Why I love Texas reason #573:
I was talking to a friend who has a house on a lake here in Texas where she goes on weekends and vacations. Things are more laid-back and loosey-goosey out that way, and in truth, one sees a lot more rough-around-the-edges folk in such places, but it's nice to get out of the big city to a place where things are a little more countrified and a little slower paced.
However, there are some assholey neighbors at the lake who are determined to be a fly in the ointment. One in particular is an older white-trash single lady (cigarette spit-dried and permanently dangling from the bottom lip) who has a pack of dogs she allows to run rough-shod all over the place. They run into the road and attack cars, and have tried to run into my friend's house. The leader of the pack is a pit bull with a gaping maw like the lid on a grand piano. People are scared of this, and have complained to the sheriff, and of course she's denied it was her dogs causing the uproar.
Last week, another neighbor was driving to his lake house on his motorcycle and the pit bull ran up and attacked him, causing him to wreck and break his leg. The sheriff, God bless him, told the guy next time to just haul off and shoot the rotten cur.
I call that a beautiful thing.
So, let's talk about ME for a while. Or someone who made me possible, anyhoo.
My mom and pop came over today after church and we grilled parmesan chicken (I'll give you the recipe I just made up - it's toe-curling) and we were all in the pool this afternoon, talking and laughing. I told my dad I'm going in a couple weeks up to Arkansas to see my grandpa (his dad, husband of the grandma I lost in April) who's been pretty feeble lately. He told me while I'm up there I need to get him to tell me about his granddad, my Great-Great Grandpa Harvey Smith.
Harvey fought in the American Civil War. Of course, he fought for the Confederacy, some of the time under the leadership of Major General Sterling Price.
Dad said all the officers rode horses, but there was this one crazed wild beast of a horse that no one could break, so Harvey asked them to let him have a crack at it. He broke the horse, but apparently was the only one who could ride the horse. When "charge!" was sounded, this horse would run like hell for the opposite side of the battlefield, leaving the other horses in the dust.
At last in one battle, the opposition shot the horse out from under Harvey and he was going to fall back to the foot soldiers, but he remembered he had a length of cloth for his wife tied to his saddle. Bullets whizzing around him, he fiddled with the knots and couldn't get the cloth free. Finally he decided it wasn't worth it and high-tailed it back to the line. He wasn't shot, but after the battle was over, he counted seven bullet holes in his clothing, and nary a scratch on his person.
Yeah, that sounds about par for the grit and tenacity of folks in my family. I'm sure I'll have more stories then. I could fill a book just about Grandpa alone, actually.