silvercorvette
Member
WOW great story I am glad I read this whole thread.
Your screen name, what does it mean.
- Thread starter handyman
- Start date
walkinghorse.....self explanatory.....I hate trotting!!!!
CAJUNLAWYER
Member
you do know you are going to hell for that one.
Wheelgunner840
Member
Love wheelguns. Wheelgunner was taken, so I just added my number plate # that I have had on multiple vehicles over the past 35 years. The number plate has my initials before the 840.
The plate number on my 1960 Willy's Jeep that I recently restored, will not be given up for anything. It is simply 357! Having a three digit plate in this state is a very big deal to many. Very rare, and those three numbers in that exact order is well, incredibly cool!
.
I sign off on every post with "WG840" because I am too lazy to write out the word "Wheelgunner"
Iggy, that is the best story I have ever read on this or any other forum. You are truly a good man. I also would be proud to shake your hand. Hope to meet you one day.
WG840
The plate number on my 1960 Willy's Jeep that I recently restored, will not be given up for anything. It is simply 357! Having a three digit plate in this state is a very big deal to many. Very rare, and those three numbers in that exact order is well, incredibly cool!
I sign off on every post with "WG840" because I am too lazy to write out the word "Wheelgunner"
Iggy, that is the best story I have ever read on this or any other forum. You are truly a good man. I also would be proud to shake your hand. Hope to meet you one day.
WG840
41collector
Member
I collect 41 magnums. Didn't realize there were so many people here that were fans of the 41. 41fan, 41nut and most everything else I tried with 41 in it was taken. Guess some are fans of the Model 41.
oldfella
US Veteran
"Oldfella"... I wonder why!
Pete
Pete
Roark's Drift
Member
- Joined
- Jul 24, 2004
- Messages
- 17
- Reaction score
- 10
Mine refers to the battle between the British Army and the Zulus. The bravery on both sides of this conflict made a huge impression on me. I just wish I had spelled it right-Rorke's Drift.
truckemup97
Member
Originally posted by oldfella:
"Oldfella"... I wonder why!
Pete
I kinda wonder, too, Pete. The older I get, the older "old" is. I think it's a little over 100 now....
mjr
Member
I learned it as,
For he ate of Jesse's bread, and left crumbs in Jesse's bed,
Alpo
Member
April 6, 1991. A day which will live in infamy.
I do Non-Destructive Testing. If you don’t know what that is, don’t feel like the Lone Ranger. Most folks don’t. Think of it as medical diagnostics in the industrial field. Where a doctor might use x-ray to determine if a bone is broken, I use it to see if a weld is cracked. A doctor might use ultrasonics to see whether your baby is boy or girl. I use it to check for laminations in steel plate. A doctor uses MRI, magnetic resonance imaging. I use MT, magnetic particle testing, and ET, eddy current testing. And, while I have never seen a people doctor use anything equivalent to Liquid Penetrant, I saw a Vet do something very similar on my dog’s eye, once.
Anywho. This Saturday I was out in Allenton, at the shipyard, running two x-ray jobs (had two crews working and I was supervising and reading film). Suddenly my beeper goes off. In this time period there may have been cell phones, but I certainly din’t have one. I had two choices. Drop a quarter in the pay-phone, or get the security guard to let me use his. Since I have always been cheap, I headed for the guard shack.
The owner of the yard had brought out this part pit-bull mongrel, and let it run loose. A “guard dog”. The security guard told me, earlier that day, that the dog had bitten a welder Friday, and two more that morning. He said that nobody had said anything, because the bites weren’t serious, and they did not want to jeopardize their jobs.
While I am asking the guard for the phone, something hits me hard, “WHAM”, in the back of the left leg. I look around and there is that damn dog running off. I said to the guard, “You see that? That mother @*&$*^ bit me.” Then I go in the shack to use the phone.
I call the number on the pager (my house) and get my boss’s wife. It seems that #2 child has fallen, and apparently broken her arm. My truck was down, so I had my wife’s car, so she called my boss’s house for help. So my wife had taken the boss’s wife’s car to the hospital, and boss’s wife waited for my call. She told me I needed to get to Bay Memorial’s ER PDQ.
When I hang up the phone and turn around, there are two guards (shift change). The first guard had told the new guard what the dog did. Second guard asks if the dog broke the skin. I told him I had not looked. He suggested I look, so I drop my jeans. Looks like someone poured a bottle of ketchup down my left leg. Looked like a good thing that I was about to head to the ER.
