Bros, Souls, Family Adventures and Splitting Wedges

    "When it pours lemons, you just have to make lemonade!" my ever famous quote that I am yelling at my buddy Jeff in the rain as we are riding the soulful red peanut butter muddy roads of Stillwater, Oklahoma.  We are in the Mid South 100 and the rain started the night before completely saturating the area's country gravel roads.  The tires of the other bike riders in front of us are picking up the red clay and splattering it behind them for 15 yards covering Jeff and I from head to toe in the sticky mud.  The race had just started.  We had a 100 miles to ride that day and boy was it going to be an adventure!  We were going to cuss, it was going to break our souls, and we will probably sign up again the next year.

    I can remember another adventure, it was just my oldest brother Trevor and I and we were backpacking the Comanche Peak Wilderness in Northern Colorado.  We had just climbed up over a mountain pass with elevations of over 11,000 feet and a trail that climbed to the sky without a single switch back to give you relief.  We were on day two of a 20+ mile loop. For more than an hour, we couldn't see the top of the mountain nor the bottom.  You felt like you were climbing from the depths of Hell to the Heavens above.   The trail was more than strenuous.  We would stop, take our packs off, the sweat beading off our faces and stare at each other both wondering if the other one was going to break.  We would grab a few swigs of water and pant in the thin mountain air only to throw our packs back on and climb some more.  We finally summited the pass.  The views were extraordinary and we could see for miles with snow covered peaks all around us.  Our final destination was Brown Lake but unbeknownst to us this region was a "high use" area in the Wilderness with designated camp sites.  As we hiked by each site with tents sent up and other backpackers that had hiked in just a few miles from the opposite direction that we had came, we began to realize there may not be room for us.  With each occupied campsite, I could slowly see a splitting wedge being hammered into my brother Trevor's soul.  He began to describe the trail with four letter words, muttering to himself...  When we finally reached the last designated campsite on Brown Lake with tents setup and smiling, lazy backpackers that had an easy walk in from the trailhead, the wedge was hit with the last hammering blow breaking my brother's soul completely in half.  He was done and so was I.  We had hiked from the depths of Hell to the Heavens above and we were owed a campsite.  At this point, my brother began describing the trail, the weather, the Wilderness, the other backpackers with very elaborate and descriptive four letter words.  There was no stopping him.  He renamed every plant, every rock, every person, the wind, the weather in a fashion that could make a sailor blush.  I got out the map and laid it out...  Our best bet was to hike to Comanche Lake.  "How frickin far is that?!" Trevor demanded...his soul in pieces at this point from the long day on the trail.  "A little over two miles" I replied.  The ear burning descriptive rants continued...

    I am always looking at the next trip, the next adventure...  Trying to conjure a way to make something that could be so simple into an all day or multiple day affair.  I want something that feeds my soul and makes me hurt.  I want to sweat and feel like I ran a marathon when it is all done.  This is all fine when I talk my buddy Jeff into joining me or my brother Trevor into it.  At the end of the day or the end of the trip, I can give them a fist bump and a smile.."That was awesome man!".  They smile back, we joke and laugh at how miserable it was at times.  How the mud or the trail was seriously going to be the end of us.  We then get in our vehicles and go our separate ways and on to our separate lives..  It's different when you talk your family into it though.  At the end of the day, there is no separate vehicles and separate lives.  At the end of the trip, you have to hope that the adventure didn't become the wedge that split your family and not just someone's soul.  At the end of the trip you just hope your marriage survives and your kids still love you.  Planning a family adventure is different... at the end of the trip, you still have to live with these people.

    It was our first backpacking trip as a family.  Liz had taken a 13 year break since Addison was born.  We had done a few trips together, in our younger years as empty nesters.  It seemed to work well for us, maybe because we were still "honeymooners" in awe of each other and possibly still trying to make a positive impression on the other.  I usually went on at least a yearly trip after Addison was born with my brother Trevor and possibly my brother in laws.  Those trips kept me seasoned, gave me a true perspective and realistic expectations of the work involved in carrying several days worth of gear and food to the top of a mountain...  Over the years, Liz had become our Alpha.  I think it is the country bred deep into her ranching genes.  She isn't afraid to speak her mind..definitely isn't afraid of telling someone where they can put it and when you are married to her, well you definitely get the "non sugar coated" version of everything.  I knew she was nervous.  I was only expecting her to carry a heavy pack up endless switchbacks of relentless elevation gains to get to our destination only to be fed to swarms of mosquitoes for days on end and somehow believe it is to fill your soul with utter happiness..a simple expectation of all wives in America.  I had fretted, sweated and meticulously packed everyone's backpack.  I was bearing the heaviest load which would hopefully save on everyone else not just physically, but mentally too.  My biggest contemplation was where to put the second and largest bear canister.  I couldn't get it to fit in my backpack, so I put it in Liz's, reassuring her it wasn't heavy.  That bear canister...became our splitting wedge.

    "What the hell is in that bear canister?" Liz demanded after the first set of switchbacks and not even a mile on the trail.  "Food" I replied trying hard to not be rhetorical and answer the question as sincerely and truthfully as possible.  Her sunglasses were on but I could still read her eyes.  When you have been married to someone for over 15 years, you just know the "looks".  You know their smiles, when they are faking and when they are sincere.  You see certain expressions and your survival instincts kick in helping guide you through the situation.  With Liz, it is her eyes and her eyebrows.  I know the look well.  It is the look of pure demonic possession and it is only remedied by coffee in the morning.  This was past morning coffee and now, we were just going to have to get through this.  "Let me carry the canister." I said with as fake of a sincere smile I could muster.  "You touch my pack and I will hurt you!" Liz replied...her country pride not allowing her to show her fatigue.  When a ranch girl says "hurt", well a hurting is what they are going to do.  On we trudged.  The girls could feel the tension of the splitting wedge and knew that silence was their only hope.

    A few more wooded miles passed.  The climb was relentless and only four and a half miles I kept saying.  I could see the patience starting to fade in Liz.  She was beginning to swat at the flies irrationally.  It was about lunch time and the flies were hungry too biting through the thin clothes and any naked flesh exposed to the environment.  I knew the anger and anxiety was starting to build in her and burn at her chest.  Looking back, the bear canister and food was too much for her.  The pack was weighing on her lower back and the altitude was beginning to build in her stomach.  I should have known better, but Liz and I were trying to carry the extra weight for the girls.  The goal was the lake at the end of the trail and then we have four blissful days to enjoy our solitude.

