I recently went on sort of a Twitter and Facebook rant.....or a long series of mini-rants, I suppose, presenting contrasts between Christ and the recent "gospel of wokeness," in which social justice outcomes take precedence over the redemption of men, racial reconciliation is championed instead of the absolute need for sinners to be reconciled to God. Christian pastors, indeed all Christians, are called to be ambassadors of Christ. We are commanded to plead with people, on behalf of Christ, to be reconciled to God. Such is not only key to a positive outcome for the divisions we see in our country theses days, it is the only possible hope for a positive outcome. Why? Because the problem man faces is sin. White supremacy is sin. Criminal damage to property is sin. Racism is sin. Physical violence is sin. Police brutality is sin. There is one answer for sin: Christ.

However, it seems that there are many, or what seems like many, within the evangelical community who either no longer believe that, or they have become so focused on being accepted by the world that they are ignoring it and substituting that truth with philosophies of men. I became frustrated by that, and started firing off Facebook posts and tweets over the course of a few days (even today!). A couple of people suggested I compile them, so I will do so below. If you find these helpful, or even troublesome, let me know in the comments below. Feel free to share this post with anyone in your life who is tending toward the so-called social justice gospel. May Christ be glorified.
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Christ vs Wokeness

Christ said “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.”
Wokeness says “Blessed are the merciless, for they shall receive power.”
Preach Christ.

Christ says “Blessed are those that hunger and thirst for righteousness.”
Wokeness says “Blessed are those that hunger and thirst for vengeance.”
Preach Christ.

Christ engenders virtue.
Wokeness engenders virtue-signaling.
Preach Christ.

Christ said “Blessed are the meek.”
Wokeness says “Blessed are the vainglorious.”
Preach Christ.

Christ said “Blessed are the poor in spirit.”
Wokeness says “Blessed are the haughty in spirit.”
Preach Christ.

Christ said “Blessed are the peacemakers.”
Wokeness says “Blessed are the muckrakers.”
Preach Christ.

Christ forgives sin.
Wokeness exploits sin.
Preach Christ.

Christ is the Door.
Wokeness shuts the door to the kingdom of heaven in people’s faces.
Preach Christ.

Christ is the Light of the World.
Wokeness is room-darkening window shades.
Preach Christ.

Christ is the True Vine.
Wokeness is an artificial plant.
Preach Christ.

Christ is the Living Water.
Wokeness is the Dead Sea.
Preach Christ.

Christ is the Bread of Life.
Wokeness is rotten fruit from a rotten tree.
Preach Christ.

Christ is the Bright and Morning Star.
Wokeness is a dark and cold void.
Preach Christ.

Christ is the Balm of Gilead.
Wokeness is poison.
Preach Christ.

Christ is the Rose of Sharon.
Wokeness is a corpse flower.
Preach Christ.

Christ embodies the perfect will of God.
Wokeness embodies the perverted will of man.
Preach Christ.

Christ is eternal.
Wokeness is transient.
Preach Christ.

Christ is Sovereign from everlasting to everlasting.
Wokeness is anarchy, for now.
Preach Christ.

Christ is Lord of the Heavens and the Earth.
Wokeness is “Lord of the Flies.
Preach Christ.

Christ brings contentment.
Wokeness brings discontent.
Preach Christ.

Christ, the fragrance of Life.
Wokeness, the stench of death.
Preach Christ.

Christ abounds with all wisdom and knowledge.
Wokeness abounds with absurdity and ignorance.
Preach Christ.

Christ is preeminent.
Wokeness is preposterous.
Preach Christ.

The Doctrines of Christ are harmonious.
The Doctrines of Wokeness are discordant.
Preach Christ.

Christ is the Good Shepherd.
Woke pastors are wolves.
Preach Christ.

Christ broke down the wall of separation between God and man.
Wokeness builds walls of separation between men and other men.
Preach Christ.

Christ has brought life and immortality to light.
Wokeness has brought death and immorality to light.
Preach Christ.

Christ is risen.
Wokeness is derision.
Preach Christ.

Christ has abolished death.
Wokeness has abolished reason.
Preach Christ.

Christ creates order out of chaos.
Wokeness creates chaos out of order.
Preach Christ.

Christ ignores ethnic distinctions.
Wokeness worships them.
Preach Christ.

Christ said “Come unto Me all you who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest.”
Wokeness says “Come unto us and we will make you weary and heavy laden.”
Preach Christ.

Christ said “It is finished.”
Wokeness says “It can never be finished.”
Preach Christ.

Christ eliminates enmity.
Wokeness eliminates friendship.
Preach Christ.

Christ cancels sin, turning enemies into friends.
Wokeness cancels people, turning friends into enemies.
Preach Christ.

Christ says, through James, “confess your sins to each other, and pray for one another, that you may be healed.”
Wokeness says, “confess your sins to us, that you may be cancelled.”
Preach Christ.

Christ created everything out of nothing.
Wokeness brings everything to nothing.
Preach Christ.

Christ bore the sins of many.
Wokeness wants you to bear the sins of a few.
Preach Christ.

Christ is the narrow Gate and hard Way that leads to Life.
Wokeness is the wide gate and easy way that leads to destruction.
Preach Christ.

Christ says, through Paul, “If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.”
Wokeness says, “If possible, so far as it depends on you, ruin peace for all.”
Preach Christ.

Christ says “let him who is without sin cast the first stone.”
Wokeness says “let him who is without rocks come get some from us. We have plenty.”
Preach Christ.

Christ tells us to pray “forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”
Wokeness says “we shall trespass against those who trespass against us.”
Preach Christ.

Christ removes our sin as far from us as the east is from the west.
Wokeness binds your sins as a sign upon your hands and a frontlet between your eyes.
Preach Christ.

Christ is sufficient.
Wokeness is implacable.
Preach Christ.

Christ is omniscient.
Wokeness is blind.
Preach Christ.

Christ said “Come to Me, you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
Wokeness says, “Righteousness is the football. You are Charlie Brown. We are Lucy.”
Preach Christ.

Christ said “Father, forgive them. They know not what they do.”
Wokeness says, “You are guilty, though we know not what you did.”
Preach Christ.

Christ said “Woman, where are your accusers?”
Wokeness says, “Here we are.”
Preach Christ.

Christ’s yoke is easy and His burden is light.
Wokeness ties up heavy burdens, impossible to bear, and lays them on people’s shoulders.
Preach Christ.

Christ is my righteousness.
Wokeness says that’s not enough.
Preach Christ.

Christ paid my debt in full.
Wokeness says that “It is finished” was a lie.
Preach Christ.

Christ urges men toward holiness.
Wokeness urges men toward indulgence of the flesh.
Preach Christ.

Christ is Self-Existent.
Wokeness is the invention fallen men.
Preach Christ.

Christ is omnipotent.
Wokeness is impotent.
Preach Christ.

Christ is Spirit.
Wokeness is flesh.
Preach Christ.

Christ is the Ancient of Days.
Wokeness is yet a toddler.
Preach Christ.

Christ is immutable.
Wokeness is ever-changing.
Preach Christ.

Christ is the Solid Rock.
Wokeness is shifting sand.
Preach Christ.

Christ brings unity.
Wokeness brings division.
Preach Christ.

Christ is a Bridge.
Wokeness is a chasm.
Preach Christ.

Christ heals.
Wokeness wounds.
Preach Christ.

The gospel of Christ hinges upon His perfect, completed works of righteousness.
The gospel of woke hinges upon never ending, impure works of rebellious, fallen men.
Preach Christ.

The gospel of Christ guarantees redemption for them that believe.
The gospel of woke guarantees perpetual grievance and strife for those who believe.
Preach Christ.