I call out the door, to my crews, to strike the job, pack it up, and somebody drive my car over here, ‘cause there is a .45 in the glove box, and I have a dog to kill. Of course, the dog is nowhere to be seen. I give my #2 guy the key to the vault, tell ‘em to head back to the barn, lock up the pills, clock out and go home. I would see ‘em Monday. Then I start out for the hospital, 25 miles away. I remember thinking on the drive in that it was a good thing I had the Old Lady’s Buick, ‘cause I could not have pushed that Ford’s clutch.
I get to the ER and go in. There are the other kids. I go hug them, and then go to the triage nurse. I tell her I been dog-bit. I tell her that I need it to be reported, as I have no desire to take rabies shots unless absolutely necessary. Need to have the dog picked up.
She leads me back into the treatment rooms. I see the wife in one room, and wave to her as I am taken to another room. She comes over to see why I have not come to the room where she and #2 child are. I tell her about dog bite, and she goes back to child. Later, a doctor comes in, cleans up the leg, and I feel a couple or three little pin-pricks. I am thinking, “Hmmm. Must not be hurt as bad as I thought, if only needed three stitches. And I kinda thought stitches would hurt more.” Later, my knee goes numb, and I realize that that was not stitches, it was a hypo giving me a local. Then they come and put about eight staples in my leg. So me and the rest of the family goes home. Turns out, #2 child had not broken her arm; she had “bruised the growth plate on her elbow”. So her arm is wrapped up in a bandage, and is in a sling.
Monday, I go into work. Someone mentions that dog bites are supposed to be reported to the county sheriff, so I call them, they send out a deputy, and he takes a report. Around 10:00 I call the health department, to make sure dog has been picked up. They tell me that they don’t pick up the dogs; I need to contact the Humane Society. So I call the pound. They tell me that the dog has NOT been picked up. Y’see, the dogcatcher is not a cop. He cannot go onto private property if permission is denied. The guards at the yard said they could not come in, so they turned around and went back to town. This is not good.
Wife and #2 child come down to have lunch with me. While we are at lunch, I get a plan. After lunch, we go to the sheriff’s office, and tell the receptionist we need to talk to someone about a dog bite.
Receptionist sees ten-year-old girl with her arm in a sling, decides she is the victim, so we get sent in to see the kiddy cop. Friendly, motherly, Aunt-Bea type woman, in an office full of stuffed animals. I explain that I am the victim, not the child. Was she a real cop and could help me? Yes, she said, she was. So I tell her my sad tale of woe. She sympathizes, but agrees that, yes, dogcatcher could not go on the property. Legally she saw no way to help me.
So I tell her my plan. I want to swear out a warrant against the dog for assault and battery. Have a deputy go serve the warrant. He could take the dogcatcher for backup. If the guards, or the shipyard owners, would not let the dog be picked up, they became accessories after the fact for A and B, and also became guilty of aiding and abetting a wanted criminal. Lady cop thought about it a minute, kinda grinned, and said that that might work. So that’s what I did. And the dog was locked up.
The next week, my boss calls the shipyard. Tells them that there are medical bills to be paid, and my week’s worth of lost wages from being out of work (I din’t lose a day of work, but hey, money is money). They tell him, basically, to get stuffed. That he has workman’s comp to take care of that stuff. He starts talking lawsuit, and they decide to pay. They say that I must come out to the yard and fill out an accident report.
When we get to the yard, I get out of the truck, leaning on my cane. We run into the company rep for the ship being built. Tommy and I have been working together for almost a year now, so he expresses genuine concern about how I am doing. He then notices the new decoration on my hard hat, and asks, “Ron, what does A. L. P. O. stand for?” I said, “Tommy, alpo is @*&$ing dog food.” He laughs, and we go into the HR department.
A young lady in there hands me an accident report. I start to fill it out. Date of accident. Time of accident. What was major cause of accident? I wrote, “Mean @*&$ing dog”. Next question; how could this type accident be prevented in the future? I wrote, “Shoot mean @*&$ing dog”.
At the end of his two-week quarantine, the dog is released, and is back running around the yard. A week later, I am back at the yard shooting pictures, again.
One night, after I had been back about a week, my boss showed up, needing some paperwork. I tell him it is over on the front seat of the car. I am still driving the old lady’s Buick. He goes and gets his papers, and comes back and says, “Uh, Ron, what’s that in the back seat?”
I said, “It’s a Steyr-Daimler-Puch Mannlicher Model L, .308 Winchester, with a Leupold Vari-X 3 x 9 scope, loaded with Nosler 180 grain partition points over 40.0 of IMR 4895. Why?”
He walked off shaking his head.