    We finally made it to the crest of the climb.  It was four miles of continuous climbing and the last half mile looked to be an easy coast into the campsite.  Liz had her pack off and she was on the side of the trail taking deep breaths.  I knew the altitude was getting the best of her.  I hurried up and pushed through the next half mile or so with my pack, dropped it on the side of the trail and hurriedly walked back to Liz and the girls.  I grabbed Liz's pack and heaved it on my back and gave her the head nudge of "let's go, we are almost there".  Her pride no longer had feelings.  It was tired and now the altitude was making her stomach gurgle.  We made it the last little bit into camp as a group.  I instantly went to work setting up Liz's camp chair and "politely" asked her to sit down.  She was broken by this point having no fight left in her.  She sat and I silently went to work setting up camp.  The girls left to go explore the lake knowing that was their sanctuary for the time being.  I watched Liz, quietly, out of the corner of my eye as I worked on the tent, careful to not ask how she was.  Within a few minutes, she slowly got up, softly walked into the woods as to not get my attention and heaved everything she had in her stomach out.  Altitude sickness.  It's nothing new to her, she has worked through it before...and she didn't need me asking her and reminding her of her weak stomach.  We never spoke about it the rest of the trip.  Country pride....

    We were able to get some fishing in that evening before heading to bed.  Alani is my fisherman.  She can patiently sit on a rock watching the fly, slowly turning my reel into a birds nest as she lackadaisically cranks on the arm winding the line back in.  I quite often wonder what my purpose is in this life, but at that moment and that time, I knew I was supposed to be there, sorting out the mess she made and enjoying the mountain lake views right next to her.

     I would like to tell you that the rest of the weekend was perfect, in some senses it was, but we were still in the wild and still exposed to the elements.  We had a hike of some sort planned for each day.  A way to wander from camp and explore the wilderness that we decided to immerse ourselves in.  There were plenty of waterfalls to see, lakes to try to hike too, but most of all just enjoying our time as a family.  It's different when you are truly alone.  You wake when it is light, go to bed when it is dark and eat when you are hungry.  We were no longer a slave to time, dictating our day and lives.  We were only commanded by the elements... When it rained, we seeked shelter, when it was cold, we seeked warmth. Simplistic, sometimes the way I believe life was truly supposed to be.

    It was finally day 4 and our trip was done.  The girls had been planning their celebratory meal once we hiked off the mountain and back to civilization.  They had dreamed of fresh fruit and waffles with plenty of whip cream and syrup to drizzle over the top for a couple of days.  It was a fair trade, four days in the mountains eating handfuls of trail mix, granola and dehydrated meals cooked with a pot of boiling water.  Thankfully most of the food had been ate.  The splitting wedge of our first day was lighter.  I slipped it into Liz's backpack with a grin.  I smiled at her and asked, "Are you ready for the five day backpacking trip next month?!"  "Give me a week and we will talk about it." She replied with a smile.  We were happy, ours souls had been filled and we were ready for waffles and whip cream at the nearest Egg and I.  

"A man on foot, on horseback or on a bicycle will see more, feel more, enjoy more in one mile than the motorized tourists can in a hundred miles"

-Edward Abbey

    

    

    

Finding Her Grit

    I can still remember the day Addison found her grit.  We weren't even in mile two of a four day backpacking trip in the Colorado Wilderness... Addison was on the side of the trail puking.  Now, I don't remember if I was holding her hair back or standing next to my brother watching her like a deer in the headlights, shocked and wondering what I had gotten us into.  I knelt next to her and told her she had altitude sickness and that was it, we couldn't go on.  I could tell right away this was a disappointment to Addison.  I could see the tears begin to build as she fought to hold them back.  We had already made sacrifices for this trip.  We had slept in the back of the van the night before at the trailhead so we could get an early start hiking the next morning.  We had spent weeks getting a nine year old outfitted for a 10 mile hike into the backcountry only to setup a basecamp and hike even more.  Now that the day was here, altitude sickness had snuck up on her like it does for many "flatlanders" possibly ending our trip..  As she began to cry, Addison looked at me with a stern face and said "No, I can do it Dad!"  I began to explain to her that it was alright, when hiking in the backcountry, a person needed to know their limitations and this was one of them.  With every step we took up the mountain, it was that much farther away from the trailhead, that much farther from our transportation and ultimately, that much farther from any type of emergency facilities.  At this point, I could see the fire starting to burn in her eyes.  The fire of grit and ambition.  The fire that drives people to run marathons, carry people out of burning buildings, the fire that makes people do miraculous things...  She was nine and the fire was burning bright.  "We drove all the way out here Dad, I can make it!" Addison told me with as much confidence and sincerity a nine year old could have.  I stood up, looked at my brother Trevor, I think his eyes were as big as mine.  He knew very well the risks we were taking by walking farther into the Wilderness.  People have had to get flown out by rescue helicopters due to altitude sickness, which almost always leads into other problems..  I knew this was a fire that needed to be kindled, it was delicate and if we fed it right, Addison could find her grit and realize, she could do miraculous things in life...

    As we trudged up the mountain, I thought about those Dads that lead their families into danger, lacking common sense to know and understand when to stop.  At that moment, I was that Dad.  I took Addison's pack off her back and carried it like a purse while carrying my own.  In the other hand, I held a water bottle and made her drink a little every time we took a short break to ward off dehydration which is always the dirty little minion that follows altitude sickness around.  I could tell she was struggling, more than likely suffering from a headache, which is one of the many wicked symptoms of altitude sickness.  We had started early and we had all day to make the 10 mile hike into the lake that was to be our destination.  Trevor and I had been whispering on the trail, discussing a back up plan of camping at the next creek we came to.  The creek would provide us with the water we would need, the basic necessity of all life. 

    When we reached the creek, we all sat down, took our packs off and filled our water bottles with the cold mountain water.  Addison was suffering, but I could still see the fire in her eyes.  "How about we camp here for the night Addison?" I asked with a smile.  Trevor followed with support, commenting on how the creek would make a great spot and stopping point for the day.  We still had a few days in the mountains, we could finish the last 5 miles tomorrow.  Addison knew we were short changing her and reassured us that she could make it to the lake which was our planned destination for the day.

    

    From this point forward, I don't remember the exact details of the rest of the day.  I remember it to be grueling as I carried my pack, Addison's pack like a purse and a water bottle in the free hand.  To be honest, I was ready to quit, I hadn't trained to be a Sherpa and at this point, that is what I was.  The last half mile, the trail goes almost straight up, leading to the glacier carved hole that now holds the water of the lake.  Addison barely made it, her body completely worn out from the day.  No sooner than I got the tent setup and the sleeping bags rolled out and Addison crawled in for the day.  She had fed her fire every ounce of fuel she had left in her body.  She had found her grit and I couldn't have been prouder.

