The "Other" Rooster

A few months ago, I posted about my experience dispatching an unwanted rooster. Well, as you recall, there were TWO roosters.

Here is the link to "The Other Rooster"

I hope you enjoy it!

(Love you DAD!!! I know you'd be proud of me.)

Dad would be proud: A Different Kind of Dispatching

I recently had an experience that needed an old-fashioned "Rex Essay" - so I wrote it up, and here it is for your enjoyment. I think Dad would have enjoyed this! -Rachel

A Different Kind of Dispatching

By Rachel Sharich

September 2011

I grew up in a good sized California city, just like my mother. My dad was a Northern California country boy and exposed us somewhat to the ways of the poor rural life he had known growing up: cast iron skillets, killing your own dinner, reusing old cast-off items that people threw out, and trying to be self sufficient. He tried to teach us the value of money and that eggs at the store didn't come from a clean little egg factory and that some people ate all the parts of a cow, including the tongue.

We had some chickens growing up, and even a goat once. The chickens were a source of fresh eggs, and pecked little children’s legs. Dad once even trimmed the beaks of the entire flock so they couldn’t peck us while we played in the backyard. I remember him holding the hens under his arm, squeezing them tight, and as I recall, using tree pruners to cut the fingernail like tip off the beak. Those chickens were scared of us after that. And honestly, I was still scared of them. Even with a blunted face, they would still try to tag us on the hands or legs when we gathered poopy, feathery eggs from the coop.

Once a hen gets too old to lay, there’s no sense in paying for feed to keep it alive just to have a pet around - no sense in Dad’s view anyway. So, one night we were told to stay in the house and Dad was in the garage with the chickens. I knew he was killing them, and in my 8 year old mind, his myriad of carpenter tools came into play. I imagined it like an old fashioned black and white flicker show. The villain, complete with waxed handlebar mustache and black cape, places the unsuspecting chicken in some bench-top vice and laughs maniacally while slowly tightening the vice on the hen’s lanky neck. Then he twirls his mustache as he tries to decide which tool to employ in his evil doing. Whether we actually ate that chicken for dinner or not, I don’t know. Knowing Dad, the meat hit the bottom of a cast iron skillet with some garden veggies and bacon. But now I know how it feels to wear a cape and twirl my waxed handlebar mustache with plans of dispatching a chicken. Dad would be so proud, except for the actual dispatching part. You’d think that as a professional police dispatcher for over 10 years, I’d be more adept at this. But it’s a different kind of dispatching.

The extra rooster was doomed from the start. We got four little chicks for our newly built chicken coop and crossed our fingers that we got 4 hens. With my internet research, I guessed we picked out 2 hens and 2 roosters, not bad for first timers. After several weeks, my suspicion was confirmed: we indeed had 2 roosters. What to do? Kill them? Keep one and raise baby chicks? That could work. But there was another rooster to deal with. Should I put an ad in the paper for a free rooster? There were several already. Oh well, we’ll just keep them both and see what happens.

Well, chicken feed isn’t free. Bugs and leaves in the yard only go so far and don’t feed a flock of four growing fowl. I decided to try my hand at butchering the extra roo, once they were grown and meaty enough to make it worth the trouble. At about six months old, they all seemed full grown, so I decided it was time to do away with one rooster.

The internet was a good source of information, as usual, for the how to instructions. City girls can watch a few YouTube videos, and read a few BackyardChickens.com articles to feel empowered enough to do the deed.

Ryan took the girls to preschool. I had 3 hours for my dastardly project before curious little eyes wanted to see what Mommy was doing in the backyard. I watched my favorite YouTube video one more time for reassurance.

Everyone in the videos was dressed in plastic garb, head to toe with aprons and gloves and plastic coverings. But they were processing dozens of chickens. I was only planning on one today. I didn’t want to get in too deep with two dead roosters and not be able to stomach the act in the first few moments and waste good meat. What would Dad think of that? What would I do with a couple of dead roosters besides eat them? I didn’t want a pet graveyard in the backyard. I decided I need more practice at living off the land before I tried any other new ideas like goats or pigs or say, a second dead rooster.

I got a knife from the kitchen and put on my gym shorts and flip flop shoes. Only one chicken shouldn’t make too much mess. This will be done soon and I’ll have plenty of time to work on my furniture refinishing project before the girls get home from school, I thought. So, I rounded up the first rooster. All the professional villans used a “killing cone” - a device to hold the chicken during the alive to dead part. You put the chicken in upside down in the cone with his head sticking through the hole in the bottom and slice the jugular vein, allowing the chicken to lose blood quickly and relax himself to death. It seems much more humane than, say, beating the chicken with a stick or shovel, or even chopping the head off and watch the running around decapitated as the old saying suggests. Does that actually happen? I wondered, but didn't want to find out.

