AKA The Day They Sacked The Sergeant
A Tale in honor of Veteran Federal Workers Everywhere
Background: In the tale below, an IED took Sgt. Buck's leg. Five bullets struck Banjo, guarding over his fallen master. Now 20 years later as a Federal Civil servant to wounded heroes with Banjo's grown pup now beside him (also Banjo), he was fired with an email. So Sgt. Buck took a job with Banjo as a Walmart greeter, but to his surprise hundreds of wounded vets and the community greeted him and Banjo at the store this day. This story reflects the gratitude of the U.S. citizens toward our Federal worker heroes who dedicated their lives in service to our country.
The Ballad of Sgt. Buck and Banjo
(aka The Day They Sacked the Sergeant)
He roamed the hills of Kandahar,
With Banjo at his heel,
A faithful dog, a bond of war,
That fire and fate could seal.
Sgt. Buck and Banjo, sharp and sure,
Through dust and fire, their bond was pure.
They walked where brave hearts often tread,
With silent vows no words had said.
An IED beneath the clay,
Took Buck’s own flesh and bone,
But Banjo bled to shield the day—
Five rounds, yet not alone.
They flew them north, both torn and burned,
To beds of steel and light,
One man, one dog, the scars they earned
Still wept through every night.
Sgt. Buck and Banjo, torn and scarred,
Still standing watch, forever marred.
Their pain ran deep, their courage wide,
A man and hound who would not hide.
They healed, and helped the shattered men
Who’d lost more than their limb,
And Banjo’s paw and grieving eyes
Brought light when life grew dim.
If arms could not reach out in thanks,
Then Banjo’d make the climb,
To rest upon their battered chests—
A saint with fur and time.
But time ran out without a word,
An email, cold and small:
“Your twenty years are done, report—
And take this cardboard haul.”
He found a post to greet the guests
Where Walmart carts would roll,
And thought his tale was finished now—
A man misplaced by toll.
But silence breaks when hearts still burn—
The vets began to rise,
They filled the lots and lined the curbs
With fire behind their eyes.
No register could hold their thanks,
No scanner match the worth,
As every soul who passed that day
Declared their hero’s birth.
They wheeled him out beneath the sky,
Where wounded warriors stood,
With walkers, wheels, and limbs rebuilt—
A brotherhood of good.
A canvas fell, a sculptor’s truth,
And cheers rang loud and strong—
For Banjo stood above his friend,
Still guarding all along.
Bronzed in watch, with steady gaze,
Banjo guards above his master’s form—
“Sgt. Buck,” it read, “still standing guard,
Through fire, through peace, through storm.”
Sgt. Buck and Banjo, cast in flame,
Their wounds now forged in honor’s name.
The city wept, the silence broke—
And bronze became the words they spoke.
If a billionaire wants to remake our world in his image, is that a world we want to live in?
Humbled by Your Sacrifice,
Pastor Jim