The gospel of Christ is unassailable.
The gospel of woke is untenable.
Preach Christ.

Christ draws men unto Himself.
The woke repel men from God and each other.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ preserve.
The glories of wokeness putrefy.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ are cleansing.
The glories of wokeness are polluting.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ produce willing submission to the eternal decrees of an infallible God.
The glories of wokeness produce forced submission to the ever-changing whims of fallible man.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ produce trust.
The glories of wokeness produce suspicion.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ create servants.
The glories of wokeness create slave masters.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ are clothed in truth.
The glories of wokeness are cloaked in fraudulence.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ are irrefutable.
The glories of wokeness are indefensible.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ create a hunger and thirst for righteousness.
The glories of wokeness create a hunger and thirst for vengeance.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ lead to contrition for sin.
The glories of wokeness lead to complicity in sin.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ bring sinners to God.
The glories of wokeness make sinners think they are gods.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ produce worship.
The glories of wokeness produce idolatry.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ lead to redemption.
The glories of wokeness lead to perdition.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ reflect the Father of Light.
The glories of wokeness emanate from the father of lies.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ are expiatory.
The glories of wokeness are exasperating.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ are evangelistic.
The glories of wokeness are exclusionary.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ promote reconciliation.
The glories of wokeness promote retribution.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ produce humility in men.
The glories of wokeness produce hubris.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ display the wisdom of God.
The glories of wokeness display the foolishness of man.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ produce gratitude.
The glories of wokeness produce greed.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ bring peace.
The glories of wokeness bring strife.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ are lovely.
The glories of wokeness are base.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ are joyful.
The glories of wokeness are joyless.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ produce clarity.
The glories of wokeness produce confusion.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ are lucid.
The glories of wokeness are ludicrous.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ are perspicuous.
The glories of wokeness are platitudinous.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ produce freedom.
The glories of wokeness produce oppression.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ are regal.
The glories of wokeness are rebellion.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ are incalculable riches.
The glories of wokeness are worthless drivel.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ are pure.
The glories of wokeness are putrid.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ are unfathomable.
The glories of wokeness are unbiblical.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ are incomprehensible.
The glories of wokeness are incoherent.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ are our hope.
The glories of wokeness are without hope.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ are glorious.
The glories of wokeness are spurious.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ are manifold.
The glories of wokeness are nil.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ are matchless.
The glories of wokeness are meaningless.
Preach Christ.

The glories of Christ are eternal.
The glories of wokeness are infernal.
Preach Christ.
​
The merits of Christ are inexhaustible.
The merits of wokeness are imperceptible.
Preach Christ.

Christ says, "Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you."
Wokeness says "Cancel your enemies and vilify those who persecute you."
Preach Christ.

Christ is immutable.
Wokeness is ever-mutating.
Preach Christ.

Christ is the Living Water and the True Vine.
Wokeness is “waterless clouds, swept along by winds; fruitless trees in late autumn, twice dead, uprooted;” (Jude‬ ‭1:12‬ ‭ESV)
Preach Christ.

Christ is the Lamb Who was slain before the foundation of the world.
Wokeness consists of “grumblers, malcontents, following their own sinful desires; they are loud-mouthed boasters, showing favoritism to gain advantage.” (Jude‬ ‭1:16‬ ‭ESV‬‬)
Preach Christ.
​
Christ is the Lion of Judah who roars “Man shall not live by bread alone but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.”
Wokeness is a serpent who whispers, “Has God really said...”
Preach Christ.

Woke theology insists on removing splinters from the fingers of dead men. ‬

Christ makes dead men alive.


Preach Christ.

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Because the merits of Christ are inexhaustible, so is this list. Therefore, I expect there will be additional entries here. I pray this is helpul to you and clarifying for others.

Pastors: ALL treasures of wisdom and knowledge are in Christ. Do not be deluded by plausible arguments that say otherwise.
Preach Christ.

The church is not in danger, folks. Christ died for her. Christ empowers her. Christ is building her. Christ upholds her:The church will stand at the grave of wokeness.

• The church will stand at the grave of Marxism.
• The church will stand at the grave of cultural revolution.
• The church will stand at the graves of false teachers.
• The church will stand at the grave of human governments.
• The church will stand at the grave of dishonest media.
• The church will stand, because Christ bought her with His blood.

Preach Christ.

~ Tommy Alderman

​[This piece originally appeared as a Facebook post on December 10, 2016, but has been edited for clarity as all of our recollections became more clear and precise over time.  See the original, here:  https://www.facebook.com/tommy.alderman/posts/10210235201330427]
When I awoke the morning of December 9, 2016, there was no indication that the day would be anything but a normal Friday.  It would not be a normal Friday.

There are two homes on our property, situated approximately one hundred yards apart: Patti and I live in one, and Patti’s mother, known by most as “MawMaw,” lives in the other.  Three of our four children no longer live at home, and Cory, the youngest, often sleeps at MawMaw’s, which provides her with a sense of security. He usually sleeps late on weekends, as he works late at a local restaurant on Friday and Saturday, and an occasional Thursday.

MawMaw had recently been hospitalized and was to be moved to a local rehabilitation facility later that day.  Patti had been unsuccessfully trying to meet with MawMaw’s doctor at the hospital, so she decided to be at the hospital early that Friday morning to try again before MawMaw was transferred to the rehab facility.

We owned an Anatolian Shepherd dog named Duke, who was, at that time, approximately one-and-a-half years old and weighed more than 140 pounds.  Normally, before we introduce a new breed of animal to our little homestead, we conduct a lot of research so that we know enough about the breed to meet its needs and ours.  We researched American Guinea Hogs, for example, for nearly a year before we settled on them as our choice of pigs.  Before purchasing Duke as a nine-week-old puppy, though, our research into Anatolians was not nearly as thorough. Due to the overwhelming amount of information available online, the contradictory nature of much of that information, and due to our prior experience with a Livestock Guardian Dog (LGD), we thought we knew enough.

Prior to Duke, we’d had a Great Pyrenees named Kate for a number of years.  Kate was as sweet and unflappable as anyone could want.  She did her duty as guardian of our goats, but was also very pet-like with our family.  She exuded authority among our other dogs, which were mostly mixed-breed strays we had adopted over the years, but she did so without visible signs of aggression toward any of them, and she was never aggressive toward anyone in the family.  She died at a ripe old age, we grieved her passing, and our experience with her likely created complacency within us.

When we decided to replace Kate, we first considered getting another Great Pyrenees, but then chose to look at other breeds of LGD in hopes of finding a short haired breed that would be a little more aggressive when confronting predators. Kate had protected the herd by positioning herself between them and any direction from which a threat might come, then standing her ground and sounding the alarm with a deep, menacing bark when a threat appeared.  Also, because I had to travel occasionally, I wanted a dog that would serve as protection for Patti and our grandson, Tomas, who often spends time with us on the farm. I wanted a dog that would not merely stand its ground and sound the alarm, but that would pursue a threat and eliminate it.  Our research indicated to us that an Anatolian Shepherd would be an ideal dog for our purposes, but because of our experience with Kate, and the volume of conflicting information available online, we only researched enough to feed our bias toward what we wanted to hear, and then we stopped.  We did not research dog behavior or body language. We did not research the proper training of LGDs.

