Busted!



Here's an update on the cow story.....


It appears the non-English speaking, rude, free-grazing cattle were arrested by Besmaya Force Protection agents this morning around 1000 hours and placed in the Besmaya jail. Me and my interpreter went over to get their story but they refused to talk to me or Antonio, my Iraqi interpreter. Someone said they would only give their story to Katie Couric.



No longer fugitives from the law, these cows appeared well fed and watered. One source close to the scene described how the FP officers first tried to discourage the cows from their shenanigans and get them to go home. But things turned ugly when the leader of the herd turned her backside to the Iraqi Officer and revealed an "eat mor chickin" brand (in Arabic) on her left hind quarter. That was too much for the FP. Even Iraqis are offended by bad advertising.

The good news is that the sheep, arested last week on similar charges, were turned out to make room for the cows.

Crime doesn't pay, especially here at Besmaya.


awe

Rattle Rattle Here Come the Cattle


We start our days pretty early here at the Iraqi Army Combat Arms School. My hooch is about ten miles south of where I work. So, every morning I drag my sorry bottom out of bed about 5 am, put on a pot a Dancing Goat (compliments of Mr. Danny Floyd), shave, put on the body armor and head north along route blue (basically, an improved trail cut across open desert) to the CAS site. Sometimes, sheep herders and their flocks come onto the range (Besmaya) to graze. When they do, the Iraqi force protection boys roll out to run them off. Poor shepherds - if they don't move quick enough, the FP boys take them into custody and sometimes even lock up the sheep! It's a hard country. It's not that they don't care for free grazers, they just gotta enforce the rules. And the rules are - no herds or flocks on our range. Poor sheep, they look so pitiful behind bars.


Sometimes the shepherds try to out smart the FP. They'll send their women folk out to watch the flock knowing that it is taboo in this culture to rustle (pardon the pun) a lady. The call comes across the radio that there's a flock of sheep down by the south water point and two female shepherds. Then, about an hour later, the same call comes over the radio again. None of the FP guys want to deal with the women, so they just sit back and hope the problem goes away.


For the last six weeks or so, we've had five or six head of cattle roaming around just south of the CAS. Haven't seen any cowboys or cowgirls, but the cows are there about twice a week. Me and the Sergeant Major were on our way back to the life support area (LSA) today and we saw them out by the road (route blue, remember?). We had John, one of our interpreters, with us so I thought I'd get out and talk to the Iraqi cows. We stopped the truck and I got out. John got out. The Sergeant Major stayed in the truck. I hollered for the cattle the same way I call cattle back home, but they just looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. So, I asked John, "hey man, ask these cows if they speak English." You'd have to know John. He said, "no Sir, I'm afraid they don't speak English." I said, "how do you know, you didn't ask them."


So, John, feeling he had let me down in some way, asked the cows if they spoke English. And you know what? They just walked away. That's right, those cows were both ignorant AND rude. All I wanted was a little conversation and to ask them if I could take their picture.

But, maybe I shouldn't be so hard on em. I mean, I am an American; in uniform; ARMED even. And I came offering nothing for them to eat. There's a lesson somewhere in there, I think.



Happy Trails,

awe

Happy Anniversary

My wife is so beautiful that even her shadow is fair to look upon. She blesses my eyes and makes my dreams bright. And, I miss her more than anything in the world. This Saint Patrick’s Day is our twenty-third anniversary.

When I’m at home, we like to take breakfast together. We can sit with one another over coffee and have the most wonderful conversations without even speaking. We know each other so well that words are not needed. But we do speak, sometimes. Sometimes we even talk about being together, about our past and about how it will be to get old together. There’s never been any doubt that we would grow old together, and somehow, it makes the prospect of getting old much easier to take. It’s good to have such a wonderful friend.

Someone sent me an e-mail about an old man who, visiting his doctor one particular morning seemed in such a rush to leave. The doctor asked the man why he was in such a hurry. The old man said that he had a date to have breakfast with his wife, who was in a nursing home with Alzheimer’s. He said that he had not missed having breakfast with her in over five years, but that now, she doesn’t even recognize him. The doctor asked, “Well, if she doesn’t recognize you, why do you go everyday? Then the man looked at the young doctor and said, “Because I recognize her”. That’s how I love my wife.

