I mentioned in an earlier blog here that my 11-year-old son, James, bought himself an adz for five bucks at the annual Route-90 garage sale and that he was looking for some log dogs. When David Taylor read the story he responded that he had an extra pair of log dogs and would send them along.
I didn’t tell James what he was getting but I told him that something special was coming in the mail for him. This was a couple weeks ago. He has been anxiously awaiting the surprise and pretty much gave up because it never showed up. But today, 14 days after David mailed the package, the U.S. postal service came through.
The lady at the post office handed the package over the counter to me and warned, “Watch out for the sharp projectile sticking out there." I told her that was the end of a log dog. It had broken through the side of the box.
When I got home and walked into the kitchen, James was bagging loaves of bread for the farm market tomorrow. He said, “Look at my arms,” and pointed to scratches on one forearm. “What’s that from?” I asked. He informed me that he had helped with hay on the farm where Robert works. That was a first for him and I was delighted to hear of it.
Robert asked the farmer if James could help. The farmer said he didn’t really need to hire any more help, but James could stay and hang out with them if he wanted to. Well, that’s what he did and he worked in the hay wagon and in the barn getting the hay in. He didn’t much care if he wasn’t getting paid. He just enjoyed being there.
I told him that there was something for him in my vehicle and he asked if the surprise package came and I said yes and he went right out to get it. They are really nice log dogs.
Below is a picture of the happy future log hewer with his axe and his adz and his new log dogs.
Thanks David!! That was an exceptionally nice thing for you to do.
Now I have to find some logs....
Wishes Matured by Thoughtful Choice - My youthful wishes all fulfilled Wishes matured by thoughtful choice. I stood an inmate of this vale, How could I but rejoice? Dorothy Wordsworth Six years...
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