The Hancock-Henderson Quill, Inc.
Greetings to everyone in Western Illinois.
Well, the planters are rolling in earnest now. The weather is nice and some have a mind to catch up to Mr. Short Britches with his hat on backwards.
I was already put in the tractor to field cultivate to help keep ahead of the planter.
These ole bones of mine have gotten mighty soft over the winter months. A few days bouncing over fall chiseled ground and I can hardly walk.
I've discovered also, that my neck is not as mobile as it once was. Can't hardly turn me head back to check the trailing equipment.
I'm a think'in by the time you read this I'll either be broke in "good and proper" or simply "broken".
I remember a year ago, in my younger day, when my old dog "Blue" would foller me around the tractor, every round. He was an "egg sucker" ole Blue, but was a good dog, too. Shore do miss him.
You know, the best friend a man has in this world may turn against him and become his enemy.
His son or daughter whom he has reared with loving care may prove ungrateful.
Those who are nearest and dearest to us-those whom we trust with our happiness and our good name-may become traitors to their faith.
The money a man has he may lose. It flies away from him, perhaps when he needs it the most.
A man's reputation may be sacrificed in a moment of ill-considered action.
The people who are prone to fall on their knees to do us honor when success is with us, may be the first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles its cloud upon our heads.
The one absolute, unselfish friend that a man can have in this selfish world-the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous-is his dog.
A man's dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty, in health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, where the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if'n only he can be near his master's side. It's so true.
He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer, he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounter with the roughness of the world. He guards the sleep of the pauper master as if he were a prince. When all other friends desert, he remains.
When riches take wings and reputation falls to pieces he is as constant in his love as the sun in its journey through the heavens.
If'n fortune drives the master forth an outcast in the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of accompanying him to guard against danger, to fight against his enemies.
And when the last scene of all comes, and death takes the master in it's embrace, and his body is laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by his graveside, will the noble dog be found, his head between his paws, his eyes sad but open in alert watchfulness, faithful and true even to death.
Drat, I miss ole "Blue" and all that he meant to me as I ride around in this fancy tractor, think'n back on him tracking me around all those years ago.
When I get to heaven first thing I'll do, I'm a gonna whistle for ole Blue-You Good Dog Too!
Keep on Smile'n
Catch ya Later