Law Letters

The Value of Silence and Compassion

Yes, it’s true, that the First Amendment does offer us freedom of speech. We can speak openly about pretty much whatever we want, with the exception of libel, without legal repercussion. Doesn’t matter if it’s about politics, religion, business, sex, etc., it’s all fair game. That doesn’t mean, however, that anyone will be immune to social repercussions.

This has been a big topic on the world stage lately after an amateur filmmaker, with Coptic Christian beliefs, released a film poking fun at the Islamic prophet, Mohamed. As we all know, and certainly the filmmaker knew, such rhetoric inside the Muslim community is punishable only by death. It doesn’t matter how extreme that may be, or how anyone else feels about it, it is a matter of how they feel, and they’re not American.  Step foot into their world, and I assure you the Bill of Rights won’t protect you.

Author Salman Rushdie has been facing the same kind of backlash for his book The Satanic Verses ever since its release in 1988. The result was an Islamic fatwā which ordered his death, and as of late, the bounty is now set at $3.3 million. The British, Indian author, now living on American soil in New York City, has been living under police protection ever since.

Though it was his right to write and publish the book, as it was the right of the filmmaker to make the controversial video, it was also their right to keep their mouths shut, and they are reaping the consequences for not doing so.  Rushdie is not taking the threat seriously, which surprises me, because all we have to do is look at what happened at the American Embassy in Egypt to know that the Islamic communities do take it seriously.

We don’t have to be on the world stage to realize consequences for what we say or create. From our first social experiences as children, to present day, we have all learned that at times it was probably better that we not ignite, or not respond. Yeah, maybe that girl is wearing an ugly dress, but is it important that all your friends know your feelings? Very few have the guts to tell anyone directly how they feel, they usually spread it via malicious gossip, which is a weak, cowardly approach.

We have all experienced incidents like this over our lifetime, regardless of what painful end we are on. It doesn’t matter whether you start it, or weather you’re on the receiving end, it is always painful to either party. I say this because when someone starts malicious talk, especially the kind that is somewhat slanted and magnified to make it worse than it really is, then I will revert to an old saying that I like to use: karma is a bitch.

As I got older, through college, and out into the business world, I experienced a lot of this type of behavior that was truly no better than when we were in junior high school. It doesn’t matter whether the person is at entry level, or a CEO of a Fortune 500 company, they all do it. I feel lucky to have had some good examples, even some good teaching from mentors, on how to handle these types of situations, and the best advice was not to participate in it, even if it’s about you.

After every experience I had like this the better I got at handling it. I’m not saying that it’s not hurtful, annoying, or that it doesn’t anger me, but experience has taught me that keeping silent is the best remedy of all. The most hurtful part is that we usually end up losing so-called friends. No, they weren’t our friends after all, but we may have thought there was something promising for the future.

I have read a lot of biographies of successful people, and quite often they will write about this very issue. Almost always they will be consistent with remaining calm, professional, and staying out of it. This is certainly true in personal situations. In business situations, sometimes there is a requirement to respond, and in doing so we are very careful to do so in a professional, non-threatening manner.

This reminds me of the numerous accounts in the arts where I have witnessed authors, musicians, actors, and the like, that were somewhat one-hit wonders because of the way they worked with people. Some like to call it “drama,” which in many cases the most successful people I know try to avoid. Making way into the world of the professional arts is not near as difficult as staying in it. Once they break that barrier there are even more obstacles to overcome, and if they are more emotional than professional then it’s unlikely their success will last.

Several years back, when Jay Leno took over the tonight show, there were things going on behind his back that he knew could destroy his chances at keeping the job.  Rather than engage in the drama, Jay went straight to the source, the one who had the answers and could make the decisions, and worked things out. The result? Well, after all those years he is still on the air.

There have been three situations in the last year where people have tried to destroy my career. For whatever reasons they felt the need to do so, all three of them could have saved a lot of heartache for themselves as well as me if they would have just called me first and expressed their concerns.  Instead, they made their judgment, based on hearsay, and went about spreading the rumors and creating a negative image about me and what I do. Again, they never, ever talked to me first.

