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It is with great sadness that I have to report the passing of SanFernando Slim SASS #20521L, on Monday February 8 2021 due to complications from pneumonia. Please keep his family in your thoughts and prayers. The family will be having a memorial service later in the year when family and friends can attend.

salut! Je pense que je suis amoureux de toi, ma chère! Please forgive Le Key Bouquet, his French is abysmal. But he says this to all the girl dogs he meets. :-) STL Suomi

237. DEAD MAN'S CHEST The rental car was almost soundless as they drove to the little regional airport. He handed the keys to a man he knew, he loaded his luggage and his wife's into the Lear: he shook hands with the grinning pilot and thanked him quietly for his kindness. "Hey, I'm flying machine parts out to a drill site anyway," his old and dear friend shrugged, "why shouldn't I offer? Besides" -- he winked -- "call it a wedding present. You paid for one flight and got cheated out of it, why not let me help out, eh?" The lights never went out in Intensive Care. There was always movement: sometimes quiet and purposeful, sometimes urgent and focused: there was sound, always sound: cardiac monitors, the hiss and sigh of ventilators, an IV pump beeping petulantly. There was the sound of a man's hoarse whisper. "My chest hurts," he grimaced, moving a hand toward his breastbone: "who it me?" His daughter smiled, bit her bottom lip. "A complete stranger, Dad." Linn and his bride settled into the contoured seats, fast up their belts: his buddy grinned back at them -- "All good?" and Linn waved a casual go-ahead, then gripped Shelly's hand lightly as the Lear's engines began to whistle, then sing, as the ship started to turn, as she transformed from an ungainly, ground-lumbering metal beast to a swift-running bird, coming up on her toes, then soaring quickly into the night sky. Shelly felt her husband's hand tighten, just a little, and she knew his eyes were just a shade darker. She knew his eyes got less icy, less pale, when he was pleased, and at the feel of being thrust through the atmosphere at an increasing velocity, she knew he was as pleased as a little boy with a new toy car. "What happened?" the man whispered. "Hush, Dad, save your voice," his daughter soothed, and he grimaced, shook his head. "I wanta know what the hell happened to me!" Something white loomed beside him and a man's voice said, "I think I can answer that," and the daughter looked up at her father's cardiologist, grateful for a familiar face in this frightening location. The man felt a familiar hand rest on his shoulder. "Jack, my boy," he heard, "if you had to fall over dead, you picked the right person to fall in front of." "What do you mean, dead?" Jack rasped, grimacing. "And why does my chest feel like I've been stomped on?" "Because you were," the cardiologist said bluntly. "CPR is hard on the ribs and you've got several that cracked under pressure." "Whattaya mean, CPR?" "Dad," his daughter interjected, wringing his hand between hers, carefully avoiding the IV site, "you were dead." The tall, lean, grinning young man in the old-fashioned suit put the lovely, long-skirted woman down, and they held hands as they worked their way through the crowd. Linn and Shelly both froze as a man right in front of them sagged in his chair, turning a dusky color with surprising speed: he started to fall, slumping sideways, and a strong set of hands caught him under the arms, pulled, kicked the chair out of the way, laid him down flat. Saddles reacted out of habit, out of long training. She was on her knees beside him, down listening for breath, practiced fingers pressing into his carotid groove: Linn was on his feet, powering through the crowd, seized a red box hanging on the wall: he shouldered his way back, thumbed the latches and opened it with a vicious effort. Saddles seized the man's shirt, tore it open: Linn snapped open his lockback with a practiced twist of his thumb, ran two fingers under the neck of the supine man's T-shirt, unzipped the shirt down to the belt buckle with a smooth, swift stroke: the knife snapped shut, surprisingly loud in the shocked hush, and Saddles landmarked, planted the heel of her hand on the man's breastbone, laced her fingers together and shoved forward so her arms were vertical-down. She chanted as she compressed, quietly, precisely: Linn peeled the paper off the stickum, placed the pads as he'd practiced and practiced and practiced again: the AED was on, the screen was lit up, and when it started talking, Linn said "Off" and Shelly drew back, coming up on her haunches, quivering like a hound on a hot scent. "Shock advised." Linn reached for the red button, looked around: "Fire one," he said quietly, pressed firmly: the man's body twitched as current screamed through his chest. "Continue CPR." Saddles was back on the man's chest, merciless in her compressions: she'd qualified for ER duty, she was capable of two strokes a second for three minutes with full depth compressions -- such speed was only on doctor's order and only in a hospital setting, but she'd certified and she had the paper to prove it -- her rhythm was steady, her compressions regular, smooth, her voice a confident chant. She shoved the voices aside, the voices that always surround a scene -- did someone call 911, somebody make the call, I already called, they're coming, they're not coming -- Linn raised a hand and Shelly came off the chest again. "Shock advised." "Fire two," Linn declared, mashed the button. Shelly breathed deep, deep again, staring at the box, damning the limitations of the AED, wishing mightily for the EKG strip -- "CPR not indicated," the voice said, and Shelly was back on his carotid. She looked at her husband: "He's back," she said curtly, then seized the man's head, cranked it back again and placed her mouth on his. Linn saw the man's belly rise as his wife blew life into his dead lungs. Another breath. One every five, Linn thought, and he could hear the whistling alarm of an approaching siren. Saddles gave a brief, succinct report to the EMTs: she identified as a Colorado paramedic, witnessed arrest, AED and CPR right away with countershock x 2, no vitals, unknown meds or allergies. They helped load the patient onto the cot. As the squad was BLS -- basic life support -- they took the AED with the patient, promising Shelly they'd bring it back: Linn was busy with a fast canvas, finding anyone who knew the man, connecting them with the EMTs to try and get at least a little information on this Jack Doe. The Lear leveled off, drawing its roar in the cold night air behind it, as Linn sat and held hands with his wife. "Who witnessed his collapse?" the cardiologist asked Jack's daughter, and she shook her head slowly. "I don't know," she admitted. "I know they looked like they stepped out of a Western novel, but ..." She shook her head again. "What'd they do, shoot me?" he father growled. "Feels like they stomped on me or something!"

jus brothers cause me and my wife are their folks. (all 3 are rescues - the littles were just not wanted but toby was hand shy - as if he was struck) breaks my heart how someone could hit a doggie

^^^^^^^^^ ... nasty little child ....

Found another old one of Windy. JHC

SASS Alias: Smoken D SASS #: 39396 Where you are from: Missouri How long you’ve been Cowboy Action Shooting: 17 Years

Hollifer A. Dollar SASS #91847 Greenwood FL 7 years

Alias: Kaya SASS 98924 From Fort Wayne, IN Started shooting five years ago with the Paradise Pass Regulators