The Skyline Newspaper

Cartoon: Created and Designed by Jonathan Smith, Sul Ross Senior

Another Dogged and Determined Story

Steve Lang
News and Publications

How come your dog don't bite anybody but me?" - Anonymous

A pheasant hunting trip to Perryton, Texas, over the holiday break gave me everything Minnesota offers while spending less than half the time on the road.

I found pheasants, snow, helped dig out a buried vehicle, enjoyed outdoor barbecuing, sustained cold feet, wet clothes, and was accompanied by a dog who switched her loyalties - if only temporarily.

I determined the pheasants may be slightly smaller than their Upper Midwest relatives, explaining in part my frequent misses.

However, the old traditions of hiking through the fields, watching nervous birds take hasty flight out of gun range, good-natured ribbing on missed opportunities, praising a fellow hunters' dog(s) and general camaraderie were quickly renewed.

Sandy, my Texas-born black Lab, also enjoyed her first Texas hunt, not counting the slow-winged doves that she corralled in the backyard during the past nine years.

After a few wild romps through cotton and milo fields, ahead of gun range and out of earshot, she calmed down and quickly became an ally of the Brads Butler and Woodward.

Occasional chunks of beef jerky quickened the loyalty.

When Sandy retrieved Brad Woodward's first-ever pheasant, the praise began. When she tracked down a pair of Brad Butler's hits, including one wounded and on the run, you could almost see her ears cock, awaiting the accolades.

Finally, Sandy worked the knee-high CRP grass in front of me, nosing back and forth in tight circles until she drew into a semi-point.

"Get him!" I hissed, getting into position to shoot.

Sandy took me literally, pounced and caught another cock pheasant before it could fly.

I took the bird from her mouth, praised her abundantly, then watched as she looked at me quizzically, as if to say, "So, where's my jerky?"

She settled for a left-over pork chop when we headed back to camp.

On the ride back to Lubbock, Sandy consistently rested her head on either Brads' shoulders, ignoring my commands to sit quietly in the back seat alongside me.

"I've got to get me one of these," Brad Woodward noted, gently patting Sandy's head and reaching for more snacks to feed her.

Arriving back in Alpine, I raved about Sandy's in-the-field adventures to Clarissa, who shook her head knowingly.

"Good thing I was here to toss her those tennis balls," she said, giving Sandy another pat on the head and handing her a dog biscuit.

I nodded, keeping in mind the proverb, "let another man praise your dog and not you." Then I trotted Sandy into her quarters and headed off to complete some errands.

When I returned home, it was dark. I pulled into the driveway, shut off the lights and stepped outside the car.

A menacing growl, then agitated barking greeted me.

Standing inside the fence 15 feet away was my own dog, warning the neighborhood of a trespasser.

"Sandy! It's me!" I pleaded.

"Growf!" she responded, loosely interpreted as "Let's see some ID."

"Cut it out!" I barked, and she sniffed the air as if to say, "Yeah, it is you."

Loyalty, as I noted, can be fleeting. At least I was spared the indignity of a former neighbor whose dog not only barked at him, but moved out of the house.

The neighbor's dog, a little black mutt named Snooper, enjoyed Sid's company on the weekends from spring to fall, as Sid worked on the railroad and was gone Monday-Friday.

Winter meant a three-month layoff, though, and familiarity bred contempt. Sid enjoyed his beer to excess, at least in Snooper's opinion. One day, when Sid and Snooper walked through the alley to visit an old friend, Snooper stayed in the friend's trailer.

"I'll get him tomorrow," Sid mumbled, stumbling home.

Tomorrow arrived about three months later.

Snooper spent the winter in Hank's trailer, faithfully reminding his new master when his old one approached.

When spring arrived, Sid went back on the rails and Snooper went home.

As a precaution, my New Year's resolution entails doubling Sandy's daily dog treat ration.

Steve Lang thanks Brad, Brad, Ben and Blake for a pleasant pheasant hunt.

Alcohol Dose

Nurse John Hughes
Guest Columnist

When warned of the dangers of alcohol misuse and abuse, the gray matter occasionally goes through a rapid cooling process. This phenomenon is the result of synaptic icing from repetitive reminders. It is easily identified by frozen facial features accompanied by frosted cornea.

I've personally witnessed this scenario while talking about substance abuse. If you're prone to this type of temporary vision loss, allow me to help clear away the fog.

All kidding and legalities aside, alcoholic beverages should be viewed the same as any other drug. Does this mean alcohol may be substituted for medication when treating illness? Absolutely not!

What it does mean is that dosage matters. A person's physical size, liver function, and metabolism determine a drug's concentration in the body's tissues. These are some of the criteria that pharmacists and physicians look at when calculating medication dosages. They're fully aware that most drugs are poisons that have been scientifically evaluated to offer some benefit in carefully measured trace amounts.

Step beyond this safe level and you'll quickly learn how injurious such toxins can be, if you survive. Alcohol is no different. When deciding to partake of spirits or brew, calories are the last thing you should be worried about. The main consideration is the dosage of alcohol.

Contrary to popular belief, drinking to get drunk is a careless and dangerous act that does not lead to having fun. If alcohol is being served, thaw those synaptic gaps and be mindful of your intake. Good times are to be enjoyed, not destroyed. Therefore, avoid the hurt by staying alert.

Here's to good health.

Letter to the Editor

Dear Editor,

I just read David Johnson's article about Sul Ross ("Sul Ross Is What It Is, Which is Pretty Good," Dec. 06, 2007) and I just wanted to take the opportunity to say thank you. While it feels like I was at Sul Ross a million years ago, I earned my bachelor's degree in 1992 and my master's degree in 1995, I remember the same criticisms he cited in his article floating around the campus all those years ago.

While Sul Ross is indeed isolated, I always thought that there was plenty to do to keep me occupied. And that was before you had the kind of entertainment and programs that find their way to Sul Ross these days.

The truth of the matter is that, whether you're talking about a college experience, a job, or even a vacation gone wrong, life is what you make it. With that in mind, it's my feeling that the folks who complain about Sul Ross the most would find something wrong with any college campus on the planet. There are things that a college student can't experience while attending college at Sul Ross State University, but, by the same token, there are things that a college student can experience at Sul Ross that can't be experienced any place else.

Thank You,

Billy Branch, Proud Sul Ross Alumni, BA 92, MA 95