    The next few days were magical.  We explored and talked about all the fruits and labors of Nature and the mountains.  The marmots had deemed Trevor extra salty on this trip as they chewed on his shoes, hiking poles straps and clothes seeking the minerals that his body had sweated out on the hike in.  Addison was enthralled by them and laughed as Trevor chased them off, fearing they would chew a hole in yet another one of his possessions.  We day hiked and explored the region, fishing different lakes, exploring mountain ridges and hiking to nearby waterfalls.  We seen sheep and deer and watched the birds scavenge or campsite looking for scraps of food we may have dropped.  The fire she had fueled had now paid off and I think like me, she was loving every minute of it.

This particular lake was very fruitful.

Addison and Uncle Trevor Fishing

    The morning of the 4th day came and we had to hike the 10 miles out back to the trailhead and back to civilization.  For the most part, it was all downhill.  The descent of the trip was here and I think we were all disappointed to leave.  There is no questioning, I had not planned very well for a nine year old.  Not only had we struggled up the mountain and endured too many miles the first day, but I had not packed several of the necessities a delicate young girl would need.  Addison's ears were blistered and peeling from the high altitude sun.  Her lips were dry, cracked and bleeding from the arid and windy elements of the mountains.  Her hair was greasy and tangled from not washing it and no brush to comb through it.  Addison said she wanted a buffet to eat at on our way home.  She was hungry, her fire had been fueled and I wasn't going to tell her no.  When we stopped to eat, I told Trevor it was going to be a miracle if we got out of there without child social services being called.  She looked like hell warmed over, but she had found her grit in life...and that is what will some day make her extraordinary.

To my family...you are the inspiration in my life.

    

Happily Miserable on the Niobrara

    It was our third day there.  The wind was so strong it was grabbing handfuls of sand and throwing them at our legs and face.  My skin stung as the sand pelted my legs.  My girls have heard me say it many times before.  I can almost feel them roll their eyes as I begin my famous phrase.  "If you wait for a perfect day in Nebraska, you will always be waiting.."  This trip was like many previous Nebraska camping trips.  We would endure everything that Nebraska could throw at us on this trip.  The March winds, the cool nights of April, the heat and humidity of July and the monsoon rains of...well that was a new one for us, but I can tell you, we endured it.

    

    Camping on the Niobrara wasn't the hand we asked for, but the hand we were dealt.  We had originally planned a trip to the Bahamas.  It was to be our first international trip as a family, but that was cancelled due to the virus.  We knew what we were getting into.  The Niobrara is one of our favorite places to camp.  We enjoy canoeing and kayaking the river.  There is so much to see on the Niobrara.  It truly is a Nebraska treasure.  I think many people overlook the beauty of the river and the valley.  A common sight on the river during the hot summer months are hoards of sun burned drunks, tipping their beers high into the sky getting the last refreshing sip out of the can laughing, giggling and carrying on and they truly miss the natural beauty that the river has to offer...

    

    The Niobrara is the confluence of 5 different ecosystems.  The grasses of the Mixed and Sandhills Prairie; the ponderosa pine of the Rocky Mountain Coniferous Forest; elms, oaks and ashes of the Eastern Deciduous Forest and finally my favorite; the paper birch, moss and bogs of the Northern Boreal Forest.  The valley can be home to 92 species of butterflies and my girls favorite are the turtles including the big snapping turtles and the spiny softshell turtles that can be found sunning themselves on the banks of the river.  

    We arrived at our campsite on a Friday.  A hot and humid day, I instantly went to work setting up the canvas tent.  We had 6 days worth of food packed, kayaks to run the river, tubes for short lazy runs and marshmallows for smores.  We got camp setup, taco tots cooked in the dutch oven and just enough time to enjoy a beautiful sunset and off to bed.  This wasn't our rodeo when it comes to camping on the Niobrara.  I can tell you right now, the raccoons in this valley are different.  They are a superior breed of animal.  They have been trained and groomed for generations to know every trick on how to pillage and plunder a campsite.  Decades of drunken passed out tubers have fed these animals and transformed them into their own species of "coons".  I am methodical when it comes to securing a campsite.  All coolers are ratchet strapped shut.  All dry tote storage is pushed under picnic table benches and objects are wedged between the seat and the lid preventing the lid from coming off.  Don't even think about leaving something on top of the tables because these devilish little monsters know that anything pushed off the table usually breaks open for an easy meal.  Its similar to securing Fort Knox...  Once everything had been secured, in the tent we go for the night.  

    It's 12 a.m. and I feel a nudge.  "They are here"..Liz says.  I could hear them with their purr like noises talking between one another..probably laying claim to the several plastic boxes that held all treasures that a hungry coon could hope for.  I rolled over and told Liz there was nothing that they could get into, just go back to sleep.  The plastic of the case of water rattled...nothing there..  I could hear the thunk of them trying to lift the top of the ratchet strapped cooler lids.  That was a dead end, then on to the dry tote storage.  Thunk, thunk, thunk.  The lid would not pop off.  Thunk... thunk, thunk.. Persistent little bastard.  Thunk, thunk... thunk..  I think the thought that they could open the lid just a bit was appealing.  Thunk, thunk thunk..  "I don't think I can listen to this much more.." Liz says with a big huff.  Thunk, thunk, thunk and then a fight breaks out.  Evidently a more dominant raccoon was trying to lay claim to the prize.  A loud yowl followed and several more pursued.  "You have got to be frickin kidding me.." Liz says.  I finally get up, unzip the tent door as fast as I can to follow it with a series of my best imitated ferocious dog barks.  I begin to pick up sticks and throw them into the weeds, doing my best to scare the little bastards off.  I pack as many of the totes that I can in the cab of the pickup to just rid ourselves of the tantalizing appeal of free food.  As I am doing so, a raccoon is in the tree, growling at me...

    The next day was our first day of kayaking.  I think everyone was excited.  It was a beautiful day.  A few clouds in the sky to hide the sun and the heat of the upcoming summer.  The girls were tentative.  They were excited to catch a glimpse of the spiny softshell turtles sun bathing on the north facing slopes of the river.  For me, this was about many things.  A chance for me to connect with nature, a learning opportunity for my girls and time with the family. They needed the opportunity to build confidence, to learn that everything has its place in nature...  There was plenty of water in the Niobrara and the current was fast and swift.  

