Stormy Versus The Garden Hose.

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Sooner or later you’d think she’d learn. Then again, I don’t pick up on things all that quickly and she is my canine companion. There’s video below, but here’s a picture for your entertainment in the meantime.
soakedstormy2

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Stormy is never quite sure what will be the most annoying part of her day. It might be a diesel engine, a small child screaming in the park, birds flying in her yard, strangers in the alley, or the evil garden hose.

Over the past few months she’s become more and more insane when the hose comes out. What you don’t see in the video is her athletic performance in trying to get that stream of water. Both before and after the video I tried really hard to keep her dry. Good luck.

The neighbors would drive down the alley and remark to each other, “Dear, why is Joe sitting in a lawn chair with his right arm held high over his head.” The answer would be, “Because that stupid dog can’t jump that high and it keeps her dry.” Yes, I sat there like some lunatic version of the Statue of Liberty so that the stream of water was over her head even when she jumped.

Why the lawn chair? Well, glad you asked. I’ve done more walking and spent more time on my feet in the last three days than I have in years. My tootsies are sore and mildly blistered. After a day on them once again, I voted for sitting in comfort and watering my garden and the new lilac bushes. That’s when the deranged sheep dog attacked the water. Without further ado, I present the video:

If I didn’t turn the water off she’d drown in her own yard. She is absolutely insatiable when she gets going on that kick, biting the stream of water until she’s got a lung full. Nuttier than a Snickers bar. She’s sneaky as well. Did you notice the casual approach to the water? What isn’t clear in the video is the eyeballing going on out of camera shot. She was planning her approach. I can be out there for an hour, and at random intervals she’ll come screaming in from the side and leap through the stream. I don’t know about you, but those fangs look dangerous to me. I’d hate to see what she could do with them if cornered.

There’s a drippy dog in my living room right now. Much drier than a few hours ago, but still a bit moist around the edges. I love that goof. She’s always coming up with some new quirk. I hope you liked this one.

Say a little prayer for her. Part of the funny is her obsessive behavior coupled with anxiety. It’s good to see her on the attack: means she’s not taking it lying down. She still needs to know that I’ll protect her from anything within my power – except the hose. She’s on her own for that dingy idea.

High Noon For The Letter Noon.

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There is a misconception in America among many Christians, especially my fellow evangelicals: we are a persecuted church. I beg to differ, and I hope you get your act together quickly. But first, a graphic:

The mark of death in Arab lands.

The mark of death in Arab lands.

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The graphic above is my personal whack at the jihadist scum and their sympathizers that run loose across the globe. The rather thick symbol that looks like a “U” with a dot in the middle is the Arabic letter Nun (pronounced “noon”) and you will find it drawn on homes, businesses, cars, and undoubtedly carved into the bodies of dead Christians. Yes, that’s what happens when you are a truly persecuted church. You are marked with symbols. I’m trying to remember the name of the last group that popularized that sort of thing, but all I can come up with is stars and mustaches. Wait! I remember now, the Nazi party made Jews wear yellow stars. History – ain’t it helpful?

The scribbles below the Nun are for Nasrani. That is the Arabic word, somewhat derogatory, for Christians. It indicates one who follows that fellow from Nazareth. Arab Christians self-identify as Missiahia – followers of the Messiah. But since Islam doesn’t believe Jesus was the Messiah, that isn’t very popular.

It’s a pain to spray paint it on the family home across the street, so the lazy swine just use the letter N to abbreviate. You see, true to the tenets of Islam (which means submit, not peace) Jews and Christians are allowed to exist only upon the sufferance of their rulers, the Muslims. In practice this means that you are given a chance to convert to Islam. Not an option? Okay, pay a tax on every penny you will ever see to the caliphate. Don’t like that one? Oops, out of options: you get the sword.

Yes, convert, taxed, dead. The progression for those fuzzy and wonderful guys who are running amok in Syria and Iraq. Did I mention that our president and his government are backing that bunch of haters against the Syrian government? Oh, yeah, we don’t talk about that much in our press.

Therefore, until I die, that will be on the upper part of the blog. It is a reminder that having people complain about your church bells, ban your cross from the public square, be rude to you, and all the other minor annoyances we face, are not persecution.

