J Mac

A feel good story for a crazy Cyber Monday

Thanksgiving Recap

My wife and I were lucky enough to host my whole family this past Thanksgiving weekend.  It was simply awesome to have everyone around us, and to have the house filled with such wonderful noise.  Here are a couple of photos from the events:


On Friday, my brother-in-law drove over our mailbox.  And our mailboxes are about 150lbs. of solid concrete.  This messed up his vehicle, but it wasn't anything that some duct tape couldn't handle.  Note that this was not unexpected, as every year something goes sideways at our gatherings.  As an old neighbor once said, we are the Griswolds.

The weather was warm and dry enough for us to get out and play a couple of holes.  While the course wasn't open, that didn't stop us, so we borrowed the neighbor's cart and off we went.  The highlight was my brother's shank into the lake.  Or, I should say, onto the lake, as it was frozen and his ball skidded all the way across to the other side.  Not sure what the ruling was on that but it had us all laughing

What would Thanksgiving be if there was not a touch football game?  I wore my Favre jersey for inspiration (and to tick off the neighbors), and scored a TD on my nephew's fumble (although I should have been flagged for excessive celebration).  Here's an action shot, capturing Deuce clearly not waiting until "three Mississippi" before starting her rush

It was a great time, and we can't wait to see everybody again at Christmas.

Anthony Hardwick Just Can't Bring Himself to Work on Friday

There's been much made in the media about the decision that some retailers have made to open at midnight on Black Friday.  In some circles, retailers are being criticized for their heartless decision to make their employees work in the middle of the night immediately after a holiday.  In fact, a Target employee named Anthony Hardwick (pictured) has launched a petition on Choice.org to have Target rethink their decision, as it impacts Target employees' Thanksgivings. 

Pardon me, but what a bunch of crap.  For a lot of reasons: 

• Businesses exist to make money.  The way they make money is to give their customers what they want.  And if the customer wants to buy at midnight on Black Friday, it is incumbent on the business to provide that service. 
• A job at Target is a job in retail.  If you're in retail, that means you'll likely be working Thanksgiving day, Christmas Eve, and all sorts of inconvenient times.  I've been in retail about half of my working career, and I know that it requires working on holidays.  That's the career I have chosen, and those are the table stakes.  I'm not sure how this could come as a surprise to anyone in the industry. 
• Don't want to work at midnight, Bucko?  Simple - quit.  Nobody is holding a gun to your head.  Given the 9% unemployment rate, I'm betting someone would be happy to take that job you just can't bring yourself to perform.  So cancel the call to the wahmbulence, grow a pair, and find a new job. 
• In all of the whining about the poor retail employees, very few people ever mention those workers that will be out there at the same time, working, and not complaining.  Police, fire, heath care, convenience stores are just some of thousands (if not millions) of folks that will be on the clock while folks are queuing up outside some retail store come midnight.  And don't get me started on the military.  Those people will be thousands of miles from their loved ones, with their asses on the line, with a plate of cold turkey roll if they're lucky, and idiots like Anthony Hardwick have the gall to complain that his quaint little dinner is going to be slightly interrupted.  What a whiney, sissy little coward.  He should be ashamed of himself. 

While I'm sure target will enjoy getting the petition and the 190,000 signatures, something tells me that the millions of customers that will be shopping with them around midnight on Black Friday might somehow trump it.    

A Dog Named Blitz - Chapter Six, "Two Years Old: Part 4"

For background on this serial, please click here. You can also start at the previous section

While duck hunting could prove to be dangerous due to the temperature swings and adverse conditions, the physical activity around pheasant hunting afforded the opportunity for both man and dog to get their heart rates up and body temperatures high.  During her second year, Blitz and I hunted birds at our farm every weekend, and even some week days where we could muster an appropriate excuse to do so.  One such opportunity came via an invite from a vendor of mine that was looking to hold a "meeting" out at one of the local game farms. 

Now there are some that turn up their nose at game farms as they don't pass their test of what "pure" hunting is, and opinions in the hunting community run the gamut of "no issues at all." to "I'd never do it."  I've found that when the birds are raised properly, which means their pens afford full flight development for the birds and their food supply is ample for their energy needs, that game farm hunting can be quite sporty.  I've had too many birds escape on me not be as humbled in those confines as I am in the wild.  And while I wouldn't attend game farms by myself just for my personal hunting, when one adds a dog and the irreplaceable experience that comes from live bird work, there is no better place to train a dog.  Just like any endeavor, the more experience one has, the more proficient one becomes, and that is clearly the case with gun dogs and game farms. 

