West River Nathaniel No Fear, a fine rough collie dog lies at sentinel under the Scottish harebells. He patrols the morning and the evening and sleeps outside, under the west windows. He, the "neighborhood ambassador" keeps watch. Fox and coyote, feral dog and feral cat are all greeted with a sharp bark. Any wayward and unknown human is greeted with the same.
He is a Watchman, bred by the Scots-Irish Celts, a breed of herdsmen and hunters, readers of the sun and moon and stars.
Nate is 13 years old. That is old for his breed, given his history. 'Tis tangential. Suffice it to say thus....Nate has been well loved and well received here in these North-west Denver Highlands.
I plant gardens. Flowers for the lady fair, she who tore up roots and family to join me here some fourteen years ago. A Scots-Irish lass her own self...more Scot than I.
And we share history from the Plymouth Colony.
The only reason it makes a tinker's damn is this:
Our beloved country is being overtaken by those who would impose new and heinous iterations of the failed, Socialist Democratic and Communist regimes which our fathers and grandfathers fought and died to defeat.
In defiance, I grow flowers to show them who would tether us and kill our spirits. Joy and hope and the knowledge that we are truly free can never be taken from us.
It is why I grow a garden filled with flowers and greens and herbs.
It is why I encourage sunflowers and wild greens to grow. It is why I stand in awe every morning, thanking God for the beauty of one rose,.
Brigid over at http://mausersandmuffins.blogspot.com/ commented on an old post wherein I spoke about my favorite sidearm, a Smith&Wesson, mod.29, "N" frame revolver chambered in .357 Mag. In a serendipitous moment, an old friend of mine called to ask me about her grandfather's wheelgun.