Sunday Surgery for Harley

Harley is now our $1223.00 cat as of this morning.  The poor little thing had two broken legs, one (right front), and the other was his left back leg.  Both had to be put together with rods, screws and wires.  He might have to have one or two more surgeries depending on the rod that sticks up through his back, and also on his tail, which may have to be cut off....or as the vet said, bobbed. I think that his tail will eventually be fine and it is just traumatized right now and will regain its function.  Harley can't stand up yet, so requires our help during those bathroom times, but other than that he spends most of his time sleeping and grooming.

Harley is one of the sweetest cats ever and didn't even offer to bite or scratch anyone during his stay at the animal hospital.  He was there from Saturday morning until this morning when we picked him up.  We are so happy to have Harley back home with us.

Looking for arrowheads

Farmers are using the no-till method for planting and plowed fields are becoming scarce and hard to find, but last Saturday we located three plowed fields. This week it has rained and the fields are ready….That is…they’re almost ready to be searched for arrowheads.

Unfortunately, it has rained so hard all week, that we must wait for the fields to dry, just a little, or we will be trudging around with heavy laden mud boots. Once the sun shines, it will make the arrowheads glisten in the sun as we walk along the furrows.

Here are two that I found…the larger one measures 5 inches long.

This is a flint heart that I made. I started out, wanting to make an arrowhead, just to see if I could do it, but as I chipped away at the flint I decided to make a heart instead. I was afraid that by making an arrowhead, it would somehow seem as fraud to me…so I have not attempted to make one…But I know it can be done.
I made it in 1989.

Below is a poem that I found on the back of a little pamphlet, around 1964, which I really loved. The pamphlet is long gone, but the poem remains. The author was unknown them and I’m assuming is still unknown now.

A Treasured Implement

Over fields of new turned sod,

Communing with my God

I tramped alone.

And in a furrow bed,

I found an arrowhead

Chiseled from stone.

Then fancy fled on wings,

Back to primeval things

Seeking the light.

What warrior drew the bow,

Sighted, and let it go,

On its last flight.

How often this flinten head,

On deadly errand sped,

I may not know.

Nor will the silent flint,

Reveal the slightest hint,

How long ago.

Were its grim story told,

What tales would it unfold.

Tales that would chill.

I know but this one thing,

Beyond all questioning,

It was made to kill.

Ages have worn away.

Warriors have gone their way.

Their bones are dust.

Proof of a craftsman skill,

Survives the ages still

Left in my trust.


(Author Unknown)