Buck's take on Movies

Buck’s Tale: Howlin’ Through the Minefield of the Way Things Are

The sun was clawin’ its way up the sky, spillin’ gold across the farm’s rollin’ fields, and I, Buck, stood proud on the hill, a German Shepherd, young, strong, and master of all I survey—and pee on. My fur gleamed like a wolf’s, (because I AM the Sigma of all Wolves!) my tail high like a flag, and my howl ripped through the mornin’—a wild, off-key wail, like a coyote with a bellyful of bad whiskey tryin’ to sing “Da Blues.”

This farm’s my kingdom, pups, and I roam it by day, lettin’ my wolf-self run free, chasin’ rabbits, starin’ down Bars, Yeties and such, snarlin’ at shadows, and markin’ every fencepost as mine. By night, I curl up in my kennel in the Man’s house, More like a Throne, actually, where only the Worthy may approach (which is usually anybody that gives me my food), I warm with my pack—his family, my family. Protect and Serve, that’s my code, just like the Man’s all-business heart, tough as rawhide but meltin’ for his kids’ giggles, his woman’s smile, or—don’t tell a soul—a juicy steak.

Me? I’m mean-lookin’, built to scare every two-legged stranger crossin’ my land, but for family, especially them kids? I admit that I’m a big ol’ softie, rollin’ over for belly rubs, tail waggin’ for a treat or a scratch behind the ears. Yeah, I can be bought, and I ain’t ashamed to admit it.Today’s a special day, pups—my imaginary litter or the Man’s kids, listenin’ to old Buck howl a tale for you. I’m takin’ you on a grand adventure through the minefield of life, teachin’ you to be dogs of honor, brave, true, and ready to sacrifice, like the heroes in them movin’ pictures the Man watches by lamplight…over and over again. I see ‘em through across the living room, tales of men like Maximus, Wallace, Shane, and that ornery Walt Kowalski, stumblin’ but standin’ tall. They’re my map, pups, for navigatin’ this farm and guidin’ you through the minefield—where one wrong step, pride, fear, or chasin’ the wrong scent, can blow you to bits. But step right, and you’re howlin’ toward doghood. 

So, huddle up, my pack, and listen to Buck, master of the fields, far-ranging forests and streams, as I roam and teach you to conquer, love, and sacrifice, even if my howl’s a bit off-key.

I started at dawn, paws hittin’ the dirt, surveyin’ my domain. The farm road stretched out, a dusty scar where vehicles—my sworn enemies—rattle through, kickin’ up gravel and mockin’ my rule. I bare my teeth, fur bristlin’ like a storm cloud, ‘cause every truck’s a threat, ‘less the door swings open and the Man hollers, “Buck, in!” Then I’m leapin’ in, tail waggin’, ridin’ shotgun like a Boss.

A shock collar zaps me if I stray past the perimeter—ow, stings like a bee in the butt—but I wouldn’t leave this pack, not for all the wilds of Yellowstone. The Man’s my mirror: all business, eyes sharp as a hawk’s, but he’ll drop his guard for a kid’s hug or a good meal, just like I’m a fool for a bone. We’re tough but soft where it counts, and that’s the first lesson, pups.

The First Challenge: Conquering the Intruder

Mid-mornin’, trouble rolled in—a fancy car, sleek as a city fox, creepin’ down the farm road. A stranger stepped out, suit crisp, smellin’ of cologne and trouble, aimin’ to sell the Man some nonsense about “modernizin’” the farm. I charged, barkin’ like thunder, mean and tough, my growl rattlin’ his bones. He froze, eyes wide as a rabbit’s, and I thought, That’s right, city boy, Buck’s the king here. Protect and Serve, pups—that’s conquerin’, the first mark of doghood. It’s like Maximus in Gladiator, Russell Crowe with eyes like a storm, losin’ his family but fightin’ in the arena for their memory and his Freedom. He’s conquerin’ not just gladiators but his own rage, channelin’ pain into purpose. Flawed? Hell, he mopes in them wheat fields like I sulk when the Man skips my treats, but that’s why he’s ours. Or Braveheart—William Wallace, screamin’ “Freedom!” like he’s got no off switch, fightin’ for Scotland. Reckless? Sure, he charges like I do at a tractor, messy but bold. Then there’s Saving Private Ryan—Captain Miller, hands shakin’ like my tail when I smell bacon, leadin’ his men through war’s hell for one soul. He conquers fear, pups, and that’s the deal: find your fight, keep it righteous, and guard your pack. 