When these rumors got around to the people that DO know me, and knew better, they called me. “Have you heard what so-and-so is saying? What’s that all about?” They cared enough to inquire about it before they responded or said anything, which goes to show that the person that starts things usually doesn’t care, and usually has self-serving reasons for doing so. The same with those who participate and take stock in the rumors, and have never heard my side of the story.

I am not surprised to know that all three cases are part of the same circle, just different ring leaders. Two of the three situations are over with, and I am standing just as tall, if not taller, than before. The third was even more damaging, and is yet to come to a close, but I assure you I will not be taken down by this. Everything I started in my career is going stronger than ever, and I credit it to keeping my nose to the grindstone and avoiding the senseless, pointless drama that can do nothing more than hold me back.

I have to make mention of the use of social media in these types of situations. Because of smart phones, tablets, or anything mobile that is connected to the Internet, we are in a communication revolution. What this means is that we communicate faster than ever before, and almost anything can become “live” in a nanosecond.  Because of this, a lot of what we say or do online can’t be undone, and if we don’t take time to think about things before we post or hit send, it can be quite harmful to others and ourselves.

Facebook can be useful, but in many cases it’s just as useless and counterproductive. People use Facebook for these social games they play with other people, and like any other medium of communication it’s something not to take part in. The most successful people I know are not on Facebook, or if they are, they are not on there very much. I limit my time on all social media to just a few minutes each day, and most of that is on my business page. I used it more while I was on tour, but much less while I’m at home. My books are not going to write themselves.

First and foremost, I think that we have to understand why people say the things they do to help us realize why we don’t do the same thing. The martyrs of our history, which go back more than two millennia, who lost their lives standing up for free speech, did so for the benefit of the human race. Some will argue the value of the Coptic filmmaker’s work, or Salman Rushdie’s book, but few will disagree that they didn’t do it for attention to themselves, or their own personal gain, instead of the greater good. 

It’s the same for all expressions that are hurtful in nature and handled inappropriately, they did it for attention.  They could have thought about the greater whole instead of themselves, and found themselves in a much better eye of those who chose not to take part or respond. That, my current and former friends, would have been exercising their freedom of silence, and a true ability to care about other people. That’s the path I choose, and I hope you will too.

Steven Law is the author of Yuma Gold (Berkley, 2011) and The True Father (Goldminds, 2008). Visit his website at www.stevenlaw.com.

 

The Power Of An Empty Chair

Long before Clint Eastwood delivered his controversial improv at the Republican National Convention, or the buzz of “Eastwooding” began, there has been and empty chair in my house that is much more than just a “conversation” piece, and the former inhabitants more than just imaginative.

Most of my readers know that my pen name, Law, came from my maternal grandmother. When my grandmother was only five years-old, her own mother passed away, and since her father didn’t feel he could provide proper care for her and her two siblings, they were left to be raised by her grandparents. Her grandfather had a chair that she loved to sit in, and God only knows the things she learned or thought about while sitting in that chair, but more so, I am confident that my great-great-grandfather read some fantastic news stories while reading his newspaper in it.

It is possible that in that chair he learned of the panic in 1929 that began the Great Depression, something that would have affected them greatly since they owned and operated a general store. He likely listened to Roosevelt on the radio, maybe the comedy of Amos and Andy, or the Big Band music of Artie Shaw.

My grandma’s uncle Otis was the first to inherit the chair, and the picture I have here is of him sitting in it, in his favorite spot next to his radio. The little girl in the picture is one of my mother’s first cousins, which would date this photo in the early 1950s. Having learned about Otis and his interests, I’m quite certain that he listened to a lot of baseball games on that radio while sitting in the chair—perhaps he heard the play by play of the St. Louis Cardinals and Stan Musial as they won the 1942 World Series.

