Baker's Branch

We like dogs out here on the Branch. They're buried all over the place. Most of them by me, but not all of them. The last two were buried by friends, right out there in back with all the others. I showed them where to dig so as not to dig into one of the others. There's that many. Jeeminy Christmas, it'd be hard for me to count them all up. I'm not going to try. I can tell you the different breeds easier. Poodles, Schnauzers, Beagles, Chessies, Labs (God's gift to dogdom), German Shepherds, two or three mutts, Airedales (great dogs), but, surprisingly, no bird dogs. Not out here; in town, yes. I owned a beautiful white and orange ticked English Setter for two days somebody abandoned out here at the end of our dead end street. Rather than have it impounded, I called my plumber, the quail hunter, told him what I had, and years later he told me it was one of the best dogs he ever owned. No discount on the plumbing. I changed plumbe

                        I'm a simple man. Tomorrow's a holiday. I will baste and roast a rack of baby back ribs. Pam will make scalloped potatoes, lot's of cheese, and fix a nice mixed green salad, but it's not necessary. I have gotten by on less, on purpose, when I had far and away more sumptuous choices.         For years I did a ton of my hunting and fishing out of the back of my pickup camper shell. Where the sun went down, so did I, and started fixing supper in red sunsets with coyote music and owl hoots piped in. In that camper shell was a medium-sized ice chest with cold milk, a jug of orange juice, eggs, link sausage, and various selections of frozen-hard red meat; steaks, pork chops and such that thawed as the trip progressed and helped keep the milk and juice cold, saving on ice miles from any. One night I'd eat a rib-eye. Next night maybe a pork chop. Then maybe a t-bone.         Whoever was with me ate the same. Ask Rick Shavney, Dave Hl