    On Sunday, the winds came.  Nebraska is quite often confused with its seasons.  It seems like at any given time of the year, you always have two seasons fighting for its dominance.  Currently it is spring and summer battling over who gets Nebraska.  As spring dominates with its cool temperatures, summer begins to build its forces in the form of wind to blow spring out of its way and blanket the state with blustery hot temperatures.  Spring retreats back north to ask winter for its support only to come back and blow summer back out of its way.  From the time we woke up, the blustery hot winds were picking up dust and fighting spring with a vengeance.  We did our best to take it in stride.  We decided Sunday was to be a day of waterfalls.  In the morning, we took a hike over to Fort Falls and explored the trees and fauna of the Niobrara.  That afternoon, we snuck off to a hidden set of falls not far off the river.  The afternoon heat set in, the horizon was brown with the dust and sand from the nearby prairie and we needed to retreat from the battle.  This set of waterfalls has a pool surrounding the falls.  We basked and laid in its cool waters for hours enjoying nature's closest version to air conditioning.  The falls are hidden and Addison described them as majestic, magical and possibly a scene taken from the Shire.  Our conversation was of the simple things in life. How the sun and mist shined on the gigantic green leaves of the Cow Parsnip that grew on the banks.  We talked about how fine the sand was and how cool the waters were.  We spoke of the indigenous people that lived along the banks of the river and about how life may have been for them.  We shared personal stories of things going on in our lives.  We found ourselves our own Eden to escape to for the afternoon.  Magical it was....

    That night was not suitable for sleep.  Liz and I laid on top of the covers due to the heat.  The wind was still blowing and the heat had definitely settled in.  Summer had won the battle.  Liz tossed and turned trying to find a comfortable position.  The heat and wind was not conducive for sleep.  I laid there with a smile...happily miserable thinking about the day we had.

    Monday was another day kayaking the river.  The day was warm and the clouds had moved in.  You knew rain was on its way.  Just another war of the seasons and Nebraska was its battle grounds.  We were all a little more quiet on this trip.  Not sure if it was due to the lack of the sleep from the night before or if the wonders of the Niobrara were losing their appeal.  We picked out birds along the banks, looked for our turtles and even found some frogs attentively watching our every move.  The bald eagles were flying and even had one fly just a few feet overhead.  This was truly a treat and brought magic back to our trip.

    Monday night brought the rains.  This wasn't your typical Nebraska summer rain where the storm blows in, drops its rain, cools the air and moves back out again.  This was rain described best by Forest Gump.  It came down, it came sideways and it even rained up.  The lightning struck so close that it seemed like daylight in the tent.  The thunder boomed so loud that is rattled the ground and your chest.  The rain hit the tent in tidal waves.  It would rain and pound the canvas so hard you could barely hear yourself think.  Once you thought it was gone, another tidal wave would crash down on the tent and start pounding away at the cloth.  If things couldn't get any worse, two raccoons decided to yowl and growl trying to lay claim as to who owned the rights to pillage and plunder this campsite yet another night.  "You have got to be kidding me!" Liz muttered under her breath to not wake the girls as they slept through the storm.  I was startled at first by the coon fight, but rolled over, smiled and laughed as quietly as I could...I was still within arms reach of my wife.

    Tuesday was our last full day of camping on the river.  The day started with a magnificent sunrise.  It gave hope for a beautiful day.  The official report was 3 inches of rain the night before.  After what we tried to sleep through, I could only concur.  Wind and rain was again in the forecast for the day.  Spring was back and it was going to be a chilly day.  Everything was too wet to throw in the towel, pack up camp and lick our wounds on the 3 hour trip back home, so we planned a trip of sightseeing.  We decided to drive to Norden Chute and show the girls an incredible water feature of the Niobrara River.  The roads were mucky and wet with the rain.  As we splashed through the muddy puddles, leftover remnants of the monsoon, my old pickup began to cough and sputter, but kept chugging along.  Liz looked at me and shook her head after all we had endured.  The heat, the winds, the monsoons and now car troubles.  "Something is getting wet." I assured her with a smile.  "We will be fine once it dries out."  When it rains lemons, you only have one choice and that is to make lemonade.  The girls were impressed with Norden Chute.  We then drove through the Fort Niobrara Wildlife Refuge and watched prairie dogs clean their den holes out again.  We laughed as the dirt flew and one would dig and pack around his hole.  We traveled on to the Cowboy Trail and walked across the old railway bridge, raining and the wind blowing in our faces.  We returned back to camp in my sputtering old pickup with smiles on our faces.  This day's lemonade was pretty good.  

    Wednesday we packed camp back up.  Things were still wet from the rain.  Mud was splattered on everything during the times that it rained up.  We were happy.  It was undeniably miserable at times, but I truly believe a bad day of camping is better than a good day of work.  My advice is to take your kids camping.  No, not in a camper with all the luxuries of home, but in a tent.  Let them feel the heat of summer and hear the pitter patter of a hard rain on the tent.  Let them find comfort in adverse conditions and understand how to make lemonade.  It's these times they will remember when they are older and it is these times that will make them a better person later in life...

Love, Life and The Dismal River

    I can still remember the first time I saw her.  Instantly I knew she was different.  It was the beginning of my senior year at a small college in Eastern Nebraska.  It was one of those colleges small enough where you knew almost everyone.  You may have not known their name, but you knew what group they associated with or what sport they played...they had their place on campus.  This girl was different.  I didn't know her.  I figured she was a freshman.  We were at a college party.  I could tell she was with a group of girls.  The rest of the girls were fraternizing with upper classmen.  Enjoying their new found freedom.  This one was different than the rest.  She was reserved.  I could tell she was independent.  Possibly shy, but confidant.  

    I was at a point in my life where I was a little lost.  I was in my senior year not knowing yet what the future had in store for me.  I had been in a roller coaster three year on and off relationship that ended with her transferring colleges and me staying.  My football career was stale.  I had started as a sophomore and knew I could hang with the big boys but my junior year was ended with an injury.  Now, as a senior, I was back on the field, but still nursing the injury and didn't understand why.  I would find out later that I had a bone infection and I was just a lame horse on the field.  The inability to succeed was slowly eating at me.  I wasn't really looking for a relationship, I was just ready for the next chapter in life.