Otis died in 1963, and though I’m not sure how it worked out precisely, somehow my grandma Law inherited the chair. As a child I remember seeing the chair in the old farmhouse.  Not considered an antique, but a regular part of the living room furniture, it was used for family and company. Though I can’t remember specifically my grandmother reading to me in this chair, I’m quite sure it was in the same room when she did.

My grandma died in 1983, and several years after that my grandfather gave the chair to my mother.  To her it was an heirloom and an antique, and was very proud of it. The cushion had been recovered from its original leather to a gold tweed upholstery, and it was part of my mom’s decorative furniture for several years—never used, but sat empty and only to be admired by its appearance.

I loved the chair, for its style, appearance, and nostalgia, so I was very pleased when my mother gave it to me. I never intended to use it, only for it to sit empty and to decorate my home. But it was in bad need of a new finish, and I wanted to recover the cushion back to leather. My mom agreed to help me, and so before taking it to my home we stripped and refinished it ourselves, and my mom reupholstered the cushion. When done I couldn’t have been more pleased with the results.

But in my house it sat, an empty chair, except when one of my cats or my dog took the notion to lay in it for a nap. On occasion, when my parents would visit, my mom would sit in the chair, maybe to absorb some of that nostalgic energy, or more likely to admire our work of restoration. I certainly loved having the chair for all those reasons.

Not long ago I was reading about Louis L’Amour’s claim that he “could write anywhere with his typewriter balanced on his knees.” I thought I should try to do something similar, and when passing through my living room I saw the chair and it hit me: I should write a novel in that chair.

After all, I write under my grandmother’s name, and it belonged to her family.  What another great tribute, I thought, and it would also give that particular book a special, personal contribution.  So I committed to it, and when I started writing The Bitter Road, it was with my laptop balanced on my knees, in that once empty chair.  Though I am still working on the novel as I write this, I can assure you that every single word has, and will be written in that chair. 

And yes, even this blog post is being written in that chair. 

One might wonder if it’s comfortable, and I am amazed at just how comfortable it is. It’s really no different than my office chair, which is designed after the old style wooden office chairs on caster wheels. Though I’m not convinced it’s something I would want to write in full time, it’s definitely fun to do as a tribute.

Now as for having conversations with this empty chair, that has never happened. I do think, however, that sometimes the chair talks to me.  Not literally, of course, but spiritually.  Five generations of my family have owned this chair, and it’s my belief that it is on an incredible journey, and my contribution may only be a short chapter of where it has been and what is yet to come, but before my time is up, I may have to do some Eastwooding of my own. That’s right, I can’t bear the thought of saying goodbye to the chair without having a nice talk. We might even talk about politics.

Steven Law is the author of Yuma Gold (Berkley, 2011) and The True Father (Goldminds, 2008). Visit his website at www.stevenlaw.com.

“Hell on Wheels” On the Right Track

For many years I have been hoping for the TV Western to make a comeback, and the deeper I got into my writing career, and watching the market for Westerns fade to a fraction of those glory days, I wondered if it wasn’t a hopeless dream. Thanks to AMC, and their latest endeavor, “Hell on Wheels,” which just started its second season, is on the right track (pardon the pun) to defining the Western for the 21^st century.

This is not the first Western series in the past decade or so to start its second season. “The Magnificent Seven,” which started in 1998, ran for three seasons. The controversial HBO series “Deadwood” also ran for three seasons. TNT tried to tone things down a bit with Steven Speilberg’s “Into the West,” which took a fascinating look at the settlement of the American West from the perspective of both the Native American’s and the Anglo settlers, but it aired only one season. From my perspective, it seemed to me that the TV industry was trying too hard to reinvent the wheel when what they needed to do was reinvent the Western for modern audiences.

To understand where I’m coming from you’ll need to acknowledge that TV shows, like movies, are no different than Western novels—they are stories that all require a hungry audience. In his memoir Education of a Wandering Man, Louis L’Amour talked about the market for Westerns in the late 1940s and 1950s, when he wrote for the pulp magazines, being mostly concerned with the action, and less with the characters or even the plot, because from one to the other they were largely the same.