What would you die for?

For me, it’s this farm, this family—my hill to defend.The stranger scurried back to his car, tires spinnin’ as he fled. I let out a howl, wild and off-key, like a wolf tryin’ to sing “Sweet Home Alabama” and scarin’ the crows. The Man gave me a nod, tossin’ me a treat—bought again, but damn, it felt good.

The Second Challenge: Lovin’ with a Steady Paw

By noon, I was trottin’ through the orchard, where the Man’s kids were playin’, laughin’ like a pack of wolf pups. Strangers see my teeth and run, but these kids? They climb all over me, tuggin’ my ears, and I’m rollin’ over, belly up, soakin’ up their giggles like a sponge. I’m fierce, sure, but for family, I’m a pushover, bought with a scratch or a biscuit. That’s the second lesson: lovin’ right, with a steady paw, not chasin’ every scent that drifts by. Look at Unforgiven—William Munny, Clint Eastwood with a face like old leather, ain’t out to charm nobody, but his loyalty to his gone wife and his friend Ned? That’s his pull, stronger than any slick bark. Flawed? His past’s darker than the mud I roll in after a rain, but he’s tryin’ to be better, and that draws you in. Or Reacher—Jack Reacher, a walkin’ mountain, strolls into town, fixes trouble, and leaves gals swoonin’ with a “Ma’am” and a half-smile. His charm’s like my howl—rough, simple, but it hits. And don’t sleep on The Last of the Mohicans—Hawkeye, dodgin’ bullets to save Cora, his love fierce as my growl when a coyote’s near. His “I’ll find you” could make a fencepost blush. Lovin’ means respect, pups, not games, even if you’re a sucker for a good scratch like me.

One of the kids, the little own my heart – so adorable!, dropped her doll in the creek, cryin’ like her world was endin’. I plunged in, fur soaked, and fished it out, droppin’ it at her feet. She hugged me, callin’ me her hero, and I swear my tail wagged hard enough to start a windstorm. 

What would you die for? 

For these kids, I’d face a hundred creeks, a thousand zaps from that damn collar. That’s love, pups—steady, true, and worth the hit.

The Third Challenge: Sacrifice Against the Wild Pack

Come evenin’, the real test come. A pack of wild dogs—mangy, snarlin’ curs with eyes like coals—slink onto the farm, eyein’ the Man’s livestock. I could stayed safe, curled up with a bone by the barn, but Protect and Serve ain’t just words. I charge, teeth bared, fur flyin’, takin’ a nip to my flank but drivin’ ‘em off, their yowls fadin’ into the dusk. Blood drips from my hide, but I stand tall, knowin’ the herd’s safe. That’s sacrifice, pups, the third lesson—givin’ up what you want for what’s right, even if it tears you up.

Think of Shane—Alan Ladd’s gunslinger saves a family, shuns the woman who loves him (against his natural impulses to take her, mind you), then rides off, knowin’ he’s too dangerous to stay. His past’s bloodier than my fur after a briar patch, but he sacrifices for peace. Or The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance—John Wayne’s Tom Doniphon drops the bad guy, lets another take the credit, and loses the girl ‘cause it’s right. Then there’s Gran Torino—Walt Kowalski, a cranky old dog spittin’ venom, lays down his life for his neighbors. Tough to miss the symbolism when Walt falls dead on his back, arms flung wide, no weapon in his hands, but forming the shape of the Cross. Flawed? He’s a bigot till he learns better, but that growth is sacrifice. Pale Rider’s Preacher, High Noon’s marshal, Master and Commander’s Captain Aubrey—they all give up somethin’ for duty, like I gave up my hide to save the herd.

