Bar C Publishing and Distribution.

Irony.

Tue, 31 Jan 2012 16:35:00 +0000

My husband has hunted wild pheasant and quail birds for many years. It all stared when he was about fourteen and someone dropped off a male, Brittany bird dog at the ranch. This abandoned bird dog was the beginning. As the years followed there were good dogs and others whom were sold on. The dogs that were kept hunted on instinct alone. There was no regimented training, only the desire and drive they were born with.Two much admired and dogs which are much remembered, are Josh and Mac, but that was before I met my husband.

The first Brittany bird dogs I knew were Tom and Dick. My husband gave Dick to a nephew who showed an interest in hunting. A few months later the dog was stolen. Tom stayed with us until he passed away one summer evening, but not before fathering the next generation. Then came Cap! He had big soft brown eyes, orange over his ears with a lot of white on his body, with an occasionl spot of orange.

Due to the birth of our son, Matthew and his health problems, we didn't take Cap hunting until he was two years old. For the none hunters reading this, this is very late when starting a hunting dogs education. Yet, Cap was a remakable hunter, with an exceptionally sharp nose, but he was terribly gun shy. (Afraid when the shotgoun was shot.) We worked with Cap at home and spent a lot of time and wasted shotgun shells, until with the aid of a seasoned female bird dog, one day the light bulb went off and for Cap, everything fell into place.

I could use up a lot of space and lines by telling many stories we have about Cap pointing birds other dogs had missed, or how he could trail quail running on the ground for hundreds of yards, disapearing over a hill and not returning. We would then have to search for him and nine times out of ten, we would find him in a rock steady point, waiting for us! We have ten years of hunting memores with our old number one and they are priceless. We eventually retired him at around twelve years of age. He too fathered the next generation. Jesse a female and Possum a male (litter mates.) When Cap was still hunting this was an awsome hunting team.

Having retired Cap, we attemped to alow him to run free with his oldest son Possum. The instinct to hunt proved to be too much and they disapeared for a whole week! My husband and I feared the worst. Luckily we were wrong, they returned haggard, weary and looked half starved, but very self satisfied too. We made a decision, Possum was the youngest so he was restrained and Cap was allowed to roam, he wouldn't go far on his own. Cap was free for four years, he became and loved to be, dog around the house. He was spoilt with treats and would welcome us upon our return from work or where-ever. With time, his eye's became cloudy, his teeth fell out and his hearing, while it was always selective, became honestly none existant. Yet we would see him early in the morning, mooching around in the horse pasture, checking out where-ever his nose lead him. He baby sat yet two more litters of puppies and I'm sure after they played themselves out, he told them hunting stories until they all slept, curled up beside and ontop of him.

Time was good to Cap, but as is the way of life, death too comes to the best. After two bouts of Tick Fever, Caps joints had become fixed and unyeilding. We headed towards the hot Summer months and in Oklahoma, that means temperatures up and above one hundred degrees. I have plenty of water available for the dogs, as well as swimming pools. One evening, at feeding time, I found Cap laying in his favourite spot under a tree in our yard. As I approached he tried to stand but his back legs failed him. Gently as I could, I lifted him into a standing position. After a while he was able to stand and managed to wobble to a water bucket, where he drank profusely. Obviously he was very thirsty! It happened again a few days later, this time I looked into his unseeing eyes which spoke to me as his short tail wagged with expectation and assurance of my help. He had been unable to move this time and had become exposed to the full force of Oklahoma sun, for I know not how long.This time he was not only thirsty but very hot!

After a painful conversation with my husband, I made an appointment for our Veterinarian to come out to the house. As a pet owner, deciding when your pet needs to be put to sleep is a difficult and upsetting experience as you will ever have to consider. Somehow making an appointment, with the end result in the death of the pet you have loved and cared for, for so many years, is wrong! But at this time I knew I had to love Cap enough to let him go. I couldn't allow him to lay and become baked by the sun as well as suffer from accute thirst. I just couldn't! The Veterinarian arrived and I went and picked Cap up from under his favourite tree, unashamedly I cried as I took him to the Veterinarian for euthanasure. Knowing my actions were filled with nothing but love, didn't make the process any easier.