L’Amour was one of the authors that helped build the bridge toward this character driven story, and in the golden age of the TV Western the recurring characters became the draw. We grew to love the Cartwrights, the Barkleys, and Marshal Dillon and Festus.  “Bonanza” ran for fifteen seasons, and “Gunsmoke” ran for twenty seasons, the longest running Western TV series ever.  And I attribute that to the great writing that wove strong characters and stories together.

L’Amour also had a great deal to do with the incorporation of actual history into the stories. It was more than just a Hollywood studio set when the pilot of “Little House on the Prairie” first aired in 1975 (the year “Gunsmoke” went off the air). Though it still had the TV drama style, historical events and sequencing played a huge part in creating the storyline, which was based strongly on the series of novels from Laura Ingalls Wilder. After nine seasons, ending in 1983, this would be the beginning of the near end of the series Western in the twentieth century.

Where Hollywood failed is in their lack of recognizing the changing trends and the evolution of the Western. We went from action, to character, to historical. But then what?  The changes were largely due to the culture of competition for entertainment and delivery, from TV networks to Cable TV and multiple channels. The only successful TV Western in the 1990s was “Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman” which ran for six seasons, and followed the adventures of a female frontier doctor. This may have been largely due to the cinema success of “Dances With Wolves” in 1990, which found unplowed ground playing on the sympathies of the Native Americans, or, in other words, being politically correct. “Dr. Quinn” was not your grandpa’s Western, but more like your grandma’s historical romance.

This plays into the same theory, which goes back to 1969, where some blame the film “Easy Rider” for the fall of the Western. It’s not so much a change in genre preference as it is a change in attitudes, when the youth of that era began to challenge authority and the culture where it was bred. The values of the Greatest Generation were under fire, and even John Wayne spoke publically of how much he despised “Easy Rider” which did nothing more than fan the flames.

We have to remember, too, that John Wayne made a mark on the traditional character Western that will never be duplicated. Louis L’Amour did the same for novels, being a phenomenon in an era that eventually faded away.  The great Western novelist Elmer Kelton, whose own novel The Good Old Boys was made into a TV movie on TNT in 1995, also wrote for the pulps, but made a niche for himself writing about less boastful characters and weaving them into actual historical events.

This was all starting to come together for the three of them when John Wayne’s last role in “The Shootist” (1976) was the type of nontraditional character that could easily be seen as the next generation Western archetype. Louis L’Amour, a few years before his passing in 1988, was starting to write a different range of fiction, historical and contemporary, specifically The Walking Drum, The Haunted Mesa, and Last of the Breed.

L’Amour was editing his memoir Education of a Wandering Man when he died, and in that book he spoke of his interest in writing science fiction as well, which was evidence that he was evolving as the audience evolved. Elmer Kelton, who was still writing when he died in 2009, made it very clear that the heroes in his Western stories were average Joes that were not “six-foot-five and bullet proof, but five-foot-eight and nervous,” which were more identifiable by the reader. This follows the theory that the reader was maturing, and the macho types of the previous generations no longer had the same appeal.

If this is true, then what is the next generation of Western story? “The Magnificent Seven” of the late 90s, which was based, of course, on the original 1960 movie, fell short after three seasons. This was an example of what I and many others refer to as the missing ambitions of Hollywood, unwilling to take chances on new turf, yet reinvent what has already been done. The “Deadwood” series may have been a bit ahead of it’s time, then again it’s not network TV, and not something you would want to watch with the whole family. “Into the West” was a terrific series, but it may have been too spaced out, covering too much history in too short of time, to ever succeed as a running series.

The most important discovery was AMC’s Emmy-winning mini-series, “Broken Trail,” in 2006.  Here is a perfect example of “unplowed ground.”  It was an original, unique storyline, that catered to a mainstream audience. AMC has had a long string of success stories with original series programming, such as “Mad Men,” “Breaking Bad,” and “The Walking Dead,” so naturally it took another stab at a series Western. I had to admit, though, when I first learned of the upcoming “Hell on Wheels” series I was a bit skeptical.

