Death Of A Friend. Start Of A Journey.

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Many years ago my beloved Old English Sheepdog, Nigel, passed away. It was just a month after 9-11, life was pretty dreary, and the old boy couldn’t make it up and down the back steps any longer. At 90 pounds (ribs sticking out) there was no way we could carry him out and in to do his business for the winter. His body was weak, and he was just tired of it all. For two years he’d been wearing diapers. Yeah, I’m a little nuts, but it didn’t seem like it was time until the stairs became an issue.

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On the afternoon of the day he died, I sent an email to my friends and family. I was hurting, my wife was hurting, and I needed to talk about it with someone. My mother has often commented that it’s the best thing I’ve ever written. Perhaps. But her words of praise got me going on the journey of being a writer as much as anything else has in my life.

Here’s the email I sent that day- typos and all.

Greetings:

It is a sad day in our house, because shortly after noon today, Nigel was put to sleep. He couldn’t climb stairs or move about too well, and he’d lost his ability to control himself. He was too hot in summer and too cold in winter. But he was my best buddy ever.

Nigel had shared over half of our married life with us, and we knew him from the time he was a lump in his mother’s belly until his final moments as an old dog.

During his time on this planet, Nigel was our friend, protector, and resident cartoon character. He was there when we went to bed and upon our arrival in the morning, holding the fort in the hours in-between the dusk and dawn. Often that time was spent comforting Kip in the darkest hours of her night. Racked with insomnia, Nigel was her beacon toward the day’s light.

Nigel made us better people. We quit smoking because it made him sneeze. He encouraged us to remember that a warm heart is much more important than an extra workout. This past week, before I knew he was leaving us, he asked me to forego my workout and stay home and play, catching the bus instead of walking. I’m terribly glad that I did. He didn’t fetch much, but stood there supervising while Edzell (our Sheltie) carried on the day to day work of being the dog in the house.

Nigel was our Guardian Angel. I know that probably sounds silly to some of you, perhaps an opportunity to think we replaced kids with our dogs. Maybe. All I know is that he saved my life one night when I started falling backwards down the stairs while on crutches. Nigel pushed me upright. He’d never before been the second one up the stairs. That night he followed me and saved my neck.

On more than one occasion he saved Kip as well. I could always tell when she’d had an especially bad day, for I’d come home to find her in bed, and nigel standing guard over her. He wouldn’t leave her side until I was aware of her needs.

He went from a bossy puppy to a bossy old fellow with lots of smiles in between. He looked silly at the end in his flowered diaper, DEPENDS snugged around his strong chest with masking tape. Maybe we were nuts to go so far to keep him around. All I know is that if I live to be 250 years old, I will never have another friend like Nigel.

And so this very sad day winds to a close. Kip is quietly crying next to me, my ares are wet and Edzell is sleeping under the edge of the table. He’s not all the wa under it: that’s where Nigel sleeps. Forever.

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My Injustice Is Greater Than Your Injustice. That Makes You Evil.

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Ever since the court decisions that avoided senselessly indicting an innocent police officer for shooting a man trying to kill him in Missouri, and the lack of indictments for incredibly poor visuals in New York, we’ve seen a wave of grievance elevation in our nation unprecedented in recent memory.

We’ve made it almost a full week without anyone screaming foul in the press. Well, except the pizza parlor that was threatened with death because they stated their belief system publicly.

*****UPDATE: I wrote this last week. Since then there was a shooting in South Carolina that looks like murder on the surface of it. I was pleased at the rational response until I saw the Huffington Post (No Link For Propagandist HUFFPO) fanning the flames with the “If there wasn’t video, he’d get away with it” post. This was quickly picked up by the usual crowd of people who insist that the police are guilty of something if they’re white. In my universe, people who base judgments on skin color are called racists.

Yeah, kind of tedious.

When that didn’t go much of anywhere over the course of a few hours, the Vineland New Jersey video of a man who died during a police interaction went up. It shows a police dog killing him. So they say. I watched it a few times, all I saw was the man being cuffed and some dumb cop telling the people filming him that they had to hand over the cameras. Uh, no. Sorry Officer. Not true. But the dog killing the man? I hope that video finally emerges because the one the wailers and moaners linked to doesn’t show it. I did watch this video, however, and it shows a conscious subject being subdued by a police dog.

