Trade-offs: When Two Fools Meet

Trade-Offs: “When Two Fools Meet”

“There are two things you should never sell: a dog or a gun.”

Life is full of decisions, and each one you make is a trade-off.

You’ll gain some things while losing others.

There’s no shortcut.

You’ll gain something as you trade off something else.

Seldom in life is any decision “a complete win.”

Every gain means some form of pain. A gain will mean some loss.

Trade-off isn’t a four-letter word. It’s important to weigh those tradeoffs before deciding.

Making wise decisions.

Considering the consequences.

It boils down to this: will my decision gain more than I lose?

Will this decision lead me closer to my life goals?

Will this result in a closer walk with God or pull me away?

That’s called seeking God’s will.

In my seasons of life, God has seemed to work through nudges in my soul and open and closed doors.

As usual, I have a story for everything, including the following about trade-offs.

I’m calling this one “When Two Fools Meet,” and my son Clint related it.

The story concerns a prized squirrel hunting dog.

Evidently, a very good one. It was considered the best in the area, if not the entire state.

So good that a man drove from Arkansas and pulled out a thick wad of $100 bills thick enough in our Pineywoods parlance as “That fella had a wad of cash big enough to choke a dog.”

Pun intended.

The man counted 50 crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. “I’d like to buy your dog, and I have $5000 in cash.”

The squirrel dog owner stood silently for an uncomfortable minute before politely saying, “Sir, I’m sorry, but this dog ain’t for sale.”

They argued back and forth.

Sir, this dog ain’t for sale for no price.

The elderly father of the dog owner was sitting on a nail keg observing this conversation.

H shook his head, “It’s ain’t everyday that two fools meet. A man who would pay $5000 for a dog, and another man who wouldn’t sell it for that price.”

Stories like this are why I love Pineywoods, Louisiana. Some folks might not understand the joy of hunting squirrels with a gifted treeing dog or frown at even eating a squirrel, but I understand all about the story. It’s because some things are priceless.

Since I come from a dog culture, I suspect the refusal wasn’t about the dog’s ability but about that deep, nearly sacred connection between a man and his dog.

Some readers will scoff at this story.

That means they haven’t had a HEART connection with a dog.

It’s a story of priceless things in the rural area I call home.

I know. I owned a gifted labrador retriever named Ivory.

Let me rephrase that Ivory owned me. She wasn’t even my dog. She belonged to my son Clint. When he left for Louisiana Tech, Ivory came into my care.

She was the best dog I’ve ever had. One of the joys of my life was watching her retrieve ducks in flooded timber or a marsh pond.

A retriever is so much more than just a hunting dog. Would I have sold her for $5000? No way. Some things are priceless.

Even after her retrieving days were over and she limped around on gimpy legs, she was my priceless possession.

This dog ain’t for sale for any price.

I cried like a baby on the day when Dr. White put her down.

In fact, tears are welling up in my eyes as I’m writing.

I suspect you’ve got something in your eye, too.

No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader.

The best way to make these tough decisions is to seek God’s guidance, list the pros and cons of your decision, and then make the best, most well-informed choice you can.

When my sister Colleen was a teen and faced a difficult decision, she ripped out a sheet of notebook paper and drew a vertical line across the page.

She’d make two headings, “Pro” and “Con.”

It was her paper chart that made her tradeoff decision.

When I see Colleen, I’m going to ask if she still uses her notepaper chart.

It still seems like a good plan to me.

Some trade-offs are “no go.”

There are some decisions that are automatic no-decisions.

I describe it as the “Now, why would I want to do something that stupid?”

Sometimes, the best decision is no decision.

I’m not going there.

Tradeoffs or trade-ins are not an option.

My cousin Mark Roy was larger than life, exuberant, full of life, love, and a deep commitment to the Lord.

Mark was a character. Anyone who goes by the nickname of “Pine Knot” is going to be a character.

His sudden death earlier this year shocked his hometown of Iowa. Mark built dozens of houses throughout the area and is well-known and well-liked by everyone.

Although his funeral was sad, it also had a sense of joy—an exuberance just like Mark’s. He’d lived a full life committed to his family and the Lord.

Mark and his wife Debbie have three beautiful daughters. Each of the sons-in-law spoke at the service. Each gave

The same story with little variation:

“I was nervous when I went to ask Mr. Mark for his daughter’s hand in marriage. He listened as I made my entreaty. After waiting what seemed like an eternity, he said, “All right, you’ve got permission to marry her, but remember, this ain’t Walmart. We don’t take returns.”

This ain’t Walmart, and we don’t take returns.

Well, said Cousin Mark. Pine Knot.

Some things aren’t tradeable or worthy of trade-offs.

There is never a guarantee that others will consider your trade-off. You own it. You decide to make and live with.

Additionally, there is no guarantee that you’ll see it in a year as a good decision. That’s why life is risky and exciting.

I know about tradeoffs. In 20212, DeDe and I sold what we had in Dry Creek and went to Africa. DeDe described it well, “after I got rid of that stuff, I’ve never felt so content.”

It wasn’t easy, but it was wonderful. We knew we were in the center of God’s will, and that was a great place to be.

But it was still a tradeoff. We were away for the birth of three granddaughters. DeDe lost her brother and father while we were in Africa.

When we returned to America in 2015, we faced another trade-off crossroads. Where would we live?

Most folks, including most of my family, expected us to move back to Dry Creek and build a house on our family land.

But DeDe, who I listen to very closely, said, “We don’t need to move back to Dry Creek. Our families are in Alexandria. We need to live in Alexandria. It’s where our grandchildren are.”

It was a reasonable tradeoff. Nothing can balance against being among nine grandchildren weekly.

Sure, I miss the clear night sky,

Openness to watch a sunset or moonrise.

The owls and coyotes at night.

I miss being able to build a bonfire.

The quietness at the end of Clayton Iles Road. For the first time in thirty years, I don’t own a tractor. I miss bush hogging, one of life’s most therapeutic chores. I miss my Dry Creek Church family, to which I will always feel close.

Then again, I like being close enough to Home Depot to make two trips in one day and not drive an hour to Texas Roadhouse before standing in line for forty-five minutes.

I’ve found a new church family that I love deeply.

I will never leave my Dry Creek friends, but living in Alexandria has opened another layer of friends.

I am a man most blessed.

Trade-Offs

They’re part of life.

They’re about counting the cost and making a wise decision.

To move ahead, you must necessarily leave something behind.

It may mean turning down $5000.

It’s your decision.

No one can or should make that decision.

It’s your call.

Trade-Offs. It’s the story of priceless things in the rural area I call home.