Cap went to sleep in my arms, at home where he was born. The circle was complete. I burried him under a lone tree up on the hill not far from the house. It was where he spent many happy hours hunting rabbits and other critters. His grave is marked with a large flat stone I retrieved from a creek that runs across our property. It is marked "Cap, Old #1 1994-2011. He was the best."

Cap was born two years before our son Matthew, our son died in the year 2000. Cap we put to sleep in 2011. Eleven yeras after our only child. The ache from losing Matthew has not desisted; the loss of Cap is still fresh and grieves me still. My son's body failed him, my pets heart would not. With Matthew there was no choice, with Cap there was. It gives me much pause for thought.

I don't know why things happen the way they do, rational thinking even faith, I find have no answers for me. We are who we are and will feel what we feel. I stilll struggle to wrap my mind around this thing called life.

A new hunting season appoaches, Cap's daughter Jesse is twelve this may be her last year of hunting.Her litter mate,Possum broke his leg. We had it pinned but it didn't go well. He would still go hunting if it were up to him, but we have chosen to retire him. Possum is now dog around the house. He gets to run free. Curly-Bill and Goldie are next in line, with Slim, Butch and Ruffy starting their second season. Cap's blood and memory live on through them all.

I, alone, sit here under the shade of my favourite tree and not too far away are the dogs, all stretched out sleeping. Today my outlook on life is shadowed, not just by the tree, but also by the past. Today irony lays all around me, tomorrow...

See a picture of Cap in photos. He is the orange and white dog laying down beside me, puppies eating out of a pan. His and my favourite spot.

Deborah Collins

aka Emily Richardson

When bad things happen.

Sat, 22 Oct 2011 04:35:00 +0000

When Bad Things Happen.

Apart from “being” English, I write, speak and think in English. (Ask someone who is bilingual, what language do you think in? They will hesitate before they answer, their not always sure what language they think in.)

By using the written word I am able to express hope, emotion loss and a whole lot more. By reading, I can escape into other worlds. I love Westerns and especially Louis L’Amour.

By writing a word on a page and expressing what cannot be said out loud or to another, I can leave my thoughts on that page and release myself from them, or, come back and revisit that moment in time, if I choose.

By sharing with a select few, who, while they have not walked exactly in my shoes, they live with the same shadow which never fails to follow and by sharing with them; I know I am not alone. By talking with others like me, I hope to help and in turn I am still amazed at how much others continue to help me. For me this is a journey I literally gave birth to! With only my end in sight as is the natural order of things. Unfortunately for me that was not meant to be.

My son’s D-Day. ( Death date.) Looms. I acknowledge it for what it is, a day, then do my best to move past it. Some years it is easier to write than to do.

I am lucky! I have the ability to write read and think in English. As well as being able to afford a computer, so I can find others in a similar situation. I can reach out to and communicate with so many. I have that freedom to express my thoughts and emotions without sanction. I am grateful!

I am still at times sad, like when I find out a friend is suffering an illness and I wish words could cure, but know they will not. Or a family gathering happens in England and I am unable attend. Yet I will always be free to write, speak think and “be” English.

As. “Being English” has everything to do with who I am, when bad things happen.

Deborah Collins

AKA Emily Richardson

Publishing and promoting true worth and the value of self.

Please visit www.barcpublishing.com and check out the Blog for more essays about grieving and loss.

If I help only one, it is enough.

A good, Good Friday.

Tue, 26 Apr 2011 17:20:00 +0000

A good, Good Friday, or just another day of the week.

When meeting up with friends how many times have you been asked? “How are you?” You, like me I am sure have readily answered. “Great, fine how about you, what have you been up to?” Answering the question and diverting the conversation away from you, all in one self-serving sentence.

Having succeeded in diverting the discussion away from ourselves and our problems, have we truly done ourselves any favors? Communication and the technology which makes it so readily available has become almost obscene. When I reflect back to my college years beginning in 1984 and the one, yes, one computer which was available to the Pre-University classes only, not us lower classes, compared to now and the multitude of computers we take for granted that we hold in our hands and use in our daily lives, with little or no thought, astounds me! With all this technology available, why do I feel, as people we are actually communicating less?