    By this point, I had possibly caught her eye.  I am not sure if she noticed me in the same fashion, or noticed me at all.  It was a party with a lot of people.  Solo red cups and a blur of bodies.  I smiled and approached her.  "Where are you from?" I asked.  "A small town in Western Nebraska." She replied with a smile.  "I am sure you have never heard of it." Home is what I thought.   "Try me." I replied.   "Stapleton" she proclaimed with a confidant smile knowing I had never heard of Stapleton...or thinking she knew I had never heard of Stapleton.  My smile grew bigger...Home or at least the closest neighboring town to it.  "What is your last name?" "Kramer" she replied.   "Who's your older brother?" I asked.....

    Fast forward 19 years.  We married in 2004 and on June 5th it will be 16 years.  When I noticed the confidence and independence in her I had no idea what I was getting into.  Sometimes I feel we are both too bull headed to have a good marriage.  We are like two rocks on a rocky shoreline.  As the waves come in and out, you can hear the rocks clattering against each other.  Slowly eroding away at one another.  A long and lengthy process.  We are both the rocks.  Too bold and hard to give in, but our marriage is like the waves making us move together.  We may not have a good marriage, but it is perfect.  She is a hardened woman.  The years growing up on the ranch have made her into what she is today.  You won't and can't outwork this one.  I would strongly advise you to not stand on the tracks when the train is coming through.   She will run you over.  All of these characteristics, these attributes have turned her into a great life companion.  A great partner...An even greater canoe partner.

    The COVID-19 pandemic hit.  The mixed feelings of the virus.  How the US should react, how we should fix situation.  The conspiracy theories, the politics.  It has made the perfect storm.  Liz is a professional now.  A "healthcare worker".  Your thoughts and feelings of what the pandemic is or should be doesn't matter.  You are slated to your patients and customers.  Their thoughts and feelings are forced on you and Liz always keeps patient care as her top priority.  As the storm of the virus persists, I could tell it was weathering her.  It was her idea.  Liz said she needed to get away.  She proposed the idea.  "Lets run the Dismal..just you and I."

    This Dismal run wasn't the first rodeo for us.  We had run it before.  My older brother and I joked that the Dismal was a good test for any girl we dated.  Maybe a little archaic view in the current times, but the Dismal is also known as the "Divorce River" and I have seen it break relationships in the past.  Liz and I had canoed the Dismal while we were dating and done well.  We have gone on many trips together since.  Even one with a loaded canoe where we ran both major sections and camped on the river.  For Liz, I think this trip was different.  She needed a break.  For me, I didn't need an excuse, I grew up on that river.

    Almost every bend on that river has a memory.  I can remember certain conversations on the banks...  group gatherings to wait out the rain.  My best friend and I concreted a life long friendship on the Dismal.  Him and I often were invited to go on his older sibling's trips.  We were probably around 8 or 9 when he began being my bowman and me his stern paddler.  We weren't strong enough to properly get the water our of a capsized canoe.  We would drag the waterlogged boat to a shallow spot along a bank. We would both get in the middle of the canoe and heave with all our might to roll the canoe up on the bank.  Probably not a text book maneuver, but it always worked.  His parents later hired me to work on their ranch.  I am not sure how much of an asset I was to them as a hired man, but their influence in my life has been an asset to me.  Justin's and my friendship continued.  We were the Best Man in each other's weddings and even today when we need a sounding board in life, we give each other a call.  He has been a great bowman.  Helping me with every turn in life.

    My Dad shuttled us to the put in spot on Highway 97.  Liz and I got the canoe loaded and started our trip.  I packed a saw on this particular trip.  The Dismal is known for its challenges and its greatest hurdles are the endless cedar trees that make their way into the river.  For me, the Eastern Red Cedar is a sign of wilderness on the prairie and the Dismal has plenty of cedars and with that, plenty of wilderness.

    The Dismal is a spring fed river.  There are signs of spring activity everywhere you look.  Sometimes just a drip or trickle, other times you can hear and see small creeks feeding the river.  The source of the water is always nearby.  Nebraska's greatest natural resource is it's water. The Ogallala Aquifer is one of the largest in the World and Nebraska sits right in the middle of it.  In the Sandhills, signs of our water wealth are everywhere.  The rivers, wetlands and windmills are all indicative of the vast supply of water under its soil.

    

    The first two hours on the Dismal are probably the hardest from the Highway 97 bridge.  The river valley is narrow which has allowed the river to erode the sandy banks along the bends.  It's almost like a slow conveyor belt of cedars that fall in the river.  Once one tree has made its way into it's waters, the river starts eroding the bank under the next one...and then the next one after that.  The cedar is known for it's resistance against rot, so once a tree makes its way into the river, it almost becomes a permanent "strainer", a water feature that can last for years.

    Liz has been my bowman for years now.  Her ranching heritage makes her a strong paddler.  I was nervous starting.  I wanted her to enjoy herself, she needed the break and I didn't want the challenge of the Dismal to ruin our day.  The first bend presented its first challenge, its first tree and our first strainer.  I knelt in the stern, bracing my knees against the sides of the canoe to lower my center of gravity and to give me more stability and power in my strokes.  I began to give the canoe a hard back-paddle, slowing us down.  She knew instantly what to do.  She began turning the canoe in the bow.  Her paddle strokes were strong and powerful.  We didn't have to speak much anymore besides give words of encouragement.  "Nice job, Honey, nice job" I said in a calm and solemn way.  We had been here before and could feel each other in the canoe.  We were a team, a lifelong marriage and partnership.  The first challenge was behind us.  We sailed through it with no problems.  My nerves calmed.  I could now enjoy the day.

    

    The endless trees and endless strainers came at us.  We tackled one right after another without much difficulty.  The few that did present a challenge I used my saw on.  Cutting away some of the branches or possibly the trunk to give way for the next group of paddlers.  We never raised our voices.  Some spots were a little hairier then others and my words would change to "Dig Honey, Dig" as she dug hard into the water gripping for those strong paddles strokes.  A couple places there was just too much timber to make it through on the water, so we had to portage the canoe.  Fitting I thought, she and I have added a lot to our lives together.  A marriage, careers, and two beautiful daughters.  Fitting that we were now pushing and pulling this canoe together, a small resemblance to our marriage.  I couldn't ask for a better person to push and pull with in this thing called life...