I climbed in the chicken coop and picked out my target. Obviously, the flock thought I was there bringing treats or going to let them out to scratch around in the yard. “Squawk, squawk! Why don’t you have any food? Let us out!” They had no idea that just outside the coop, a knife was waiting to meet their friend’s neck. I scooped up the victim and took him to my chosen murder site between the two large peach trees at the edge of the lawn.

He was calm inside the firm grasp of my arm. It would help, I thought to myself, to have a third arm. It would help with taking care of twins, and it would help when killing chickens. I’m sure there are other applications where an extra limb would be useful, but these were all I could think of at that moment.

Without a killing cone, my plan was to lay him on the ground and hover closely over him, slice the neck and back off so the spurting blood wouldn’t get all over me.

Slice! A wound the size of a large papercut appeared on the roosters neck. Obviously, I need a sharper knife for next time but I was in position and had the nerve at that moment. Slice. Slice! SLICE! I got a good cut finally and released my grip on the bird. Blood didn't gush out like on a horror movie, but this was only a chicken. There was some, uh, oozing? He stayed on the ground. As long as he’s relaxed enough while he bleeds to death, I don’t feel so bad. After a few seconds or so, he still seemed alive so I touched his foot. And up he went! Running for his life at the chicken speed of light. Through the tall weeds, past the chicken coop, under the grapevines, over the garden barrier and hopped up on a dirt mound at the corner of the fenced lot.

Well, that sucks. I was left dumbfounded. The tally was: Chicken 1, City Girl Zilch. Maybe he will just slowly bleed to death over there by the fence while standing up, staring me down, hating me and cursing my name. He’ll surely just fall over from loss of blood. Any second now. Any second. He darted back into the low hanging grapevines with the other chickens, no doubt warning them of his harrowing experience. Will I find a dead chicken near the grapevines? I walked over and all four birds scurried out into the open. I followed their path to the green lawn that needed mowing and they all ran in different directions. The maimed rooster didn’t seem so maimed. If he wasn’t lightheaded by now, my amateur knife wound must surely be clotting over.

How to finish this? Time is ticking away, and this was supposed to be the easy part. The knife just wasn’t working. A shovel could do the trick. But I doubt I’d be a great aim using a shovel javelin and I’m also not as quick as a chicken running for its life. Maybe I could use the shovel as a bat. I’m not a sports kid and have trouble even at batting cages and golf. I don’t think I could really get the business end of the shovel around in time to make contact with the ball, I mean head. I grabbed a piece of lumber. An old 2x2 about 30 inches long. I could probably just whack him in the head with this and that would be the end of it.

I certainly got my exercise chasing that rooster all over the yard. The tally changed over and over, but only in his favor. He ran into the tomato plants and I knew I had him. As soon as he tried to come out of the dense greenery, I’d bop him on the head and that would be the end of this fiasco. I waited patiently, club in hand, and watched for movement. The leaves of the tomato plant shook and I swung my sword. The little bugger got past me and was running back toward the lawn with his friends. If he had been my only rooster, I would surely just let him live after this. He had earned it! But duelling roosters in a hen house was not any drama I want to deal with. Maybe I’d just wait for Ryan to get home. Two city folk could certainly trap and kill a chicken easier than one.

It was a little disheartening to admit to Ryan that I had failed in my multiple attempts at chicken massacre. It was downright embarrassing to ask him for help with the wrangling. He put on his tennis shoes and we went back to the battlefield. We came up with a game plan. We would herd him into the rear part of the yard and get him cornered, then we’d bean him on the noggin. We determined after several plans of attack, that chickens on the defensive are very nimble, and humans on the unsuccessful offensive are thirsty. Maybe we really should just let him live. Nah. He finally ran into the dead end alley between the garage and the fence. The stretch of dirt was 3 feet wide and 20 feet long. Unless he flew over the 6 foot fence into the neighbors yard, he wasn’t getting out. He couldn’t escape us now.