Can you read body language in a “Tweet?” Is weight gain or loss apparent in a “Text? Or tears welling in someone’s eye’s threatening to overflow with barely controlled emotion obvious in an e-mail? Can you see the anguish in someone’s face as they type “I’m fine?” Or the tears fall unseen upon a keyboard. I think not. As a race of human beings we speak with so much more than typed words and sentences finished with a smiley face.

Being English I cannot tell you how many times I’ve heard, “Oh I just love the way you speak.” Only to have the person I am speaking to ask exactly the same question again or make a comment which reveals they hadn’t listened to a word I’d said. To be listened to but not heard is an insult, regardless of the accent you may or may not have. We all have a right not just to speak, but to be heard, there is a difference.

I fly back to England occasionally, in the twenty years that I have been making this journey I have noticed a new trend. No longer do I anticipate whom I’ll be sitting next to and either be happily captivated by or wish the trip wasn’t so long and dream of hearing the landing gear going down. People now escape from each other and person to person interaction, by immersing themselves in ear pieces connected to personal PC’s and a multitude of electronic devices. By not talking with a stranger, you/we are missing out on an opportunity. Who better to unload our losses hopes and fears upon than a complete unknown, whom the likelihood of us ever meeting again are so slim, we shouldn’t worry about it. In telling our troubles to someone unfamiliar with us and the likelihood of you never coming face to face with that person again, means not only do you never see the stranger again ,but that your troubles are literally far away and on someone else’s shoulders. Think about it? How would that feel, to literally have your troubles far, far away from you, never to be seen again!

So weather it is a Monday or a Tuesday, choose a method of communicating and be honest when you do it. If you have to use technology, Skype! A problem shared is a problem halved. You cannot help or be helped without first speaking about your troubles. For that you have to act and that means, do it!

So next time you are face to face with a friend you haven’t seen for a while or a stranger and they ask. “How are you…?” Begin with. “I’ll be honest, some days I struggle…..” in my experience I have never been disappointed or regretted my honesty and just maybe you’ll have a good, Good Friday, Saturday and Sunday etc, etc, etc. You get the picture.

Remember, to have hope means finding something to believe in when there is no reason left to believe in anything.

Deborah Collins.

Aka Emily Richardson.

Books

Mon, 28 Mar 2011 12:16:00 +0000

I have just finished reading A Tale Of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. I found it difficult to read. the first third of the book stumbles along, the second third trots and the last third is a flat out gallop making the previous two thirds worth all the trouble. but you have to stick with it! There is a very good story in their witha somewhat predictable nature, but having it all come together is satisfying and eventually a good read.

A Tale of Two Cities is a bit like life, it has it's ups and downs, but perseverance pays off. Try reading it for yourself and let me know what you think of the book. Good or bad. May today be better than yesterday and your tomorrows be better than today.

More SNOW!

Wed, 09 Feb 2011 16:00:00 +0000

Here we go again! More snow dropped over night. Another 20 inches!

I am so ready for some warmer weather. The cattle seem to be holding off on calving, we hope!

Here, my husband is clearing out the feed troughs before we give the cattle an extra feed.

Basic Instinct.

Sat, 05 Feb 2011 15:04:00 +0000

Basic Instinct

This is a photograph I took of our cattle. (Replacement heifers.) Eating, after eighteen hours into a snow storm which lasted twenty four hours.

The conditions were brutal. The sever wind brought the snow and ice pellets in horizontally, stinging and burning any exposed skin.

I had to search for the cattle which had taken shelter at the bottom of a hill beside the creek which runs through their pasture.

As their instinctive nature dictated, they had found the warmest place in the pasture and were reluctant to leave it. It took a little persuasion on my part, repeated calling and me having to get closer to them, all which meant I was farther from the feed troughs and the house. Walking in snow two feet deep makes you think about these things! Eventually, one heifer left the tight knit herd and ventured a step towards me. That was all it took, the rest soon followed.

I looked towards the house and feed troughs. It was all up hill and seemed a lot farther away now I was at the bottom of the hill looking up! I put my head down and put one foot in front of the other. I checked my course every now and then exposing my face to the stinging ice and snow. The fierce wind misdirected my carefully placed footsteps. I would readjust and once again continue. It didn’t take long for me to get hot. Yes hot, in a snow storm with howling winds and below freezing temperatures. You keep your head covered up, go out with enough clothes on so you resemble someone two sizes larger than you normally are and exert a small amount of energy, soon the sweat will be running down your back. Which is dangerous, as soon as you begin to cool off you can become chilled very quickly and deep breaths hurt!