What I did like was how it followed one historical event—the building of the Transcontinental Railroad.  I have often wondered why there wasn’t more about this critical piece of history, so it was a good choice. It wasn’t a large span of time, either. It was an event that could easily be spaced out and made to last. My concern, however, was the trite genre references and characterizations, a bow to political correctness, as well as overly macho roles that did nothing for the desires of mainstream audiences.

What we got was the best of both worlds. There is Western action, characters we are drawn to, historical following, and compelling storylines. There is political correctness, but there are also the hard historical realities. There are trite occurrences— the cliché of the confederate soldier coming home to a dead family, the military abuse of Indians, the greedy railroad tycoon, and I don’t know how many times over the years I’ve heard, or read, the Revelation quote, “Behold a pale horse…” For some reason writers think that Bible quote is as iconic to the West as boots and spurs.

Like “Deadwood” there is the modern attraction to the graphic violence, the blood and gore, sexual content, and fairly explicit language. But in “Deadwood” it seemed to be added for superficial reasons rather than something true to the character and situation. In one of the newer episodes, I was a bit surprised when they showed the actual butchering of a hog. Graphic as it was, it was certainly a fair sampling of something one would have encountered in that period and place, and it was certainly not politically correct.

The key lead character, played by Anson Mount, is one of the most rugged original characters I’ve ever seen on TV. He is a product of the times, molded to ride the bloody edges of hell in a corrupt and lawless situation. He is far from friendly, polite, and controlled by his desire for revenge, yet we know that deep inside he searches for peace, even if it’s through death, and despite of how many times he falls.

My next major compliment is the costume and staging. Rarely do you see anyone clean, nor were the streets around them neat and tidy. The mud, and the blood, are a vivid reality. The way they authentically created the tent cities, plank floors, and the commerce that provided the necessities, is to be commended. There is something very real about watching a woman walk across camp in a fancy dress and the edges of her petticoat all muddy.

I also enjoy the dialogue exchanges, among all the characters, which has a nice original, almost modern feel to it, yet mostly correct for the times. The situations among all the people in the camp, from the prostitutes to the Christian crusader, from the immigrant diversity to the racial epithets, have the essence of reality and originality. Along with these things and the compelling storylines, I do believe, all will be the reason it succeeds. Just how long is hard to tell. Regardless, it has my support, and I find myself anxiously awaiting the next episode. That hasn’t happened to me in decades.

P.S. to those of you who have Dish Network, you have my sympathies. :)

Steven Law is the author of Yuma Gold (Berkley, 2011) and The True Father (Goldminds, 2008). Visit his website at www.stevenlaw.com.

If You Can’t Stand the Heat….

It may be old news, but I was really taken by the incident in Greece, New York, where a school bus monitor was “bullied” by four middle school boys, which the media sensationalized to the point that said school bus monitor got more than a fair remedy, and the middle school boys, and their families, pretty much had to go into hiding.

It is understood that anyone who watched the video clip of this incident would feel instant revulsion for what took place. I too felt sorry for the lady who came under fire by the vulgar, brazen tongue lashings of these kids.  She was no doubt emotionally stricken by what was said, but she herself understood that they were just kids, and felt it was unjust to press criminal charges, and that the school and parents should be responsible for taking action against them. And they rightfully did.

I have some experience with this type of situation. One, I used to be a middle school kid, and as some of my classmates will confirm, I was prone to putting teachers through quite a test. Two, I have been a middle school teacher, and had training on dealing with them. Those middle school years, for girls and boys, are the most difficult psychological, sociological, and physiological periods of their childhood. When they don’t fit in a certain social group, they look for another, and sometimes that means being nasty to get attention. In many cases they are not mature enough to handle the situations in which they land without someone to supervise them. A school bus is a cesspool of bad behavior because it is grossly unsupervised, and if you put middle school kids in a group, unsupervised, you’re going to get this sort of thing. It’s like my dad used to say, “Put a bunch of tom cats in a sack you’re gonna have a ruckus.”