Ryan went down the corridor, wielding the lumber of death. I expected to hear “THUD, THUD, THUD! Okay, come get him!” One minute or more of silence left me to wondering what Ryan was doing. I walked to the very back of the property where the rooster would ultimately lose his life. Had Ryan even attempted to clobber him? One swift whack and he’d be a goner. But indeed, it was a stand off. Is there a barricaded chicken SWAT page I could send out for assistance? Ryan stood there holding the stick and the chicken stared him down, neither one flinching. I told Ryan that I would do it. He gladly passed off the murder weapon and stepped aside. Ryan had been a vegetarian for ten years before we got married. I had turned him to the dark side about 6 months into our marriage. I didn’t want this experience to send him running back to the other team. I knew this was my show.

I took the end of the square post in my right hand and braced myself for the impact. Wham! He was still on his feet. I guess I hit like a girl. Wham! Wham! Wham! He slumped over and then flopped uncontrollably between the fence and the garage wall for 20 seconds as the multiple head wounds finally ended his mortality. Ryan was wide-eyed watching the last seconds of fowl seizure. “Was that supposed to happen?” I thought sarcastically to myself, “No, he was supposed to bleed to death an hour ago.” But I said under my breath, “Yeah.” Ryan solemnly said, “Sorry chicken.” He walked away to start his project of mowing the lawn.

I waited a few minutes until there was no movement. Picking up a twitching chicken would be just plain traumatic, as if the whole experience up to this point was just a run of the mill day at our house. I grasped his feet and made my way out of the alleyway toward the processing area complete with wooden cutting surface and running water.

Well, that took about 59 minutes longer than I thought it would. Now on to the part I was most unsure about: getting our little friend ready for the cookpot.

I walked over to the processing area, aka, the raised garden bed near the hose and spigot. I rested the lifeless lump of feathers on the wood beam and picked up my knife that had failed me an hour earlier.

I hunched over this way and that, eyeballing the neck and the now infamous, yet useless, slice mark. Small garden rocks kept getting in between my toes making me realize that flip flops weren’t the optimal footwear in this treacherous backyard environment. I contemplated my apparatus, my task at hand, and if any nausea would kick in. I wasn’t exactly in my comfort zone. It would have been handy to have a pro there beside me pointing and encouraging. All I had was a squeamish husband mowing back and forth, back and forth. With each lawn mower pass, Ryan got further away from my view, but li

ke a car accident rubbernecker, could hardly take his eyes off what I was doing. Finally, I told him “Don’t look.” He went about his business like normal.

I placed the point of my dull knife just down from the rooster’s head and applied pressure. I had to use a sawing motion to get through the tissue. I remembered Dad’s story of a dull pocket knife and “dispatching” an injured deer on the side of the highway for the upset city woman

who creamed the frolicking deer. With the head now disconnected from the body, it was obvious that I needed a place to put the unwanted parts. But the bird also needed to bleed more. Thankfully, there was an apricot tree a few feet away. I positioned the headless bird upside down in the crook of a branch and went after my empty plastic steer manure bag that had been floating around the yard for a few months. If I fall down dead right now, I can’t imagine what they’d say: Why did she have a decapitated chicken in a tree? Was she in a cult? Oh the horror my family would endure if I broke my neck tripping on a twins-produced Barbie swimming hole in the dirt.

The hose was used multiple times during this whole operation. I must have run the hose for an hour. Water equals sanitation? Maybe. With makeshift bodybag in hand, I dropped the head down to the bottom corner and sat back down to work on my dinner. It might not be my dinner tonight, bu

t eventually I was going to eat this troublemaker.

I spun the carcass around and took off the feet at the knee joint. Do chickens have knees? I briefly thought of giving the feet to the dogs to chomp on, but decided I didn’t want to give the dogs any more interest in the flock than they already had. Into the garbage sack they went. I stretched out the right wing and hyper extended it to reveal the first wing joint. I made my cut. Then the left side came off. This was going much easier now. I pulled at the skin at the breast of the bird, poked my knife in and made a slice away from the meat, opening the rooster for skinning. I had decided weeks ago that I didn’t want to take the time to pluck feathers. I read stories and it seemed a lot of work just to have skin. Maybe I’ll try that another time, but for this time, I’m going skinless.

Just as the video showed, I pulled the skin away from the meat on the entire body, the wings, the legs, and back. Feminine as I usually am not, I decided feeling the muscle and bone with bare hands it was kinda yucky and I wanted gloves. Good thing I dye my hair red and have a large box of plastic gloves handy in the bathroom. I’ve always been a redhead, and thanks to Clariol dye, I always will be. I rinsed my hands off and went inside. Hand sanitizer sits on the kitchen counter and I was glad of that. Two pumps for extra insurance and I was off to the bathroom to find some protection.

