They will not inspire fear in anyone.

A good choice for home defense is the Pump shotgun, 12 or 20 either. Some are made especially for home defense. They are at the top of the reliability scale. Once loaded, it is impossible to disable them on the first shot and difficult to stop follow up shots. The only catch is the safety. In a quiet, dark, room, the sound of operating the action of a pump loudly exclaims, for all interested parties, "I have a large gun". "It is loaded". and "I know how to use it." ( Here it is best not to be between the target and the door… Target will run you over trying to get out.)

In the end, the rules are simple:

1. Ready your weapon. (loaded, cocked, safety off, clear of clothing and obstructions)
2. Identify your target. ( It is best not to shoot friends, neighbors, relatives or unarmed criminals)
3. Show your weapon to the target. (a little light helps with all of the above)
4a. If target pauses, then runs, let target go. (No blood or legal issues to clean up)
4b. If target does not run, or advances, shoot four times, center of mass. ( Target is clearly a danger )
5. If target does not go down and does not run, keep shooting until target does either.
6. After danger is past, return weapon to ready condition.
7. Call 911 or the police. ( it is best to know how and what to do here, way before step one above )
8. Return weapon to secure place. ( greeting police with gun in hand may be fatal.)

Two Dames: Katrina and Rita

By Rob Watson

Dear Student,
You should move away from the theme that wetland deterioration was a major contributing factor at the disaster in New Orleans.  Wetlands are south of New Orleans, the lake is north. For the Mississippi coast the Gulf is south. Where Katrina hit, the wind from the south hit the gulf coast and the wind from the north hit New Orleans.

This disaster was the result, first and foremost, of incredibly bad luck. Other contributing factors were poor engineering, bad government, and public apathy.

Katrina waded ashore at precisely the right point to destroy the Mississippi coast and New Orleans. The counterclockwise flow of winds rushed north across the gulf unhindered, to smash Mississippi. Then on the back side they blew south unhindered across Lake Pontchartrain to hit New Orleans. In each case the winds built up a huge storm surge and drove monster waves against everything in their path. In Mississippi they hit casinos, in barges on the coast, and homes and businesses built at the water's edge. In New Orleans they hit poorly designed seawall, that could have protected but did not.

In 1969 precisely the same thing happened. Mississippi’s casinos were destroyed but the Louisiana seawall held. I took some science students from Lake Charles through the area in the spring of 1970, on our way to see a total eclipse in Florida. Mississippi looked exactly the same both times: total devastation inland for about a half mile.

To contrast the areas in Louisiana, My sister lives north of the lake and my niece lived south. My sister had a new, well constructed house and stayed in it throughout the storm. In fact I talked to her by phone as the worst of the storm closed in. Her great fear was that the great pine trees nearby would blow over and hit her house. The wind was blowing south across land. If your trees held up you had no problems, depending on how you feel about rain driven by 120 mile per hour winds.

My Niece’s house was flooded... because the city manager ordered all the workers who operated the flood control pumps to shut them off and evacuate. Niece got 6” of water in her house. They got exactly the same thing in 1995 when another hurricane blew through. She has built a new house in Baton Rouge and moved. She says two hurricanes are enough. She lived about a mile on the dry side of one of the canals that burst a levee. We saw the area and spent a couple of nights in the French Quarter in December after Katrina. The French Quarter is on high ground beside the river. It never floods.

The city had received $500,000,000 to fix the levies. It was spent on “other” things. The state failed to ask the federal government for help and the federal government failed to ask the state if they were being stupid. (A good experianced government bureaucrat was replace by an inexperienced one when national administrations changed.)

Legend has it that the Louisiana National Guard was in the armory riding out the storm. Their goal was to be ready when the storm passed, to quickly start the recovery efforts. They had just reported all was well when someone noticed water running in under the door. All the disaster relief vehicles were flooded out. The rescuers needed rescue.

A couple of weeks later Hurricane Rita waded ashore at Sabine Pass on the Louisiana-Texas line. Here the wetlands did their job. The huge storm surge and the wind driven waves dissipated their energy on the 20 miles of swamps and wetlands south of Lake Charles. (Cameron, La was on the coast like Biloxi. It got washed away, same as happened in 1956) Tornados, which sometimes accompany hurricanes. did some damage. Trees blew down, but most things were OK.

When Rita came along shortly after Katrina, the cities, states, national government, and the people, having seen the result of stupidity, respectively did their jobs or got the hell out of the way.

Galveston was the second largest city in the US when hit by a hurricane in 1900. The city was destroyed and never recovered. They built a huge sea wall of concrete. The city fathers jacked up all that remained and filled in under it with sand. They have weathered direct hits and near misses for a hundred years without major damage. Rita repeated the lesson of 1900 for those not clever enough to learn from history. The people from Mississippi and New Orleans should take a vacation (and a lesson from) there. You should too. The beaches are great and the food is wonderful. Look for where the seawall stopped and total destruction started.