Our lack of research and subsequent lack of understanding would prove to be costly.
​
Not long after we brought Duke home, we were reminded by a local dairy farming friend that we had recently expressed an interest in one of his newborn Border Collie puppies.  We had forgotten that weeks before locating and purchasing Duke, we’d been at our friend’s dairy farm, seen his litter of Border Collies, and asked him to keep us in mind should he need to place one of them. When he called to tell us they were ready, rather than realizing that raising a Border Collie and an Anatolian together might not be wise, we were excited about the possibilities and naively joked that the dogs would develop an “I’ll herd ‘em, you guard ‘em” partnership.  “Our new Border Collie puppy, which we named Fly, was soon with us on the homestead.

As Duke and Fly grew, it was quickly obvious that both of them were very intelligent and seemed eager to please us. Duke looked to me for guidance and was obedient to everyone in the family, especially me. If he was about to slip out of the gate at the end of our driveway, all I had to do was say “No,” and he would return, even if I said “no” from fifty yards away. He was also a very affectionate animal, who would roll onto his back often, and paw at me playfully until I would scratch his chest and belly. He walked right next to me most of the time, so close that I could rest my hand on his head while walking. When he was eating dog food, I could pet and scratch him all about his head and neck and handle his food and allow him to eat from my hand, which he did gently and without a hint of protest. When I offered him treats from the kitchen, he would similarly eat them gently from my hand.  There were occasions (some mentioned below) when Duke would flash aggression toward us, then “apologize” and seek affection.

We dismissed those occasions because they seemed rare, because it always seemed as if he immediately realized he should not have done it, and because we just did not know any better. Duke was also an intact male, as we had once thought that perhaps we would add a female some day and become breeders—how naïve we were. Thankfully, we had never located a female in which we were interested. I cannot imagine the outcome had there been two of them that day.  I don’t want to imagine the outcome.

Fly was highly energetic and highly affectionate. Patti has said that Fly was the sweetest dog she has ever owned.  Like Duke, Fly seemed eager to please us.  She sometimes showed aggressiveness toward the other dogs, but we thought it was a manifestation of her herding instinct...her desire to move things and control the movement of others. She and Duke played hard together. We were often amazed watching them play, as Fly would grab one of Duke’s cheeks in her teeth and hold it as if to say, “Enough! Game over,” only to release him and taunt him to chase her again.  Though it looked painful to us, Duke never flinched or reacted angrily, but playfully took off after her each time.  Fly did injure one of our other longtime dogs, Toby, a Terrier mix, and we don’t know what started the fight. We discounted it, saying to ourselves, “dogs will be dogs.” That was a mistake. We made many mistakes.

We planned to spay Fly, but we failed to schedule an appointment before her first heat cycle and we decided to confine her and wait until she came out of heat to schedule the procedure. That, too, was a mistake, because although we thought we had her confined, she escaped for about ten minutes, and that was long enough for her to find Duke and consummate their relationship. About nine weeks later, Fly delivered a litter of beautiful puppies.  Some favored Duke, others favored Fly, the rest were a nondescript blend.  We had little trouble finding homes for most of them.  The nondescript ones were the hardest, but we eventually found people to love them, too. We’d fallen in love with one of them, ourselves.  We named him “Blue” since he had two striking light blue eyes, and we added him to our number. His coat is majority brindle with white markings.  The brindle is Anatolian; the pattern of his coloration is unmistakably Border Collie.

When I awoke that frigid Friday morning, I made some coffee, checked my email and such, bundled up with a heavy coat and insulated gloves, and headed outside to begin the morning chores. Patti was still at the hospital and Cory was still sleeping. I fed the pigs, goats, and chickens located in and around the barn, collected eggs, fortified a stall in the barn by attaching pallets to a crumbling wall, then went inside to grab a sip of water and use the restroom.

As a former law enforcement officer, I am usually armed with a .40 caliber Glock handgun, even around the house and on the homestead. In fact, I had been armed as I left the house that morning. When I came inside to use the restroom and grab a sip of water, I did something I had never done before: I removed my weapon from its holster and laid it on the dining table. Normally, when I have to remove my weapon in order to use the restroom, I place the gun in a high location in the bedroom, just outside the master bathroom. That day, though, Providence had me lay it on the table in plain view of the exit door—no one was home, and I planned to grab it on my way back outside.

After refreshing myself and checking email again, I went back outside to finish my chores. Because I had broken my pattern with the Glock, I forgot about it and exited the house unarmed but for my pocket knife, which I normally consider a tool rather than a weapon. I hopped into our Polaris Utility Vehicle, backed it up to the barn to load a couple of buckets of feed, and then drove it toward MawMaw’s house in order to feed the cows and the few pigs and goats housed in the piney woods near there.  Unbeknownst to me, until I saw her vehicle in its normal parking spot, sometime before my leaving the barn, Patti had returned home from the hospital as her plan had worked and the doctor had been there early, too. I also didn’t know that Cory had awoken at MawMaw’s, returned to our house, and was inside drinking coffee and watching television before getting ready for work.

As I approached my destination, I noticed that Duke had in his mouth a newly born piglet that had wandered out from beneath an electrified fence, and that the piglet was still alive. There had been a few previous occasions in which I had found Duke with a piglet, but in each of those instances the piglet was already dead and partially eaten. I had never known for sure whether Duke had killed those piglets, another dog had killed them, or they had died of exposure and Duke found them and claimed them. Each of those times, as I approached Duke to recover the remains of the piglet, he would growl a low growl as if to say, “this is mine.” That was enough for me to be cautious, but due to my lack of experience with such dogs and my woefully inadequate understanding of dog behavior, I was not as alarmed as I should have been because the low growl was the limit of his aggression toward me.

Duke didn’t show his teeth. He was lying on the ground and didn’t move toward me, and his body didn’t seem tense.  Each of those times I stood some distance from him, ten or twelve feet away, said “no” to him in a firm but non-angry voice, and coaxed him away from the piglet.  Each time, I was successful without incident.  I would coax him far enough away from the piglet that he seemed to forget about it, would become occupied in some other way, and I would circle back to the piglet and collect it for disposal. Perhaps had he been older and more sure of himself on those previous occasions, they would not have turned out so well.

I parked the Polaris, left it running, and exited it to speak to Duke, who put the piglet down in front of him as I rounded the front of the Polaris. Although the previous, similar encounters hadn’t alarmed me as much as they should have, I knew better than to just march up to him and take the piglet. So, as I had done before, I firmly told him “no” from a distance of ten or twelve feet away and directed him to come away from the piglet. He was growling that same low growl that I had heard before, but this time he was standing, wagging his tail, and his ears were in what I thought was a submissive position.  What I didn’t understand then, but understand now, is that not all tail wagging is equal, and ears that might appear to be submissive could be a warning.  I had previously thought that when a dog wagged its tail, it meant that the dog was happy, content, or pleased. It turns out, there are ways in which a dog can wag its tail to mean, “I am about to kill you.” I encourage everyone, especially those who own or have regular interaction with dogs, to study dog behavior and dog body language thoroughly. Such knowledge can help avoid tragedy. It would certainly have helped me avoid tragedy.

I maintained my distance from Duke and encouraged him to come away from the piglet and toward me, which he eventually did. His posture as he approached me wasn’t obviously aggressive to my untrained eyes, though he was still growling slightly, and he was moving slowly, but not so slowly as to make me think he was about to strike.  Rather, I misinterpreted his pace as calmness. He was still wagging his tail as I backed away from the area in which the piglet was located, so in my mind it was “so far, so good” at that point. I’m not sure why, but I didn’t put as much distance between the piglet and us, as I had the previous times. I knew better than that, but I think I ignored my gut.  I think my “normalcy bias,” that human tendency to underestimate the likelihood of disaster, convinced me that everything was fine.