Ryan was putting the lawn mower away by this time and wondered if I was finished. “No, I just want some gloves.” I got two pair and sat down at the computer. I’m at the most nerve wracking part: the gutting. I don’t want to slice the wrong bulbous protrusion in the rib cage and end up with garden fertilizer dripping everywhere. Time to review the video one last time. It was only about five minutes long and the farmers taping this educational video had quite a southern drawl. I wondered if they knew that dumb city folk watched this before they hacked up their own chickens. Makes you think.

I had a little more knowledge under my belt and I was able to focus on what was coming up. Walked outside and gloved up. I finished pulling the skin away from the body and as expected, had to use a little more force to free the skin from the wings and legs. I don’t know where all the little feathers come from, but there seemed to be thousands sticking to my gloves, sticking to the meat, sticking to the knife. Lots of rinsing ensued. I pushed on the carcass to get a better grip and felt and heard a little accordion noise. OH MY DEAR HEAVENS! That rooster had one more thing to say, I guess. I decided that was probably the strangest part of this whole experience and hoped it wouldn’t happen again. Glad Ryan wasn’t here for that. The animal had been decapitated for at least 45 minutes.

I followed the directions drawled out by the woman who had obviously had her gloved hands in hundreds if not thousands of dead animals. I slowly cut away at the bottom of the rib cage where my southern belle teacher told me to. I made my cuts opening up the abdominal cavity of the bird, although not as precise as she did. The quality of a knife sure can make or break it for this experience. I saw some innards and felt like, as long as this part went well, I could be done and showered by the time the kids got home from their 3 hour preschool session. But I had to hurry. This had already taken almost 2 hours.

If I did everything just right, no poo would touch my meat, and all the guts would be in a nice little, non drippy, non leaky package of skin and feathers. Seemed easy enough if you’re practiced at it. I just had to get the practicing part done. I finished my knifing and then shoved my gloved hand up into the oddly small chest to loosen the lungs and such. I wiggled my fingers around and tried to figure out what lump was what. It was an interesting anatomy lesson, if only I were a high school health teacher I could use this as a lab experiment and the kids could shish kebab their own lunches. I didn’t know how rough I could get with my hand in the roosters unmentionables, so I took my time being gentle. I didn’t want any gooey surprises. I made more cuts down by the vent - that’s chicken talk for special parts - that’s toddler talk for butt hole. It seemed to be going okay. I was just being careful and taking my time. I think I’m almost done!

With the innards loosened to my satisfaction, I carefully slid my knife inside the bird and attempted to sever the windpipe and esophagus. This kung fu move would allow all the guts I had just tickled to fall out and away from the bird. Sever, sever, saw away. Good grief, if I wasn’t almost done, I’d go to the store right now and buy a new knife. Finally the neat little package-o-guts fell out just like BettyJo Sue said it would. It took her all of 2 minutes. It took me all of, much longer.

Last, I cut the neck all the way off and removed the crop - that’s chicken talk for big slimy sack of gross wet sand and rocks and bits of other indigestible items that help the chicken... do who knows what. But you don’t want to cut that open either or you could get crud on you. I rinsed the bird inside and out. Then I decided to do like all the other hunters do when they get a noteworthy kill: get someone to take a picture of the hunter holding a dead animal. Poor Ryan.

I won’t turn this into a weekend ritual, or even a seasonal hobby. I’m glad I have a different kind of dispatching under my belt. If ever the world comes to an end, and we need to turn our hens into supper, it will be easy to guide the husband through the process. I’ll boil the water.

"YOUR" Grand-daughters & Our Life Update

Hey Dad,

Today was YOUR granddaughters' first day of preschool.

Chloe on the left holding a leaf, Ady on the right

Ady on left, Chloe on right - Standing in line waiting to go into class

They were so excited, neither of them cried or anything. Ryan and I walked away not really knowing what to do with our time...

My long term plans are to refinish the bedroom furniture you gave me from Knoles Court. I remember that you got it second hand when you got married. I'm going to do a cream whitewash with dark brown glazing. I'll let you know how it turns out.

I've been canning alot. The neighbor gave me some green beans and I canned 9 pints. 40 quarts of apricots, 20 pints of apricot jam. The peaches were tougher, so I only got about 10 quarts of peaches canned besides the jam. Lots of soups, meats, etc. I sure do love the pressure canner. What a great $70 spent!

