<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199280793182777798</id><updated>2012-02-15T23:35:14.412-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Crazy Things I Think</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Duckman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06669157289075924256</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGXI3KB2X5I/AAAAAAAAABA/yzuPrH7VEKc/S220/sexycowboy.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>22</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199280793182777798.post-4907090400797264337</id><published>2009-04-12T14:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-12T14:16:41.195-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tryin' Somethin' New...</title><content type='html'>Check on my bloglist, you will see &lt;a href="http://www.ohiovalleysounds.blogspot.com/"&gt;Ohio Valley Sounds &lt;/a&gt;in the list.  That of course is my DJ company, so go check it out let me know what you think!  Comment there or here just let me know what you think!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3199280793182777798-4907090400797264337?l=wvduckman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/feeds/4907090400797264337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3199280793182777798&amp;postID=4907090400797264337' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/4907090400797264337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/4907090400797264337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/2009/04/tryin-somethin-new.html' title='Tryin&apos; Somethin&apos; New...'/><author><name>Duckman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06669157289075924256</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGXI3KB2X5I/AAAAAAAAABA/yzuPrH7VEKc/S220/sexycowboy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199280793182777798.post-7971539958329002529</id><published>2009-01-11T22:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-11T23:42:37.813-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Holy New Year...</title><content type='html'>Wow, I'm on a roll, another month has gone by.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm trying to figure out how it is that so many of you are able to post so often. (My literary imagination just doesn't work as well as others I guess, or maybe I'm realizing that I'm getting old and boring .)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been busy working, working and working some more. &lt;a href="http://hewittfamilyadventures.blogspot.com/"&gt;Carrie&lt;/a&gt; once commented that she thought it would be fun bartending (one of my jobs), well I've added one more job to my list of craziness (you would enjoy this one &lt;a href="http://hewittfamilyadventures.blogspot.com/"&gt;Carrie&lt;/a&gt;) I'm now a D.J. too! I'm not one on any radio but a D.J. that goes out to the bars and does entertainment. Have I mentioned before that I am "a jack of all trades"! (LOL)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290305315683522738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 168px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 168px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SWrwp8atWLI/AAAAAAAAAEU/cUeVJtRDVvg/s400/dj.jpg" border="0" /&gt; Other than delivering beer, serving beer and now entertaining too, I've became a den leader for a local Cub Scout pack that Damon belongs to. So every Thursday evening &lt;a href="http://erinragan.blogspot.com/"&gt;Beautiful Wife &lt;/a&gt;and I are scrambling around trying to figure what activity to do with the boys for our hour of fun!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290306157834894018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 195px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 193px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SWrxa9rPesI/AAAAAAAAAEc/C_6B1OlsV3Y/s400/cub+scout.gif" border="0" /&gt; As far as duck season goes, I'm not sure if I'm even gonna make it out to have a chance at that rainbow trophy that I post pictures of (the Wood Duck). I keep telling myself that I'm gonna go the boat has been loaded in the back of the truck for a month now along with the decoys, calls and waders, but can't seem to get out of bed to go after working till 3 or 4 in the morning. I guess I truely am getting old, I can't pull off those good old 24 hour days anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok I've rambled on long enough for now. I'll see if I can come up with some news or an old story or something so that I'm not another month before I make it back!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3199280793182777798-7971539958329002529?l=wvduckman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/feeds/7971539958329002529/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3199280793182777798&amp;postID=7971539958329002529' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/7971539958329002529'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/7971539958329002529'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/2009/01/holy-new-year.html' title='Holy New Year...'/><author><name>Duckman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06669157289075924256</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGXI3KB2X5I/AAAAAAAAABA/yzuPrH7VEKc/S220/sexycowboy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SWrwp8atWLI/AAAAAAAAAEU/cUeVJtRDVvg/s72-c/dj.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199280793182777798.post-2531472987530574940</id><published>2008-12-14T05:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-14T06:38:08.840-08:00</updated><title type='text'>WOW it's been awhile!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I never thought that it would be hard to come up with things to write about, afterall I have lots of opinions and thoughts about lots of stuff, right. Yet, for almost a month and a half I have been M.I.A. here in my little blog world. I go through the days and think who wants to know about stuff like that... And this morning I sit here realizing that there has been alot happen in the past several weeks so let me update you on some of the happenings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SUUZydNl18I/AAAAAAAAADc/3pIJOLQiv8A/s1600-h/pair+woodys.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279654492787562434" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 100px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SUUZydNl18I/AAAAAAAAADc/3pIJOLQiv8A/s400/pair+woodys.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;The first Duck hunting season I failed to bring home any trophys, But I did find a few promising spots to hunt this season that just recently started. So hopefully that will be something to talk about for the next six weeks (other than the upcoming Christmas holiday.)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SUUaEM1-OrI/AAAAAAAAADk/LilvhnZGJTs/s1600-h/images.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279654797631175346" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 120px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 102px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SUUaEM1-OrI/AAAAAAAAADk/LilvhnZGJTs/s400/images.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p&gt;I believe I mentioned to you all before about the religious season of deer hunting here in the state of West Virginia. Well I did my duties as a man of this state (to go out with the guys and try to bring home one of these monsters that are hiding in the woods.) Notice that I said try... Thanksgiving day, my brother made it in to hunt so, I had to go hunt with my brother, right. (&lt;a href="http://erinragan.blogspot.com/"&gt;Beautiful Wife &lt;/a&gt;has alot more about &lt;a href="http://erinragan.blogspot.com/2008/11/wild-wonderful-thanksgiving.html"&gt;T-day&lt;/a&gt; on her blog so I'll spare you hearing the details with all that agian.) We gathered together at about 5:30a.m. at AJ's (my brother) in-laws house, so we could hunt there. We got a plan together (who was going where and what time we would meet back at the house) afterall we all had to be somewhere for a dinner to. Doug (AJ's father-in-law) and I went out to this place he calls "the log". Doug talks about this log as if there is no better place in the world to hunt. Doug has told me many stories of the deer killed in that one spot, but I have hunted that spot with doug a few times now have not seen a trace of a deer there yet. The same went for that morning, as we ended our morning hunt and came up with a plan for what time we were going to meet up again we seperated ways for our dinner.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;That afternoon we all met up again, with the addition of my son, Damon, who insisted he wanted to go deer hunting. That afternoon Damon and I went out to the pine thickit where we sat, hiding behind a fallen tree from the spring. We watched for about 2 hours before 2 does (female deer-for those who don't know) popped up over the hill, we watched them for about 10 minutes but could not get a good shot on either one before they went back over the hill. We sat there for about another 20 minutes, Damon wanting to go back to the house now, and suddenly 2 more deer come up. We watched and waited patiently, finally one comes out to a clear spot, now Damon is getting all excited because he sees me pull the gun up. I get this nice size deer in the cross hairs of my scope and realize that it is a buck (now I have to mention at this point I have this dissease I call buckitis, in about 20 years of hunting, I have never killed one of these horned monsters). So I go through the steps in my head, take a deep breath, hold steady, clear shot, safety off, and... BANG!!! Now somewhere between safety off and bang is where it all went wrong. I was holding on the center of the front shoulders making sure I was not going to miss this oportunity to get rid of my dissease, and yet I shoot right behind the rumpuss of this buck. So after going over just to make sure that there wasn't any blood or hair Damon and I headed for the house. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;I'll be here at home almost all day today, just maybe I'll make it back for another before the day is up! There is a few more things to tell you about.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;(I figure that I should point out that the pictures on this post are not of what I actually saw.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3199280793182777798-2531472987530574940?l=wvduckman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/feeds/2531472987530574940/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3199280793182777798&amp;postID=2531472987530574940' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/2531472987530574940'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/2531472987530574940'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/2008/12/wow-its-been-awhile.html' title='WOW it&apos;s been awhile!'/><author><name>Duckman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06669157289075924256</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGXI3KB2X5I/AAAAAAAAABA/yzuPrH7VEKc/S220/sexycowboy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SUUZydNl18I/AAAAAAAAADc/3pIJOLQiv8A/s72-c/pair+woodys.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199280793182777798.post-9054608519694771342</id><published>2008-10-06T18:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-06T19:26:54.261-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Duck's on the Brain...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SOrBfPF0t9I/AAAAAAAAAC8/xOMs444RmxA/s1600-h/WoodDuck_05-Floating-mirror.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254224657652168658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SOrBfPF0t9I/AAAAAAAAAC8/xOMs444RmxA/s400/WoodDuck_05-Floating-mirror.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; It's that time of year again...Duck season!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I grew up in West Virginia, where dear hunting is not a hobby but a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;religion&lt;/span&gt;. I too was one that every year went out in search of these four legged car wreckers, but a few years ago I was introduced to DUCK HUNTING!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In these few years that I have been into it, I am finding that I am obsessed with these ducks and one in particular...the Wood Duck! That is the picture you see above. They are absolutely amazing to watch in the wild. In the past week I've been able to watch 4 of them flying back and forth across the banks here on the Ohio River. When I first found out about this spectacular duck, I set my goal to get my first Wood Duck mounted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So far &lt;a href="http://erinragan.blogspot.com/"&gt;Beautiful Wife &lt;/a&gt;does not have to look at any mounted ducks in the house but someday I will have that winged rainbow on my wall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254229827532869906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="402" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SOrGMKZb0RI/AAAAAAAAADE/1uAO0ige4U8/s400/WoodDuck_04-Closeup-In_nest_on_cliff.jpg" width="400" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3199280793182777798-9054608519694771342?l=wvduckman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/feeds/9054608519694771342/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3199280793182777798&amp;postID=9054608519694771342' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/9054608519694771342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/9054608519694771342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/2008/10/ducks-on-brain.html' title='Duck&apos;s on the Brain...'/><author><name>Duckman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06669157289075924256</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGXI3KB2X5I/AAAAAAAAABA/yzuPrH7VEKc/S220/sexycowboy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SOrBfPF0t9I/AAAAAAAAAC8/xOMs444RmxA/s72-c/WoodDuck_05-Floating-mirror.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199280793182777798.post-4195038429873719626</id><published>2008-09-28T16:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-28T17:27:14.787-07:00</updated><title type='text'>So Where Have I Been?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Right here...that's right, I have been here around the house and of course at work. With my two jobs and what chores I have attemped around the house I haven't exactly felt much like writing on here lately. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've been in a writers slump I guess cause I've been thinking about what to write or how to write about nothing. I still can't figure out how to write about my days of just normal routine, nothing exciting at all. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;It is finally here. I've been thinking and waiting for this all year. Duck season starts in just a few days so hopefully I will have some stories by the time the week is up. The season for ducks starts Oct. 1 and ends the 11th. &lt;a href="http://erinragan.blogspot.com/"&gt;Beautiful Wife &lt;/a&gt;, the kids and I are going to visit Grampy in Georgia, so I'm going to miss the last part of the season but as long as my wife doesn't get too frustrated with me I'm going to hunt as many days as possible before we go. By the way Canadian Goose season will be in when we return from our trip so there should be lots to talk about in the approaching month.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SOAf8iKhL8I/AAAAAAAAAC0/0nFWuTl88dE/s1600-h/BuckleySoloWoodDuckDrake.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251232290337533890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SOAf8iKhL8I/AAAAAAAAAC0/0nFWuTl88dE/s400/BuckleySoloWoodDuckDrake.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;div&gt;I'm gonna go for now wish me luck for the upcoming season so that maybe there will be some new content to read about. Maybe something will inspire me while I'm hunting. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3199280793182777798-4195038429873719626?l=wvduckman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/feeds/4195038429873719626/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3199280793182777798&amp;postID=4195038429873719626' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/4195038429873719626'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/4195038429873719626'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/2008/09/so-where-have-i-been.html' title='So Where Have I Been?'/><author><name>Duckman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06669157289075924256</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGXI3KB2X5I/AAAAAAAAABA/yzuPrH7VEKc/S220/sexycowboy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SOAf8iKhL8I/AAAAAAAAAC0/0nFWuTl88dE/s72-c/BuckleySoloWoodDuckDrake.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199280793182777798.post-3602388855216222122</id><published>2008-08-24T14:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-24T15:54:12.990-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dad Sheds a Tear...</title><content type='html'>That is right, I had a tear rolling down my face yesterday. Now I better tell the story...right!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday we (the family) went out to get school stuff for the kids (Damon and Avery). While we were there, I figured it was time to let the kids have a treat since I've been working so much. Avery and I were walking through the mall and I see the Piercing Pagoda. I have always wanted her to be able to get her ears pierced (I think it is very cute.) But Erin has always said not til Avery gets older. Anyway I asked Avery if she would like to get her ears pierced and she excitedly responded YES. After a discussion with Erin, Avery convinced her Mom that she was ready and wanted them pierced. We went through the paperwork and Avery picked out her first set of earrings (little pink ones to be exact.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was as excited as Avery up to this point; then Avery ran around the counter and hopped up in this chair, for the piercing. Suddenly, mean 'ole Dad was not so sure this was a good idea (but as a man I held all that back.) Avery was ready and smiling right until the triggers were pulled and that is about the time I lost it too. Seeing my baby girl hurt was awful and to think that I am the one who brought this idea up made it even worse. Erin scooped Avery up as soon as she was done (Avery was a trooper not one tear until she was in Mommy's arms.) I had to get myself together quickly, so I wiped away a tear as Erin handed Avery to me. We showed Avery her ears in the mirror and she was back to smiling and happy just like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238221194012749810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SLHmbDQNb_I/AAAAAAAAACs/sbKMKYE4mcg/s400/003.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, a day later Avery loves her new fashionable ears, and I will say that they are adorable. I'm just glad it is over and she doesn't hate me for it today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Avery you are a trooper and I'm glad you like your newest fashion! I love you Monkey Sue!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3199280793182777798-3602388855216222122?l=wvduckman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/feeds/3602388855216222122/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3199280793182777798&amp;postID=3602388855216222122' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/3602388855216222122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/3602388855216222122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/2008/08/dad-sheds-tear.html' title='Dad Sheds a Tear...'/><author><name>Duckman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06669157289075924256</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGXI3KB2X5I/AAAAAAAAABA/yzuPrH7VEKc/S220/sexycowboy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SLHmbDQNb_I/AAAAAAAAACs/sbKMKYE4mcg/s72-c/003.