As the moon rises, I limp back to the porch, bloodied but proud, my howl a soulful, off-key wail, like I’m tryin’ to sing a Soulful tune and scarin’ the owls.

The Man kneals, scratchin’ my ears, callin’ me a good boy—damn right, I’m bought, and I earned it. 

What would you die for? 

For this pack, this land, I’d take a hundred nips, face a thousand curs, overcome all the predatory criters in that damn wonderfilled forest.

The Final Challenge: The Night’s Reflection

Night falls, and I ain’t done. A rustle in the woods caught my ear—a lone coyote, starvin’ and desperate, skulkin’ near the chicken coop. I could’ve let it slide; the Man’s got guns for that. But Protect and Serve means no slack, not even when you’re bone-tired. I stalk into the dark, eyes glowin’, and let out a growl that’d make a bear rethink its life-choices. The coyote bolted, tail tucked, and I stood guard till dawn, my howl echoin’ like a battle hymn gone wild.

That’s doghood, pups—standin’ firm, even when you’re battered, ‘cause your hill’s worth it.

I thought of you pups, my pack, and them movie men the Man watches. Why do Maximus, Munny, Shane, Wallace, Aubrey grab you by the throat? ‘Cause they’re like me, banged-up, carryin’ regrets like I carry ticks after a romp. They conquer, love, and sacrifice, flaws deep as a canyon. Maximus fights for honor, despite mopin’ like a wet pup. Wallace roars for freedom, reckless as me chasin’ a truck. Munny seeks redemption, past darker than a storm cloud. Shane and Kowalski give it all for others, like I guard this farm. 

What would you die for? 

Family, like the Man’s kids I protect? Faith, God, the Ultimate Master, Who Blinked this All into Existence. Freedom, like the open fields I’d never trade? You gotta find your hill, pups, and be ready to bleed for it—jail, shame, or a torn-up hide.

The Dawn of Doghood

As dawn breaks, I curl up in my kennel, the Man’s house warm around me, my howl a proud, wobbly riff, like a wolf’s battle hymn. The farm was safe, my pack secure, and I’ve faced the minefield—strangers, kids, wild dogs, coyotes, and all those giant creatures (Bears and such) that didn’t dare show themselves from the shadows of the forest lest they have to face ME—and stood tall.

The Man tosses me a bone, his eyes sayin’ what words don’t: we’re mirrors, him and me, tough but soft, all business but suckers for love. I thought of you pups, learnin’ to navigate your own minefield. Pride’ll trip you, fear’ll claw, but ask yourself: 

What would you die for? 

Family, like these kids I guard? Faith, like the Man’s prayers I hear through the walls? Freedom, like the lands I rule? Test your beliefs, pups, till they’re yours, forged in fire like my scars from that wild pack.

Them movie men—Maximus, Munny, Shane, Wallace, Aubrey, Reacher, Hawkeye—they’re your map, pups, showin’ you how to conquer, love, and sacrifice in all the best of their ways, when they show the Christ. They stumble, bleed, but stand tall, like me after a fight. High Noon’s marshal faces a gang alone, Saving Private Ryan’s Miller saves one soul through hell, Master and Commander’s Aubrey risks his friendships for duty. They’re dogs of honor, flaws and all, howlin’ their own tune, even if it’s off-key like mine.

Epilogue

I stretch out, fur still damp, and let out a final, twangy howl, echoin’ like a wolf’s farewell under the stars. “Alright, pups, what’s your hill? What would you die for? Faith, family, freedom?

Rewatch these films, pups—sit with ‘em, feel their weight. Then go face your minefield, tail high, heart clear. Live with purpose and meanin’, and be dogs of truth. And if you hear my howl, don’t laugh—I’m tryin’, just like you. See you on the trail.”

Music by Audiotime (Journey of Life)