Hoping our chickens start to lay soon. And I'll be getting some fertilized eggs to incubate too. We only have 2 hens, with 2 roosters. I'd sure love your advice on butchering chickens. One of the roosters is headed for the cookpot (reminding me of "Peach" on Lonesome Dove), maybe both if I don't hate the processing part of the deal. I remember you "processing" chickens in the garage at Knoles Court. We were told to stay in the house! That's all I know. Bummer. That knowledge could come in quite handy about now.

Love you, Dad. MUH!

Dear Dad

Hey Dad,

I talked to Grandma today. Aunt Marian has been sending texts about a storm that has knocked out the power and blocked the roads with downed trees. Grandma has been out of power for 3 days. Uncle Sam has been up there a few times to help her secure some things and shovel some snow. Marian said she'd probably be stuck at home for several days due to the trees blocking the roads, etc.

Grandma's gas heater still works so she's just reading in the tv room and keeping warm with blankets. She only ventures outside to get the dogs fed. She said if the electricity is out for much longer, she'll start burying her frozen food in the snow so it doesn't spoil.

Well, I've been working on food storage and here's a pic of our food storage room.

I finally am making good use of that 9th Ward packet you gave me years ago. I've got a 55gal drum of water for drinking, along with some 2L soda bottles filled for sanitation water. You'd be so proud of my pressure canning and wheat grinding and bread making and gardening. There's a little food storage calculator online that calculates the daily caloric needs of whoever you're storing for (by age and gender) and then you input the food you have stored and it tells you how many days/weeks/months of food you have. It even tells you that you need more calcium or Vitamin C or whatever you're lacking. I think it's a great site!! We have over 90 days right now and I'm planning on buying a 25lb sack of something food storage related from the Church each month to build our supply.

And since I can't just store beans and expect I'll know how to cook with them and eat them later, I'm learning how to use beans in everyday foods. There's even some websites with crazy chicks that grind white beans into bean flour and use that in recipes. So weird, but I've tried a few things and it's fun!

I'm even considering a chicken coop. I remember the chicken coop you had at our Knoles Court house. Simple design, but functional. That's what I'm going with. And they have something called a chicken tractor that I thought would work out great for my function. It has wheels on one side so you can move it around your yard if you want. Thought that was pretty cool.

Anyway. The girls are getting so big and jibber jabber all day long. They are both so tall, they look like 5 year olds and to remind your old Grump-Pa brain, they are only 3 1/2. They love to be outside and look for "wormies" and play in the garden and dig dirt. They still scream if they see a bug, since Aunt Aubrey freaked out at a roach, but we're working on it. "If you're gonna be outside, there are gonna be bugs, so you don't get to scream if you see one."

Ryan and I have been taking the girls to church. The step from Nursery to Sunbeams was a bit of a worry for them, but they are finally getting into it. Chloe has been asked to say the Third Article of Faith in Primary and we've been working on it each night. She's pretty good and if I start a phrase, she can repeat it and usually finish the phrase without help. Ryan has been going to PH meeting and I'm a teacher in RS. We meet with the Bishop in a few weeks and I'm hoping to get us to the temple before the end of the year. It was a promise I wanted to make to you, but never said out loud. But now, I'm saying it here. I'll make it there, Dad.

We're all happy and healthy. I guess we can't ask for more. Love you!

MUH!

Rex's Granddaughters Christmas Card

Letter From Dad: To Aubrey

Sent: Wed 12/28/05 11:50 AM

Aubrey,
My computer sorta froze up not long after I sent you that email last night. I had to unplug it to get it to shut down. Until I did that the computer wouldn't function and the phone line was tied up and unusable. It's not a good idea to just unplug a computer because some data may be lost. Fortunately, nothing seems to be wrong with it today.
There are a few chores to do here for Gma. Getting things ready for the cold, freezing winter. Covering waterpipes and faucets, checking rain gutters, covering special treasures exposed to the elements, etc. Getting the chicken pen more comfortable for her 2 hens is almost done. I moved it up into the front garden area and the hens are having a great time scratching around thru the raised planter beds.
The Mercedes is ready to go except for the battery not keeping a charge very well. If I use jumper cables to start it, it will restart fine as long as it doesn't set too long before attempting to restart. Otherwise it will only groan and click. Will have to buy a new one before the trip. Either Costco or Walmart. Diesel vehicles require a much more powerful battery than the standard vehicle. So, more expensive. Sure don't want to have battery problems twenty miles outside of Baker or Primm. I got the first hint of battery problems the day I was trying to leave for Calif. from Rachel's parking lot on my last visit. Heidi had to help jump-start my car in the parking lot with her truck. Twice.
There is a rain storm here for the next 3 - 4 days. Temps are in the 30s to 40s.
Gma seems a bit sad that I'm leaving. She is very happy every time she comes home and finds me still here. The other women at her work are either sick or visiting with family so Gma is expected to fill in for them and make sure the DR's office runs smoothly. She is working every day and the days are long. Normally there are 3 to 4 women in the office. Today they are down to one other lady besides Gma and the other lady is complaining about her husband being sick and she is not feeling well. Gma is as stable as a rock, always reliable and faithful. She is a special and a great woman. She certainly deserves many blessings now and in the hereafter. We attended church at her ward on Christmas Day.
Well, better go. Things to do and I have to go to Sonora to see where my money is before I can even leave for UT.
Love you, (and your sisters)