    As our marriage has aged, Liz and I have become less interested in the materials in life and more interested in nature and travel.  We have become "naturalists".  More of a hobby than anything.  Trying to identify the different species of birds, the grasses, the trees...  The Dismal on this day had plenty of nature on display.  There were countless species of birds.  Kingfishers, Cardinals, Brown Thrashers and Golden Finches were all abundant and weren't afraid of singing their song to show their presence.  We seen two porcupine in two different locations.  It seemed that we were the only ones on the river and we were able to sneak up on several deer.  Some were never disturbed by our presence.  After 16 years, Liz and I were settled into our marriage.  There was no need of useless verbiage to fill our day.  We knew each others wants, dreams and desires.  We knew what we wanted for our girls and what we hoped for their futures.  We chatted some, but were comfortable in our silence and the sounds that nature provided for us.  As we sat eating our lunch at the "Boiling Springs", watching the spring burp and bubble water, I looked at Liz and smiled.  "It's amazing how noisy it is when you actually listen."  Liz smiled and laughed.  There were multiple Cardinals stating their presence.  The Brown Thrasher kept cycling through its different songs.  The Red Wing Black Bird was announcing its territory with its fluttering call.  It was almost like being in a stadium at a football game.  Sounds that you can only hear if you listen...

    The "Falls" posed no challenge.  In fact, Liz and I didn't even scout them.  With the confidence we had in each other at this point, we knew we could run them.  We shot right through.  Liz called the line and I followed.  We smiled together.  We felt as though we were tackling the World today.

    There were still more trees and more strainers to work through.  After the Boiling Springs, the Dismal River Valley really opens up.  The challenges become less frequent and the Dismal decides to relax and go easy on its paddlers for a bit.  By this time, our take out point is near.  We don't have far before we reach the Seneca Bridge.

    We finished our day sooner than what I anticipated.  We had an hour before my Father would meet us for the shuttle ride home.  We walked around a bit and I told Liz of my childhood...again.  She smiled and listened as I recounted the endless camping stories at the Seneca Bridge.  My Grandmother was born not far from there.  She was one of the first of her siblings to be born in the Sandhills.  My Aunt owned the land at the Seneca Bridge when I was a kid, we had a "Counsins Campout" almost every year.  My Aunt was the glue in my Dad's family that kept us all together.  She made sure everything was perfect, and it was.  When she passed, the glue was gone.  The land sold and with it, the campouts I loved so much.  

    We finally laid down next to the canoe on the bank.  I was on my back with my cap over my eyes and Liz used me as a pillow as we waited for our ride.  To be honest, I could have waited there all day.  I was content and so was Liz.

    "Love, Life and The Dismal River" all has its challenges.  To be honest, I have scars from all three.  What the Dismal has taught me is that as long as I have a strong bowman at my side, I can take the challenges on and tackle all three.  If you have a good marriage, don't run the Dismal.  If you have a perfect marriage, give it a whirl.  More than likely you will walk away stronger than what you were before...

To my wife Liz, thank you for being my rock, my life and my love...

    

    

    

    

The Story of an Extraordinary Dog

I have quite often heard that "there is no such thing as a bad dog, only a bad owner."  Does this mean that all dogs are good?  What if you happen to have a dog in your life that wasn’t just average?  Just a normal good dog.  What if you happen to have a dog in your life that was..extraordinary?  I believe that I had such a dog.  This is her story..

Daisey’s story is one that started with kindness and ended with love.  It could be compared to a modern day Jack London story.  I happened to be on an outdoor forum.  This was before the existence of “social media”.  I believe “My Space” was a thing, but I never had the computer knowledge to understand how it worked.  This was the day of “Forums”.  A topic was started and then there were endless responses called threads I believe.  One day, a member of the forum mentioned he had beagles for sale.  He didn’t mention price or location, but it did strike my interest.  I responded asking for more details.  I don’t even remember what his asking price was on his beagles, but his location was near Humbolt, NE.  As I was looking at a map, I found that Humbolt was on the other end of the state from me and I decided it was too far to drive just to go get a dog.  The seller then asked a few questions about our family dynamics, why I wanted a beagle..  I answered and told him Humbolt was just a little far for me to drive.  I seriously was not using it as bargaining leverage.  Humbolt was a ways from McCook.  I think a day or two passed and the guy told me if I was willing to make the drive, he would give her to me.  It sounded like she would have a good home.  The deal was made.  Looking back, I think this was the turning point for Daisey.  The start of what made her extraordinary...a random act of kindness.  Something that seems to be hard to find during the current trying times.

The day came, I traveled across the state to Humbolt.  The exchange was cordial and quiet.  Not a lot of words.  Daisey even came with papers since she was a purebred.  Not bad for a free dog!  I set Daisey on my lap and we drove back across the state.  She was supposed to be a family dog.  One that my daughter Addison could grow up with.  A Disney story possibly.  They could be pals and would form a bond.  Daisey did become a family dog.  We all loved her.  She had a bond with everyone.  But, on that day as we traveled home, Daisey on my lap, a different bond was formed.  It was truly a four legged love affair.  From that day forward, Daisey and I had a special bond.  One that will never be forgotten.

I think Daisey's introduction into our family was typical of that of most puppies. We already had another beagle, our first child, Bailey. We had then decided to have another child, the two legged kind instead of the four. I think this is the typical evolution of most marriages. You start with a dog, see how your new life partner nurtures and if it goes well, you begin to add two legged creatures into your home. Addison was a little over a year old now. She was walking and pulling ears on everything she could. Bailey had found patience for her two legged sister and we hoped that they would have patience for yet another four legged sibling. Looking back, I am not sure if we were building a family or if we were building a zoo.

Daisey and Addison loved to play! Addison figured out that if she found a long piece of string, cloth or towel that Daisey would chase her. Grabbing and tugging as most puppies do. It was purely primal entertainment. Simplified. Chase or be chased. That was it. For Daisey and I, this was the beginning of our walks. Since we already had another beagle, I would load them up in my pickup, roll down the passenger window and their heads and noses would be hanging out. Catching the aromas of the neighborhood and then on into the countryside. I would take them for walks out in the canyons of southwest Nebraska. Usually plenty of prairie, plenty of Eastern Red Cedar and that usually housed plenty of bunnies. Anyone that has owned hounds knows and understands the music of a hound dog. The piercing sound of a "bay". I can still remember Daisey finding her bay. Her nose closely to the ground, it was like a witching stick searching for water. Her head and body only followed as the nose did the work. At first she started with a few yips. It was like her body was transforming. She really didn't even understand what she was supposed to be doing. Her instincts had taken over and she was submitting to the "call of the wild". The yips became more and more frequent and then she finally hit the trail. A straight line that the ole bunny had run and it was hot! At this point, Daisey completely submitted to her instincts and she allowed them to completely take over. A few more yips and the first bay came. It was almost like the first bay was her clearing her throat. She was almost surprised by herself and then she let loose bay after bay after bay... Letting me know she was hot on the trail. She was doing exactly what she was bred for. She was a hunting dog.