My next crucial mistake, and my most serious mistake, was that for some reason that might remain forever unknown to me, I squatted down in front of Duke to praise him for his obedience. Though I had squatted in front of him many times before—rolled on the ground with him, sat on the steps of our deck with him so that my head was at the same level as his, and laid my head on his chest as we relaxed in the hay—that day the circumstances were different, and we were in a different emotional environment. I should have recognized the danger sooner. I certainly didn’t recognize it soon enough. That was an enormous blunder, especially in light of the fact that at the same exact time as I was beginning to squat, Blue trotted happily toward us from my left, as if to say “Hey! I want some of that affection, too!”

I think Blue had missed the signals from Duke as badly as I had missed them, and I think his presence in close proximity to Duke and me likely sealed my fate. It’s as if my blunders, Duke’s agitated state, and Blue’s abrupt appearance on the scene created a perfect storm of events. I knew immediately, as I squatted there in front of Duke, that I was in serious trouble. I knew that I needed to stand up, but I also knew that as soon as I did, the fight would be on. Unfortunately, I was right.

I stood up as smoothly and slowly as I could without doing it too slowly, and as soon as I was upright, Duke attacked. I think he interpreted my squatting down as my submitting to him, which meant that he then interpreted my standing as a reversal of that submission, or a challenge to his new authority.

He first bit my left hand, through thick insulated work gloves. I know where he bit me first and last, but the order of the bites between those is a blur to me. I tried to restrain him, or at least keep him at arm’s length, as I walked backward. I suppose I was looking for an escape. I don’t know, really; it just happened that I was backing up. I immediately voiced a prayer, asking Christ to help me. I remember that even in those stressful moments, I was grateful for my law enforcement training and experience—I was aware that I was not yet afraid and was highly focused, thinking tactically.

Time did not slow down for me, as is often reported during a crisis event, but my focus was so clear and precise—I knew I needed to get my fingers firmly beneath and around Duke’s collar, and that I needed to control his head. I remembered being trained by former Baton Rouge Police Chief Jeff LeDuff, who, holding up the giant arm of my Lieutenant, Doran Baxter, who was a massive man, said "There's no way I can control this big man's whole body, but I can control this arm." Just so, I knew I could not control this entire 140 lb dog attacking me, but I believed I could control his head. I was right about that, too - as long as I was focused completely on controlling that collar, he could not get to my face. It was only when I lost focus, even a little, that he struck home.

I can still see that collar, as if it was perfectly still in the midst of all the turmoil and action, and can still see my fingers finding their necessary grip. Thankfully, due to the grace and mercy of God, once I had him by the collar, I managed to back up beyond the still-running Polaris before I stumbled and fell to the ground. I immediately knew that I was in even more serious trouble being on the ground beneath such a huge and powerful dog, but I was thankful I hadn’t fallen next to the Polaris, because had that happened, I’m certain that neither Patti nor Cory would’ve heard my screams. The sound of the Polaris would’ve completely swallowed my voice.

As Duke and I wrestled on the ground, I continually called for Patti as loud as I could for what seemed to be half an hour (it was probably only a minute or two). With no response from the house, I was on the verge of losing any hope of rescue. That was a deeply disheartening moment. I knew I couldn’t quit trying to restrain him, but I was at the point of despair “knowing,” I thought, that no one was coming to my aid and that I would eventually lose enough strength, stamina, or blood that I would have nothing left with which to fend off the dog and my family would later find my lifeless body in the yard. Christ kept me from full despair in those moments...He must've, because I know that had I actually reached full despair, I likely would have surrendered to Duke, released my grip, and resolved to "get it over with." I’m sorry to sound so dramatic. I promise you those were the thoughts with which I was wrestling in those moments, in addition to having to wrestle with the dog. I prayed that the Lord would intervene, give me strength, calm the dog, and protect Patti’s and Cory’s hearts were I to succumb. It was surreal. I found myself pleading with the dog in what seemed to me a childlike voice, actually asking him to “Please stop. Please stop, Duke. It’s Daddy!” That seems so silly to me now, but at the time, it felt perfectly reasonable.

I used to love the song “He’s an On-Time God,” especially when sung by our sweet friend, Becky. He was certainly an on-time God that day, as just when I was in danger of losing my resolve, when I found myself trying to reason with and plead with a dog, I saw Cory and Patti coming around the corner of the house toward me, and I could see that Cory was armed with a handgun. Hope returned in an instant.

Allow me to digress here to explain what was happening inside the house as I was in the midst of my struggle with Duke. I mentioned already that Patti’s mom was to be moved from the local hospital to a nearby rehab facility where she could have daily therapy to help her regain her strength before coming home. Patti knew that before Cory left for work that day, I needed him to help me load Maw Maw’s electric lift chair into my truck to bring to the facility. As Cory was watching a show on the TV, Patti said something to the effect of “let me go find your Daddy and get him to go ahead and move the truck over to Mama’s house so y’all can load the chair.” When she opened the door to walk outside, they both heard me. Thank God.

On his way out the door, Cory grabbed my Glock, which I had earlier placed, and forgotten, on the kitchen table. I chastised myself for a good while for having left my weapon inside, under the illusion that I could have defended myself with it had I only had it with me as I normally did. I am no longer convinced that I could have even gotten to it considering the thick gloves, the heavy coat, and the rapid escalation of the attack. Rather, I believe that it was the Hand of Providence that caused me to place the weapon on the table for the first time ever, and to leave it there in plain view for Cory to grab it on the way out the door. Incidentally, Cory initially thought he was coming to dispatch an injured pig. Sometime during his run out the door, Patti either corrected him, or he realized what was happening as my situation came into focus for him. Neither Patti nor Cory can recall for certain.

I felt a real sense of relief as I saw Cory running toward me, but I knew I was still in the midst of battle and in danger of death. At some point during the struggle, Duke bit me on top of the head, and had bitten my right ear. I thought he’d torn my ear completely off, but he hadn’t. I was so convinced he had, however , that once the fight was over, I told Patti to have Cory look for my ear. That’s something a son should never have to hear from his father.

Around the same time that I saw Patti and Cory coming, I was horrified to realize that Fly, our Border Collie, had joined Duke and had bitten my left ear in one attack, then the left side of my face in another. Had she only gotten me once, I would have been convinced that she was trying to help me by attacking Duke and missed her target. Her second sortie revealed the truth—she had succumbed to the pack mentality and was helping Duke, not me.

As I looked to Cory, now perhaps 10-15 feet away from us, I told him to “shoot him now.” Having turned my attention to Cory, even though only for a second, I guess I loosened my grip on Duke and he took what I’m pretty sure was his final bite, right in the middle of my face, getting my upper lip and nose. He ripped my nose in half, and the right half was fairly detached from my face. I could see it with my right eye. It may sound odd to think that such thoughts enter one’s mind in the midst of such a crisis, but I remember thinking “that looks so strange,” considering the normal symmetry of the left eye view and the right eye view of one’s own nose.

Immediately upon my telling Cory to shoot, he did so with expert precision, and he continued to do so until the threat was neutralized. Fly fled as soon as the first round was fired, thankfully, though she was later dispatched by a friend who kindly took care of the distressing matter while we were away at the hospital.

Cory later told me about the thought processes through which he had progressed. In mere milliseconds of time, he thought to himself immediately following my instruction to shoot, "Dad's left leg is in my line of fire, behind Duke. I'm very likely to shoot my father in the leg, but that will not kill him...Duke will.” BAM, he fired the first shot. Again, Cory processed those thoughts in a blink of an eye, like a seasoned combat veteran, though he was a normal nineteen year old “country boy” with no combat experience or training. I couldn't be prouder of him, or more thankful for him. In fact, I told him that if he had hit me, I'd be no less proud because he did as I asked him to do.