Once he complies, the cops cuff him. He did die on the way to the hospital. That is sad. Any loss of life under those circumstances is sad. But having worked with police dogs, this doesn’t look off the hook. The dog controls the subject by taking the lower arm so he cannot use a weapon. *(Not that he had one, but that’s why the dog does it – once he’s got one it’s a tad bit late.) I include this only because I wrote this last week and it didn’t post on time. Guess I should have waited. The grievance machine is alive and well. Personally, if the video I saw of the South Carolina incident shows what I think it shows, the officer involved will be doing the rest of his life in prison. That, unless there is something edited out, looks like a straight up murder.

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I’d respectfully ask all of you out there to stop it. Just quit. No more.

I’m heartily sick of the hair-trigger response to every perceived slight in the United States. We’re better than that in my opinion.

Don Rickles has the proper philosophy: he ribs everyone. Without exception. And because he’s good at it he’s gotten away with it for decades. Try to establish an act like his today and a mob would descend on him and burn his house to the ground.

Perchance the most sorry aspect of this phenomenon is the escalation of outrage. Because I’m fat, I can be outraged over your charging me more for an airline seat. But I’m not allowed to be as outraged as an Arab who’s scrutinized at TSA because he has spent the last few minutes praying while waiting in the line. But he’s not allowed to be more outraged than the gay couple who are waiting to go on their honeymoon after the wedding reception where they didn’t get the cake they wanted. They, however, are trumped by the black intellectual who was stopped by the police because their license plate was 1 digit off from an armed robbery suspect who looked like them.

I’m at the bottom of that pile. But if I work at it I bet I can find an outrage – hey, found it: I was denied my veteran’s discount. I didn’t mention it, but they should have told me they had one and by gosh I served my country and that free soda with my steak was a big deal. Haters!

Where on the great scale of injustice does that place me?

Does it matter? Folks, let’s get real: mistakes happen, not everyone thinks you’re a special princess, and that trophy isn’t being awarded for 224th place this month. People will not like you based on your gender, skin color, ethnicity, sexual orientation, and that dumb sweater you put on your cat.

That, my friend, is what we call life on this imperfect planet. Sometimes, make that often, we have to suck it up, put on our big girl panties and move on to the next item. Being hurt, angry, objectified is only possible if we sweat it. If someone doesn’t want to serve me, I don’ darken their doorway any more. (Yes, it’s happened. I ain’t been back to those places and my cash goes with me.) I also don’t organize a boycott of the business. If enough people experience the same thing the owners will either change their ways or fail.

Same thing on a personal level. I deal with some real blockheads. I’m sure they think I’m a blockhead as well. Okay. But we get along for other reasons and make it work. Do they hate my guts because of my color? In a few cases the answer is yes. I pity them, actually. I’m kind off a fun guy to hang out with. But if you assume I’m there to sell plots in the Klan cemetery when you first meet me, we’ll miss out on some good times. Same goes the other way: if I assume you’re there to steal my car it’s not going to go well.

Maybe we could all back it down a notch? Don’t assume the worst. Pretend that being nice is what God would like us to do? Hey, that sounds like something I read in a book once. I have to look it up. Bet it makes for a better life for all of us.

I’ll be the fat guy in the corner eating jelly-beans. Hope you have a good one.

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I have a favor to ask of my readers: would you kindly share this blog with your friends, family, and colleagues? We hit a million views in 2014, and while the readership continues a nice growth trend, it could be a lot better. Just hit the Facebook like button, share it on your timeline, tweet the blog with a link, and tell that person at the next desk that there’s this lunatic who writes about all sorts of stuff that they might like.

I appreciate your help. When we hit 2,000,000 readers I will give away something cool to a drawing from the subscribers (that’s the box on the right toward the top) who have helped promote this mess. No used sheets, probably not honey, more likely gift cards. Be a part of it. I’ll update from time to time where we’re at in the count. Thanks.

Welcome, Andreas. You’re Over There Next To Gameel Al-Batouti And Mohamed Atta. Flash Fiction Tuesday.

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Andreas blinked and then twitched as the white-hot nails were driven into his skull. Shrieking in agony he said, “Wait, I just committed suicide. I don’t belong here!”

