The Refugee Question


Yes, Trump has effectively stopped incoming refugees for the next six or four months—the timeframe is not important; other presidents have done this as well for comparable periods. The reasons for this include better vetting of those coming to America. I disagree that those who already possess visas and green cards and those who’ve already been approved and are enroute be denied entry.

I daresay it’s a good time to also take care of the refugees we already have. I’m referencing a story local to St. Louis.

St. Louis wants to be at the top of the liberal food chain, insofar as cities are concerned. Mayor Slay has been at the helm for a long time, a staunch Democrat. Now that you have that brief background, and perhaps have read the above link, let’s look at the situation.

North St. Louis is a hellhole. Did you read that story? These people are afraid. Furthermore, when it says it requires two bus rides to reach the refugee center that can help them with language, jobs, and so forth, that doesn’t mean hopping a bus for a few minutes, changing buses for a few more, and arriving. It means probably at least an hour trip, one way.

I suppose you could say that “no one else” wanted them, but that’s bullshit. The city brought them here, the city has to place them, and since there are so many vacancies in North City, for good reason, that’s where they stuck them.

From bullets flying and rampant crime in Syrian to the same damn thing in St. Louis.

Meanwhile, all these people want to bring more refugees and claim that it’s their Christian responsibility to do so. Your responsibility is to HELP them. How many of those who want to “help” are going up to North City to actually help?

Helping is not bringing them to the US and dumping them in your godawful craptastic neighborhoods. Helping them is feeding them, assisting with job placement, teaching the language and customs so they can build lives here.

Once again, people say they want to “help” the refugees, but what they really mean is that the US government should just bring them here and stick them wherever no one else wants to live—because that’s somehow better.

Sure, you could donate money or food or clothing to these people through reputable organizations, or you could actually get off your ass and do something besides wave a sign so you can feel like you’re part of a movement. THIS is not something to protest, it’s something to DO something about.

“Helping” someone resettle in a foreign country isn’t a one-time deal. Let’s see some actual assistance and assimilation before we start yelling, “Save all the refugees!” Sure, photos of dirty, sad-eyed children are real heartbreakers, much like the photo of the little boy who drowned, who, by the way, wasn’t trying to get into the US.

Look at the problems in Europe due to the refugee situation—what makes you think it’ll be better here? “Help” doesn’t only mean bring ‘em on over. They’re coming with very little, few clothes, few possessions, little money. They need a good start, and that’s not cheap; frankly, we can’t support them all—would you suggest we simply move them to cheap housing in dangerous neighborhoods and let them have at it? That’s not help—that’s stupidity falling under the guise of help, one action to make everyone “feel” better.

Except the refugees.

 

Work Wednesday—The Mustang Saga


As you already know, a few weeks ago I found out about four herds of wild mustangs that were endangered: starving, neglected, and headed for auction if they weren’t adopted. It was suggested that you adopt at least two, so I applied for a mare and a foal. I was approved, and finally arranged transportation for them.

They arrived last night.

Freezing cold, around 23 degrees, but clear, with a nice full moon. Jerry, of Pegasus Equine, pulled his giant rig through the gates around 10:00 p.m. In order to unload mine, he first had to bring down two others.

And one, I swear, was The Black Stallion. You know, of Walter Farley fame? My absolute dream horse, and I finally, finally got to see him! Okay, sure, I know it wasn’t him, but still . . . he had a high old time, calling to the neighbors’ mares across the road; and they were sure answering him!

Then, at last, my two came off the trailer. I am pleased to introduce Catnip’s Christmas Cody and her colt, Catnip’s Comanche Cavalry:

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They ambled through the pasture, grazing a bit, and I gave them hay and water. Chestnut, our visiting horse, paced back and forth along the cross-fence, probably all night.

I finally went to bed around midnight, but still couldn’t sleep—I see a nap coming on this afternoon, if I can tear myself away from the windows!

This morning, still 23 degrees, I put out more hay and refilled their water bucket and gave Chestnut her grain and hay. Broke the ice on the water trough too, naturally. After the requisite thawing and a little more coffee, I went back outside.

Both Cody and Cav watched me as I went into their pasture; earlier, they’d approached within 10-12 feet—of course, I was carrying an armload of hay. Chestnut was looking over the fence, but no longer pacing, so I fed her a carrot and opened the gate. She ambled on through, glanced at the others, and started nibbling on grass.

Cody and Cav stared at that gate for a minute, listening to Chestnut but not looking around at all, then they walked on through to the north pasture. After a minute or so, Chestnut followed them and I walked back over and shut the gate.

They found the hay, then the water trough; Cav seems partial to the mineral block. Chestnut is enamored with Cav—she follows him around, they’ve touched noses a few times, and once, apparently, he gave her a little nip because she quickly put him in his place. Cody looked up at his squeal as if to say, “Knock it off, you two!” and went back to her hay.

They’re moving around as a group now, just a couple hours after being in the same pasture. Cav is having lunch; or maybe it’s his third breakfast . . . and, as you can see, Cody is making herself at home:

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