A Brand Of Strength, A Symbol Of Resilience
Organize your daily, weekly and monthly goals by scheduling your tasks and ensuring everything is aligned. Stay locked in for 365 days with undated pages allowing you to skip a few days, but not waste pages.
PRODUCTIVITY
ORDER YOUR PLANNER ON
The Legend Of Luck Barrett
In The wild heart of 1859 London, Ontario... a rancher by the name of Luck Barrett isn’t just a man with a mighty mustache and a soft spot for Wobbly Pops (A sugary soda made in the heart of Ontario)—he’s the only thing standin’ between decency and disaster. When a pair of sugar-charged pranksters bare their buns in front of a biscuit-carrying granny, Luck saddles up with his loyal German Shepherds, Lacey and Dover, to restore order the old-fashioned way—with clever traps, cowboy grit, and just enough cinnamon bun justice to keep you laughin’. Packed with outrageous antics, wild western charm, and heartfelt moments, this short story is a hilarious ride for kids, parents, and anyone who’s ever believed in a good dog and a better plan.
ORDER BY EMAIL
Payment will be collected via e-transfer after the submission is made here.
The file for download will be delivered to your email within 24 hours, once payment has been collected.
Benny "Busted Spokes" Barlow
The book "The Legend of Luck Barrett" is a semi short read based off of a true story and I, Anthony Jackson, have watered the story down to be more palatable for all ages, and to add in some extra humour for everyone. So, here's a completely true story about the real Luck Barrett, but keep in mind, the names have been changed to protect the guilty...
It was a warm summer morning in the old frontier town of London, Ontario. Luck Barrett was out front, watering flowers with one hand and sipping a Wobbly Pop with the other, when he heard a racket coming from the neighbor’s shed. His mind jumped to that pristine canoe he’d admired just days before—one of the finest in all of Ontario—and the horror of rats chewing it to splinters. Now, there’s only one thing in this world that gives Luck pause. Not bandits. Not outlaws. Not even taxes! But rats? Rats make his mustache twitch. Still, he strode toward the shed, boots crunching dry grass. When he spotted a bicycle—abandoned and scuffed—lying by the walkway, his brow furrowed. No self-respecting cowboy rides something you can’t feed. Never mind something missing one whole horsepower. Then came another clatter, and out popped a scraggly fella with a look like he’d just crawled out of a pickle jar. Stinky and missing a few front teeth too.
“Hey! What in God’s green earth do you think you’re doing?” barked Lucky.
The man, responded , clearly making up something on the spot, "looking for a friend". But Luck wasn’t buying it. After an awkward pause, leading to the realization that Lucky was here to stay, the drifter pulled a knife and puffed up his chest, Luck just squinted. “If you’re gonna whip out a knife, you’d better use it!” he warned—then popped him in the chin hard enough to ring church bells. The man hit the dirt like a sack of wet laundry. Luck stabbed the blade into the fella’s bicycle tire, slapped his hat back on his head, and gave him a good boot in the cinnamon buns to send him rolling down the street.
Later that afternoon, the sheriff stopped by the ranch. “Heard you had a bit of a scuffle, Mr. Barrett?” Lucky was an honest man. He told the story just as I just did for you right now and asked the sheriff if they came to take the knife, for evidence. The sheriff asked, “is it a nice knife?” and Lucky pulled the knife from the pocket of his worn jeans. “Well yes sir, it is.”… Said Lucky.
“You hang on to it.” And just like that, the sheriff walked away.