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199280793182777798.post-2728390138007317152</id><published>2008-08-23T08:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-23T08:53:08.619-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Long Time No Type...</title><content type='html'>I'm not even sure how to start this post...I'm having writers block!  It has been a couple of weeks since I last posted, but I have been extemely busy.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started a part-time job a couple of weeks ago, as a bartender/bouncer at a local club.  So now I work 5 days a week (and try to get the overtime on Saturday too), and then normally I only work a few days at the club.  The past week has been crazy...One of the bartenders has been on vacation, so I'm covering his shifts which means it is 7 days a week until he returns.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway instead of rambling on about nothing I'll close with yet another yawn and try to get some rest so I can work again in a little while.  Once I get some sleep and my brain is able to function properly again, I will start posting regularly again.  So for you dedicated readers please bare with me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3199280793182777798-2728390138007317152?l=wvduckman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/feeds/2728390138007317152/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3199280793182777798&amp;postID=2728390138007317152' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/2728390138007317152'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/2728390138007317152'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/2008/08/long-time-no-type.html' title='Long Time No Type...'/><author><name>Duckman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06669157289075924256</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGXI3KB2X5I/AAAAAAAAABA/yzuPrH7VEKc/S220/sexycowboy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199280793182777798.post-1547486474799806919</id><published>2008-08-02T08:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-02T12:09:08.378-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Planes, Trains, and Automobiles...</title><content type='html'>Throughout my life vehicles have been a big influence to me (I have a passion for cars, trucks, boats, and even motorcycles and atv's (some of them anyway)! This is a part of my life that I'm sure my parents have to this day wished that I never would have encountered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Instead of going through and telling you every vehicle that I've driven or even owned; I'm going to tell a few stories that stick out in my head about some of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me start out by saying that the show "Dukes of Hazard", has always been my favorite. Even though I know that the things done in vehicles on TV are not real (most of them are all stunts and rigged vehicles), there has always been the question in my mind...I wonder if I could do that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On my first attemp of something wild and crazy, I found out very quickly how much I loved an adrenaline rush. It was the backing up slamming on the brakes while turning and sliding the front end around and getting into a forward gear and going, without ever coming to a stop. On the first attemp of this, it was a success . I felt invincable and truely thought that I was born to do this stuff. (If my parents had ever known what thoughts went through my head before I even went to get in the car I'm sure the keys would never made into my hand in the first place, so naturally I never told them about any of these things). By the way this was done in my first car, a 1984 4-cyl., front wheel drive, 2-door, Oldsmobile Cutlass Cierra-Holiday Edition. This was our family car until I turned 16. This car went on to survive many different airborne successes. I even took it 4-wheelin' once. The last of this car was not a stunt or even an attemp. I couldn't get the thing stopped at a stop sign one day and...CRASH right into a 1972 Chevrolet Nova (not a good story so I'll spare that one for now, I was on my way to my cousin's wedding).  This picture is a 1986, but you get the idea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SJSZVhl3pvI/AAAAAAAAACc/4DEm2yJHtQk/s1600-h/86ciera.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SJSZVhl3pvI/AAAAAAAAACc/4DEm2yJHtQk/s400/86ciera.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229973662357497586" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speed! I love it! The rush is awesome, not far from where we lived there was this straight away about a mile long and if entered correctly a speed of about 150 was possible in a verrietty of factory vehicles (this was one of the first tests I had to give every vehicle that I got in my hands).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My thought was that, the faster the car would go in that spot...the better the car was. If a vehicle had been altered or modified the occasional 160 or so was possible (that was by far the best)!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were also many trucks, and all of them had tastes of the mud at "Wetstone" (good and bad experiences, I'll save a bad one for another day). This place has so many memories in my head that I could never type them all. But I was browsing around earlier and technolgy has come so far that I found some footage of this wonderful place on "the world wide web". Now the parts that are not shown is the calm evenings and the campouts (the music, and lots of stuff that I should not have been doing back then). If memory serves me correctly Brad Paisley was even in there one year, way before he made it in the music industry!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/jeGS4_w-_qk&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;color1=0x234900&amp;color2=0x4e9e00"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/jeGS4_w-_qk&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;color1=0x234900&amp;color2=0x4e9e00" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were many things that I did to get an adreniline rush. Even now I look for things that won't get me in any trouble. So for you parents that have a teen driving think back to this post before you hand them the keys. I know what is coming from my children when they get older and believe me, they are gonna have it rough, thanks to "Evil Dad's" past.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3199280793182777798-1547486474799806919?l=wvduckman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/feeds/1547486474799806919/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3199280793182777798&amp;postID=1547486474799806919' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/1547486474799806919'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/1547486474799806919'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/2008/08/planes-trains-and-automobiles.html' title='Planes, Trains, and Automobiles...'/><author><name>Duckman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06669157289075924256</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGXI3KB2X5I/AAAAAAAAABA/yzuPrH7VEKc/S220/sexycowboy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SJSZVhl3pvI/AAAAAAAAACc/4DEm2yJHtQk/s72-c/86ciera.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199280793182777798.post-1618089343170049590</id><published>2008-08-01T14:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-01T14:22:40.061-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blog Crisis...</title><content type='html'>When I started this blog I was driving a big truck in three states and covered 500 miles a day.  Now I drive a beer truck (it feels like driving a mini van compared to the big truck).  I stay in the town that I live in and only work 8 and a half hours a day (compared to the 90 or so that I was working before).  LIFE IS GOOD. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The problem that I'm running into is that I don't really have alot to tell everyone about.  I tried to pay more attention to my surroundings over the past two weeks, but nothing.  So again I'm back to the thought of what do you blog about.  My wife can make posts about little things, big things, and even nothing.  While I sit back and try to come up with something, with little luck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my attemp this weekend is to find something or think of a story from the past (hopefully I can think of one that won't give my loving mother a heart attack when she reads it).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3199280793182777798-1618089343170049590?l=wvduckman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/feeds/1618089343170049590/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3199280793182777798&amp;postID=1618089343170049590' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/1618089343170049590'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/1618089343170049590'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/2008/08/blog-crisis.html' title='Blog Crisis...'/><author><name>Duckman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06669157289075924256</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGXI3KB2X5I/AAAAAAAAABA/yzuPrH7VEKc/S220/sexycowboy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199280793182777798.post-8831854834707537090</id><published>2008-07-24T15:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-24T17:13:16.299-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Evil Dad...</title><content type='html'>According to my son, I am evil. This is the impression I get from him anyway. I got home from work today at my normal time, around 4:30. And within 15 minutes, Damon was crying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me start out by saying that, between my wife and me, I am the stricter parent. I don't think I'm unreasonable, but I make my son do things that I believe every kid "SHOULD DO!