Wednesday's Duane Allman Pic

Duane and an unknown blowdaddy, Forest Inn, 3-30-69.
Wail on, Skydog!

Here's a bit of film from that concert:

Drama In Real Life: Old Fat Dog Injures Leg Walking In Field

Last month our elderly beagle-mix Shiloh tore a cruciate ligament in her left back leg. We didn't see how it happened; we saw the resulting trembling in the leg and inability to jump and took her to the vet. We started her on mild pain killers and a reducing diet.
Early this morning while we were doing our laps around the local baseball field, she yelped and sat down. The other rear knee had blown out, probably from overuse. Unfortunately there was no way I could carry her portly canine caboose to the car to get her home. I got a blanket from the car and walked back over to her, contemplating improvising a sling or perhaps a travois. I also contemplated why that fifth-grade lesson on the travois was still in my head, whether kids are still learning about them, and how much better the wheel is. When I put the makeshift sling under her belly and tried to lift, however, I found that her particular mass divided by her particular volume equaled one dense dog. I couldn't budge her.
This situation called for the big guns --or at least bigger guns than mine and a strong back to go with them--: I'd have to go home and get my husband to carry her. I covered her up with the blanket and me and our other dog -- a three-legger but vastly more mobile at this point-- went home so I could tell Mr. Cracker that I'd left his precious little snowflake princess lying injured in a field. I knew he'd be upset.
He and I walked across the pitch black field and she finally came into sight, all bundled up and awaiting rescue. When we got over to her she was very vocal to him and told him all her troubles.
We got her home and settled and gave her a bit of medicine. Then she asked if she couldn't have a little bite of breakfast.
So she's in no pain and still enjoying a nice meal. Throw in a comfortable bed and that's about as good as it gets for any of us really.

Christmas Memories:Best/Worst

While we can't share gifts with each other this season, we can share some memories.
My favorite Christmas was in mine and Mr. Cracker's first apartment. It had no heat in a typically freezing Tallahassee winter, and the fact that plumes of frosty breath would come out of our mouths when saying things like "Pass the salt" was endlessly hilarious.
His mother was less amused by it when she came up to visit and went out and bought us a kerosene heater, which was also delightful.
I can't say I've ever had a bad Christmas. Even the Christmas that we were deploying to Saudi for Desert Shield, though full of long, tiring days, held an underscore of excitement. Perhaps I could have done without getting woken up with a kick to the head for sleeping in front of the warm air blower in the Frankfurt fest tent that was our last stop before getting on the C5, but I was indeed being a heat hog and since it has proven to be the only chance in my sheltered life that I've ever had to receive a good head kick, on second thought I'm glad I didn't miss out on the experience.

A Merry, Merry Christmas to all of you.

Wednesday's Duane Allman Pic

This pic from what looks to be his sideman days at Fame studios is new to me.
It's nice to still be coming across surprises after all this time.
Wail on, Skydog!

A closer look:

Wednesday's Duane Allman Pic

A much nicer copy of the stone picnic table pic from the stoned picnic series.
Via e-mail from the ever-resourceful Greg Henderson.
Wail on, Skydog!