We didn’t have school bus monitors when I was a kid, and I understand that today they are there for several reasons, but primarily to deal with issues so the bus driver can focus on driving. To me any job working in a school district, around kids of any age, one has to be prepared and able to deal with immaturity, meanness, cruelty, harassment, and sometimes downright terrorism. Remember, “Sticks and stones….” Yeah, yeah. You get the point. Working with kids takes certain stamina. If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. Okay, enough of the old sayings.

Yes, it was an appalling moment and like the lady who was harassed, I also felt bad for those kids’ parents. What we learn later was that those kids and their families—because of our age of technology and mass communication—received more than a fair share of harassing calls and even death threats. Our human character has an instinctive, but flawed reaction to hang people and not to get to the heart of what is really going on. Did those kids do something terrible? Yes, it was appalling. Are the authorities dealing with it? Yes, they are. Do those kids realize they did something very, very wrong? You bet they do. Do they deserve death threats? No, they don’t.

On the flip side of things I am trying to find the positive of all the “rewards” being presented to said school bus monitor. Yes, I felt sorry for her and what she had to endure. But, people have endured worse things and received no remedy. Now if they would have physically assaulted her, or beat her to a pulp, then that would have been a different issue. But these were just words. Harsh, yes, but still words. I would think the media attention and the emotional suffering brought back to the kids and their parents, in spades, was justice enough. But someone, in Canada if I remember correctly, thought it necessary to do a fund raiser to buy the school bus monitor a vacation…that after all that she endured she deserved one. Wait a minute…don’t most people who work in school districts get summer’s off?

The fundraiser was meant to raise $5,000 for her to take her and eight other family members on a trip somewhere fun, and Southwest Airlines came forward and gave her ten tickets to Orlando, Florida, and ten passes to Disney World. Are you kidding me?

You know what, I’d take a worse tongue lashing than that from an entire bus load of twelve year-olds for a McDonalds value meal! But let’s make it a chain restaurant so they can at least have the global publicity. Good grief!

But that’s not even a fraction of it. The fundraiser is now over half a million dollars, and it’s meant to go to the school bus monitor. She truly seemed like a nice lady, and I appreciated her forgiving nature and discouragement of criminal charges for the boys, but I am disappointed with her accepting the trip or any of the money. What she endured goes with the territory, and though she may have been in a rough verbal situation, she did endure it. I am waiting to see now where the half a million dollars raised goes. She says part of it is supposed to go to a research charity, but how much "part of it is" I have not heard. She even admitted she doesn't feel like she deserves it, that there are people with worse problems than her. But?

There’s a lot that can be learned from this. It’s okay to make an example out of what these kids did to try and prevent it from happening to others. This creates an awareness situation for parents and educators, and even a better one for the kids. If someone truly wants to come forward and help the situation, I’m all for Samuel L. Jackson stepping in to take the bus monitor’s place while she’s on her paid recovery. Yeah, he could read them a bed time story. That would do the trick.

 

Welcome to the ReadWest group page... where writers and readers meet. Be sure to invite fans of Western literature, fiction or nonfiction, historical or contemporary, to this page where they can learn about who is who in the genre today.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/8305126510/

Welcome to the ReadWest group page... where writers and readers meet. Be sure to invite fans of Western literature, fiction or nonfiction, historical or contemporary, to this page where they can learn about who is who in the genre today.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/8305126510/

Here is part 5 of the Marketing Panel from WWA's conference in Albuquerque. This clip includes Q&A from the audience.

Here is part 4 of the Marketing Panel from WWA's conference in Albuquerque. This clip includes Tor/Forge editor Jim Frenkel's monologue on book marketing.

The ReadWest Foundation, Inc., presents one of three of the 2012 Featured Authors. D. B. Jackson is the author of THEY RODE GOOD HORSES and his latest, UNBROKE HORSES. ReadWest recognizes three writers annually, both in fiction and nonfiction, who have made a significant contribution to literature of the American West.