Cory fired three shots, hitting the dog in vital areas with all three rounds, while the dog was on top of me, actively attacking. Amazingly, after the first round struck home, Duke recoiled, then immediately lunged back toward my face and head—his adrenaline was pumping, too, assuming dogs have adrenal glands. This was no “hit the paper silhouette that’s hanging perfectly still.” Cory’s response and reaction was flawless. It was heroic, and there is not a shadow of a doubt in my mind that he saved my life. If it hadn’t been for his quick and precise action, I believe with a high level of certainty that I would be dead today. As a pleasant aside, it was very gratifying to hear Cory later say that he instantly remembered lessons we’d taught him, such as “in a crisis situation, obey without question or hesitation.” He did just that. He also said he remembered my saying “shoot until the threat is neutralized.” He did that, too, like a seasoned pro with ice water in his veins.

Cory’s command of the situation didn’t stop there. As soon as Duke was dead and off of me, Cory grabbed me by the arm and helped me to my feet saying “we have to go NOW.” As he was helping me, he yelled to his mom, “Go get your keys!”

I could not possibly be more proud or thankful for my baby boy.

As Cory was leading me to the car (Patti’s brand new, blood-free car!), Cory once again took charge by grabbing my iPhone, dialing 911, handing my phone to Patti and telling her "just talk." Patti looked at Cory and said "THE GATE," meaning that the gate at the end of our long driveway had to be opened. Cory, who's adrenaline had to have been pumping as much as mine, sprinted to the gate and stood there with it wide open as we passed right through. Patti spoke with the wonderful and amazing Lincoln County Sheriff’s dispatcher as the dispatcher sent an ambulance to meet us on the way. By the way, Patti could pass a police driving course right this minute. She demonstrated driving skills that had been dormant due to lack of need, but they were manifest on that day, and she was a pro.

We met the ambulance at a funeral home situated along the route to the hospital (and yes, we recognized the humorous irony of such a rendezvous point). When Patti stopped the car in the parking lot, she jumped out to come around and open my door, though the paramedics beat her to it. I had enough awareness to remove items I didn’t want to take to the hospital: I removed my belt and empty holster, my watch, and my wedding band, then reached to remove my Louisiana State University (LSU) class ring...but it wasn’t on my finger. I couldn’t believe it was gone, but immediately assumed that it had come off when I removed my heavy gloves as Cory escorted me from the field of battle to Patti’s car.  There was no time to question that assumption, and Patti said she’d search the car for it when time allowed.

As soon as the paramedics took a look at my face, they notified dispatch to have a helicopter ready at the hospital in order to airlift me to the nearest Trauma Center. I had been obscuring my face from Patti because I didn't want her to see such damage, unaware that she'd already seen my displaced nose. They loaded me into the ambulance and administered fluids and something for pain. Interestingly, I hadn’t felt much pain until getting into the ambulance, other than a slight headache which started at some point along the way to meet them. But once in the ambulance, my head was beginning to hurt pretty badly.

I certainly would have preferred that my first helicopter ride be under different circumstances, but I had the best seat in the house, right up front next to the pilot, facing forward. I had a great view the whole way. I felt a little faint at one point, and my saying so prompted the flight nurse to reach up and squeeze the bag of fluids connected to my arm, which immediately revived me. I later overheard the flight nurse tell those receiving me at the trauma center that my blood pressure had dropped to 70/40. I am still surprised that I never lost consciousness throughout the whole experience, though I did lose an alarming amount of blood.
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We arrived at the Trauma Center about twenty-five minutes or so after takeoff, and I was taken almost immediately for a CAT scan to make sure my skull was intact, which it was.  Following the scan, I was placed in an examination room in the Emergency area, and was soon surrounded by hospital personnel who examined me from head to toe.  The attendant examining the left side of my body, pointing to the area around my left knee, said, “He got you down here, too, huh?” I assured him that the damage had been confined to my head, face, and neck, plus a single wound to my left hand. He replied that there were holes in my pants leg, to which I responded that perhaps Duke had torn my pants with the claws on his back legs, since he’d torn my shirt and caused bruising and deep scratches on my upper chest, just below my neck, with his front claws. The attendant pulled my pants leg up, confirmed that there was no damage to my knee, and we thought no more about it.
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There was a lot of activity in that room for what seemed a long while, then the number of attendants began to dwindle.  I recall several persons, whom I assumed to be doctors, assuring me that they were going to fix me up and everything would be fine.  I remember telling them not to allow Patti or any of my family to see me until my face had been repaired. I suppose my motives were pure, as I wanted to spare them the shock of seeing my injuries, but I regret that decision. They needed to see me, and I should have let them.  At one point, the only remaining attendant said “we’ll be back shortly to get started,” and left me alone in the room.

I further regret not allowing my family to see with me and stay with me, because it seemed like I was in there alone for hours. I'm sure it wasn't that long, but the clock moved so slowly, and there seemed to be a steady stream of blood draining from my face onto a towel beneath my chin. I was worried about blood loss.

I assumed I would be taken into surgery, and that my face would need to be reconstructed. Instead, two of the most gifted men I've ever met, two men who were working on their residency, worked for six hours to stitch me up right there in the emergency room. As they worked, they informed my that Duke had broken a bone between my eyes, and had broken my jaw. No wonder my head hurt. I asked them how many stitches it took. After all, bragging rights were on the line between my oldest son and me. They told me there was no way to narrow it down beyond "hundreds," as they were basically using very long stitches, looping them over and over again. I do know that there were three gashes above my upper lip that went all the way through, severing nerves. On those, they told me they placed several layers of stitches, from deepest inside to a final layer at the surface of my facial skin. In the months that followed, I had trouble pronouncing certain words, especially words that began with "sp," due to the nerve damage. It also took quite a while to be able to drink from a pop-top can without spilling all over myself...and I couldn't spit to save my life.


[As of 2022, there is still some numbness there, but my mouth otherwise functions normally.]

They stitched my nose back together around something I think they called a "flute," but I called it a "culvert," which was put into my right nostril so that my nose would heal around it, creating a passage, without closing off the airway in the right side.

Some time after their work was done, they sent us home. I didn't even stay overnight. They instructed me to sleep in my recliner for at least seven days, in order to keep my head elevated, so I did that.

Years earlier, as a police officer in Baker, Louisiana, I had been trained in critical incident stress debriefing, and was, in fact, a charter member of the State's response team. Because of that training and experience, I knew that I had experienced a traumatic event, and I knew that I could expect any number of reactions from my body, my mind, and emotions. Therefore I was prepared when, a couple of days after being at home, in the middle of the day as I was watching something completely non-traumatic on television, I was suddenly gripped with abject terror, out of the blue. It overwhelmed me for a little while, then released its grip. I wasn't thinking about the attack, or anything in particular - it came out of nowhere, caused me to tremble almost violently for a bit, then relented just as unexpectedly as it had commenced. Days later, after I was able to sleep in bed, I felt the need to sleep with the light on for quite a while. Had I not been trained to expect such, I may have sunk into depression thinking "What's wrong with me? Why am I so weak?" But because of my training, which I now know was another gift of God's grace, a Providential preparation from decades before, I was able to shrug it off with the complete understanding that I was a normal person, having normal reactions to an abnormal event. It was the event that was abnormal, not me.

I forgot to mention that when we got home from the hospital, before I settled into my recliner, I went to the master bathroom, where I took off the blood soaked clothing I had been wearing, now as stiff as if they'd been soaked in starch.  I tossed my jeans atop a sewing machine sitting on Patti's sewing cabinet, which put the jeans just below my line of sight, and headed to the living room to settle in. 