Prior to our meeting, my vendor Doug inquired about Blitz and how she'd been performing.  "Pretty good," I explained.  "She's just over two, so she doesn't have a ton of experience, but she hunts close and has a good nose"  Doug explained that should be just fine, as his six-year-old dog should be able to pick up any birds that Blitz missed to do her youth, inexperience and exuberance.   

We met at the field at our appointed hour, and I could tell by the thumping coming from the dog crate in the back of the truck that Blitz was ready to go.  Doug and his dog met us at my lift gate, where I was loading up.  "You loaded yet, Doug?"  I asked.  "No, you think I should?" he replied.  "Judging by how this crate is shaking, I think that might be a good idea," I explained.  I slung my shotgun over my shoulder and positioned my body directly in front of the crate door.  Opening it slightly, Blitz pushed against it and exploded forward about a foot to where she bumped into my chest.  I leveraged her half-in, half out position to quickly put her training collar around her neck, and once affixed, stood aside.  Blitz shot from the truck like she was jumping out of a burning building, and immediately headed for the pheasant cover about twenty yards away.  "OK, I guess we're hunting..." Doug said astutely. 

Blitz dashed about ahead of us; nose down and tail wagging.  Almost immediately she went on point, and I moved up to flush a hidden chuckar partridge.  The bird flushed, I snapped a quick shot, and dropped the bird cleanly with Blitz in hard pursuit of the fallen partridge.  "That didn't take long," said Doug.  Taking the bird from the dog's mouth, I replied "Yeah, she kind of works fast," and before I could finish my statement, Blitz had already moved out in front of us to find the next bird. 

We hunted the field strategically, and made sure that we were covering all of our appointed ground.  Doug's chocolate lab hunted at a slow and deliberate pace, whereas Blitz was flying about like some blond berserker.  We made our way to the end of the field, picking up birds all along the way, then turned around to head back to the truck to drop off our birds, water down the dogs, and develop a new plan of attack.  We arrived at the back of my truck and stared to unload, and judging by the quantity birds I pulled from my game bag in my vest, it was obvious that Blitz had done an incredible job.  "Here's the two my dog and I got," Doug exclaimed as he threw his quarry on our sizable pile.  "I'm glad we were here to back Blitz up!  In all seriousness, she's an incredible dog.  She's maybe the best I've ever hunted behind."  Given all of the hunting Doug had done, that was a hell of a compliment, and I was delighted that such a knowledgeable outdoorsman would bestow it to her. 

During that season, Blitz and I also got enlisted to do some "professional" hunting as well.  A good friend of mine had developed a guided hunting business, and had developed much of his 700+ acres for deer and pheasant habitat.  It just so happened that his property was less than ten miles from my farm, and while I had heard stories of the pheasants it held, I had not yet been invited to hunt there.  So when my buddy Don called and exclaimed that his guide dogs had been burned out the day prior with some clients and needed to rest, and that he needed some fresh dog power, I was more than happy to volunteer Blitz's services. 

Blitz and I arrived at Don's farm, and it was as described.  The cover and habitat was some of the finest in the county, and while the hunting would be tough due to the thickness of the cover, I was giddy knowing what awaited us.  Simply put, cover that good had to hold tons of birds, and I couldn't wait to get Blitz in there and after them.  After quick introductions with Don and his two clients, we headed out. 

We made our way into a overgrown thicket that bordered a small creek, and pushed through it with desires of reaching switch grass field that lay beyond.  The cover in the thicket was substantial, and I was plowing through it to the best of my ability.  Due to the thickness of the growth, I quickly lost sight of Blitz and the others in my hunting party, but heard some of their exclamations (profane or otherwise) as they were exiting the heavy brush on the other side.  I finally got to a point where I could see the field ahead of me and a couple of guys in our party.  At this point, Don yelled "Hey, Mikey, there's something wrong with your dog! She's not moving!"  Panicked, I increased my pace to get out of the cover and looked around for Blitz.  I soon spied her, statue-still, tail high, and intently looking at a clump of grass in front of her.  "She's fine, Don.  She's pointing," I explained. 

"Pointing?" he asked. 

"Yeah, she's pointing." 

"Your dog points?"