I knew the cattle stayed with me, as even with my head down trying to pick the easiest route through the very deep, soft, fluffy snow, the ice hanging from the cattle’s coats rattled a companiable tune around me. I was not alone upon this journey. Sometimes in-front, often beside and behind me the cattle followed. It seemed like forever, yet in reality the time it took to climb back up the hill was not much longer than the tramp down. With deep breaths I swallowed arctic air which percolated deep within my chest, my teeth on edge, nose dripping, I reached the feed troughs, poured the feed in and the heifers spread out eating as best they could.

The snow and ice thickened upon their backs, icicle’s hung like obscene earrings from their ears and their breath froze upon their hair, creating white whiskers and unique weather styled hair tints.

We had made it, we weathered the storm. I never was truly alone; I just had to listen to a tune new to my ears. The journey was not easy and certainly a challenging one, but one I would take again if needed. I expect I may repeat this performance tomorrow if present weather conditions prevail.

My experiences in life have taught me all I needed to know to weather the storm of grief which followed me after losing my son Matthew. There were many times I felt alone and I was not. Many times my footsteps meandered off course or my ears were not tuned in to whispers or shouts of love and support. There are times we are blinded and deafened. Yet we can and should rely upon our instinct to survive, it will send us to a safe place out of the wind and protected from the harsh weather at that time, in that place.

Our life fights to endure even when we lose hope. Instinct brings comfort to all creatures in a time of absolute need. To rely upon instincts requires no thought and little effort. By sustaining your body and going to a safe place you can weather any storm.

The sun came out the following morning, by the afternoon the icicle earrings were but a bad memory for the heifers that now contentedly ate hay, their black coats soaked up the sun melting the highlights created by old man weather. The previous twenty four hours had come and now gone. The past trails were that, past.

When need is at its greatest, man or beast may always survive by falling back on our individual life experiences and an inherent, basic instinct.

Emily Richardson.

Aka Deborah Collins.

Publishing and promoting life skills and the true value of self. Remember hope. To have hope means finding something to believe in when there is no reason left to believe in anything. Never ever give up on hope.

www.barcpublishing.com

Self Inflicted.

Sun, 04 Jul 2010 15:29:00 +0000

As parents how many times have we come to our children’s defense? I’m sure you didn’t count as I didn’t yet the answer is the same. As many times as was necessary and we would do it all over again.

Whether we are fighting a disease of known origin or circumstance a loved one finds themselves in, as parents our first and only instinct is to protect. To protect you must use your voice, when it comes to protecting others my opinion is often outspoken and I will readily come to the aid of any underdog, it is a part of who I am. But when it comes to defending or standing up for me, my voice is uncharacteristically silent and absent. I hesitate to speak openly almost as if I am undeserving of defense of any kind. Why I will not do for myself, as I have done many times for others, I do not know.

My voice has been silent upon an issue which had been making a small part of my life very stressful. I also suffer from Eczema and though I seem to have the rash under control most of the time flare ups do occur when life becomes unsettled for prolonged periods.

I did my best to evade an issue, I tried to be perfect. IMPOSSIBLE. Finally I became annoyed and angry at myself for allowing the situation to continue until my body reacted as my voice was paralyzed.

Six months before my son died I developed Eczema (13 years ago.) I could see the future and it was bleak. Then, I likened Eczema to my body crying when I could not. Eczema for me is having rashes and sores develop on my feet legs and sides. The skin would blister, and then weep a never ending supply of clear fluid, my body grieved when I could not.

So when a sore recently opened on my hand and began to weep, I knew the situation as uncomfortable as it was had to change. I had to use my voice for me. Things came to a head, all my frustrations were voiced and my feelings were aired. I felt the situation couldn’t get much worse so it could only get better, right? Right! Apologies were made, behavior was modified and things have changed a lot for the better.

