My Neighbor, My Friend
You aren’t supposed to talk about your good deeds. And I know a man who didn’t. I once had a friend who was into saving dogs. She was a little overzealous about it, honestly, going without provisions herself just to help another dog. You have to draw the line somewhere, and that’s why I only have Chester. He’s all I can afford when I give him the life I feel like he deserves.
I’m off track. So I had this friend. She was overrun with dogs and it got to where she couldn’t feed the ones she had. I put on here she was needing some help, she’d gotten in over her head, and she was having a yard sale if anybody had stuff to donate to go towards the care of the dogs she’d rescued.
My friend and neighbor messaged me and said for me to bill him a bag of dog food to give to the lady the next time she came in. He couldn’t stand to see an animal hungry. There is a special place in Heaven for animal lovers, I feel sure.
He fed me, too: bags of cucumbers, tomatoes, lettuce, and I don’t know what all from his garden. He was always friendly, encouraging me to come visit him and his wife, Mary, as they just lived over the hill. It was always a good time when you’d go and sit a spell in the hallway of the barn or in the iron chairs outside the old farmhouse. We’d catch up on current Seymour events and discuss the deterioration of the community due to Yankee invasion. I learned a lot about Poco Bueno bloodlines and the Waggoner Ranch in Texas. It was fascinating to hear stories from the Civil War that were largely unknown. We shared a love of history books, jokes, old country music, and an eye for good horses. He and Mary were advocates for the library, as libraries are a means to keep history alive.
Bob looked the part of an old cowboy, and that’s what he was, although I never saw him sit astride a horse. It was just in his bearing. Arms as tough as a walnut tree, tanned and scratched and scarred from years of labor outside. He always wore a “gimmee” hat {Note the one in his obituary picture–Soil Conservation, wonder where that came from?}, mesh back most of the year, thin cotton plaid shirts with a pocket where he’d put his Co-op receipt, loose fitting dark Wranglers with knife in the front pocket and a snot rag in the back. He wasn’t tall, but he had a big voice and an easy, fun laugh.
Bob was an avid emailer, we continually sent each other articles, news, and jokes when we found something we knew the other would enjoy. I loved it when we all got Facebook because then Bob and I could really fire them back and forth and we could keep a bead on the neighborhood whenever we had a storm or heard shooting. And also to update in the war on beavers. His love for animals did NOT extend to beavers. He & his wife always adopted dogs from the shelter, and they always got their dog a friend–they didn’t keep just one, even though they were home nearly all the time. “A dog needs a buddy,” Bob would say. They always made sure they had good vet care, and their horses were kept in the same manner. They bred carefully, and the horses were not sold off as they lost their usefulness, they were retired out to pasture (with friends) and put down humanely when the time came years later. They kept the same farrier for 26 years. That should tell you about their loyalty, ethics, and trust.
Bob’s feed order went like this for all the years I knew him: “Four bags of Horseman’s Edge, bag of oats, two bags of old man food {this is his way of saying Golden Years for his ageing horses}, and a bag of black oil sunflower seeds.” Bob trusted me for nutritional guidance, and he didn’t mix feed although it sounds like it. He had a wide range of horses with different dietary requirements and he fed accordingly. Plus he fed the birds 
He might pick up a few odds and ends- a few pounds of nails, hydraulic fluid, herbicides in the spring, some fertilizer. We’d tell a story or two and catch up on the current state of affairs and then he’d say, “Let’s go down to the Poorhouse, come see us,” and then I wouldn’t see him again till the following Tuesday morning.
There’s a lot of things I don’t miss about the Co-op, and a lot of people I do. Bob Watt is one I will surely miss.
“Never meddle in the affairs of Dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup”
https://www.atchleyfuneralhome.com/obituaries/Bobby-Eugene-Watt?obId=22770072#/obituaryInfo
I don’t know why, but this is the song that comes to mind when I think of Bob.
“Ride Me Down Easy”
Waylon Jennings
This ol’ highway, she’s hotter than nine kinds of hell
And the rides, that are scarce as the rain
When you’re down to your last shuck with nothin’ to sell
And too far away from the trains
Been a good month of Sundays and a guitar ago
Had a tall drink of yesterday’s wine
Left a long string of friends, some sheets in the wind
And some satisfied women behind
Won’t you ride me down easy, Lord, ride me on down?
Leave word in the dust where I lay
Say, “I’m easy come, yeah, and I’m easy go
And easy to love when I stay”
Left snow on the mountain, raised hell on the hill
Locked horns with the devil himself
Been a rodeo bum, and a son-of-a-gun
And a hobo with stars in my crown
Won’t you ride me down easy, Lord, ride me on down?
Leave word in the dust where I lay
Say, “I’m easy come, yeah, and I’m easy go
And easy to love when I stay”
Won’t you ride me down easy, Lord, ride me on down?
Leave word in the dust where I lay
Say, “I’m easy come, yeah, and I’m easy go
And easy to love when I stay”
