Friday, May 23, 2008
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Friday, May 9, 2008
Look carefully. The photographer is directly overhead 14 Zebras when the sun was apparently fairly low in the sky. I saw a similar picture some time back with camels walking in a straight line across a dune.
What a great use of angle, light and shadows. I just thought it was a cool pic and wanted to share.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Sunday, May 4, 2008
New gear racks with plenty of room are located in the engine bay and an air filtration system is in place for removal of fumes when the engines are started.
Finally Mr. Dean showed us what is know as Phase II. The adjacent commercial building that used to be Drug Fair will converted to a community hall that should seat in the neighborhood of 400 people. A commercial kitchen is planned and possibly movable partitions in order to use smaller spaces when necessary. Mr Dean clearly showed his pride in the new facility and I would imagine that pride is common among the 60 active members, 16 Gold Badge members, 22 life members, and 2 cadets on the current role call of the department.
Indeed it is a fine building for the community it serves and I encourage anyone who happens by to stop in and take a look if possible. Thank you Mr. Dean for the time you took for us to tour your station. It was quite enjoyable and informative.
Congratulations also to the entire Pocomoke Volunteer Fire Company for this fine facility.
Friday, May 2, 2008
I have been unable to determine the author but the with initials w.c.t. at bottom I may be able to find out.
I have copied this poem exactly as written including the punctuation.
The Story of Burt, The Fireman’s Dog
To begin with, Burt was just a dog,
And not very strong for looks;
She might have been a mongrel or a cur-
But smart! There isn’t a dog in the books,
In a fancy kennel or anywhere else-
Where good dogs have a part,
That could fill by half the warm—soft spot
Burt held in the Fireman’s heart.
Burt of course was a Fireman’s dog;
With nothing like a family tree;
But true blue boys, that dog was it,
Charlie Livingston said, if your asking me.
She was just a dog as I said before;
A homeless dog that drifted in,
And took her place with the rest of the crowd
As if they’d all been kin.
Burt was the company’s mascot,
And she never missed a fire.
Her short little legs could make the run
With a speed that didn’t tire.
Burt knew the whole outlandish bunch
That hung around the place;
When a fire was due—she knew that too;
Seems like she had a hunch.
No, she wouldn’t bite, that dog!
Too smart for a trick like that.
But let the bell tap one-two—three,
She was off at the drop of a hat.
She was killed in the line of duty
On her way to a fire;
Like the brave old scouts with whom she lived,
Her work wasn’t done for hire.
An Accident, of course, Bill Downing
Would never have run over Burt;
Not Bill! Good Lord no’
Bill was the one who was hurt.
Burt was just a dog-but tenderly
They draped her lifeless form
In something clean for a winding sheet-
Something to keep her warm;
They dug a grave in a quite spot—
I’ll say the boys were hurt—
And they lowered the box with misty eyes
As they said “goodbye” to Burt.
Goodbye little dog goodbye,
Who said you’d be forgot?
While a fireman lives
And a stone is left
To mark that quiet spot.