AUGUST 2003                                                                Vol. 7    No. 8

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MARS SPECTACULAR

dorothylh@hotmail.com

This month and next, Earth is catching up with Mars in an encounter that will culminate in the closest approach between the two planets in recorded history. The next time Mars may come this close is in 2287. Due to the way Jupiter's gravity tugs
on Mars and perturbs its orbit, astronomers can only be certain that Mars has not come this close to Earth in the last 5,000 years, but it may be as long as 60,000 years before it happens again.

The encounter will culminate on Aug, 27th when Mars comes to within 34,649,589 miles of Earth and will be (next to the Moon) the brightest object in the night sky. It will attain a magnitude of -2.9 and will appear 25.11 arc seconds wide at a modest 75-power magnification. Mars will look as large as the full moon to the naked eye. Mars will be easy to spot. At the beginning of August it will rise in the East at 10
P.M. By the end of August when the two planets are closest, Mars will rise at nightfall and reach its highest point in the sky at 12:30 A.M., that's a pretty convenient time to see something that no human being has seen in recorded history. SO, mark your calendar at the beginning of August to see Mars grow progressively brighter and brighter throughout the month.

Submitted by BET N AZ ( http://hometown.aol.com/betnaz/myhomepage/business.html )
Freelance Writer
( http://www.hometown.aol.com/betnaz/myhomepage/business.html)

REQUIEM FOR A PIG

by Charles T. Whipple

In the spring of '46, my Dad still drove the old '37 Chevy we called Jezebel. That same spring, the old sow had nine shoats. Problem was, she only had eight spigots, so the runt got bunted out of the way when his siblings rooted for ma-milk.

We had a fireplace in the front room of the old house on the hill. That was our central heating. That's where my older sister taught me to read first-grade books. That's where I drew pictures of clipper ships and horses. And that's where Dad found me when he came in with the runt.

He set that cardboard box down beside me in the warmth of the fire. Being naturally curious, I peeked over the edge. One of Dad's old shirts was kinda bunched up in the bottom, and on top lay a little pink pig about the size of my Dad's right fist.

"Think you can take care of this little feller?" Dad asked.

My heart took to pounding and I had to swallow a couple of times before I could squeak out my most confident "Sure."

Trix Merrell hit my dog Lucky and killed him, so I was without a companion until Dad brought Oinkment in. That's what I named the runt - Oinkment.

Oinkment was all pink except for a little black muffler around his neck. He and I, we got along fine. He knew I was the source of warm milk that made his tummy feel good. I knew he knew, and together, we grew.

Sis and I - Sis was five years older than I was - we slept in the same bedroom. Sis had a regular bed, but I still made do with a crib, not that I let any of my friends know.

That crib was metal, with round bars to keep a kid in like the bars of a jail keep criminals in. It sat up against the east wall of our little bedroom, with Sis's bed across the way. At the end of the crib, the iron bars went from the top all the way to the bottom, right down next to the floor. But on the side away from the wall, there was a sliding door, a thing made of bars that you could lift up to keep a baby or a toddler from getting out if it wakes up and wants to go somewhere on its own. But let down, that bunch of bars turned the space under the bed into a cage.

Oinkment and I got to be bosom buddies. He followed me everywhere I went, and I let him. In fact, I figured good buddies like us ought not to be separated at night. So I sneaked him in and stuck him in that cage under my bed.

Come time for bed, I went without any of the usual "Ah, Ma, not already. How come I gotta go to bed and Sis is still up?" I knew my buddy was in there, so I went right away. I scrambled into my peejays, gave Oinkment a couple of scratches back of the ears, and settled down for a good night's sleep.

All was well until Mom came in to say good night. I knew enough to keep my eyes shut and breathe deep and slow. Oinkment wasn't that smart. He oinked. And that prompted a family council meeting.

I held that there was no reason my buddy and I couldn't sleep together.

Mom held that no pig was gonna sleep in her house (except when he was so little that he couldn't get out of the cardboard box).

I argued.

Mom refused.

I said if my buddy couldn't sleep inside, I'd go outside with him.

Dad offered a compromise. "There's that new load of hay in the barn," he told Mom. "Let Charlie sleep out there."

So Oinkment and I got put out in the soft hay, because we stuffed the barn with loose hay in those days - didn't have a bailer.

Mom says she went out with a flashlight to check on me before going go bed, and that my buddy Oinkment and I were fast asleep -I had an arm thrown over his neck and he was matching me snore for snore.

About a year and a half later, in the early winter of '47, Oinkment had grown to weigh about 250 pounds. His turn came, and unlike Charlotte, he didn't escape. We ate him.

The Cat Fight
Revisited


Oh a tom cat a sittin on a corral fence
and a pole cat on the ground.
Well the tom cat jumped down off tha fence
and they went around and around.

They was a bitten and clawin
And a chewin and chawin
And they both was a bloody sight.

I knew that they would fight all night
so I just hung around.

Well they fought all day
And they fought all night
And I knew they'd never quit.
Then the pole cat said brother this it.


With death you're a flirtin
Gonna give you a squirtin
Gonna put out both a your eyes.
But the tom cat said I'll never go dead
By a thing that's two toned striped.

They was clawin and steamin
And bitten and schemin
Till they was awful weak.
The tom cat said you striped thing
Your beginning to show your streak.

