about not giving up. How losing breeds losing. How we must fight in April to prepare for Nov. oh--you prefaced that with first shipping Walt's ass outta here. oh well, see if you can still muster up an anti-tanking speech one more time.
<font = X2><center>"Ol' Bo and My Grandad"</font></center> He was a mangy old dog, and it was a cold, wet and a dreary dark morning. My grandad and I rousted him from his comfy flop in front of the fire and called him to do battle one last time, before the good Lord and other authorities made bird season closed for the year. He knew his duty. Knew the chore.He tried to sprint ahead and enthusiastically wag his flea-bitten old tail. Tried to show a long forgotten "run of the hounds" eagerness for his master Grandad and his fulltime pal .... but .... well ol' Bo just didn't have it in him anymore. Regardless of the success of the hunt, he always showed the will to compete. But now he had lost that edge to win. The spirit to excell for no other reason than to try. Just couldn't quite get the knack of spontaneously putting one paw in front of the other in succession. So Granddad stopped in his tracks, gave me a sidelong glance, and a tear slowly rolled down that crusty old man's furrowed cheek ...... his eyes brightened for a brief second, then he aimed dead center and blew that puppy's brains all over the backyard. The sound was still echoing accross the acres of our family holdings as he let out a very tired, almost breathless but audible sigh. "It just pisses me off when dogs just won't hunt no more" said my earth grown grandfather. "Just a waste of a perfectly fine day, to have a dog that doesn't have enough sense to get up and hunt. 'Cause he knowed I'd a killed him .... that son-a-b**** ..... the first day he started lagging a hindend." Good thing Grandad is not a Rocket fan. (From my memoirs ... popeye)