One night, the dog disappeared. No one knows what happened to him. I have a groove about three inches long on the left side of my left leg, just below the kneecap, and a dimple the size of a nickel in the top of my left calf.
And I have been Alpo ever since the dog tried to eat me.
I do Non-Destructive Testing. If you don’t know what that is, don’t feel like the Lone Ranger. Most folks don’t. Think of it as medical diagnostics in the industrial field. Where a doctor might use x-ray to determine if a bone is broken, I use it to see if a weld is cracked. A doctor might use ultrasonics to see whether your baby is boy or girl. I use it to check for laminations in steel plate. A doctor uses MRI, magnetic resonance imaging. I use MT, magnetic particle testing, and ET, eddy current testing. And, while I have never seen a people doctor use anything equivalent to Liquid Penetrant, I saw a Vet do something very similar on my dog’s eye, once.
Anywho. This Saturday I was out in Allenton, at the shipyard, running two x-ray jobs (had two crews working and I was supervising and reading film). Suddenly my beeper goes off. In this time period there may have been cell phones, but I certainly din’t have one. I had two choices. Drop a quarter in the pay-phone, or get the security guard to let me use his. Since I have always been cheap, I headed for the guard shack.
The owner of the yard had brought out this part pit-bull mongrel, and let it run loose. A “guard dog”. The security guard told me, earlier that day, that the dog had bitten a welder Friday, and two more that morning. He said that nobody had said anything, because the bites weren’t serious, and they did not want to jeopardize their jobs.
While I am asking the guard for the phone, something hits me hard, “WHAM”, in the back of the left leg. I look around and there is that damn dog running off. I said to the guard, “You see that? That mother @*&$*^ bit me.” Then I go in the shack to use the phone.
I call the number on the pager (my house) and get my boss’s wife. It seems that #2 child has fallen, and apparently broken her arm. My truck was down, so I had my wife’s car, so she called my boss’s house for help. So my wife had taken the boss’s wife’s car to the hospital, and boss’s wife waited for my call. She told me I needed to get to Bay Memorial’s ER PDQ.
When I hang up the phone and turn around, there are two guards (shift change). The first guard had told the new guard what the dog did. Second guard asks if the dog broke the skin. I told him I had not looked. He suggested I look, so I drop my jeans. Looks like someone poured a bottle of ketchup down my left leg. Looked like a good thing that I was about to head to the ER.
I call out the door, to my crews, to strike the job, pack it up, and somebody drive my car over here, ‘cause there is a .45 in the glove box, and I have a dog to kill. Of course, the dog is nowhere to be seen. I give my #2 guy the key to the vault, tell ‘em to head back to the barn, lock up the pills, clock out and go home. I would see ‘em Monday. Then I start out for the hospital, 25 miles away. I remember thinking on the drive in that it was a good thing I had the Old Lady’s Buick, ‘cause I could not have pushed that Ford’s clutch.
I get to the ER and go in. There are the other kids. I go hug them, and then go to the triage nurse. I tell her I been dog-bit. I tell her that I need it to be reported, as I have no desire to take rabies shots unless absolutely necessary. Need to have the dog picked up.
She leads me back into the treatment rooms. I see the wife in one room, and wave to her as I am taken to another room. She comes over to see why I have not come to the room where she and #2 child are. I tell her about dog bite, and she goes back to child. Later, a doctor comes in, cleans up the leg, and I feel a couple or three little pin-pricks. I am thinking, “Hmmm. Must not be hurt as bad as I thought, if only needed three stitches. And I kinda thought stitches would hurt more.” Later, my knee goes numb, and I realize that that was not stitches, it was a hypo giving me a local. Then they come and put about eight staples in my leg. So me and the rest of the family goes home. Turns out, #2 child had not broken her arm; she had “bruised the growth plate on her elbow”. So her arm is wrapped up in a bandage, and is in a sling.
Monday, I go into work. Someone mentions that dog bites are supposed to be reported to the county sheriff, so I call them, they send out a deputy, and he takes a report. Around 10:00 I call the health department, to make sure dog has been picked up. They tell me that they don’t pick up the dogs; I need to contact the Humane Society. So I call the pound. They tell me that the dog has NOT been picked up. Y’see, the dogcatcher is not a cop. He cannot go onto private property if permission is denied. The guards at the yard said they could not come in, so they turned around and went back to town. This is not good.
Wife and #2 child come down to have lunch with me. While we are at lunch, I get a plan. After lunch, we go to the sheriff’s office, and tell the receptionist we need to talk to someone about a dog bite.