"Yeah, she's doing it right now!" 

"What do I do?"  

"Uh, get ready!" I exclaimed, and gave Blitz the command of "GET HIM!"  Blitz moved forward and immediately a beautiful rooster burst from the cover and into the sky, where he was met by the shot of one of the clients.  As Blitz brought the bird back, everyone exclaimed that they had never hunted with a lab that pointed, and they couldn't believe what they just saw.  "Judging by the cover around here, hopefully you'll get to see more of it soon," I stated. 

My prognosis was going to prove absolutely correct.   

Top 10 Reasons Why Sammy Hagar was Better than David Lee Roth

For fans of Van Halen, the debate has raged: Who was the better front man, David Lee Roth, or Sammy Hagar? 

While I am a fan of both versions of the band, I feel that David Lee Roth couldn't carry Sammy Hagar's jock strap. 

Here are the top ten reasons why Sammy is better than Dave:

• Singing Ability - Dave can't sing.  Sorry, he can't.  He can shout and screech, but he cannot sing.  As a front man Dave is flamboyant.  As a singer, he's horrible. Conversely, Sammy can sing, and can sing well. 
• Vocal Range - Sammy has great range, and is able to excel on songs that Roth would have no chance on recording.  Examples include Standing on Top of the World, Poundcake, Feeling, and Sucker in a Three Piece are just some simple examples
• Attitude - Dave is all about Dave.  Just one look at any Van Halen or Roth video will be all you need to know about Dave.  Even his stage persona is all about Dave.  At my only Roth era VH concert (Diver Down tour, I believe), Dave stopped the band mid-song, points down into the crowd and says "Hey, this &*%^% just dumped his beer on me, man!"  To which the crowd boos vociferously.  "That's OK, that's OK," he continues, "because after the concert I'm gonna $%$# his girlfriend."  To which the crowd erupts.  Good line, huh?  It better be, because he used it at every concert stop that tour. 
• Videos - Simple.  Roth era videos are all about Dave.  Just check out Jump, or Hot for Teacher, or Panama and see for yourself.  Hagar era videos are about the band, the music, or something bigger.  Here are two great examples:

• Guitar - Another simple one.  Sammy plays, which affords opportunities for Eddie to expand, either via guitar or keyboards. All Dave plays is a ego-centric tool in music videos.
• Treatment of Fans - Sammy was dead set against a greatest hits album with "new material" as he felt it was just another way to soak fans.  Dave, not so much.  When Eddie broke a guitar on stage and showered fans with debris, Sammy was outraged.  It became the last straw with the alcoholic Eddie.  I doubt Dave would have cared that much, unless it would have caused someone in the front row to spill a beer on him...
• Pre-Van Halen Work - Prior to joining Van Halen, Sammy had two albums with Montrose, 8 solo albums (including two platinum and a gold), and an album with HSAS under his belt.  Dave launched with Van Halen, so this isn't really fair.  Understood. But consider...
• Post-Van Halen Work - Sammy has continued to excel, with two solo albums, 5 with the Waboritas, and two outstanding albums with Chickenfoot.  Dave had 5 solo albums that have sold less and less with each subsequent release.  Self-indulgent but commercially successful efforts included "Eat 'em and Smile" and "Skyscraper."  Pretty much after that Dave was left to playing a burlesque show Vegas and moonlighting as an EMT.
• Class - At the induction of Van Halen in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, only Sammy and Michael Anthony showed up.  Eddie was a raging alcoholic, Alex deferred due to Eddie's condition, and Dave didn't show because his performance had been cancelled.  That left Michael Anthony and Sammy Hagar for the induction speech, and both gave proper credit to Dave for VH's early years and success.  Now, in your mind's eye, imagine if tables had been turned and only Dave gave the speech.  I doubt he would have been so generous.
• Handling of Michael Anthony - VH's sound is hallmarked by two things - Eddie's incredible guitar work and Michael Anthony's incredible high harmonies.  In their post-Van Halen periods, Dave, obviously feeling Michael was replaceable, seemed content to settle for Eddie's kid Wolfgang on bass.  Sammy, on the other hand, knew the value that Anthony brought to the sound, and worked with him on a couple of side projects, including the current one with Chickenfoot.

Please don't get me wrong - I am a fan of the Roth vintage of Van Halen.  Any music fan would have to be one.  However, I really tire of folks not giving Sammy his due.  The Hagar vintage of VH was a better one, and one that continues to age well.