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Damon came outside when I arrived home today, and my first comment to him was, "Thank you, Damon." He asked, "Why, Dad?" And I said, "Because you have clothes on instead of pajamas." &lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;(He takes after his mom and wears his pajamas around ALL DAY, which drives Daddy crazy.) &lt;/span&gt;At this point, the first round of whining begins, already. Apparently he couldn't find his shoes in the house, and he knows that Evil Dad won't let him ride his bike unless he has shoes on. So now Damon's crying because he doesn't know where his shoes are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Five minutes pass before we hear the music of the Ice Cream Truck rapidly approaching (a sound that I truly hate because the dumbass driver has the volume so high that I could hear it over 100 Harley Davidsons riding past). At this point, I'm getting slightly irritated... because I've only been home for a few minutes and this is supposed to be my time to "wind down" after a day at work. Now, Damon is mad because he spent all of his money ($3 he earned mowing the yard last weekend) on this very same truck 2 days before... but he wants ice cream NOW, of course. Evil Dad says, "no ice cream." I told him we were going to have dinner before too long... AND we have ice cream and popsicles in the freezer (for later, after dinner). Damon is mad and crying again... but Grandma is here and comes to his rescue, as usual. She gives him money and lets him get ice cream for after dinner. (This, by the way, irritates the crap out of me since she heard me say no, but how can I go above the "Almighty Grandma?")&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dinner is always a fight with Damon, and I try to prepare myself for it ahead of time. Tonight was no different. First, Evil Dad made Damon's friends go home so we could sit and eat dinner as a family (one of the things I like to do now that I actually see my family every day.) About an hour later, Damon came to me with his plate cleaned off to show me that he ate all his food. I looked at the plate and could plainly see that a dog (Lizzie) had licked the plate clean. (Erin had put Lizzie up so we could eat dinner, and Damon apparently let her out during one of his trips to the bathroom... another way he tries to avoid eating.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now, I make Damon take his bath and prepare for an evening inside. He's pissed off at Evil Dad, of course. He now knows that, because he didn't eat all of his dinner, he can't have his friends back over to play tonight and he won't get the ice cream he was able to sucker out of Grandma.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of this fun and I haven't even been home for two hours yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If these things make me an Evil Dad, then I guess I'm guilty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, this has been long enough... I better go so I can figure out the next way to irritate my son... I'm sure he's counting on it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Carrie, this post is for you! Erin told me you were wondering when I would post again. It's nice to have a "fan.")&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3199280793182777798-8831854834707537090?l=wvduckman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/feeds/8831854834707537090/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3199280793182777798&amp;postID=8831854834707537090' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/8831854834707537090'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/8831854834707537090'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/2008/07/evil-dad.html' title='Evil Dad...'/><author><name>Duckman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06669157289075924256</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGXI3KB2X5I/AAAAAAAAABA/yzuPrH7VEKc/S220/sexycowboy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199280793182777798.post-2676067658410577058</id><published>2008-07-21T22:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-22T08:15:15.039-07:00</updated><title type='text'>An Old Wive's Tale?</title><content type='html'>For as long as I can remember, I have loved storms (they truly fascinate me; all the different kinds, too). But I have one favorite type... maybe it is the setting, I'm not really sure, but I really enjoy watching these.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here in Ohio Valley of West Virginia, we get these powerful thunderstorms in the summer. They are brief but they make their presence known!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can remember sitting on the back porch at our farmhouse as a kid watching these storms come and go, the lightning crawling through the sky like a spider making a web (I always called it spider lightning) and the loud cracks and booms of the thunder (someone tried to tell me that someone in heaven was bowling).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a particular part of the storms that I have always watched for. On that very porch I can remember someone telling me to keep your eyes on the trees. I was told that if the leaves on trees start turning upside down, then there is a storm coming. To this very day, I still "keep my eyes on the trees."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SIVMIwSP4HI/AAAAAAAAACU/SxAhYXEKoXc/s1600-h/new+144.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225666655917432946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SIVMIwSP4HI/AAAAAAAAACU/SxAhYXEKoXc/s400/new+144.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This evening I was watching as usual. One of these storms was nearby and I watched the familiar sight of the trees and thought we had a good one coming... some thunder and a tiny bit of lightning, but to my disappointment the storm did not hit us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So is this thing about the leaves true? There was a storm, but it did not hit where I was, so should the leaves have turned?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3199280793182777798-2676067658410577058?l=wvduckman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/feeds/2676067658410577058/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3199280793182777798&amp;postID=2676067658410577058' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/2676067658410577058'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/2676067658410577058'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/2008/07/old-wives-tale.html' title='An Old Wive&apos;s Tale?'/><author><name>Duckman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06669157289075924256</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGXI3KB2X5I/AAAAAAAAABA/yzuPrH7VEKc/S220/sexycowboy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SIVMIwSP4HI/AAAAAAAAACU/SxAhYXEKoXc/s72-c/new+144.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199280793182777798.post-4854064689608320639</id><published>2008-07-21T19:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-22T08:09:34.721-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Handing Down the Chores...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SIVCsPNIt8I/AAAAAAAAACM/jjaL_nTqCoE/s1600-h/new+112.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225656270396635074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SIVCsPNIt8I/AAAAAAAAACM/jjaL_nTqCoE/s400/new+112.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was a kid I would watch my Dad mow the yard at our farm and think it would be so cool to ride on the tractor and mow the yard. My father told me that, if I mowed the entire yard with the push mower, he would teach me how to drive the ride-on. After a few days of mowing, I finished almost all of the yard (mind you, I was about five, if memory serves, and the yard was 3 acres or so). But my Dad decided that was enough and started to teach me how to use the tractor so that I could actually mow faster than the grass grew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought I was so cool out there, mowing the grass like Dad. And then we moved into town... so much for the riding mower that spoiled me so much. It was all push mower and then I hated to mow the yard from that point forward. To this day, I hate yard work. I would rather have a few goats and move them around to mow the yard off, but unfortunately I live in town and don't have that option.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recently, I've been borrowing a mower from a good friend for the fact that our electric bill is more important than buying a mower right now. So the other day I convinced my son that he wanted to go get the mower with me and tag along with me for the day. We had some different conversations about things he would like to do and stuff that 7 year olds think about, like the latest video games... ya know, the important stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We made it home with the mower, and Damon wanted to help mow the yard. I went through and mowed the rough spots and decided what the heck... it's time for him to learn this evil chore. He mowed the whole back yard by himself and was very proud!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The funny part is that, even though I was more than happy not to have to mow the yard... even more than that, I was also a proud father. My son is growing up and learning to do grown-up things, so I must be doing something right!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But my final thoughts were about my dad and the day he saw me growing up, mowing the yard. What was he thinking about? Then I wondered: have I made my dad proud at this point in my life?