Sunki the Service Animal

Sunki the Service Animal

Sunday, November 10, 2013

Remembrance Day

Tomorrow we remember our past and present veterans, as well as the soldiers that are currently serving the the armed forces. They protect the freedom of everyone, the freedom for daddy to have me as his service animal.

Daddy had three grandfathers, and all of them served in the armed forces. One of them worked on installing RADAR systems in the AVRO Lancaster (and later installed the RADAR system for the AVRO Arrow, and worked on something called the Dew Line).
The AVRO Arrow, somewhere in the crowd is daddy's grandpa

The AVRO Lancaster
 Another flew a Short Sunderland flying boat, he did maritime patrol (searching for U-Boats, escorting convoys etc).
The Short Sunderland
 Our American grandfather we're not sure about, we do know he served in the military, but we don't what branch or where. Daddy likes to think he flew fighter planes in the Pacific.

So to honor all the pilots on this day of Remembrance, here are two poems that daddy likes to read to help with the healing.

Impressions of a Pilot
Flight is freedom in its purest form,
To dance with the clouds which follow a storm;
To roll and glide, to wheel and spin,
To feel the joy that swells within;
To leave the earth with its troubles and fly,
And know the warmth of a clear spring sky;
Then back to earth at the end of a day,
Released from the tensions which melted away.
Should my end come while I am in flight,
Whether brightest day or darkest night;
Spare me your pity and shrug off the pain,
Secure in the knowledge that I'd do it again;
For each of us is created to die,
And within me I know,
I was born to fly.
— Gary Claud Stokor

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air. . . .
Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
— John Gillespie Magee, Jr

Remember on the 11th day of the 11th month at 11am to stop and remember those that have served in the military, and especially those that have made the ultimate sacrifice so that we may live in freedom.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
      Between the crosses, row on row,
   That mark our place; and in the sky
   The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
   Loved and were loved, and now we lie
         In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
   The torch; be yours to hold it high.
   If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
         In Flanders fields.
John McCrae

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