Receptionist sees ten-year-old girl with her arm in a sling, decides she is the victim, so we get sent in to see the kiddy cop. Friendly, motherly, Aunt-Bea type woman, in an office full of stuffed animals. I explain that I am the victim, not the child. Was she a real cop and could help me? Yes, she said, she was. So I tell her my sad tale of woe. She sympathizes, but agrees that, yes, dogcatcher could not go on the property. Legally she saw no way to help me.
So I tell her my plan. I want to swear out a warrant against the dog for assault and battery. Have a deputy go serve the warrant. He could take the dogcatcher for backup. If the guards, or the shipyard owners, would not let the dog be picked up, they became accessories after the fact for A and B, and also became guilty of aiding and abetting a wanted criminal. Lady cop thought about it a minute, kinda grinned, and said that that might work. So that’s what I did. And the dog was locked up.
The next week, my boss calls the shipyard. Tells them that there are medical bills to be paid, and my week’s worth of lost wages from being out of work (I din’t lose a day of work, but hey, money is money). They tell him, basically, to get stuffed. That he has workman’s comp to take care of that stuff. He starts talking lawsuit, and they decide to pay. They say that I must come out to the yard and fill out an accident report.
When we get to the yard, I get out of the truck, leaning on my cane. We run into the company rep for the ship being built. Tommy and I have been working together for almost a year now, so he expresses genuine concern about how I am doing. He then notices the new decoration on my hard hat, and asks, “Ron, what does A. L. P. O. stand for?” I said, “Tommy, alpo is @*&$ing dog food.” He laughs, and we go into the HR department.
A young lady in there hands me an accident report. I start to fill it out. Date of accident. Time of accident. What was major cause of accident? I wrote, “Mean @*&$ing dog”. Next question; how could this type accident be prevented in the future? I wrote, “Shoot mean @*&$ing dog”.
At the end of his two-week quarantine, the dog is released, and is back running around the yard. A week later, I am back at the yard shooting pictures, again.
One night, after I had been back about a week, my boss showed up, needing some paperwork. I tell him it is over on the front seat of the car. I am still driving the old lady’s Buick. He goes and gets his papers, and comes back and says, “Uh, Ron, what’s that in the back seat?”
I said, “It’s a Steyr-Daimler-Puch Mannlicher Model L, .308 Winchester, with a Leupold Vari-X 3 x 9 scope, loaded with Nosler 180 grain partition points over 40.0 of IMR 4895. Why?”
He walked off shaking his head.
One night, the dog disappeared. No one knows what happened to him. I have a groove about three inches long on the left side of my left leg, just below the kneecap, and a dimple the size of a nickel in the top of my left calf.
And I have been Alpo ever since the dog tried to eat me.
Agreed. I could never see a use for golf, either.
Alpo,
I had an albino horse that I named Alpo. I just wanted him to remember what could happen to him if he bucked me off.
He was the best horse I ever had.. I think he would have gone off a cliff if I had asked him to.
He got cancer and I had to put him down. Like I said best horse I ever had.
I had an albino horse that I named Alpo. I just wanted him to remember what could happen to him if he bucked me off.
He was the best horse I ever had.. I think he would have gone off a cliff if I had asked him to.
He got cancer and I had to put him down. Like I said best horse I ever had.
From the good 'ol days in the 75th Ranger Regiment and my favorite S&W revolver to collect.
Chuck
Chuck
Wheelgunner840
Member
Alpo, that was one helluva story. Rivals "Alices Restaurant"! You oughtta put it to music!
WG840
WG840
ancient-one
US Veteran
Turned 84 last Monday. That should explain it.
No other reason that is what i have been called , When first started using the computer
thaught i had to use something unique so my handle was Sharpsslantbreach because I think they have to be the greatest rifle ever made . Just my opinion.Now i am lazy and just type walt o.
thaught i had to use something unique so my handle was Sharpsslantbreach because I think they have to be the greatest rifle ever made . Just my opinion.Now i am lazy and just type walt o.
BLACKHAWKNJ
Member
- Joined
- Oct 25, 2006
- Messages
- 6,161
- Reaction score
- 6,559
When I finally signed up for an internet address this was the first combination of names I wanted that was available.
I have a mechanical engineering degree to go with my unemployment check. 1911 semi-autos and S&W L-frames are my favorite hand guns. Other strays have also joined the herd.
Iggy -- the tears ran for 2 pages of reading. Thank you for your service and for being athere for your friend.
Iggy -- the tears ran for 2 pages of reading. Thank you for your service and for being athere for your friend.
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