Daisey was your typical puppy. More energy than you know what to do with. We made it through the winter and was now in our first summer together. This was the point that Daisey and I really formed our bond...our two legged, four legged love affair. Anyone that knows me knows I love the outdoors. I am constantly looking for the next adventure. The next camping trip, the next backpacking trip, the next fishing trip. I never felt like I was supposed to be domesticated. I think that is why Daisey and I formed such a bond. I was constantly looking at ways to roll back time, live back in a primitive way... Simplify life and Daisey loved every minute of if. Our first summer was full of fishing, camping and backpacking trips and Daisey was ready to go. She was ready to sit in the passenger seat and put miles between us and civilization. Ready to roll back time and enjoy life.

I will never forget our first backpacking trip. I was nervous about taking her into the wilderness of Colorado. What if I lost her? Would she mind or just be a pain? Would she stick with the group or would she be constantly running off? My wife was encouraging the situation. I think she felt like she had enough on her plate at home. She had a close relationship with her beagle Bailey. Addison was at the age she was getting into everything. Daisey had become almost a full grown dog, but her heart was that of a puppy. She needed to run and play. With me being gone for a long weekend and Liz fending the zoo on her own, Daisey probably wasn't going to get the exercise she needed. Liz was firm... "That dog" is going with you!

I bought Daisey a dog pack and a bell. The dog pack only held a little bit of dog food for her. I could have easily carried the weight in my backpack, but that was not the purpose. The dog pack was to slow her down. Just a bit. I hoped it would keep her focused and directed on the trail. Try to keep her from wandering off the cleared path and into the woods. I knew the smell of the mountains would be tempting. There would be all kinds of things to smell, investigate and chase. The bell was for me to know where she was at. If I heard the jingle of the bell, I knew she was close. If I didn't, then I would have to retrace my steps and find her.

For the most part, our system worked. This was before Colorado became quite so popular and we hiked into places without a lot of people. Daisey was a joy to have, she was fairly directed on what we were supposed to do. Occasionally, I would stop because I didn't hear her bell anymore. It had stopped jingling to let me know she was close by. I would have to retrace my steps to the last bend and look around the corner and there she was. Her nose had not allowed her to continue on. It was absorbed with smelling some rock or stump. Daisey had submitted to her primal instincts. It was what she was bred to do. I would look at her and yell "come on Girl!" She would look up from what she was doing. Surprised that I was yelling at her and reality would set back in. She always looked like she had a smile and she would come to me in a dead sprint. Her bell jingling wildly as she would catch back up. I would pet her on the head and praise her for coming. After all, this is what we came for. Me in the mountains living a simplified life and trying to roll time back 100 years and her taking in all the smells that nature had to offer.

I have to say that our first night in the tent was where Daisey and I had our first serious disagreement. It was a small tent. Light, exactly what someone would want hiking 30 miles in the backcountry. There was not enough room to sit up. You had to crawl in and when you crawled in, you crawled into your sleeping bag too. I am not going to lie.. It is work. So, I am doing this unsightly struggle. Changing into my sleep wear, getting the sleeping bag opened and situated just right to make this difficult transition easier. Daisey is watching and observing. She too is tired from the day. I finally get in, whistle for Daisey to join me. You could tell what was going through her mind. What room is left for me? I planned on her sleeping at my feet. She could cuddle up against my sleeping bag for warmth. It was a good place for a well loved dog. Daisey joined me and I pushed her the best I could in the tight space making her aware where her place was. She got to the end. The tent was so small that her head was pushing up against the top of it. She looked at her space and then looked back at me with those hound eyes. I knew exactly what she was thinking. "This is bullshit Dad..." I kept telling her to lay down girl, lay down! She wasn't having it. Back to the front of the tent she came. I didn't really know what she was up to. Maybe she wanted to be closer to my head and cuddle up against me there... But, Daisey had other plans. She crawled right up to the front of my sleeping bag and started nuzzling her nose inside the sleeping bag. THIS, was not what I had in mind either. Like the tent, the sleeping bag was small too. There is no desire to carry any more extra fabric up the mountain than you had to. There was barely enough space for me to roll over in, let alone to share it with a dog. I pushed her away, which only made her come back with more force and desire. This time when I pushed her away, she growled at me. No kidding, it was the growl of survival. Her domestication of sleeping indoors in a climate controlled home was finally coming through. That sleeping bag was going to be shared and I needed to make room. I laughed, it was a ridiculous situation and ridiculous circumstances. The night mountain air at 8,000 feet was cold and was only going to get colder. In Daisey came. We went on many more backpacking trips and I shared that sleeping bag with her on every one of them.

From this point, our lives continually changed.  We added another two legged creature to the zoo, Alani.  Daisey was as gentle with Alani as she was with her sibling Addison.  The girls could pet her, grab tuffs of fur, ears and Daisey would let her know when she crossed the line with a faint whine.  I tried hard to protect Daisey from the curious hands of an infant, but for anyone that has kids understands the struggles.  Our lives continued.  The usual.  Jobs, vacations, camping trips...the struggle of just trying to keep the family pointed in the right direction.  Quite often, Daisey and I would sneak away.  A short walk so she could chase the bunnies.  A canoe trip down the Dismal River in the Sandhills.  Wherever I went Daisey was near.  She too needed a walk in the wild, the smell of nature, chase a bunny or two.  It was what kept us stable.

The years past and with that came the aging process.  Daisey had been on many great adventures with our family.  She had done probably more than most dogs had.  I could see the age in her eyes.  Her head started to gray.  She slept more and played less.  I think that is the typical life of most dogs.  We kept taking her on most of our family vacations.  She had seen many mountains in Colorado.  She camped on lakes and streams across Nebraska.  She even spent a week on an island in Lake Superior.  Hiked in the deciduous forests of the North land.  I knew age was catching up to her.  I took her to the vet on many occasions complaining to them about her hips.  They were getting weak.  They assured me it was just life catching up with her and they gave me some medication for the arthritis and sent us on our way.  