Respectfully, Mr. Watson

Track Your Age

By Rob Watson

Every time I say my age, 65, soon to be 66, it has a peculiar ring. It never seems to ring true. I have a degree in Math. I can subtract the year of my birth from this year and get 65, I can ask my wife and get 65. I can ask nearly all my class mates and get 65. Still it does not seem possible. Who knew?!

It seems that my age has always been a boon or a bane, never just an number. At the age off 10, on vacation in Colorado I got a discount on ticket prices in most places. On vacation in Hot Springs Arkansas I couldn't go into any of the auction places or the bath houses. I had to walk past the girlie shows at the state fair and wonder what went on inside. ( I finally went, It is not worth the price of admission.) At the age of 16 or so, I had to buy beer from bootleggers, or go with a friend, the son of a printer, who duplicated a draft card and filled in the necessary information. (I mean, as long as you are breaking the law, might as well go big time).

The year I turned 30, I lost track of my age. I had to count it up on my fingers or look on my driver's license, if it was important. Age and brain synchronized again at age 40, for a while. When I got to 46 I kept thinking 47. At 47 I was again lost until age 50. Except for an occasional memory laps I was able to keep track during my 50's. In here, somewhere, I became too old for a real job. I could work on the margins, doing what younger people would not... not unlike an illegal immigrant.

In my 60's things have gone smoothly, keeping track wise. I looked forward to 62, where the Government finally acknowledged I had earned some minor assistance for years of faithful citizenship. (In previous years, the government was reluctant to help during my times of need.) Now, of course, they are calling this "help" an entitlement. Well, Damned right!! I am entitled. I paid Social Security from age 12, taxes from age 21, served my time in the military in time of war, and voted in every election of every kind during my majority. Entitled? Yep!! What irritates me is when the unentitled get my taxes, and call them entitlements. (Borrowing money on the good name of my country and using it to buy votes and the good will of foreign despots, does not sit all that well either)

It is just that 65 does not seem right. The truth is, for all these years I have been looking out on the world through the eyes of a six year old. I have gained in knowledge, in experience, in maturity of thought, loved and been loved, and still... All that is new is a wonder; all that is pretty is a joy, all tragedy is a deep sadness, and all that has never been is a possibility.