Well they lit into each other then
I aint never seen such a fight.
they both was a winnin
neither one was a grinning
but they both was a doin all right.
Then the pole cat aimed and he pulled the trigger
He hit the mark just right.

The tom cat fell down on tha ground
with his hands up over his eyes.
No use guessin he learned his lesson
because I heard him cry.

It just wasn't fair I didn't have a chance
I'm plum outta his class.
I know I'm a fool you just can't win
against built in poison gas.

by Denny Sisson
copyright 06-20-2003




SOAPY

by Frazer Williamson.

Soapy had been the town drunk for so long that few remembered his given name, which was Josiah Spriggs. Folks called him Soapy because, just when you thought he'd reached a rock-bottom, stinking state, he'd extract from a spittoon a tossed-in dollar, stagger down the street with it, and buy a bar of lye soap from the general store, proceed to the back door of the hotel, and buy himself a hot tub with a brush, cloths, and towels. At such times his filthy rags were burned, and clean clothes left for him by order of Bill Cameron, the Mayor. There weren't many, now, in Congress who thought of Soapy as a man anymore, and none who knew where he'd come from or that he'd been a Major in Lincoln's Army.

War, for Spriggs, was more of a conflict within himself. He was an officer who was supposed to stimulate bellicosity in his men, but found himself holding back the, black, seething, potential that boiled within him. He had no deep convictions that he was on the right side fighting a just war. A war, where the God who said,"Thou shalt not kill", was on the Union side. A war that ended for him when he took his first prisoners.

He and eight men had infiltrated behind the Confederate lines to gather intelligence, when they rode straight into Rebel sentries who, deceived by the grey uniforms they wore, took them to a farmhouse where they captured a Captain, a Lieutenant, a Sergeant and two Private soldiers as well as the sentries.

The Rebel Captain, without haste, lifted the maps and the papers he'd been studying and walked towards the fireplace. "Hold it, right there", Spriggs ordered.
The Captain took no heed. He reached the fire. "Don't do it". The Captain smiled at him and tossed the papers and maps into the flames and pushed them down with his foot, then stood blocking the fireplace until Spriggs' Sergeant Blum, hauled him out of the way and tried to retrieve the burning papers. He stamped out the flames but the information was charred and useless.
"You are my prisoners", Spriggs said.
"But not for long", the Captain said.
"Tell me about the deployment of your troops".
"You know I won't do that".
"Then we shall take you back to our own lines and you will be questioned there".
"I'll make him talk", Blum said.
"We will take him back, Blum. These men will talk there".
"As you say, Major".

They found food and ate it, and an hour later Spriggs ordered his men to mount up, and with the prisoners secure they were about to set off when a volley of shots rang out from the nearby field. One of Spriggs men and two horses went down, the rest of the balls hit the farmhouse. The captive Confederates dug their heels into their horses flanks and tried to run for it. Blum was too fast for the Captain, and dragged him from his horse. The Lieutenant and the Sergeant got away but three private soldiers were dragged back into the house along with the Captain.
"Get in here, Major", Blum yelled, and Spriggs, using his horse for cover made it through the door.
"It's your call, Major", Blum said.
"Shut the door and man the windows", Spriggs said.

For a moment Spriggs was inclined to tremble, but he gathered his wits and had the prisoners feet bound, then tied back to back in the center of the room.
"Surrender, Major", the Captain said.
"Sergeant, deploy the men".
Baum sent three men upstairs to cover the front and back of the house from there. The other three men he deployed throughout the ground floor. He looked out of the window and saw advancing gray uniforms.
"Fire at will", Baum ordered. The men outside dropped to the ground.
"You're surrounded", the Captain said, he had rolled sideways to the floor along with the man he was tied to.
"Shut up", snarled Baum.
"Sooner or later you'll run out of ammunition, Major", the Captain said.
"Baum, use those sacks of potatoes to barricade the windows".

What the Captain said made sense, but captured they'd be shot as spies. Some kind of strangeness overcame him, and he moved through the house and around the men as if he was a ghost. He knew he had to do it before he died. Knew it was wrong as well. He came back to the room where the prisoners were. Sergeant Baum was kicking the Captain in the stomach, yelling at him to shut up, again. At this point, Soapy, in his bath, and riding the stage of his thoughts always became restless, and slopped out onto the floor where he gave his body a merciless toweling hoping the friction would burn away the images in his mind.

But while he dressed his shaking body, not even the painful neuritis held back his regrouping visions of what had happened after hed shot Sergeant Baum.
"Holy Hell"! one of his own men said. "You're supposed to shoot the enemy, Major".
He'd shot that man too, and the others of his troop, until only the prisoners remained, and then he shot them as well. Elated, he then surrendered. Was interrogated Revealed the Union positions as if nothing was of any consequence.
They thought he should die in Andersonville, but he survived that hell by trying to figure out why hed enjoyed killing friend and foe alike.

Post-bellum he drank his way West, ending up in Morgan, and when the Morgans were killed he moved into their ranch house with the intention of sobering up and straightening out, but he knew that if he did that he'd want to kill again.
He drank the Morgans whiskey, and came back to Congress the same as he had been, with nobody knowing that sober he wanted to kill people and drunk, he didn't.
The salvation of others was in the spirit 70% proof.

AMERICAN WESTERN MAGAZINE

WITH TAYLOR FOGARTY

(http://www.readthewest.com)

Kevin Costner & OPEN RANGE:
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Frustrated fans "want to like" Costner's Western. So what's the beef?

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