The Dog Days Of Summer

I’ve been a little down lately. I went to a stack of my old paperbacks, picked up one of the late Robert B. Parker’s Spenser novels, turned it around to read the cover copy, and there was a photo of the author standing next to a handsome German shorthair pointer. It made me think of other authors I know, like Dale Jackson, or Don Bendell who has two big, gorgeous dogs. Real dogs, as I like to call them.

I have had several real dogs in my life, the most recent was an Australian Shepherd, registered under the name Cody Joe Heartbreaker, but I just called him Cody. He was, bar none, the smartest dog I had ever known. He listened so intently, and you’d swear he understood most of the English language. He was also very handsome, with perfect symmetrical markings: thick black coat, white breast, copper eyebrows, and white feet. A perfect black tri.

He was like a sidekick and went almost everywhere with me. He’d sit on the passenger side of my truck and put a front leg up on the armrest and look around at the country side. Whenever I’d see a horse, I’d say, “Look, Cody, horse!” And he’d perk his ears and locate it. There could be other animals around but it didn’t matter, Cody found the horse.

But his favorite animals were cows, of course. Cody was a cowdog. There are several breeds of stock dogs, or herding dogs, and I’m not sure which is better. I’ve had border collies, known several people who have had blue heelers, and others, but when it came to personality, I loved my cowdog the best. I sometimes wondered if it wasn’t the Aussie breed, but sometimes I think it was just Cody.

Just like with humans, sometimes animals can like something so much that it almost gets them killed. One time when Cody was less than a year old, he decided to go over to the neighbor’s pasture and chase his cow herd. I was working in the garage and didn’t realize he left, because he’d usually always lay somewhere near me. But, these were COWS!

I heard a gunshot and looked outside the garage to see where it came from, because it sounded real close. Then I realized Cody wasn’t in the garage, and started calling for him.  Here he came a running from the neighbor’s pasture and lay right back down on the garage floor. I quickly noticed that he wined a lot and kept licking his side. I squatted next to him to see what was bothering him, and sure enough, he’d been shot.

I rushed him to the vet and lucky for Cody it was just a graze—the bullet went in and out the hide. There were two holes, and it never penetrated the flesh. I don’t know how that happened, or how we could be so lucky. But I immediately began to work harder on his obedience and made sure he didn’t chase cows again. 

I also went over to my neighbor and introduced him to my dog. I barely knew the guy, we were mostly just acquainted because I had recently moved to the area. He was a man of about seventy years, I’d guessed, who wore blue denim bibbed overalls and some sort of cap that advertised a local business.

He said, “Is that the son of a bitch that was chasing my cows?”

I said, “Well, apparently yes, but he’s just a pup and didn’t know better. I’ll try to make sure he doesn’t do it again. But if he does happen to slip over here, please don’t shoot him, just call me.”

“No, by God I’ll shoot any damn dog who chases my cattle.”

I paused a few seconds, took a deep breath, then said, “All right. If I had a son or daughter, and they were out there chasing your cows would you shoot them too?”

“Naw, they’s just being kids.”

“Okay, well Cody is like my kid. And he’s not hurting your cows. So think about it that way next time.”

I turned and left.  I wasn’t angry, because I’ve known many like him over the years. Farmers like him get in that protective mode, especially with cow/calf herds. The wrong kind of dog will kill a calf, and truly stress out the cows. It was the farmer’s instincts to protect them, just like it was Cody’s to chase them.

Luckily Cody never got shot again, and went on to sire three litters of Aussie pups, and became quite popular among breeders. The first litter I took to sell at a horse show in Shawnee, Oklahoma, and took Cody with me.  Most people there are dressed in cowboy, Western type clothing, but one particular man kept walking up to my pups, dressed in shorts and a Hawaiian print shirt. He had dark hair and skin like an islander.

He paid little attention to the pups, but kept looking at Cody.  “That’s a good looking Aussie,” he said. “Is he for sale?”

“No,” I said. “He’s my buddy I could never sell him.”

“How much are you getting for the pups?” he asked.

“Three hundred.”

“That’s too cheap. You could get a lot more.”