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3199280793182777798-4854064689608320639?l=wvduckman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/feeds/4854064689608320639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3199280793182777798&amp;postID=4854064689608320639' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/4854064689608320639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/4854064689608320639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/2008/07/handing-down-chores.html' title='Handing Down the Chores...'/><author><name>Duckman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06669157289075924256</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGXI3KB2X5I/AAAAAAAAABA/yzuPrH7VEKc/S220/sexycowboy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SIVCsPNIt8I/AAAAAAAAACM/jjaL_nTqCoE/s72-c/new+112.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199280793182777798.post-3307791040119613579</id><published>2008-07-18T13:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-18T15:07:47.918-07:00</updated><title type='text'>GUEST BLOG!!!!!</title><content type='html'>I started to make this post the day after I was tagged by &lt;a href="http://daisygrl.wordpress.com/"&gt;one of my wife's dear friends&lt;/a&gt;. As I tried to remember the story the way it was told to me, it occured to me that there was only one person who could do this properly: my MOM. So, let me intoduce Mom (I promised that her version of the story would not be edited in any way... these are her words, her way)...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224477021078654882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SIESK5KVj6I/AAAAAAAAACE/B3xJgtx6FZ8/s400/bigwheel1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;I think Nick actually was a little over three years old when he had this experience. Not that it makes much difference. It was the spring before we moved into the farm house in October of 1980. The reason I remember is that it wasn't long after Nick's adventure that we found out Missy, born in 1981, was on the way. Here's the story from my point of view.&lt;br /&gt;_______________________________________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We lived on a 50 acre farm when Nick was little, about a third of a mile down a little dirt lane from the main highway. It was a beautiful setting. A steep wooded hill stood as a backdrop for the farm, and, below the barn, cornfields lay like quilted patches, stitched between a winding creek and the dirt lane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It had been a very long winter, and since we lived in a mobile home as we awaited purchase of the farm house, everyone was feeling a little cramped. It was one of the first warmer days in the spring. The grass was just beginning to green up a bit. A slight mist arose from the surrounding hills, signaling the spring meeting of warmer air and winter's chilled earth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It seemed like a perfect day to let Nick explore the front yard all on his own.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, anyone who knows Nick very well will understand how significant it is if I say that from the time the child could deliberately grasp anything, he held a Matchbox vehicle in his hand. As he grew, so did the size of preferred vehicles. So, by the time he was three or so, he preferred a BIG WHEEL. I don't know if that's the correct name, but that was Nick's name for the contraption. It was one of those low-riding blue and orange plastic trikes, with a huge front wheel and handlebars that protruded over the top. I'm thinking there were many parents from the late 1970s who cursed the darn things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, a perfect day to let Nick explore the front yard all on his own. I had a perfect view of the yard. Could wash dishes, glance out a window to the yard. Check on Nick. Dart out the front door if necessary to rein him in. I was sort of getting the hang of the parenting thing, confident in my ability to multi-task.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Cept I forgot about the BIG WHEEL, tucked out of sight by the corner of a garage. The BIG WHEEL ... a three-year old's ticket to freedom, to vast worlds unexplored, to mud puddles, which, when connected like dots, led down the country lane to the main highway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As surely as I type this, I say I washed a dish, looked out to confirm Nick's whereabouts, washed another dish, looked out the window. No Nick. Dashed to the door, yelled his name. No Nick. I yelled again. "Nick!!" (Does it sound the same when Erin yells it?) Still no little figure appeared from anywhere. I went to the coat closet to pull out some boots, and just as I struggled with the second boot, raising my head to push open the door and blow outside all in one motion ... a sheriff's patrol car emerged over the little rise by the garage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I'm not sure of the distance from the house to the garage, but it was a nice little stroll. Nevertheless, I clearly could see two things. First, there was a BIG WHEEL in the trunk of the patrol car. Then, there was Nick, plastered in mud. Or, I should say, Nick's huge eyes looking out over the back seat of a patrol car (you know, from the place where handcuffed prisoners are seated?), framed on the bottom by his mammoth grin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Deputy who returned my little one was gracious enough. "Ma'am, is this your son?" he asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Uhhh, I ... gbleeee, gblaaah." My tongue seemed to stick on my lower lip as I awkwardly gestured toward the one boot, still partly dangling from my foot. Perhaps as an experienced professional, he recognized the seizure-like spasms of a young mother who couldn't mouth any reasonable explanation for a purely poor demonstration of parenting skills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or maybe, just maybe, he felt sorry for Nick, whose BIG WHEEL turned out to be one of the first plastic recyclables.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love you, Nick. Thanks for making it through with me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I stated before, this is the story from Mom's point of view. There is only one part of that day that I can remember: while I was headed out "the little dirt lane," the mud puddles were just way too enticing... so I rode into them like a powerful 4wd truck going through a huge mudhole. When I talked to my Mom about doing this, she asked me if there was any part that I remember about that story... and in my memories of my life, I believe that one certain mud puddle is my first "real" memory.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Mom and I have been through a lot over the years, and there are things that I regret saying about her (things that at a younger age, I made up -- i.e., I lied -- and I'm deeply sorry that I did). Today, Mom and I get along fine, and I would help her with anything at anytime, at the drop of a hat (after all, she is the reason I'm here).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So Mom, when you read this all put together, this is for you:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that I was never really kind when I was young;&lt;br /&gt;but please know that I appreciate everything now.&lt;br /&gt;As a parent I now understand all the things you tried;&lt;br /&gt;and now it seems so clear that all you ever did was love me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you, Mom, for all you have done and the support you continue to give me!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3199280793182777798-3307791040119613579?l=wvduckman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/feeds/3307791040119613579/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3199280793182777798&amp;postID=3307791040119613579' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/3307791040119613579'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/3307791040119613579'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/2008/07/guest-blog.html' title='GUEST BLOG!!!!!'/><author><name>Duckman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06669157289075924256</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGXI3KB2X5I/AAAAAAAAABA/yzuPrH7VEKc/S220/sexycowboy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SIESK5KVj6I/AAAAAAAAACE/B3xJgtx6FZ8/s72-c/bigwheel1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199280793182777798.post-3141049384850043511</id><published>2008-07-16T16:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-16T19:46:35.152-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Working on a New Plan of Attack...</title><content type='html'>It is time for me to come up with another special night for my beautiful wife. Now, I know she will be reading this, too, but I'm just searching for ideas right now. I've conjured up a few in my head... like spreading rose pettles all over the bed or trying to find somewhere we could take a dance lesson (considering I have about 6 left feet that have no coordination that might not work as well as I would hope, though).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not asking for anyone to tell me exactly what to do, but I would like to hear some of the things that you all can think of that would be romantic. (Anyone that does not want their name associated with a comment is still welcome to leave one anonymously.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm thinking that I can take into consideration all of the ideas you give me and then make the night my way. Even though Erin will know something is coming, she'll have no idea when or what is going to happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Afterward, I'll post and let you know what happened (minus the private stuff!). Knowing that, at this point, most of my readers are women (because my wife recruited all of her friends), I'm sure that you can come up with some romantic fantasies to share and help me create a nice, romantic evening for her.