The following morning, when I went back into that bathroom and came face-to-face with those jeans, I saw for the first time the holes the nurses had discovered the night before. I immediately recognized that they didn't look like holes that would be caused by the claws of an animal. Rather, there were two holes, perfectly round, about the size of a dime or a little smaller. My knees weakened a bit as the realization set in: they were bullet holes. Cory had been right that my left leg was in his line of fire, as my bent knee was behind Duke's chest cavity from Cory's perspective. Apparently, the first round he fired went through Duke's chest cavity, exited the dog, then punched through a fold in my jeans so that one bullet made two holes. I nearly wept as gratitude for the kindness of Christ overwhelmed me, for had the round struck me, it likely would've destroyed my left knee. However, it didn't touch me.  As we examined the scene of the attack a few days later, looking for my LSU ring, we located all three rounds fired by Cory, and the one that went through my pants had denim fibers embedded within it.

Speaking of my LSU ring, I wouldn't say I was distraught over losing it, but I was pretty sad and disappointed. It wasn't in the car. Paramedics confirmed it wasn't in the ambulance. We looked and looked and couldn't find it. We even had a wonderful group of men who belonged to a metal detecting club come to our place and search and search for hours, to no avail. I don't remember how much time elapsed (I think it was weeks), but eventually I came to terms with the loss of the ring, and told the Lord I was sorry for being so hung up on finding it. He'd been so kind to me - so very kind - and here I was thinking about something so trivial as a college ring. I repented of that, and the same day that I did so, I found it...in the barn. Because I noticed it being gone after the attack, I had assumed I'd lost it during or just after the attack, but it turns out I had lost it earlier that morning when I was working in the barn. Most likely, because I was working with heavy gloves, I had removed the gloves to handle the wood screws I was using to mount the pallets to strengthen the wall. The day I found it, I wasn't working in the barn, but walking back and forth through the barn, stretching out a garden hose to provide water for the pigs out back. On my last trip back through the barn, after my work was done, my eye caught a glimpse of a tiny piece of metal sticking up out of the dirt of the barn floor. I thought it was the end of a buried hose. For whatever reason, Providence I assume, I picked it up and there it was. I couldn't help but laugh and cry over the Lord's kindness to me. As soon as I'd stopped mourning the loss of my lost ring, He gave it back to me. I totally understand why: had I found the ring soon after the incident, the ring would've been my prize. But because He waited to show it to me until after I'd let the ring die to me, He was my prize instead...His kindness...His mercy, even about such a trivial thing.  What a gracious and kind Lord I serve!

Some time after the incident, we had to decide what to do with Blue, since we were a bit concerned about his genetics. As we mulled it over, we contacted everyone to whom we'd given the other puppies and alerted them to what had happened. We eventually decided that we couldn't punish Blue for the sins of his parents, so we determined that we would have him neutered as soon as he was old enough, and that we would keep him under a probationary "zero tolerance" policy: at the first sign of aggression he exhibited, such as those we'd ignored from Duke, we would take action. I'm happy to report that he turned out to be the kindest dog I've ever owned, and he absolutely adores me, and I him. There is no question in any of our minds that Blue was a gift to me directly from the Hand of the Lord, Who knew exactly what I needed after such an ordeal. There are many, many things for which I am thankful, and Blue is certainly on that list. I do love him so.

Within a few months or two of the event, I was able to say "Thank you, Lord," for allowing it to happen. Don't misunderstand that: I would not volunteer to go through it again! However, here are the reasons for which I am glad that it happened the way that it did: experts who earned my trust following the attack, including our veterinarian whom we love and who loves us, informed us that Duke was likely a bomb that would've eventually exploded no matter what, due to his relentless determination to kill me rather than biting me and backing off. Tomas, who was five years old, would've been dead in seconds had it been him instead of me. Patti would've been dead in seconds, and Cory, though stronger than me and in better shape, would not have survived because he had not been trained, as I had, to think tactically and work to control Duke's head. If it was going to happen, it had to be me. I'm thankful that it was. Further, my decision to publicize what had happened via written words and video, including mistakes we'd made, resulted in opportunities to share Christ with people from all over the world, and speaking engagements all over the country. I'm thankful for those opportunities.
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My family has been overwhelmed with the outreach we’ve received from so many. The love and concern that has been expressed has meant so much to us, and we cannot thank you sufficiently.

I am expected to recover fully, and to look “mostly” like I did before the incident. Although I requested from the surgeons “early Tom Selleck,” I just had to settle for “late Me.” ;-)

Though I am, of course, saddened about having to kill Duke and Fly in order to protect our family, I am a man who is blessed beyond measure, and quite happy today, knowing that in an instant I could've lost one or both eyes, one or both ears, my entire nose, or my very life.


Please go HERE next, to learn how to survive the aftermath of a traumatic event, and please share the FREE resources found at the link. All I want is for the information to be shared as widely as possible, for EVERYONE will experience trauma at some point in their lives. Thank you in advance for sharing.

I may edit this piece as I remember things, and I’m happy to answer questions in the comments below.
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Here is a link to a post with photos of my rescuers (we'll add a photo of the wonderful dispatcher who was Patti's lifeline): https://www.facebook.com/tommy.alderman/posts/10210372366599473

Before I can talk about our eggs I first have to talk about our chickens. We have approximately 70 chickens with an assortment of breeds, most of which are Rhode Island Reds. We have quite a few Black Australorpes also. 

Our chickens and farm have been inspected by the Mississippi Board of Animal Health and we have received our Retail Food Sanitation License for eggs. Our layers meet all requirements of the National Poultry Improvement Program (NPIP).  

Our chickens have a constant clean water supply. All day every day they have pasture where they can do what chickens like to do! We use electric net fencing for their pasture area. This fence allows us to give them access to fresh pasture every couple of weeks by simply moving the fence. We want and encourage them to eat as naturally as possible. That said, we do supplement them with a 22-percent non-medicated laying pellet. During our gardening time, which is most of the year here, they get lots of extra veggies.  We believe with this management our chickens produce healthier and tastier eggs. Mother Earth News did a study on pastured eggs compared to conventional eggs. Here are the results:

• 1⁄3 less cholesterol
• 1⁄4 less saturated fat
• 2⁄3 more vitamin A
• 2 times more omega-3 fatty acid
• 3 times more vitamin E
• 7 times more beta carotene
-4-6 times more vitamin D

Read more: http://www.motherearthnews.com/real-food/pastured-eggs-vitamin-d-content.aspx#ixzz2xB1KVNgz

In a nutshell we have happy healthy chickens that lay A LOT of great eggs!

   ~ Patti Alderman

The latter part of Matthew 10:8, "Freely you have received; freely give," certainly wasn't spoken by Christ in the context of a pea patch.  But the principle got us to thinking here at Alderman Farms.

We have been so abundantly blessed by the LORD in so many ways, tangible and intangible, that we figured it would be only appropriate to pass some of those blessings along to others.

So here's the plan:  the area at the front of our property, pictured above, will soon be planted with peas.  Once they are up, we'll place two yard signs out by the road.  One will be our Alderman Farms signs, and the other will say something to the effect of "Get you some," or "Peas: Free for the Pickin', so Help Yourself."

We certainly recognize that there may be some benefit to doing this: we may begin cultivating future CSA customers (we are considering beginning a CSA for veggies and a "share" program for pork), we may pick up some future Farmers Market customers, and so forth.  But you just have to trust us when we say it's not about marketing, it's about blessing.  Of course, experience and Scripture have taught us that "you can't out-give God," so we know the blessings we give with pure intentions will be returned to us in various ways.  Again, that ain't why we're doing it.  We just really want to share in the bounty.