dAd

Christmas of Long Ago...

It was 1989.

Mom was Primary President and in charge of putting together a play for the Primary kids to perform at some sort of week-night get together at the chapel. The play was called something like "Mrs Claus Saves Christmas" - as I recall, Santa was under the weather and Mrs Claus had to pull it all together for him at the last minute. Now, Rex as Santa actually fell asleep on stage during the performance. He didn't have any lines except at the very beginning and didn't have any reason to leave the chair on the stage where he sat. So, Rex McBride slept through the entire performance. Good times!

The Best Teacher I Ever Had...

A few months ago, I was called as a teacher in the Relief Society at church. I wish I could call Dad and ask his advice in most of my lessons that I've taught, but I know he is proud of me for my efforts and for what I'm learning in this calling. Coincidentally, Grandma McBride has the exact same calling in her ward.

I taught the lesson today. The topic was on teaching. I read the lesson through for the first time and thought about what a hard topic this would be. It was a great topic to teach to teachers, but not to teach to the "students" of Relief Society. But after some thoughtful prayer, I realized that everyone is in some way a teacher. You teach your children, your neighbors, your co-workers - just by the example you set. You can even teach your parents, siblings, and friends. So, once I realized that we are all teachers, the lesson became so much easier to work with.

During the lesson, I felt prompted to tell of a memory I have of Dad, even though it wasn't in my lesson outline.

I remember on our "Best Vacation Ever" trip to Tombstone, AZ, we were stopped at a small gas station on the outskirts of Lake Havasu City. We saw a woman in raggy clothing searching through the garbage for cans. Dad gathered up some canned goods for her and without hesitation, gave her a few dollars. I've always remembered that. The part of the story that I don't like to share though, is that I had a few dollars in my pocket too. I thought about handing that to my dad to give to the woman. But I hesitated. I wanted to spend my money on myself. I've always remembered that hesitation and the sorrow that I felt for being so unwilling to give. I will never forget that feeling and I try so hard now to share my good fortune with others as they need.

I'm so thankful for the example Dad set for me. I'm proud to be his daughter and I'm happy to do my best to be an example for my children. I hope that one day, they too can have enough charity and compassion to act on their promptings.

I'm so thankful for my family and extended family and how we teach and learn from each other.

Dear 9th Ward Friends,

Autumn 2009

Dear 9th Ward friends,

Thank you for all of your sweet words and sincere prayers regarding our father and his passing. We enjoyed seeing your faces again at his memorial service. You have given us much warmth and friendship throughout the years. We just wanted to let you know that your love extends beyond the 9^th Ward to St. George, Utah and Las Vegas, Nevada. We cherish our fond memories as children in the Modesto 9^th Ward.

We thank you for supporting our father in his most difficult medical situations and keeping him cheerful when he was lonely. You were his family when we were not near. In that thought, we hope this message comforts you with the loss of your friend and brother.

A personal message from Rachel: Modesto 9^th Ward has always been home. Dad would always keep me updated on who got married, who was called on a mission, who had a baby, who got what calling, who had a van for sale. Dad’s fond friendships turned into us having several extra “uncles”. Thank you all so much for your lasting friendships over the years and your sincere sympathy and goodwill in these last long months. Dad loved the 9^th Ward so much and had the highest respect for all the members. His example to me of missionary work, service to those in need, and loyalty to friends has made a lasting impact.

