I was thinking about my Pop today. He died 39 years ago when I was a youngster. He was a darn good farmer and a darn good guy. A story all my Aunts and Uncles liked to tell about him was that one day back in the early 1940's he had come into town, to the Farmer's Exchange, which was down by the Frisco tracks, and happened to see our little town's dog catcher, who was a volunteer dog catcher, dealing with 3 stray dogs.
The dog catcher had tied them all together, down near the RR tracks. He'd doused them with kerosene and was getting ready to set them on fire. The dogs were carrying on quite a bit, but nobody wanted to "get involved". So Pop went over and asked the guy what in the world he was doing. Dog Catcher didn't like my Pop's attitude and told him to get lost and mind his own bidness. According to my Aunts & Uncles the guy pulled out a Zippo and started cranking it. Pop kicked the guy's hand and "an altercation" ensued, and whatever Pop did or whatever he said to the guy, that guy never again did volunteer dog catching in our town.
But that was before I was born. So I guess, the most heroic thing he ever did that I saw was he stopped drinking when I was 10 years old.
The dog catcher had tied them all together, down near the RR tracks. He'd doused them with kerosene and was getting ready to set them on fire. The dogs were carrying on quite a bit, but nobody wanted to "get involved". So Pop went over and asked the guy what in the world he was doing. Dog Catcher didn't like my Pop's attitude and told him to get lost and mind his own bidness. According to my Aunts & Uncles the guy pulled out a Zippo and started cranking it. Pop kicked the guy's hand and "an altercation" ensued, and whatever Pop did or whatever he said to the guy, that guy never again did volunteer dog catching in our town.
But that was before I was born. So I guess, the most heroic thing he ever did that I saw was he stopped drinking when I was 10 years old.