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3199280793182777798-3141049384850043511?l=wvduckman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/feeds/3141049384850043511/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3199280793182777798&amp;postID=3141049384850043511' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/3141049384850043511'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/3141049384850043511'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/2008/07/working-on-new-plan-of-attack.html' title='Working on a New Plan of Attack...'/><author><name>Duckman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06669157289075924256</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGXI3KB2X5I/AAAAAAAAABA/yzuPrH7VEKc/S220/sexycowboy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199280793182777798.post-3993978325518561453</id><published>2008-07-15T19:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-16T03:48:19.758-07:00</updated><title type='text'>OHHHH NOOOO!</title><content type='html'>I've been tagged by &lt;a href="http://daisygrl.wordpress.com/2008/07/15/6-random-things-about-me/"&gt;Trish&lt;/a&gt;... so I have to post six random things about myself. I've been thinking about this one all evening and have not come up with much, so I'm gonna ramble through this and see how it goes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I would love to be a farmer. Ya know, cows and fields and horses and shit (literally, shit!). Yes, I am a proud REDNECK!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I had my first run-in with the police at the age of 2. That's another story for another time...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I was born in Key West, FL. Even though I was born by the beach and have lived by the beach, "I HATE the beach!" (I can't stand having sand around my feet.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I'm BALD, at the age of 31; is that even supposed to happen?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. I have three children. Most of you (if you're either related to us or read &lt;a href="http://erinragan.blogspot.com/"&gt;my wife's blog&lt;/a&gt;) already know Damon and Avery. But they also have an older sister, Molly. Again, another story for another time...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. I, the quiet one (I really don't talk a lot outside of my little home), have won national awards for public speaking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, hopefully those are six things about me that most of you had no clue about. I'm sure that you're gonna have questions about some of those, so we'll see where that leads for later posts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm supposed to tag 6 others for this, too... but I don't know many bloggers who haven't been tagged already in this round. If you're reading, have a blog, and haven't been tagged yet... you're it! One of these days, I'll have some extra time to find more blogs to read and enjoy, but right now it's a small world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are the rules :&lt;br /&gt;- Link to the person who tagged you.&lt;br /&gt;- Post the rules on your blog.&lt;br /&gt;- Write six random things about yourself.&lt;br /&gt;- Tag six people at the end of your post.&lt;br /&gt;- Let each person know they’ve been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.&lt;br /&gt;- Let the tagger know when your entry is up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3199280793182777798-3993978325518561453?l=wvduckman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/feeds/3993978325518561453/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3199280793182777798&amp;postID=3993978325518561453' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/3993978325518561453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/3993978325518561453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/2008/07/ohhhh-noooo.html' title='OHHHH NOOOO!'/><author><name>Duckman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06669157289075924256</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGXI3KB2X5I/AAAAAAAAABA/yzuPrH7VEKc/S220/sexycowboy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199280793182777798.post-5328315192413319465</id><published>2008-07-14T19:08:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-15T05:37:36.360-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Holy Crap!</title><content type='html'>I get home and I'm sitting on the front porch relaxing after a hard day at work (Hard day at work... sure sounds good right? LOL). So, anyway, I'm drinking a beer, smoking a cigarette, relaxing. Then, my beautiful wife comes out to join me and says that I need to check my blog. I immediately ask, "What did you do??" (She wouldn't tell.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finished my smoke quickly so I could get on the computer and check to see what the fuss was about... and HOLY CRAP, people have found me! I'm not used to seeing anyone comment or even know this thing is around. A few of your comments made me giggle like a kid... so I figured I'd respond to them here (thanks for giving me something to blog about today!):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Keep in mind, these are the thoughts of a stupid man... &lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;[with a little input/editorial decision making from Beautiful (ha!) Wife!]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Carrie asked about freebies from work... There are lots of things that the corporate office gives out, supposedly; I'm not sure about the specifics, but I do get some of my favorite beer at cost! (What's Tim's fave??)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Conundrums for Penny: &lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;[&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Hi! Beautiful (ha!) Wife here... Penny, I apologize. Nick DID attempt to give (smart-ass) answers to your conundrums, but I simply cannot allow the answers to be published for the public to see. See, Witschey, this is why it's dangerous to have me edit your posts, lol. I swore I wouldn't edit "content," but trust me, it's for the best!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;And Trish: You are absolutely correct; the thought of what questions you might have for me does scare me (a little! lol), so I would probably be claiming the Fifth.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;So, anyway, thank you all for commenting; it was a great surprise to "see" so many people here today. I hope we can continue this fun, and maybe someday I'll have as many readers as all of you, too!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3199280793182777798-5328315192413319465?l=wvduckman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/feeds/5328315192413319465/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3199280793182777798&amp;postID=5328315192413319465' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/5328315192413319465'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/5328315192413319465'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/2008/07/holy-crap.html' title='Holy Crap!'/><author><name>Duckman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06669157289075924256</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGXI3KB2X5I/AAAAAAAAABA/yzuPrH7VEKc/S220/sexycowboy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199280793182777798.post-4507919046222188344</id><published>2008-07-13T19:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-14T08:40:52.320-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What Do You Blog About?</title><content type='html'>I'm off to a slow start with this thing, and I've figured out part of my problem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I mentioned previously, &lt;a href="http://erinragan.blogspot.com/"&gt;my wife &lt;/a&gt;blogs a lot! She's able to come up with things all the time, things that happen in our daily lives that I &lt;strong&gt;know&lt;/strong&gt; about but never think to blog about until I read &lt;a href="http://erinragan.blogspot.com/"&gt;hers&lt;/a&gt;, and then say, "I could've done that!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this week my goal is to try to pay more attention to all my surroundings, and we'll see if I can beat her to one (wish me luck).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I'm trying to find something cool to post about, why don't you let me know things you would like to know about me or my life/lifestyle.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3199280793182777798-4507919046222188344?l=wvduckman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/feeds/4507919046222188344/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3199280793182777798&amp;postID=4507919046222188344' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/4507919046222188344'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/4507919046222188344'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/2008/07/what-do-you-blog-about.html' title='What Do You Blog About?'/><author><name>Duckman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06669157289075924256</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGXI3KB2X5I/AAAAAAAAABA/yzuPrH7VEKc/S220/sexycowboy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199280793182777798.post-3509133910126322233</id><published>2008-07-13T18:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-14T03:55:45.966-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Beer Man</title><content type='html'>My previous post was about leaving my job, and I found a new one very quickly. (That was a major surprise!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My new job is a beer delivery guy. It is amazing what a normal job is like. For the majority of my life, I have had jobs that paid on some type of commission base pay, so now I'm not sure what to do with myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get paid by the hour, only work 40 hour weeks, and there is an awesome benefits package with this company.