A personal message from Aubrey: In the past few years, Dad started to include a saying in most of our phone conversations. He’d emphatically say, “Do Your Best”. In spring of this year, Dad went into end-stage cancer and those words became more special to me and seemed to echo in my mind. All he really wanted me to do was my best. I will do just that in memory of him. Dad was admittedly imperfect, yet I noticed a softness about him during a last visit to Sonora with my sisters. Until the viewing, I thought this softness was just the frailness of his frame. When I looked at him for the last time I finally realized what I was seeing. I saw the image of the Savior in Dad’s countenance. By the end of his life, he had done his very best and I am so glad I was able to see that.

A personal message from Heidi: I miss my Dad so much. He was a wonderful man, an extremely talented artist, a hilarious story teller, a wonderful friend, and an amazing father. I was truly blessed to have a father and friend like him. I will ALWAYS miss him everyday.

We apologize for not writing to each of you individually. You were his dearest friends and a great source of his strength. Thank you for all of the dinners you made for or invited him to, the needed priesthood blessings given, fasts on his behalf, the “parking lot interviews” and chats, the spirit of youth the Boy Scouts gave him, and the countless other favors. We know that helped Dad get through some hard times.

We will treasure the memories we have of Dad. If you have any memories or pictures you would like to share with us please email: idispatch4911@gmail.com, aubreyjune@gmail.com, heidizzle@hotmail.com. Also, please visit RexMcBride.com to add photos, stories, and information.

Our most sincere thanks,

The McBride Girls

Our Daddy & Grump-Pa Rex

Sunday, September 26th

marks the one year anniversary

of Rex's passing.

Please keep his loved ones in your thoughts.

Rex's Version of Success, 2003

Sent:	Sat 4/19/03 1:34 PM
To:	idispatch4911

Cool,
Maybe we will have to take the boat out for a spin and some fishing if the weather is pleasant. Bring your 'boomstick' and we'll "drill some holes" at the range, the indoor one on Yosemite Ave. here in Motown and the Gun Club range in Jamestown.

I sure feel better after a good nights sleep. Just slept until I wanted to get up. Woke once during the night and took a pill then went back to sleep. Refreshed today. Usually have more restless nights than last night. Am starting the process of scaling back about 25% on my meds. I am really getting tired of basing how much work I can do on the pill intake. Have done this before. I know when I have reached the point to where I'm overdoing the work based on the meds helping me to feel I can do more work. It can become an ever increasing cycle of pill taking, so time to scale back.

Rest more. After all, I'm not in my 20's anymore and can't work at the pace of a 20 or 30 year old.

The theory for becoming a success is "Find a NEED and fill it".
What I need to do is hire Mexicans. haha. That is what everybody else that is really making it in this business is doing. Housing is certainly a "need". Here is the formula that is working for the construction industry :



1. Hire truckloads of Mexican or any cheap labor to do the work. Doesn't matter what 10 to 15% of the work looks like or how badly it is done, just keep cranking it out. This small percentage of loose ends created by the cheap labor will be dealt with by step 2:

2. Hire a nucleus of 'key' guys, good at problem solving. One guy, particularly good at Supervising/Delegating. A Leader. Under this 'leader' there is a need for someone that can be creative enough to fix the screw ups the 'cheap labor' created. This creative position may be 1 to 3 individuals, maybe each with their own specialties. Pay these 'key' guys more to keep them around and happy. These guys are also the eyes and ears for the Leader. There needs to be a loyalty within this nucleus.

3. Turn out a product that meets the minimum acceptable standards for the industry you are involved in. Always make sure your product hovers around these minimum standards. No flashes of brilliant ingenuity accepted unless it can be cashed in on somehow thru a marketing campaign. Remember ... the bottom line.

4. Have a willing, sheep-like people with tolerable credit ratings and an unquenchable desire to feed their own egos and every whim with 'the latest' or the newest' fad or fashion. They want to show off their acquired possessions to their envious friends and neighbors/co-workers. In their own minds, they must 'feel' as if they are doing better everyday. They must get more, every day, every paycheck. More stuff. Newer stuff. Once acquired, there is the need to 'store' this new stuff.

This is easily resolved by upgrading one's housing situation. What is needed is more space. Buying homes with three car garages and extra bedrooms can resolve the dilemma. This added square footage can be turned into guest rooms, media/music rooms, hobby rooms, sitting rooms, reading rooms, display rooms, etc.

In earlier times, say 50, 100 or 200 years ago, this country's backbone was the family. The big family. In a one or two room house. The living, sleeping and dining quarters were all found within the same square footage. Multipurpose rooms. Great families with large numbers of children were raised without the benefit of each having their own room or 'space'. They learned to share because it was essential. There was no other way.