I could tell Daisey's years were getting limited with us.  The arthritis medication really didn't work.  Last summer we traveled to Northern Minnesota.  A grand and beautiful area with waterfall hikes on every river as the water cascaded down the Iron Range to join the clean, clear and crisp waters of Lake Superior.  Something told me then that this might be Daisey's last adventure.  Her hips weren't allowing her to do many stairs anymore.  She slept more than she was awake now.  She was just a tired dog.  On one of our waterfall hikes, there was a series of staircases.  I think one of the guide books claimed one staircase contained 80 steps.  When we reached the stairs, I picked Daisey up and carried her in a way she was comfortable.  It was work to carry her up and down those steps.  I get many smiles and chuckles from other hikers to watch me carry this old beagle up these stairs.  "That dog has it figured out!" they would say and give me a smile.  I would smile back.  Accept the comments as cordial humor..but Daisey wasn't just any ordinary dog.  She was extraordinary dog.  She had hiked more miles with me than anyone.  Me carrying her up those stairs was my tribute to her for all her dedication over the years.  When we reached the first waterfall, I asked Liz to take a family picture of our girls and I with Daisey.  This might be our last adventure.

Daisey made it through another winter and spring with us.  Another season of change.  She always slept on a dog bed on my side of the bed.  I had to put up a gate up in our bedroom every night.  Her bladder wasn't strong enough to make it through the night anymore.  If she was shut in, she would wake me up.  If she wasn't shut in, she would leave the surprise next to the back door.  Close as she could to where she was supposed to go with no one up to open the door for her. She was a good dog.

Last week I came home from work.  Liz told me Daisey was off all day.  Her digestive system didn't seem to be working properly and she was aimlessly walking around the backyard.  Liz assured me it was a look she had seen before.  It was the look a dog had when it was trying to find a place to lie down and die.  I instantly was annoyed and angered by the comment.  Daisey was going to be fine.  This was just old age and she has gone through phases like this before and always bounced back.  I had the day off from work the next day and Liz made me promise I would take her to the vet.  I said I would.  That night Daisey woke up several times in the night panting.  She was trembling when I reached down from my bed and felt her.  I knew she was not well.

I took Daisey to the vet the next day.  The vet clinic would not let me inside due to COVID-19 restrictions.  I had to sit in the pickup and wait while they examined her.  When I handed the leash to them,  Daisey instantly sat down and resisted.  She looked at me with those hound eyes and gave me her last "This is bullshit Dad" look.  They drug her inside and I waited in the pickup.  

The vet came outside.  "She seems to be having some abdominal pains and there seems to be some sort of blockage.  We need to run some blood tests.  Are you OK with that...it can be kind of expensive."  I nodded yes. I am not going to lie I was a little annoyed.  I think in rural Nebraska some vets have adopted a culture of dogs being dispensible creatures.  Farmers and ranchers coming in with their cow dogs.  A dog is a tool not a pet.  If it can't perform it's task then it is time for a new one.  The vet popped out of the vet clinic again and said her liver enzymes are high, they needed to do an ultrasound.  Would I be willing to pay for that?  Once again, I assured her that at this time money was not an issue.  This wasn't just an ordinary dog, but an extraordinary one.  It was a sister to my daughters and a best friend to me.  We had hiked mountains together.  Shared a pretty gosh darn small sleeping bag together on more than one occasion.  This dog was worth every penny.  The ultrasound was done and the vet came out with the news.  I already knew what she was going to say.  I had been researching it on my phone while I was waiting.  The ultrasound showed a huge mass on Daisey's liver.  She had cancer.  The vet said it was bad.  Her gums were showing signs of jaundice. I asked her if she was in pain.  The vet assured me that she was.

I loaded Daisey back up in the pickup and headed home.  I was beginning to choke up but I knew I needed to be strong for the girls because they were going to be concerned.  Addison met me on the front step.  I could see the concerns in her eyes.  "Is Daisey going to be alright?!"  The flood of emotions finally overcame me.  I broke down and shook my head no.  Instantly both girls joined me with tears.  Daisey had been a part of their life since they can remember.  She was like a sibling.  They grew up together and played together.  Quite often when I couldn't find Daisey next to me on my side of the bed in the morning, I would find her in Addison's bed.  Snuggled up to her.  Addison had covered Daisey with the covers and had her arm over her.  They looked peaceful and content together.  It was a scene that would certainly fill anyone's soul.  I proceeded to tell them that Daisey had cancer and she was very sick.  We sobbed some more as I explained to them that we needed to think about Daisey in all of this.  She was in pain and it wasn't right to let her suffer.

That night Liz and I talked.  We knew what we had to do, but I wasn't going to take her to the vet clinic to do it.  The COVID-19 restrictions wasn't going to allow me inside and I didn't want Daisey's last moments to be in fear.  Liz and I hugged and embraced each other.  Liz is the compassionate animal lover in our relationship.  We feed everything.  Stray cats, birds, you name it.  She kept whispering to me that "It was time Tyler, it was time".  The rest of the story is similar to "Old Yellar", but I can tell you this one was harder.  Old Yellar wanted to take someone's arm off due to his rabid condition.  Daisey still looked at me with her hound eyes with love and compassion.  We loaded up and headed out for our last walk.  I took her to a favorite spot where the bunnies ran wild.  We headed off towards the cedars in the tall grass.  She followed.  Her hips were loosely following her.  It had probably been the cancer that weakened her hips so bad, not the age and arthritis.  I am guessing the liver cancer had spread and had been given her problems all along.  Daisey walked slow.  I let her take her time and smell a few things.  We finally walked to a nice spot and I got down on my knees and gave her one last good loving.  She looked as though she was happy for the walk.  You could tell the pain was there, but she was dealing with it.  I put her favorite treats down and let her eat.  I will save you from the rest of the story, but I assure you her death was quick, more humane and painless than the vet could do.  It was instantaneous.

At that moment I sobbed.  It wasn't a quiet sob, but one where I moaned and my gut began to ache.  I had ended the life of not just an ordinary dog, but an extraordinary one.  I mourned for a dedicated 12 years.  Daisey had become an intricate part of our family.  She was a sibling to my daughters and the best four legged adventure companion I could have ever asked for.  Looking back, I left a piece of myself with her on that day.  I still feel an emptiness in my heart and an ache in my gut.  I have not really talked about us losing Daisey.  I have not told a lot of people and have not posted it on social media.  If your first reaction is to tell me that you are "sorry for your loss" or want to have any sort of sympathy for me, I am going to tell you to save it.  That is not what this story is about.  This story is about a random act of kindness from a stranger that started a love affair with a family from McCook, Nebraska with an extraordinary dog.  That is what this story is about...

Special thanks to Corey, a kind stranger...