We'll keep updating our progress here, so hey - when the peas are in, come get you some!

(By the way, the green strip on the right side of the patch above is an electric fence line that doesn't show up well in the photo.  To the right of the green line, inside the fence, we will soon plant field corn that we'll harvest for the critters at Alderman Farms.)

Although American Guinea Hogs (AGH) are hardy little critters, and although the area inside their enclosure is riddled with shade trees, I knew they'd need a permanent shelter in which they can avoid inclement weather.  Also, although our winters are moderate compared to many areas of the United States, when the cold arrives, they'll need a place to huddle beneath the straw for warmth, and a place to farrow in comfort.

So I set out to find a plan for construction.  I located numerous plans online, even printing a few, before choosing to take what I liked from some, made some modifications (in my mind), developed a materials list, and headed to the hardware store for lumber and such.

As is usually the case, I grossly underestimated my cost and eventually wound up spending in the neighborhood of $700.  Ouch.  But at least there is now a hog house that should last for years (I hope).  I'm no carpenter by any stretch of the imagination, but working mostly alone (though my grandson Tomas was an excellent helper, handing PawPaw exactly one screw at a time, and both Cory and Patti were great help at times when I couldn't install boards too long to handle, or do the roofing by myself), I managed to complete the house in a little more than two full days, including trips to the store.

What follows is a complete photo gallery illustrating each step of the way.  Questions?  Email them to me at [email protected] and I'll be happy to answer them.

Boy, we've had a tough go of it in the garden this year so far!  From unseasonably cold weather to day after day of 4-inches-at-a-pop rain, and we've found ourselves replanting time after time.  In fact, we've replanted everything twice, and some items three times.  We'll soon even plant some now empty spots for a fourth time in the corn and snap bean rows!

But we finally got a break in the torrential rainfall for just a few days, and yesterday we were able to do a little maintenance work in our main garden plot.  Here are the photos taken yesterday, showing our progress:

The photo to the left is an American Guinea Hog (AGH) piglet at Alder-Bramble Farm in Washington.  Is there anything cuter?  I doubt it.  And not only are they cute, but they have also have a sweet disposition, are terrific foragers, great moms & dads, and seem to be an ideal match for a small homestead operation like ours here at Alderman Farms.  So we are ready to take the plunge again - the pig plunge...and we can't wait.

Our first foray into raising pigs was a success for us.  We wanted to see if we could raise pigs mostly on pasture, only supplementing them with garden leftovers, kitchen scraps (fruits and veggies only), hay, and small amounts of grain.  We were a little concerned because the only pigs we could find at the time (pictured at left) had been born into commercial pig operations where their parents and ancestors had been raised in confinement, on concrete, for generations.  Although they were very frightened and skittish when we first got them, they warmed up to us in no time at all, and we were very happy (if a little surprised) that they took to foraging like...well, like a hog takes to slop, as they say.  And while their rate of weight gain was slower than it would've been had we been pouring the feed to them, they did just fine - we weren't interested in speed, anyway.  We kept them for over two years, and they were a lovely addition to our little homestead.  They were friendly, inquisitive, and communicative, and they mixed and mingled with the goats and cows as if they belonged here, which they did. 

Frankly, we were amazed at their foraging ability, and they contributed to the work force around here by finishing off our garden plots in preparation for the following season.  When they were done with a garden spot, there was no grass - no seeds, no roots - and when we planted there the following year, we were deep into harvest before we had to deal with grass in the garden.  Amazing stuff, that.  Of course, their final contribution to our family was nourishment, providing enough pork for us for the next couple of years at least.  I confess that the end was bittersweet: I hated to say goodbye, because we really loved those pigs, but we took comfort in knowing that they lived longer and much better lives on our farm than they would've had we not "rescued" them from their former existence.

Following that successful "experiment," we knew that pigs would eventually become a permanent part of our plan.  We knew that we could always use them here as workers in the garden and pasture, turning soil that needed turning, weeding, keeping snakes at bay, and so on, and we knew we'd certainly want to continue to put meat on our tables from a trusted source: us.  But we also now believe that we can make a "go" of it from the business side of things, selling pigs for others to enjoy, either as garden workers, food, breeders, or even pets.  So we set out to choose a breed.

We knew from the beginning we wanted to choose a "heritage" breed, a breed that's been around for a long time, and which hasn't been altered too heavily.  And we had almost decided on the Large Blacks, when we stumbled upon the AGH.  It was love at first sight.

One of the first things that drew us to the AGH was the fact that they apparently used to be seen on homesteads all over the Southeast.  In fact, they are also known as "Yard Pigs" because they were in so many yards at the 1800's.  As recently as 2006, however, their numbers had declined to only 200 or so in the world, according to many online sources.  It seems they are making a comeback, though, as according to the American Guinea Association (AGHA), they can be found today in almost all fifty states in the US.

We also liked the fact they are a smaller breed of pig, with adults topping out at 200 pounds or so at 2 years old.  The AGH is known for it's docile and pleasant temperament, and according to many stories we've found posted in various online forums, it's not uncommon for AGH sows to allow their owners to be present when piglets are born, and even allow the piglets to be handled without the aggression often seen in other breeds.  Of course, it remains to be seen from our own experience whether such acceptance by the sow is a tendency of the breed or a characteristic of individual sows.

Lucky for us, we were able to locate an AGH breeder within a pleasant driving distance (1.5 hrs), and they were kind enough to allow us to make a visit to their farm and ask lots of questions.  Here is a short video I shot with my iPhone showing several piglets from a couple of their recent litters:

Here is the link for those who cannot see the embed: http://youtu.be/kP8MYpkGnHg

It was all I could do to keep from grabbing that little runt, sticking him in my pocket, and running for the hills.  He was simple adorable.  Notice how they all seemed so polite, coming to the fence to say "hello?"  We're smitten...absolutely smitten.

The folks who welcomed us to their farm could not have been nicer, and we had a wonderful visit discussing all sorts of homesteading topics, touring their place, and meeting several of their gorgeous Dexter cattle and their two beautiful Saanen dairy goats.

We would likely have left there that day with two little gals and one little fella, but unfortunately the little fellas outnumber the gals at the moment, many to none.  They've had almost nothing but boys in their litters so far this year, but our fingers are crossed for a saw that is due to deliver any day now.  If there are two girls in that litter, they will be ours, and they are saving one of the little men in the video for us, to serve as our initial herd boar.

Now here is the bad news:  we can't have them until they are 8 weeks old, and i don't know if I can stand it!  So I'm saving my gas money to go back and visit as often as I have to get my "piglet fix."  In the meantime, I'll be watching an awful lot of the video above.

Hey, keep your eye on this blog for future updates, and we'll be adding an AGH page to our website soon, where we'll post photos registration numbers for our pigs and their litters, and we'll eventually have information for those of you interested in buying for meat or live pigs.  We've joined the AGHA and are awaiting our membership information, so as soon as we have it, we'll post it there.

~ Tommy Alderman, Pig Man.

A funny thing happened on the way to the weekend.  Well, it actually happened during the weekend...and after the weekend, but I've always wanted to use the phrase and I couldn't think of a better way to work it in.  But I digress.

A little pre-weekend background is in order: as a matter of habit, I check our YouTube stats with some frequency (here's a link to our YouTube channel: AldermanFarms).  I'm terrible at math, but for some reason stats intrigue me.  I guess the main reason is that it's rewarding to see that stats related to the growth of our YouTube channel have been steadily on the rise since we started a little over a year ago, in March 2012.  Since the beginning, we've never had a month in which we had fewer "views" than the month prior, we've gained subscribers every month, and so on.