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know I've only been there for a week, but I really feel content there. I have always had issues with feeling like I don't fit in or I'll never go anywhere (promotions). So far I have a different feeling about this place---they have all made me feel right at home and there are many opportunities depending on what I want to do over the years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll update on this again next weekend!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3199280793182777798-3509133910126322233?l=wvduckman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/feeds/3509133910126322233/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3199280793182777798&amp;postID=3509133910126322233' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/3509133910126322233'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/3509133910126322233'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/2008/07/beer-man.html' title='The Beer Man'/><author><name>Duckman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06669157289075924256</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGXI3KB2X5I/AAAAAAAAABA/yzuPrH7VEKc/S220/sexycowboy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199280793182777798.post-8713116531703292068</id><published>2008-07-08T15:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-08T17:29:29.537-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Roller Coaster</title><content type='html'>Just a week ago I was posting about my frustrations of Pittsburgh, PA, and my job. Well this past Sat., they finally sent me over the edge. No, I didn't run the truck into a store, but let me just lead you up to and through the night in question.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My week started on Tuesday (remember the 6 days on and 2 off). I worked 16 hrs., breaking every log book law that exists. I'm thinking Wednesday is gonna be better right? (Wrong!) I work 17 hrs. breaking all the laws again (these laws are supposed to protect me and you from all the dangers of a driver on the road from having fatigue). Thursday comes and I've had something like 8 maybe 10 hours of sleep all week long, but the good part is my wife is going to ride along with me this night, so I'll have some company anyway. Take a wild guess where they send me? That is correct... Pittsburgh again. That night I pick up my second load and deliver that one, but I'm exhausted so I need to take a nap. I sleep for about an hour and back to the wheel I go, apparently breaking the laws yet again to make it back for a break and more loads.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're now to Friday night, and my load is not going to pull out until 02:30 a.m. Sat. morning. All day long I'm awake (at the house, during my break) talking to my wife about how I want to leave my job (she wants me to leave, too, but we are worried about finding another one where we live now). I keep asking her what she wants me to do, but she just says, "I don't know," not wanting to make the decision for me. Finally, I doze off around 11:00 p.m. My wife wakes me at 01:30 a.m. and asks what I'm going to do about the job. I said, "I guess I'm going to work."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get ready and sadly leave my house, to go to hell again (this is what I've been referring to work as for about a month now). I get there and ask about my load. The dispatcher says, "They haven't even started loading the trailer yet." At 07:00 a.m. they come out, beating on the side of the truck because I've fallen asleep on the steering wheel while waiting on the load. I now wake in a stuper trying to rush and hook-up to the trailer and get out of there. It takes me about an hour to get to the store. I back into the dock door and head for the entrance. I wait at least 15 minutes before someone answers, then I'm told I have to wait... they don't have time do take my load at that moment, they have vendors to deal with (I'm the grocery truck, and am supposed to take priority over all others, according to the distribution center). I'm totally pissed off at this point. So, I throw the oh-so-important paperwork in the air and tell the woman, "I'm going to drop the f****** trailer, you deal with it then!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I go to the truck, send a message over the computer telling the office what I am doing, and that I'm coming back without a trailer so they better find somone to cover the load. I did exactly that, and then I cleaned out my truck (all the crap I've collected in the past year of hell.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I then went into the office, turned in the keys to the big truck, and told my dispatcher that I was done. At that point, he proceeded to lecture me... told me that I didn't work hard enough for him and that I was not devoted enough to my job. I could tell you more stories about this guy, but I will just say that he obviously doesn't have any family values or much respect for anyone else's. If dedicating the majority of your life to your job is not enough for him, then I truly feel that my "stupid decision" to leave without any clue what I was going to do next was, indeed, the right one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went home Saturday morning and told my wife I had quit my job. So for the next two days I tried to figure out what I was going to do. How was I going to support my family? How was I going to pay bills? Where in this area am I gonna find another job?  Even with all of those questions, I was still 100% relieved to be away from the job from hell in "the big truck."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, I didn't have to ask myself those questions for long.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First thing Monday morning, I set out looking for a new job. When I returned home in about 2 hours, I had already found a job. (What a relief!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started my new job this morning. For the first time in a very long time, I woke up after a night of restful sleep in MY bed, set out for work at a normal time (08:00 a.m.), and was home from work by 4:30 p.m. this afternoon.  I was free to enjoy an evening with my wife and kids. Yes, I believe I made the right "stupid decision" Saturday morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My wife wrote her version of this story on her blog yesterday. &lt;a href="http://erinragan.blogspot.com/2008/07/love-it-when-plan-comes-together.html"&gt;Click here&lt;/a&gt; to read all about it, from her point of view.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3199280793182777798-8713116531703292068?l=wvduckman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/feeds/8713116531703292068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3199280793182777798&amp;postID=8713116531703292068' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/8713116531703292068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/8713116531703292068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/2008/07/another-roller-coaster.html' title='Another Roller Coaster'/><author><name>Duckman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06669157289075924256</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGXI3KB2X5I/AAAAAAAAABA/yzuPrH7VEKc/S220/sexycowboy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199280793182777798.post-5744951215200344815</id><published>2008-06-28T05:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-08T16:17:39.640-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Not Again...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGY0VvmKgsI/AAAAAAAAABI/HXK0Ys_H5ps/s1600-h/may+087.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216914766513734338" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGY0VvmKgsI/AAAAAAAAABI/HXK0Ys_H5ps/s320/may+087.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I mentioned before that I drive a "big truck." For anyone who doesn't know, that is what we call tractor trailers. I work a schedule that consists of 6 days on, 48 hours off. My 6 days on are 14-hour days, and I spend 10-11 hours driving in that time frame. I deliver groceries from a distibution center out to the stores, have to wait for them unload their merchandise, and then go to the next store, and so on. I usually make two runs per shift and have 2-3 stores on each load. These stores are located in the tri-state region of Ohio, West Virginia, and Pennsylvania, so I actually cover a decent little area, driving around 500 miles each shift.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;This week has been very frustrating because apparently I was nominated to take all the Pittsburgh, PA loads. I have now been to this craphole of a city 4 out of the 5 days I've been out so far. God help the person who tells me I have to go there again tonight. Before I get myself in deep do-do with somebody out there, please understand that if all I ever had to drive through Pittsburgh was a little Honda, I might have a different opinion, but I don't. I have to drive a 65-ft.-long 80,000-pound truck in the traffic and on roads that are still measured for a horse and buggy. Now that I've established that, will somebody please tell me where it is in drivers ed., or wherever it is that people learn to drive, that they teach people when you are close to a "big truck," do whatever is necessary to get around it, pull directly in front of the truck to cut it off, and then make sure you slam on the brakes?? You're probably thinking, "What kind of an idiot would do such a thing??" All I'm gonna say is that it happens about 10 times a shift... just to me, and I'm only one "big truck!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I will quit ranting now, but leave you with this... If you hear of some "big truck" that drove into a grocery store in Pittsburgh, PA, you might have to think that they sent me there again!