Republic Chophouse Review - Go There When the Green Bay Packers Don't

After a really long week, my wife and I went to Republic Chophouse for an early Friday dinner to relax, reconnect, and talk about the week past.  We really enjoy Republic and feel it is clearly Green Bay's nicest steak restaurant.

Since it was the Friday night of the deer opener weekend and nearly half of the population was headed for the woods, we felt we should be able to get in without any kind of reservation.  Judging by the open parking lot we spied upon our arrival, we liked our chances.

We were greeted by the cheerful maitre d, who informed us there would be about an hour wait for a table.  Peering beyond him into the dining room, we noticed empty table after empty table.  None of them were filled. 

Figuring there must be a big party coming in that just had not arrived yet, we accepted the offer to sit at a table in the bar, which was comfortable, but loud.  The bar location also afforded a great view of the front door, and as our evening progressed, the large party we envisioned never materialized.  We talked about it through dinner, and wondered what the heck was going on.

About an hour after our arrival, I noticed Packers linebacker (and our neighbor five doors down) A.J. Hawk and his family head toward the front door from the dining room. 

Really?  Nobody could sit in an ample dining room because a Packer and his family were eating there?  While we had an OK dinner, did we really have to sit in the bar because of that?

Evidently, in Green Bay, where the team is royalty, the answer is yes.

Thoughts on Penn State

I've not commented on the Jerry Sandusky sexual predator situation yet. Time to weigh in: 

• I just got through reading the Penn State Grand Jury report. While much of this has been covered by the media, to read it in the formal document, in all of its graphic detail, was infuriating, heart-breaking, and stomach turning. It was just disturbing.  
• In situations like this, where innocent kids have suffered unspeakable physical and mental trauma, I have a hard time reconciling my faith. While we're asked to forgive, I can't help but desire the justice and vengeance of a brutal prison experience, followed by an eternity in Hell. And I'm not even a victim. 
• The wreckage that Sandusky wrought will impact Penn State for decades. Personally, every Saturday I want to see them lose, and lose big. That's not fair for the kids there, or the players that played there, and I'm sorry about that. But that school and athletic faculty had the ability to step in and save some kids, and they chose instead to turn a blind eye and let the carnage continue. For that, Nittany Lions, you deserve every pummeling that will be dealt to you. 
• Speaking of the impact on former players, at the bottom of the page is LaVare Arrington talking about the situation.

How does one make sense out of any of this? The damage - the suffering? I guess all we can do is pray for the victims, the school, and as much as I don't want to, Sandusky.

A Dog Named Blitz - Chapter Six, "Two Years Old: Part 3"

For background on this serial, please click here. You can also start at the previous section

While her second year provided new experiences, Blitz was also coming into her own as a gun dog.  Starting with the waterfowl season, Blitz was becoming more a more valuable as a retriever.  Certainly, she was still a handful in the boat, and her canine ADD made for less than dull moments, but her marking of fallen birds, insatiable desire to retrieve, and overall passion for the sport were all increasing at a substantive rate.  That season there were a number of birds that my partners and I knocked down that would not have been harvested had Blitz not been conducting her work so expertly. 

She quickly learned the routine of our duck hunting, but her enthusiasm and my lack of patience, foresight, and care would put her at risk.  An early November morning found my partner Don and I up at 5:00 AM getting ready to head out, and Blitz, now attune to the routine, was bounding around like a kid on Christmas morning.  She knew we were going hunting, and she wanted to go right now!  With all of that youthful energy, she proved to be too elusive that morning to put on her hunting vest, and due to too many cocktails the night before, I was in no mood for one of our renown wrestling matches.  Judging by the temperature and her increasing coat, I felt she'd be fine, so we would forgo the vest. 

We piled into the truck and drove the short distance to the landing where we found that the misty weather we had was mixing with the warmer temperature of the lake and was generating a thick soup of fog.  We knew the lake well and had a short distance to go, so we weren't worried about the weather. 

We shoved off from shore and headed north to the cover we intended to hunt.  The ride was slower than usual due to the thickness of the fog, but we arrived at our destination with plenty of time to get our decoys set and to settle in prior to the legal shooting hour.  We created a nice spread with two landing areas: a "J" shape made out of our bluebill decoys and a "U" shape of mallards, and killed the motor to tuck into the cover to await the arrival of ducks.  During our decoy placement, with the noise of the motor and the thick fog, we were unable to know that another hunting partner appeared to be setting up fairly close to us, but now in the quiet of the morning, we could hear his boat working as he was laying out his decoys.  "He sounds really close," exclaimed Don, and I agreed.  However, we both recognized that sound carried really well in foggy conditions, and we were hoping that the actual proximity of the other hunter was just a sonic exaggeration. 

