“You only
get one good dog in your lifetime,” Steve said
matter-of-factly. Mine was Gus.
I acquired Gus about the same time I purchased our
family homestead in Wyoming. If I was back in the
cow business it was only fitting I have a cow dog,
so I searched the classifieds of Agri-News and
picked Gus from a litter in Fergus County.
Just like everyone’s dog, Gus was the smartest thing
around. As I spent 90 percent of my time as a
veterinarian and only 10 percent as a cowboy, Gus
was more of a veterinary assistant than a cow dog.
Oh sure, he could chase cows out of the timber, but
as far as he was concerned, his main purpose in life
was just riding along in the cab of my pickup on
farm calls. It didn’t matter if it was three in the
afternoon or three in the morning, he was just happy
to go. I miss that dog.
Again, just like everyone’s dog, Gus had one
drawback; he was a fear-biter. He was strongly
bonded to me, my family, my staff, everyone he
recognized, and small children; it was the other 99
percent of Yellowstone County he didn’t particularly
care for. As veterinary medicine operates on
free-market principles and hasn’t been infected with
government programs like Medicare and Medicaid,
veterinarians have direct responsibility to the
person that is requesting our service and paying the
bill. Gus never understood that and he
indiscriminately bit both friend and foe.
One cold November morning, Gus and I headed out to
preg-check a small herd of cows. As happens
occasionally, farmer Frank was ready for me, if you
consider “the cows are just down in the meadow; it
will only take a couple minutes to gather them,” as
being ready. With no other option and a very tight
schedule, Gus and I drove through the corral into
the meadow to begin gathering cows. I circled to the
far end and started these Limousine mommas up the
draw toward the barn. They were a high-headed bunch
unaccustomed to cow dogs, so I told Gus to stay in
the pickup.
About the third time the cows ducked the gate and
sucked back down the brushy draw, I abandoned my
pickup and took off on foot. (This was another of
the times where I was glad I was a runner.) On the
fourth pass, the leads took the gate and ran into
the corral.
Glancing at my watch I thought, “I can get back on
schedule if I hustle.” I looked a half-mile down the
meadow to where Gus and my pickup were parked and
spotted farmer Frank walking towards the driver’s
door. He intended to drive my pickup to the corral.
I understood that; Gus didn’t.
Frank jerked the door open, jumped behind the wheel,
and then slammed the door. In the split-second it
would take a 30 pound Australian Shepherd to jump
from the back seat to the front seat, Frank kicked
the door open, and jumped back out in the meadow.
Frank momentarily stared in the cab and then very
cautiously eased behind the wheel. Although the
distance was too great for me to hear all he was
saying, I think Frank was sweet talking Gus in a
manner typically reserved for his trophy wife. With
the pickup door wide open, his right butt cheek in
the driver’s seat and his left cheek suspended in
mid air, Frank slowly drove up the meadow. Gus sat
in the passenger seat, stared at Frank, and grinned.
He loved being a veterinary assistant.
I told you that dog biting story to make the analogy
to another dog story; the blue-dog Democrat. I have
heard folklore about the existence of conservative
blue-dog Democrats, but after serving two
legislative sessions I think they are a hoax similar
to Bigfoot in the Pacific Northwest, or the Little
People of Montana’s Pryor Mountains. Just as Gus was
programmed as a fear-biter, politicians on the left
side of the aisle are programmed to advance
socialism. It is as simple at that.
Today, the socialists (although they prefer to call
themselves “progressives”) control the Whitehouse;
they have a 30 vote majority in the House and a
filibuster proof 61 votes in the Senate. Misdirected
by hope and change, America is about to be swept out
to sea by the socialist tsunami of Obama-Care and
Cap-and-Trade regulation.
Both these bills, just like every socialist program
since 1937, have the common thread of instituting
massive tax increases on America’s workers and
redistributing those dollars to those who chose
dependency over self-reliance. That is a fact. As
tax increases consume business profits, unemployment
will skyrocket creating even greater dependency on
government aid. That too, is a fact.
Freedom loving Americans can call, write, fax, or
e-mail your disapproval to your Congressman or
Senator but your pleas will fall on deaf ears.
Montana’s Senators are pro-gun, blue-dogs only in
the six months preceding an election and both their
re-elections are in the distant future. You can no
more expect them or other blue-dogs to break party
ranks and vote these socialist policies down than
you could expect Gus to welcome a stranger behind
the steering wheel of his pickup.
The solution, my freedom loving friends, lies with
you. It will be your state senator or representative
that will carry the state’s rights banner into the
battle to nullify this unconstitutional reach of the
federal government. If your district has solid
conservative representation, then help your neighbor
throw his progressive legislator into the political
dumpster. (That sounds harsh, but that is exactly
what the progressives are attempting to do to
conservatives.) You be the one that makes the
difference!
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