Today, if people would only cut down on the number of children they feel they need, to have a 'complete family'. Hey, that also frees up a room for 'stuff'. If there is a void felt by not having that one additional child, this can be rectified by the addition of a pet. Usually a dog. These animals tend to be interactive with the humans in the house. They can sometimes be trained to not damage too many of the acquired items that are in storage or on display. They tend to require less maintenance than a child and are less costly. They are not inexpensive, just cost less to maintain than a child.

Goldfish and cats are sometimes chosen as the preferred pet. These are much less interactive. Personally, I found that watching goldfish for a few minutes after a crazy day to be therapeutic.

It is not known why people have cats for pets. Having had the experience of being a husband and father for about 16 years, I saw no need to have a pet who also ignored me.


Whoa, sorry Rachel. I went thru a stream of consciousness thing.... This could be an essay with more work on it.

Love dAd

Chemo Rex

	Mom always said to eat my vegetables... I didn't listen.

Date: Mon, 14 Jun 2004 20:59:04 -0800

Things That Remind Me...

Old Junky Tools




Of course, he'd turn the channel if it were on anything but this...




Harbor Freight Tools - so he could buy tools cheap since others got stolen





He was never good at cards, but would play Uno -
He always said that he couldn't shuffle with only 8 fingers





Once he found #10 cans of pudding, he wanted to stock up!





Even his grand daughters remember his food powder



He loved to go to antique stores and spend hours looking



Veggie gardens



Old work boots




Chinese Buffets




Oh, his wardrobe! He only wanted to wear one color at a time:
tan shirt and tan pants, next day was blue shirt and blue pants





Bit O Honey candy from the Dollar Store




Custom fitted knee brace




No one will ever forget all the VANS



Dutch Oven Cooking - biscuits were a specialty

Email Forward from Rex: Our Flag!

Our Flag!
United States Flag Folding
Correct Procedure.

Do You Know?

Do you know that at military funerals, the 21-gun salute stands for the
sum of the numbers in the year 1776?

Have you ever noticed the honor guard pays meticulous
attention to correctly folding the American flag 13 times? You
probably thought it was to symbolize the original 13 colonies, but we
learn something new every day!

The 1st fold of our flag is a symbol of life.

The 2nd fold is a symbol of our belief in eternal life.

The 3rd fold is made in honor and remembrance
of the veterans departing our ranks who gave a portion of their lives
for the defense of our country to attain peace throughout the world.

The 4th fold represents our weaker nature, for
as American citizens trusting in God, it is to Him we turn in times of
peace as well as in time of war for His divine guidance.

The 5th fold is a tribute to our country, for in the
words of Stephen Decatur, "Our Country, in dealing with other
countries, may she always be right; but it is still our country, right
or wrong.

The 6th fold is for where our hearts lie. It is with our
heart that We pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States Of
America, and the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God,
indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for all.

The 7th fold is a tribute to our Armed Forces, for it is
through the Armed Forces that we protect our country and our flag
against all her enemies, whether they be found within or without the
boundaries of our republic.

The 8th fold is a tribute to the one who entered into the
valley of the shadow of death, that we might see the light of day.

The 9th fold is a tribute to womanhood, and
Mothers. For it has been through their faith, their love, loyalty and
devotion that the character of the men and women who have made this
country great has been molded.

The 10th fold is a tribute to the father, for he, too,
has given his sons and daughters for the defense of our country since
they were first born.

The 11th fold represents the lower portion of the seal of
King David and King Solomon and glorifies in the Hebrews eyes, the God
of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.

The 12th fold represents an emblem of eternity and
glorifies, in the Christians eyes, God the Father, the Son and Holy
Spirit.

The 13th fold, or when the flag is completely folded, the
stars are uppermost reminding us of our nations motto, "In God We
Trust."

After the flag is completely folded and tucked in, it
takes on the appearance of a cocked hat, ever reminding us of the
soldiers who served under General George Washington, and the Sailors
and Marines who served under Captain John Paul Jones, who were
followed by their comrades and shipmates in the Armed Forces of the
United States, preserving for us the rights, privileges and freedoms
we enjoy today.

There are some traditions and ways of doing
things that have deep meaning. In the future, you'll see flags folded
and now you will know why.

Share this with the children you
love and all others who love the symbol of "Liberty and
Freedom"

Happy Birthday Rex!

Happy Dad's Day

We love you so much, Dad.