It was so very difficult for me to use my voice, for me. That same voice which had defended counseled and supported on numerous occasions, but always for others. Outwardly I am not a shy person-inwardly I have my insecurities just like everyone else. When those insecurities work against us the time will come when you must put these insecurities to the side, put yourself first and know you do deserve and you are worthy, have respect for YOU. Use your voice; make a change be it for the better or the worse. The freedom of voicing your feelings will liberate your mind body and soul from the silent weeping within.

There are many circumstances which we cannot control, what we can control is how we respond to these circumstances. By not responding we are making a conscious decision, making a choice. Finally I chose to use my voice for myself, it wasn’t easy, if another occasion arises I will speak out, I hope I have learned not to wait for my body to react on my behalf before my voice does.

A week later the angry red flesh on my hand is calming, the weeping has stopped and my wound slowly heals as I continue to heal and learn more about myself. Healing takes time and goes far deeper than that which we see.

To have hope, means believing in something when there is no reason left to believe in anything. I had hope, when I spoke out for myself and this time I was right. Occasionally you will find, if you are patient that not only are you right, but that you will be all-right in the end.

By taking care of ourselves we can then take better care of others, sometimes speaking up for ourselves is not a selfish act but a wholly necessary one, in order to protect, preserve and respect the true value of self. Old as we may be, if our parents or loved ones knew of our struggles, they would fight no less for us, than we should for our selves.

If you recognize, know and understand nothing, from me know THAT!

Emily Richardson

aka Deborah Collins

Suicide

Fri, 16 Apr 2010 16:34:00 +0000

The recession has wrought havoc throughout the whole country. A recent incident caused no doubt by the sad state of the economy, brought this crisis to our neighborhood, which has affected many of us in different ways.

For me ideas resurfaced which I had previously (or so I thought) dealt with or ignored as best I could. Thoughts which were always just that, thoughts!

My husband and I would occasionally visit a nice restaurant not too far from where we live for a great steak. The steak was good and comfortably priced. We were always welcomed with a big smile from the young manager and promptly seated and served. There were never many customers eating when we were there, the car park may have one or two vehicles in it when we would drive on by and we could see the writing on the wall. The restaurant couldn’t hold on for the summer crowd and closed a few weeks ago, we were saddened yet it had seemed inevitable. A few days ago a work colleague told me the smiling faced young manageress who greeted us had committed suicide.

I was shocked and so very saddened. For whatever the reason, be it the restaurant or not, this sweet, smiling young woman with her whole life ahead of her was so unhappy, that death somehow seemed preferable to present day life.

I told my husband the news. He made the comment that he thought there was a flaw in her plan. I was totally surprised! Where was the sympathy? Where was the compassion? He didn’t get it, he just didn’t understand. We are a long time married couple, whose marriage and relationship survived and beat the odds when life threw it’s worst at us (The death of our only child.) and now I discover my, acting, that everything was okay, when in reality it couldn’t have got much worse, had been so good that the man who loved and cherished me and still does, had not seen how close I had been to ending the pain once and for all! I was amazed! I voiced my surprise to him.

“Well, have you ever thought about suicide?” He asked confident or so he thought in my reply.

I chose to put into words what had until then only been silent, secret and very private thoughts.

“Yes I have.” I said.

The familiar feeling of almost intolerable pain and emotional suffering the loss of a child can have upon your physical body, came rushing back with brutal force.

“So why didn’t you?” He asked gently.

I was lucky enough to have several reasons; the first was that I knew I couldn’t cause my parents the same kind of grief I was suffering. Children are not supposed to die before their parent’s; it is not the natural order. There was no way I could inflict the pain I was suffering upon them, no way.

The second reason was that just because I felt hopeless today it didn’t mean I would feel hopeless tomorrow. If I committed suicide, I wouldn’t be around to see how I would feel tomorrow.

Thirdly, I had enough of what I call, life experience, behind me to know that this physical and emotional turmoil would probably, hopefully pass. As bad as I felt now I knew the feeling was unsustainable. Sooner or later my body and my mind would grow tired of the negative thoughts and with hope, numbness may set in and eventually exhaust it’s-self, then no thoughts are possible not even of suicide, until that too eventually fades.

The fact that someone as close to me as my husband, who loves and cares for me like no other didn’t get it, finally made me realize how convincing I had been when I acted as if everything was okay, when in truth I was close to embarking into the unknown. I don’t condone suicide, I don’t condemn, but I do truly understand the thoughts and reasoning behind those who feel they have to act.

