Yield: Check it off
July 13, 2018
Folks, I'm not big on "bucket lists" of things I want to do or accomplish in the remainder of my lifetime, but I'm on the cusp of checking off one of the items on my very short "bucket list."
I've always thought it would be fun to have an active interest in a race horse, but I've never actively pursued that goal. But, when the opportunity to get involved with a race horse fell into my lap, I embraced the opportunity.
A Thoroughbred horse breeding friend of mine, ol' Nick Mairz, said he wuz raising a well-bred Thoroughbred colt. Nick said he wuz interested in putting together a little friendly, informal, have-fun, handshake kind of a "racing interest syndicate" in the colt.
What Nick proposed wuz that he and his family members retain ownership in the colt and retain at least a 50 percent of the colt's possible earnings. Nick wanted to find interested friends who would agree to share in the costs of getting the colt to the track, in exchange for a share of the colt's possible earnings. Each "racing interest shareholder" would pay 10 percent of the colt's expenses, in exchange for 10 percent of any net earning by the colt.
Heck, that sounded reasonable to me, so I opted in for a 10 percent racing-interest share. Then another good fellow, my county extension agent ol' Avery Ware, hopped on board for 10 percent. Then another, ol' Betton Wager, agreed to a similar share. Then another, ol' Willy Wynn, agreed to participate. That filled the syndicate.
When I said Nick had a well-bred colt for this syndication, I wuzn't kidding. The colt's a grandson of Giant Causeway, one of the leading sires of lifetime winners and race earnings. Plus, the colt's sire won more than $130,000. And his dam was a two-time race winner. Racing folks in the know will also recognize these leading TB sires in the colt's five-generation pedigree: Storm Cat, Northern Dancer, Secretariat, Bold Ruler, Blushing Groom, Mr. Prospector, Native Dancer, Buck Passer and Raise a Native.
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So, for purposes of writing in this column about our new syndicate, the name of Nick's TB colt is — Giant Clawsway — because we all hope the colt can claw his way into the winner's circle someday — and he's a strapping giant colt for his age.
I'll keep readers apprised of notable happenings in our horse syndicate. The latest development is that Giant Clawsway has been transported to a trainer, ol' Gettys A. Tension, for his initial ground training — learning to handle a halter and bridle, training on a lunge-line in a circle corral, learning to have his feet handled for eventual horseshoeing, etc.
When something else happens, I'll let you know.
My ol' Platte City, Mo., buddy, Canby Handy, reports the good news that a national food and leisure magazine has ranked the nation's 25 top barbecue restaurants — and Canby's son-in-law owns and operates the 20th best. It's called Scott's Kitchen & Catering at Hangar 29. It's just east of the airport in Kansas City.
I'll bet if you eat at Scott's BBQ you'll get treated better than Sarah Huckabee Sanders, president Trump's press secretary, got treated at The Red Hen restaurant in Lexington, Va.
The owners and employees of The Red Hen felt so offended at the prospect of serving anyone in the Trump Administration that they kicked Ms. Sanders and all her friends and family members out of the restaurant without service.
What's this world coming to when a person can't even eat out at a restaurant without getting harassed over politics?
All I'll say about the incident is that The Red Hen owner and employees embarrassed all the wise, non-political roosters, hens and pullets across the land.
A nervous farmer was unhappily conversing with the IRS auditor who had come to review his records. At one point the auditor exclaimed, "We feel it is a great privilege to be allowed to live and work in the USA. As a citizen you have an obligation to pay taxes, and we expect you to eagerly pay them with a smile."
"Thank God," replied the farmer. "I thought you were going to want cash."
At a pleasant rural church, it was toward the end of Sunday service when the minister said, "Since my sermon was about forgiving, I'll ask, "How many of you have forgiven your enemies?"
Most of the congregation raised their hand. The exception wuz ol' Stub Borne, a 98-year-old farmer who attended church only when the weather wuz bad. He sat sullenly on his hands.
"Mr. Borne, it's obviously not a good day for farming. It's good to see you here. Are you not willing to forgive your enemies?"
"I don't have any enemies," the farmer replied curtly.
"Mr. Borne, that is very unusual," replied the minister. "How old are you?"
"Ninety-eight," he spoke up loudly.
"Mr. Borne, at 98 years old, please tell everyone here how you have lived 98 years and do not have an enemy in the world."
"I outlived all the worthless, scroungy, scoundrels," the farmer calmly replied.
Until next week, recall these words of wisdom: I started out with nothing and I still have most of it. Have a good 'un. ❖
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