The Day of The Generals

    One of the greatest good fortunes to befall me was that I was able to escape service in Viet Nam during the conflict there. This is the story of the beginnings of that fall into good luck.
    When I arrived at Bergstrom AFB in Austin, TX, less than a year into my two years, five months, and twenty one days of service in the United States Air Force, (My daddy and most others of military service were able to state their exact period of service. I wondered why until I had done mine.) I was placed on “Reserve for Overseas Duty.” That means I could be given no assignment that would keep me from serving in the Viet Nam area of military operations. Further, I learned that, we were to be shipped out to that area in the exact order in which we arrived at Bergstrom. I quickly learned the names and the order of arrival of those before me. John was the man.
    Until basic training in the Air Force I took a fairly relaxed view of working for the maximum result of any effort. Lazy, some people would call it. My GPA from high school was 2.66, from college was 2.7. My college entrance tests placed me in the top 1% of college freshmen in ability (to this point an unrealized ability. Later attempts at college would yield a 4.0 average.). Basic training gave me an attitude adjustment. The process was simple. Every positive outcome received a positive reward. Every negative outcome received a negative reward. Simple. By the time of my story I was an honor graduate of every military class and course they had given me. The key reward being I worked on aircraft cameras and control systems in a environment controlled  shop instead of the uncertain weather of the flight line outside.
    The our aircraft was an unarmed recon bird. (Unarmed, depending on how you felt about 24 200 million candle power flash cartridges.) It was also the primary mission of Bergstrom AFB. Our cameras and controls were the only mission of the our aircraft. Our shop made it all work. Our airplane could fly at 250 feet, 600 miles per hour and take two pictures of everything it passed over from any or all of six cameras.
    One day my shop chief, Master Sargent Right, asked if I would mind showing our “equipment” to some “people”. I have a touch of the showman and agreed to do the demonstrations. Three VIP’s were coming to the base and wanted to “look around”.
     My companion for these adventures was a jet engine mechanic. He was of insignificant rank, like myself. In the future we would meet several times as our "Dog and Pony" show became a feature event for those visiting the base. As you will understand later, the leadership had good reason.
    The first of our distinguished guests was the Assistant Secretary of the Air Force. His position was only 5 or 6 steps down from the President of the US, and way above any officer on the base. He was led around by the base commander, a two star general, and our squadron commander, a light colonel. Mr. Secretary was in his early forties, average height and build, and dressed in a suit. He showed no particular interest in us or our airplane, but was polite and listened quietly as I and my companion talked about our equipment. They moved on after a cursory look around the plane.
    The second of our distinguished guests was Vice Commander of Allied Troops in Europe.  This man was covered in gold decorations and lots of colorful ribbons. He may have been English. His was an amazing entourage. He was guided by a man in a uniform that I did not recognize( or I simply did not look). Behind them was a row of half a dozen or so four star generals. Behind these was a row of half a dozen or so three star generals, Then a row of two star generals, including our base commander. A row of one star generals followed the two star row then a row of full colonels. Behind this platoon of generals was a handsome young lieutenant, the head man's aid. At this late date, I have to say I do not remember even thinking of saluting any of these men.
    The Vice Commander was a pleasant and personable man. He appeared to be interested; listened, asked questions, then moved on. The entourage shuffled past as if we did not exist. The aid, however paused. He seemed interested. He listened. He lingered. We asked if he wanted to see more. A polite "Yes" caused me to stand him in the camera bay and show where the cameras and controls were positioned and describe other features of our capabilities. The engine guy put him in the cockpit and showed him the operational controls of the aircraft. After his tour, the lieutenant thanked us and walked purposefully after the crowd.
    Our third visitor was an Army General, with four stars. The story we heard later was that he was retiring and this visit was his last hoorah. He was delayed and the weather turned cold and misted rain. My companion and I moved under the aircraft to stay dry. After a while, an officer approached us from the pilots' ready room that was a short distance away. He offered us shelter therein. This building was occupied by a number of officers in uniform and pilots in flight suits. I still do not remember any saluting. We waited for two hours. Finally a call came in and we were hustled out to the plane where we assumed our position, in the rain and wind, beside our covered equipment. After a wait of several more minutes two cars with flags on the bumpers pulled up on the street, about 50 feet away. The general was distinguishable because of his army green uniform. He looked at us through the rain spotted window, listened to someone in the car for a few seconds, waved and was driven on.
    At some point in these exercises I lost my fear of officers. The Vice Commander was, no doubt, the keystone of this change. After this, officers were just people. From time to time I was stopped and addressed by one who angrily demanded to be saluted, but for the most part, if I was paying attention, I delivered a proper salute. If not, they walked past un-noticed and unconcerned.
    The pot of gold at the end of this rainbow was a letter delivered a few weeks later, under the letterhead of the Vice Commander of Allied Troops in Europe. It was addressed to the Base Commander, (remember the two star in the forth row) and copied the wing commander (the full colonel in the last row) . It was a glowing compliment of the two "troops" who showed the aircraft. It was endorsed by every officer and non-com in my chain of command. I have my copy somewhere.
    From that time on, my companion and I met every VIP to visit the base. I was asked what could make the display of equipment better and was given the materials to put on a first class "Dog and Pony" show. My Squadron Commander nominated me and I was awarded Airman of the Year for Bergstrom AFB, that year. Got my picture in the base paper.
    One day, John, the man ahead of me in line for Southeast Asia, got his orders. I could see the bullseye on my chest. I would be the next to go.
    Miracle of miracles, I was taken off "Reserve for Overseas Duty". How? Why? Completely unanswered. But, not unnoticed. I began looking for a way out. The Arkansas Air National Guard needed people with my skills. I called and set up an interview.
    At the ANG Shop I was greeted by a master sargent. He had been seated at a test bench working one of my boxes. After introductions he says "Hey, you are supposed to be an expert, tell me what is wrong with this box." This could have been a tricky question on that particular box, but after his description of the problem, I knew it was going to be an easy fix. I put my finger on a transistor and told him it was his problem. "Yes, but that transistor tests good" "Yes, that is how you know it is bad, change it and the board will work."
    I was led to the Squadron Commander's office. After several minutes of chatting, the door opened and the sargent poked his head in and said "Get him, he fixed THAT box!"I was given the paper work to cause my transfer to the Arkansas ANG.
    Now I had to get my squadron commander's permission to go.  I remember saluting this time. Colonel, was a rather pleasant black man, educated and well spoken. Unusual on all points, at that time in the military. I described my request and handed him my paper work. After several thoughtful minutes, he said "I am not in the habit of giving away my best troops." "Colonel, it won't matter. I am next up for transfer to Viet Nam." After more thoughtful minutes he said "I will have to give this more thought" and dismissed me. Salute. A week later he approached me at a local high school football game. We were both in civies. No Salute. "I will be sorry to lose you. I have signed your transfer papers and turned them in. You should get orders shortly." I thanked him. The orders came a week or so later. John was about to leave for his tour and made me a good price for his car.
    A lot of people think the tale of Guardian Angels is a story for children, to make them feel safe. I think I have a darn fine Guardian Angel.