On the other hand, a government that forces you to pay for abortions, restricts your free speech within your own church, and indoctrinates your children that Christians are evil, isn’t far removed from the Jihadists that now control parts of Iraq and Syria. (Did I mention that we have backed them in the civil war there? I thought so.)

I am a Nazerine. I am a Christian. Got a problem with that? Tough.

Food Trucks, Petting Zoo, Music, (Did I Mention Food Trucks?)

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Time for your daily reminder that there is a fun festival at my church this Saturday from 10 until 4. Shiloh Missionary Baptist Church is running out the red carpet for the community. We’d love to see you there if you’re a Twin Cities resident. Directions at the link!

Food trucks, petting zoo, fire trucks, ah well, look at the title.

So, come and meet my friend Robb – and give him grief about his shorts. He’ll be there serving Shaved Ice. I hope to see you there!

My kind of cold one...

My kind of cold one…

Jeffrey Baldwin: The Rippling Of Your Cape In The Wind Makes My Eyes Moist And My Heart Ache

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Jeffrey Baldwin is in Heaven waiting for us to arrive. He stands on a corner, next to a United States Marine, looking over the streets in a silent vigil. In Heaven he’s as tall as the Marine, loaded with muscles, and wearing his beloved Superman costume. On Earth, he … Well, it didn’t go well for him on this planet. Perhaps Heaven is closer to his native Krypton.

Super heroes come in many sizes.

Super heroes come in many sizes.

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If you’re not familiar with Jeffrey’s story, I’ll recap. He had a short, miserable life here on Earth. He died of starvation at the age of five. His family was responsible for the abuse, specifically his grandparents.

After his death a fund was started to erect a statue of him wearing his Superman costume. DC Comics initially denied permission to use the “S” logo on the statue. That’s understandable, they’ve been very consistent on that over the many years I’ve followed the issue of it’s use on a casual basis. The outcry, and the poignant nature of the situation, caused them to reverse the decision and allow it this once. I think that’s a wonderful thing for the company to do in this case.

I have a lot of interaction with children in my role as Santa Claus. I have a special place in my heart that aches for abused children, and a firm hope that God is preparing a unique judgment for abusers on that last day. The same mentality that allows children to be abused allows the mistreatment of animals, the elderly, veterans, and the mentally ill. All of them fall through many cracks in this world, but children seem to suffer the most because they are inarticulate, don’t have lawyers, and rarely bite back or flee with success.

I’m asking you to spend some time today praying for children. Just ten minutes. Get down on your knees (right now is a good time) and talk to God about what you can do to help, and ask him to intercede with the lives of the abused. I will do part my time right this moment.

Be aware. Be courageous. Be willing to contact the authorities when a child is mistreated. Be willing to stand up for the child when they are being hurt or in imminent danger. Be strong in the Lord, ask His help in doing the right thing.

Remember Jeffrey Baldwin. Say a prayer for all the little ones like him.

One Year And The New Queen Is Happy.

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A year ago today, Stormy was promoted to Senior Dog in our house. I’m still the big dog, but she’s the remaining canine member of the pack in the wake of Edzell’s death.

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Dogs, and cats, hold a unique place in our hearts. For the most part, they are the pets humans share their lives indoors with on an extended basis. Some folks have fish, rabbits, turtles, birds, etc., but most of us have dogs and cats. They are such a huge part of our lives that we can’t imagine what it is going to be like when they die.

When Edzell died it hurt, but not the wracking pain I’d felt with other dogs. He was old, he’d had a great life, and he got to enjoy a beautiful summer before he took that final trip to the vet. I held my old friend in my arms and knew it was the right time. He knew it as well.

I spend a moment now and then thinking about him, more moments thinking about Stormy and whether or not she needs a companion in this life. Most dogs need another dog around. Not her. She seems to be thriving as a solo act. I’ll leave it there for now, if she seems to need a friend we’ll get another rescue dog for her to hang out with and share her days.

A decade ago I wrote an email to family and friends when our Old English Sheepdog, Nigel, had to be put down. The sentiments are similar to what I’ve seen countless friends share over the years when they’ve lost a pet. I’d like to share it with you today. Sometimes knowing that others feel the same about their pets makes the journey a little easier at the end of it all. Nobody dying around our house today, but I’m sure at least one friend is facing that final trip to the vet with their pet as I write this note. The memory of my friend Nigel is below the fold. Thanks for dropping by today.

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