During the month of March 2013, the last month for which I have complete statistics, we were averaging 759 views per day, as compared to 533 per day in February.  In fact, from Monday April 1 - Friday April 19, the daily average had increased to 1,277 views per day. So I am accustomed to seeing the numbers rise.  But I am not accustomed to seeing what I began to see sometime in the early evening on Saturday April the 20th.

We were out of town at our youngest daughter's final competitive cheer competition, and we were busy, so I hadn't been checking stats as regularly as I typically do.  We had gathered at a local restaurant for a team meal, and at some point I glanced down at the iPhone app I use to monitor stats to see the number "3,321."  What?  Three thousand three hundred twenty-one views?  In one day?  I showed Patti and she said something to the effect of "Wow."  In fact that's exactly what she said, and so did I.  Little did we know that we were just feeling the initial moisture of a wave that was rapidly building, and would take us for a ride we never expected, couldn't control, and that would cause us astonishment, worry, and amusement, in turn.

When I awoke the following morning, I could see that before the previous reporting day had ended at midnight on the West coast, 2:00AM our time, we had accumulated a whopping 10,008 views.  And I also learned that we'd gained several thousand more already on Sunday April 21st.

While my reaction on Saturday can be accurately summarized as "WOW," my reaction on Sunday is better represented by "Uh Oh," as I was suddenly afraid that we were somehow the victims of a cyberattack intended to make Google/YouTube think that we were artificially driving up our own traffic.  I didn't know whether it was a random attack, or a personal attack (though I had no real idea why someone would want to attack our channel), but I reported it to Google immediately on Sunday morning.  Later that day I received a response from Google thanking me for my vigilance and assuring me that they would be looking into the matter.  Over the course of a few more email exchanges, they further encouraged me that I'd done the right thing and would not be held responsible for any malicious activity.  That was a relief.

While leaning on the comfortable prop provided by those emails from Google, I kept watching the numbers rise...and rise...and rise.  That Sunday we ended the day with an incredible 27,523 views, followed by 23,771 on Monday.  By the end of Tuesday, the numbers were falling, but we still had logged an amazing 10,914 views.  Yesterday, Tuesday April 24, 2013, things seemed to be back to normal, although our new "normal" was higher than it had been just a few days earlier, as we finished the day with 1,517 views.

So what happened?  Well, as I said earlier, my initial guess was some sort of attack.  But as I discussed the matter on that Saturday and Sunday with my pal Jared Stanley of "J&J Acres" (blog - YouTube), he said something like "It will be interesting to see the traffic sources for all of those views."  Indeed.

Since YouTube analytics run a couple of days behind, I had to wait until Monday to see the stats for that Saturday when all the action started.  What I found was an incredible stroke of good fortune that created what Jared called a "wave," and his advice was to "ride it all the way and hold on tight."  Here's what happened:

A few of my most popular videos deal with fencing.  I've listed and hyperlinked them here:

1) How to Tighten Fence with Nothing but Pliers
2) How to set a Corner Post WITHOUT Concrete
3) How to Pull Fence: Homemade Help

By an incredible coincidence, someone had uploaded a short clip called "FBI Fence Jump," and for reasons that no one knows, of course, it went viral.  Here it is, for your viewing pleasure (it is amusing):

And as always, here is the link to YouTube for those who have trouble with the embedded video:  http://youtu.be/ahwSmcZxBAU

Did you notice the title of that video?  "FBI FENCE Jump," emphasis mine.  Apparently because the word "fence" appears in that title, and because I have three videos in which the primary keyword is also "fence," plus other reasons that will probably remain a mystery for the ages, my three fence-related videos began showing up as "Suggested Videos" at the end of, and in the sidebar next to, the "FBI Fence Jump" video.  And again for reasons that I'm convinced no one can know, the FBI fence jumper video has garnered over 8,700,000 views at the time of this writing.  Wow.

What a weekend: for reasons I'll never completely understand, having that fence jumping video go viral provided over 72,000 views for us in just four days.

But although the wave has ended, the good news has not: in addition to those additional one time views, I also gained over 200 subscribers who have so far stuck around.  There were some who subscribed and then changed their minds, but over 200 remain as a net gain for us, bringing our total to 840 subscribers at the time of this writing.

Finally, as a result of the wave, and probably primarily due to the influx of new subscribers, our new "normal" appears to be not only higher than our normal prior to April 20th, but it also appears to be higher than it would've been today had the wave not happened.  In other words, the lasting benefit of the wave is not the ridiculous number of views we gained over the weekend, but that the wave seems to have lifted us to higher ground...to a point on the channel growth curve that is higher than where we'd be today had the water remained steady and calm.

What a great ride it was, and we like where we've landed.  Will it ever happen again?  No one can know the answer to that question.  We hope it does, of course, but we aren't holding our breath and neither should you hold your breath waiting on your own wave.  But if the wave hits again, we'll "hang ten" and not worry about the sharks. ;-)

~ Tommy A.

The brooder box we built several years ago (instructions here) is terrific for babies when they are small, holding well over a hundred for several weeks.  But when the young'uns begin to feather out, it's time to move them out and into a more spacious environment.

In the past, we have used the goat stall pictured at the top of this page for a sort of "finishing" area for the little chicks and turkeys, but in wrapping it with protective wire we typically did so in a more temporary manner.  Once the chickens were allowed to range freely and the goats gained access to the stall once again, the protective wire didn't last long at all.  So we decided to do it differently this time, attaching the wire on the outside of all but one of the four walls, away from the goats who will, once again, eventually have access to the stall.

My daddy always told me that having the proper tools was the first step toward doing a good job, and boy was he right.  Using a stapler powered by an air compressor made quick work of covering the stall with chicken wire down low and 2X4 welded wire above that, and the 1/2" long staples ensure that the wire is there to stay.  By the way, we put chicken wire around the bottom for two reasons: 1) the chicks could possibly still squeeze through 2X4 openings if they were really determined, and 2) chicken wire will make it a little more difficult for predators to climb.  At least we hope it will.

We made sure to trim one of each chicken's and turkey's wings to keep them grounded.  If you trim both, they can still fly.  Although the stall is mostly enclosed, there are some openings high on the walls, and we don't want the little rascals getting any ideas.  Better safe than sorry, you know?

By the end of the afternoon, the new tenants had moved in.  They weren't thrilled at first, which is always the case after moving young birds from the comfort of their cozy brooder.  But it won't be long until they are ruling the roost in their new quarters.

Below is the accompanying video of the process:

And here is the YouTube link for those who can't view the embedded video:

http://youtu.be/M9YBSZxxABY


~ Tommy A.

Every April, cyclists descend on the little town of Brookhaven, Mississippi for The Bike Crossing's annual Mississippi Gran Prix (here is their Facebook page), a three-day racing event that involves a "criterium" race around several city blocks in downtown Brookhaven, a road race, time trials, and a circuit race.

We've made it a family tradition to at least catch the criterium, and we did so last night.

I'm not sure how many laps were involved, but it was a bunch, and they happened quickly.  The guys riding those bikes knew what they were doing, because although they make the corners in what seems to the untrained eyes, like mine, to be an impossibly crowded wad, we've thankfully never seen them wreck.  Good thing, too, because I can't imagine the carnage were one to happen as they make any one of the corners.  Here, see for yourself:

And here is the YouTube link for those for whom the embedding doesn't work:

http://youtu.be/xsOy-zoggME

Watching the race downtown is a great way to spend a Friday evening, and we've come to look forward to it every year.

~ Tommy