The short wait to legal shooting went by quickly, and while we could hear birds in our proximity, the fog prevented us from seeing them.  Soon enough a nice drake widgeon appeared from the soupy air, and Don folded it cleanly with a sporty crossing shot.  Blitz had bolted from the boat immediately on the report of Don's gun, but was able to discern the location of the fallen bird in the fog, and soon came back to the blind with our first bird of the morning.  Things were starting well, we exclaimed, as we prepared for more action. 

About this point the weather pattern had shifted dramatically.  Our calm, quiet, comfortable morning was suddenly and abruptly replaced by a strong northwest wind that brought a reduction in temperature and a chill to our bones.  The wind was also wreaking havoc with the fog which was being blown away little by little.  Soon, we were able to see to the outskirts of our decoy spread, and then slightly beyond, where we were enthused to see a flock of ducks sitting in the water.  As the fog continued to move off, our mood soured as the flock we were seeing were actually the decoys of the other hunter on the lake which were set in a location downwind of us that would effectively block any ducks from flying into our decoys. 

Don and I debated our predicament for a while, and finally came to the conclusion that this configuration was not going to work, and we needed to pick up our decoy spread and move to a new location.  We lowered the blind on the boat and prepared to make our move just as a cold rain started to fall.  Our fortunes had clearly changed quite drastically after starting out on such a good note.  We worked quickly in picking up the decoys, which was good as the rain had started coming down harder and harder.  Without the shelter of the blind we were taking the brunt of it, and while Don and I were staying dry due to our clothes, Blitz was getting soaked.  She was shaking her coat frequently to try and stay as dry as possible, but it was obviously a losing battle given the conditions. 

We quickly found a new location, put out a new spread, and got situated in fairly short order.  Pulling the blind up over us was welcomed, as the rain had turned into a sleet.  Passing a thermos of coffee back and forth, we tried to keep warm while waiting for our next chance at ducks.  Birds were flying, and we knew it was just a matter of time before they noticed our decoys and came into range for a look. 

About this time I noticed that Blitz had become lethargic.  My dog, in her short life, had been a lot of things, and lethargic was never, ever one of them.  She was also shaking uncontrollably, which clearly got my attention.  Although they were bred for being wet in cold weather, I was aware that hunting dogs do suffer from hypothermia in the right conditions.  In the wind, falling temperatures, and  soaked coat, it appeared Blitz might be headed there.  The best way to truly judge would be to get some kind of gauge on her body temperature.  Without a thermometer, this would have to be accomplished by feel of one of two locations on the dog, and there was no question which one I'd been choosing.  I removed my glove and moved my hand into the mouth of my shivering dog. 

What I felt there was cold and clammy. 

Blitz was in trouble, and I needed to get her warm, and to do so immediately.  "Don, we are out of here!" I exclaimed. 

Some guys might have had a problem with that.  We had come so far to hunt, we had worked so hard to get a good decoy set out, and birds were definitely in the area.  With all that invested, some might have pushed back.  Instead, Don responded with a quick "Yep!" as he flung the blind off of us in preparation for our departure. 

I stared the motor and immediately sped off for the landing, ignoring the decoys that we had previously set.  While motoring in, I was thinking of the best way possible to get Blitz warmed, and felt I had derived a good plan by the time we hit shore.  I kenneled Blitz in the back of the vehicle, cranked up the heat, and drove us back to the farm house.  Leaving the dog in the truck, I went into the house to fetch towels to dry the dog and to offer warm bedding in her plastic crate.  I rubbed her dry as best I could, and left her in the still-running vehicle, which by now was heating quite nicely.  Don and I went inside for some more coffee, and I would go out and check on Blitz every fifteen minutes or so to see how she was doing.  The truck was turning into a veritable sauna, and within an hour and a half or so I was eventually greeted by a dog that was back to her old self.   I let her out and headed back into the farm house, grateful for her condition and for having an understanding hunting partner.  Things certainly could have gone differently that morning, and I promised myself to never let situation like that happen again.