My thoughts and prayers go out to the families suffering from suicide. Suicide is rarely spoken about, a taboo subject. Please do not ignore those whom seem to be coping, often we hide beneath a veil of normalcy which couldn’t be further from the truth. The calm outward silence of some can conceal a deafening scream within.

Emily Richardson.

If I help only one, it is enough.

www.barcpublishing.com

For just one second I was...

Tue, 23 Feb 2010 23:40:00 +0000

I was at my local grocery store the other week, doing a quick shop for milk and cookies; you know the real necessities of life. As I was heading to check out. I walked towards the, no more items than this # isle. When a ten or eleven year old boy with dark hair and equally dark eyes suddenly stopped in front of me and sat on the floor at my feet.

“Mum, Mum.” He said. “Come to this line, there’s no one here.”

He said all this while looking at me. I could do nothing but smile down at him while thinking. What are you doing sitting on that filthy floor? Only to have the question in my mind answered when the boy re-tied his loose shoe lace.

I walked past the boy to the cashier who was now waiting for me. Her immediate remark was.

“I bet you hear that all day long.”

She had mistaken me for the boy’s mother. I turned and looked behind me as the boy got off the floor and went to stand beside a lady who could only be his Mum, who had apparently been standing right behind me, but in a different isle.

“No.” I said. “I don’t hear that all day long. But it would have been okay if I had.” The cashier was a little perplexed.

For me the memory is stamped upon my emotionally scarred heart.

For a second that boy could have been my son, for a second I could have been his mother. He wasn’t quite as old as Matthew would have been had he lived, but he was close enough for me to imagine.

To have that chance happening acknowledged by a person with no knowledge of me or my history somehow made the impossible again possible.

While having a biological child is no longer an option for me, it doesn’t mean I cannot be a mother again. I just have to find my way. I now know this is possible as I have already been recognized as a mother, even if it was a mistake. Mistakes are not always what at first they may seem; some mistakes are life lessons in disguise.

For me this is one lesson that left me with a feeling I will treasure, because for just one second I was…

Remember hope. To have hope means finding something to believe in when there is no reason left to believe in anything. Never ever give up on hope.

If I help only one then it is enough.

Life of a snowflake

Sat, 09 Jan 2010 23:07:00 +0000

I sit here looking out my window as large, almost weightless snowflakes gently drift towards the ground. The wind lifting them first this way then that. Until their final destination is reached, be it the roof of the house, the wood piled by the sliding glass doors, or the steps off the front porch making decent potentially treacherous.

The delicate snowflakes remind me of my personal journey of learning to live with sadness. I cannot remember exactly when the weight of grief diminished then slowly lifted from my shoulders. I do not remember the time of year, the day or what I was doing. I just know that my heart felt lighter, my shoulders no longer drooped under the burden of monumental loss. Physically my body didn’t require so much effort to make it function. It wasn’t such a strain to get up in the morning and proceed through the day.

Not that my feelings of love had in any way lessened, they hadn’t. It was just the weight of my world, on my shoulders no longer seemed as crushing or as unbearable.

A mistake some people make is to believe that by learning to live and function in a normal manner in society after losing a loved one, means that you have got over your loss. What ever that means?

The longer you mourn in no way equates to the depth of your devotion, as does the shorter you mourn in any way depreciate your loyalty or allegiance.

Learning to live through bereavement is dictated by no-one except ourselves, we all live within individual timelines. Living through loss is the hardest lesson to learn. The emotional journey is much like the snowflake drifting past my window. Its descent from heaven unexpectedly altered to follow a different path, diverted by wind or the pot holes of life, yet each ultimately fulfilling their destiny.

This crossing is followed by many others and you are not alone. Reach out if you have a need, find acceptance and comfort in your world.

Search for the way until your individual direction is revealed, where you may occasionally slip, yet step forward with a lighter load and like the snowflake blown by the winds of time, you will after all fulfill your destiny. Just maybe from a different direction than once expected and conclude in a surprising place.

Remember hope. To have hope means finding something to believe in when there is no reason left to believe in anything. Never ever give up on hope. If I help only one, it is enough.

I come from that surprising place.