There's another story of an old couple. Every Sunday for more than 50 years the sweet lady would bake for her husband a fresh loaf of bread to take with his tea. Every Sunday she would cut the two end pieces first, lovingly cover them with butter, place them on a saucer with his tea and serve him in his big chair. On one Sunday the old man complained, "For fifty years you've been making bread. Why must you always give me the ends of the loaf?" The sweet lady gracefully answered, "Because that's my favorite part." And that's how my beloved loves me.

Happy Anniversary, Sharon. And here’s a little poem somebody named Shakespeare wrote just for you.

When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,
For all the day they view things unrespected;
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,
And darkly bright are bright in dark directed.
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,
How would thy shadow's form form happy show
To the clear day with thy much clearer light,
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so!
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made
By looking on thee in the living day,
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay!
All days are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

awe

Note From the Blogger

Sorry to leave you with such a downer blog last time. I was going to delete it but decided to just apologize instead. I did not mean to treat the blog like a diary - you who support me so well deserve much better. I know I'd be a lot better off if I could keep some things to myself.

The truth is that we live on a planet with war. If you believe the way I believe about Christ, then you believe that every word that came out of His mouth was/is true. Not just the MEANING of the message, but each WORD and SUBTEXT was/is true. For instance, when He was describing the end times for the disciples, His message was intended to give them an idea of "what" to look for. He said there would be "wars and rumors of wars". Although war was not the subject, the mere fact that He said there would be wars means that wars are a fact of life. As long as there is evil, there will be war.

So, although I have my moments of doubt, I just keep trying with all my might to align myself with what is good and right. And, I believe teaching these lieutenants to be warriors for their people is, in the end, the right thing to do. They deserve a fighting chance. Please pray for these young guys and pray that God will bring peace to Iraq.

awe

War and Rumors of War

I ’m back in Baghdad once again for a training conference with the Iraqi generals. This evening, after work, I had my supper in the large ball room of the Republican Palace and then made my way back to my tiny trailer. The air is already turning warm but as I left the palace, it was getting dark and cool and there was a beautiful full moon lighting the grounds of this magnificent palace. It was so serene that I almost forgot there is a war on. It was nice to have a bit of quiet time and I decided to listen to my little MP3 player.

Around nine p.m., I stepped out onto the porch to listen to the US artillery firing in the distance. I leaned against my door and counted the seconds between shot and splash, like a kid counting seconds between the flash of lightning and the thunder. Precisely eleven seconds following each boom was a distant, window rattling, earth trembling, albeit faint explosion. Somewhere in the distance, probably Sadr City, somebody was being killed.

The insurgents have been rocketing and mortaring US troops and innocent neighborhoods for months on end, but we have chosen not to use heavy artillery (for the most part). Now, with the new Baghdad offensive well underway, it is obvious we have changed our policy. It is strange to hear the pounding of our own guns for a change. The rounds land up to 20 miles away but the concussion is enough to shake the bed, door and windows of my little closet home.

The moon was so bright and the night so peaceful. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for our enemies in the distance, having their bodies ripped apart, their brains liquefied by these massive explosions. Just then, the man sharing the room next to me, a diplomat visiting the embassy (which is in the palace) came by. “I’m told it’s outgoing” he said as he passed me. Under my breath I said, “The sound of people dying, nonetheless”. I think it embarrassed him, but I did not mean to.

And now, as I write this, it is once again quiet outside. It’s more quiet than I’ve ever heard, and I feel sick at my heart. Hopefully our artillery has not caused the loss of a single innocent, but that’s an unreasonable expectation. At the very least, we have killed some enemy. Some mother has lost a son, some child has lost a brother, and so on. Perhaps only bad guys died tonight, but, anyway you look at it, God is not pleased.

How can God be pleased with any killing? And here I am, teaching the art and science of war to young officers - knowing that within days of leaving my course, they will use exactly what I taught them to kill other people. I justify what I do by telling them (and myself) that we must make war better than our enemies do so that we can protect the innocent and ensure peace. It’s times like this that I’m not sure if that’s a paradox or a lie. God forgive us all.

Can I find the words to say I’m sorry……
Well I don’t know what I could say or would it matter anyway
Cause I don’t know how You could still forgive me
For all that I have put You through is there anything that I can do
I would give my life to find Your mercy
What will it take until You forgive me
I don’t know

Third Day