“Well, that’s the going rate with the breeders I work with, and with his pedigree.”

“Yeah but look at his markings. They’re perfect. I’ll give you a thousand dollars for him.”

I laughed. “No, I couldn’t sell Cody.”

“Okay, well congratulations. He’s a great dog.”

I thanked the man and he walked away. I hadn’t been there fifteen minutes, and within an hour all of the pups were sold. Maybe that man was right, I thought. And before I could pack everything up, he came by again.

“Sell them all?” he said.

“Yes, they went quickly.”

“I’m telling you, they were too cheap. Should have asked $750, and maybe $1,000 for the merles.”

“Is it because of this market? They don’t go that high in Missouri.”

“No it’s because of your sire. He’s perfect. I’ll give you ten thousand for him.”

I laughed again. “Why would you do that? Are you a breeder?”

“I show Aussies for a living. That is a perfect dog, and he would make me a lot of money.”

“Well, I’m flattered. But not a million, not ten million. It’d be like selling my kid.”

We left it at that.

Cody was my sidekick for seven more years.  He was the smartest, most obedient dog I’ve ever known. And everybody we met, who loved dogs, fell in love with Cody. He was friendly and loveable.  He has been the dog love of my life.

One spring, while in our camper at a campground in Kansas, he woke me up at 3 a.m. to go out.  That was unusual for him to do that in the middle of the night, but I walked sleepy-eyed to the door and let him out.  I sat on the front step for a few minutes, rubbing my eyes, and then called him back. He never came, and I’ve never seen him since.

I spent weeks looking for him, as did the campground owners, and dog people all over the area. He was gone, and it was a long mourning period. There have been many theories offered as to what happened to him, but only Cody knows.  All I know is that he is gone, and without closure. I could only hope that if he is alive that he is okay.

Cody was five when my son was born, and he grew to love Cody as much as I did.  So when Cody went missing, it was really difficult to break the news to him.  A year or so went by before he stopped asking about him, then wondered if we could get another dog. I never imagined making that kind of decision being so difficult, because I loved the companionship of a dog.

A friend of mine kept trying to give me a puppy because she knew how badly I missed Cody, and how badly my son wanted another dog. Problem was, she raised Shih Tzu’s. I wanted a real dog. A man-sized dog.  So I said no, but that didn’t keep her from trying, or keep my son from asking. When she had her next litter, she tried again.  This time she sent a photo. I made the mistake of showing it to my son. That’s where the trouble began.

I have never had a lap dog. A foo foo dog. A dog without brains. Sure, he was and still is very cute, but he is so completely different from any dog I have ever had and loved, that it has taken quite an adjustment. Obi, my son called him, from Obi Wan Kenobi on Star Wars. My son adores him, but Shih Tzu’s bond differently than Aussies, and he really doesn’t care for my son. I learned later that they are not a good breed for small children. So, he loves me, only me, and won’t be anywhere that’s not right at or under my feet.

As much as I love animals, I had an attitude about Obi. I missed Cody, and it showed. I complained constantly about his difficulty with training, having to have him groomed, and his horrible breath.  But it didn’t matter; Obi loved me loyally, faithfully.

I’d had Obi about a year and a half and I had to go on a book signing tour to Arizona for three weeks. My sister usually watched Obi for me when I went out of town, but she was starting to have problems with him fighting with her lap dogs. So, I decided to take him with me.

It was the best thing that could have ever happened between Obi and me. He had finally grown up, and was the best little companion I could have asked for on my trip. He never once caused any trouble, was obedient, and I can’t fail to mention that he drew a lot of people to my book table. :)

Yes, I love Obi.  But I can’t help but feeling a little sad when I see photos of my fellow authors and their man-sized dogs. I know, I need to get over it, and all it usually takes is for Obi to come prancing into the room carrying his miniature tennis ball, looking playfully at me and wagging his tail, ready for a throw and run.  He may be a boy-sized dog, but given half a chance, he’ll show you a man-sized heart.

Visit Steven Law’s website at www.stevenlaw.com.