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3199280793182777798-5744951215200344815?l=wvduckman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/feeds/5744951215200344815/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3199280793182777798&amp;postID=5744951215200344815' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/5744951215200344815'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/5744951215200344815'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/2008/06/not-again.html' title='Not Again...'/><author><name>Duckman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06669157289075924256</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGXI3KB2X5I/AAAAAAAAABA/yzuPrH7VEKc/S220/sexycowboy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGY0VvmKgsI/AAAAAAAAABI/HXK0Ys_H5ps/s72-c/may+087.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199280793182777798.post-2974359688826912516</id><published>2008-06-27T10:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-08T16:11:05.413-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My New Goal in Life...</title><content type='html'>You see, the thing about me is that I hate talking about feelings and all that gooshy stuff (those who know me will vouch for that). So here we go on the beginning of a roller coaster ride of me...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love my wife (yes, I am a man who will say that)... and I really mean that I &lt;strong&gt;love&lt;/strong&gt; her. Many men have said those words a little too freely over the years, and in my past I have as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what is the meaning of love? I'm not the best with words, but here is what i've come to think:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love: Something/someone that you feel you can't survive without; something/someone that your world revolves around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now that you know my meaning of love, you might take the words you see here a little more to heart and a lot more seriously. My beautiful wife is my world, and as a stupid, hard-headed man, I don't tell her enough how much she means to me or how much I love her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She and I have been together almost nine whole years (this is the longest anyone has ever put up with me), and I'm just starting to figure out how much she means to me. As I said, I'm a stupid man just starting to wake up (finally!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realized the other day that I needed to pay more attention to her (I do drive around in the "Big Truck" and have lots of time to think). So I came up with this: I'm going to say or do something each and every day to try to make sure she knows how I feel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later that day, on the phone with her, I tell her that my new lifelong goal is to make sure that, by the day I die, there will be absolutely no doubt in her mind and heart how I feel about her. I send her text messages all day long, probably driving her nuts because I don't leave her alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have managed to bring home to her two dozen roses in the past two weeks: one red dozen and one white. The white dozen was just accompanied by a card, nothing exta special. But, I'm proud of myself for the presentation of the red dozen!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm out in the "Big Truck," and I get this bright idea to do something special... so I send a text to her telling her I have a treat for her later when I get home (suspense drives her nuts, so I don't say anything more). A little while later, I send her another message: "Only 8 more hours till your sweet treat." After a few more messages, she tells me she is going to quit reading my messages (I know that the suspense is really driving her nuts; mission accomplished so far!). So, through the night, I pick up things at each stop I go to:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. One dozen red roses&lt;br /&gt;2. One dozen long candles&lt;br /&gt;3. Three glass jar candles (passion fruit scent)&lt;br /&gt;4. Some plastic bowls&lt;br /&gt;5. One can of Reddi-Whip&lt;br /&gt;6. One jar of ice cream topping (Reese's chocolate peanut butter flavor, yum!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get home, sneak the stuff into the bedroom, and tell her she can't come back there. I spent about 30 minutes getting it all set up... and kept one loong-stemmed rose out. I came out to get her, made her close her eyes, and slowly led her back to the bedroom. The one rose that I kept out proved to be very useful... Every couple of steps, I would stop kiss her and run the rose across what skin she had exposed from her gown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We approached the bedroom, I opened the door, and told her to open her eyes. This was her view (yes, of course she wanted the picture... anyone who knows my wife will NOT be surprised by that, I'm sure):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGU7O3--_OI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eKu55eJ6tUw/s1600-h/new+007.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216640870110919906" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGU7O3--_OI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eKu55eJ6tUw/s320/new+007.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGU7PJqIyzI/AAAAAAAAAAU/zoOAelkKF-s/s1600-h/new+006.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216640874855320370" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGU7PJqIyzI/AAAAAAAAAAU/zoOAelkKF-s/s320/new+006.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the camera was put away, the "moment" returned and things... progressed. As for the rest of the story, I'll let you make your own ending. I have mine and that is where it will stay (and I promise it isn't as X-rated as you're thinking, even though Reddi-Whip and chocolate topping were involved!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later, I held my loving wife, an exhausted woman (it WAS after 2am!), tightly (there is something that I really love about knowing my wife is asleep in my arms.) I lay there watching her smile in her sleep, as she often does, just wondering what thoughts might be running through her head. Then, I drifted off to La La Land myself, wearing a smile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have shared all this to say to my wonderful wife:&lt;br /&gt;I love you, my beautiful; you are my life, my love, and my world!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3199280793182777798-2974359688826912516?l=wvduckman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/feeds/2974359688826912516/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3199280793182777798&amp;postID=2974359688826912516' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/2974359688826912516'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/2974359688826912516'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/2008/06/my-new-goal-in-life.html' title='My New Goal in Life...'/><author><name>Duckman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06669157289075924256</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGXI3KB2X5I/AAAAAAAAABA/yzuPrH7VEKc/S220/sexycowboy.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGU7O3--_OI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eKu55eJ6tUw/s72-c/new+007.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199280793182777798.post-3110054059319842959</id><published>2008-06-27T10:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-08T16:16:51.909-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Intro</title><content type='html'>Ok, so where do I start? I'm a man (a real one... ya know, hard-headed, macho, doesn't like to talk, etc.). Ya'll know the type. I drive a tractor trailer for a living (more on that later). I have a total of three children (there will be lots about them in the future). I am married to the most beautiful woman in the universe (or bigger if there is more out there).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure that many of you who will read this are wondering all the who, what, where, how, and why I'm starting to blog, but only time/posts will answer all that. I know my wife blogs almost daily, and since I'm not always able to sit down to the computer this might be a once or twice a week, thing but we'll see where this goes. Now, before I really get started there are a couple of things I would like to say:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I am not a good writer (although my wife is an awesome editor, so maybe she'll help out some!), so be patient I'll get to my point eventually.&lt;br /&gt;2. I'm going to post things very personal to me (feel privileged!);&lt;br /&gt;3. Nothing I post is meant to offend anyone (although it probably will at some point);&lt;br /&gt;4. I'm sure my writing will leave lots of unanswered questions from time to time, so please feel free to leave a comment and ask if it's clear as mud (that will make things even more interesting!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok... with those things said, the rest will be answered as time/posts come and go...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3199280793182777798-3110054059319842959?l=wvduckman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/feeds/3110054059319842959/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3199280793182777798&amp;postID=3110054059319842959' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/3110054059319842959'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3199280793182777798/posts/default/3110054059319842959'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wvduckman.blogspot.com/2008/06/intro.html' title='Intro'/><author><name>Duckman</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06669157289075924256</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_nlyt3lwoZN0/SGXI3KB2X5I/AAAAAAAAABA/yzuPrH7VEKc/S220/sexycowboy.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