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The team of demons kept hammering nails into his skull and privates, taking a moment to laugh at him. The lead demon, who had a clipboard and was calling for the razor team, gave a leer. “You idiot. Suicide’s don’t always wind up here, most are forgiven and given a place in that boring Romper Room up above. But special guys like you – well, we have a room just for you!”

Andreas moaned as the razor team started to work on the back of his legs. Every slice of the razor was followed with a spritz of lemon juice mixed with alcohol. Not enough to overload the nerves, but enough to make them jangle and bounce as though they might explode from his skin. Another demon had a test kit with him and was touching two of the nails protruding from his skin to pass a current. The skin around the nails sizzled a little and then healed. Both processes were exquisitely agonizing.

“But I was a suicide. Why would I wind up here?”

The demon in charge ignored him and motioned the hammer team in. They proceeded to break all of the small bones in Andreas’ body. They were very good, obviously having studied anatomy at some medical school. Abortionists who’s practices had required a medical license on Earth had a new home with new responsibilities in Hell. Seemed like a good fit given their outstanding performance.

Once the hammering was complete he responded, “If you commit suicide, you get a pass. It’s usually the the result of depression or some insanity that causes you to lose touch with God. But you, my little pigeon, you chose to fly an airliner full of people into the Alps. You didn’t commit suicide, you murdered over 150 people. Same thing with that idiot Atta and his buddy Al-Batouti over in the corner.”

Andreas looked in the direction the demon had pointed. There was a pillar of flame burning slowly. Looking more closely, he recognized the 911 hijacker and the co-pilot of the Egypt Air flight. They burned but were not consumed. This was not looking good.

“We also have some special idiots in there that you will get to know over the next few millennia. We have a woman who tried to kill herself with natural gas fumes. She did a nice job. But the pipe she opened up filled the apartment building she lived in at five in the morning, and blew it to bits. Forty dead and another 200 burned. She’s got the chains next to Larry. He worked in a munitions plant in Texas and blew himself up on purpose. Took over thirty of his coworkers with him. He gets to repeat that moment thirty times a day. Oopsie.”

Andreas saw the future: there was none. But there was an eternity of torment stretching out ahead of him.

“We’ll start you off where you might find some friends. Well, fellow Germans anyway. We have a whole wing where the new people go through indoctrination. You’ve been assigned to Hitler, Himmler, and Goebbels unit for indoctrination. After a few months of that we’ll see where you go.”

“But, I’m not a NAZI! I don’t believe in that stuff.”

The demon pointed to a bunker door in the far wall. “Doesn’t matter what you believe in, Andreas; your deeds determine your company down here.”

Andreas saw Martin Bormann motioning to him. Trotting over was out of the question with all the broken toes but he went as quickly as he could.

“Wilkommen, Andreas. First item, we delouse you and give you a shower. Step right in here…”

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I have a favor to ask of my readers: would you kindly share this blog with your friends, family, and colleagues? We hit a million views in 2014, and while the readership continues a nice growth trend, it could be a lot better. Just hit the Facebook like button, share it on your timeline, tweet the blog with a link, and tell that person at the next desk that there’s this lunatic who writes about all sorts of stuff that they might like.

I appreciate your help. When we hit 2,000,000 readers I will give away something cool to a drawing from the subscribers (that’s the box on the right toward the top) who have helped promote this mess. No used sheets, probably not honey, more likely gift cards. Be a part of it. I’ll update from time to time where we’re at in the count. Thanks.

Love Is Unflinching When It’s Pure. If You Don’t Flinch, Sometimes You Get Slugged In The Guts.

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Today was a day of sadness for a great number of people I know. The title of today’s blog makes perfect sense in the context of what they’re going through.

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I think the old saying “Love hurts” is more true than ever when you get past your hormonal overload years. Most of us, if we’re honest, will confess that a great deal of the passion we felt in our love in our teens/twenties was due to biological storms taking place in our loins. That doesn’t mean that you were wrong, it’s just that that pretty face or six-pack abs was a bit more important in the beginning than their knowledge of Semitic history, or their ability to make great and beautiful things with knitting needles.

Now, in the second half-century of my life, I see the amazing love that older people have for each other in a different light. I also see the pain and anguish that goes with that love that matures in your thirties and beyond.

Today, and every day, I would like it if you’d pray for people who are on the edge of losing a loved one. Sometimes it’s a beloved dog that a lonely person has had for a decade. Sometimes it’s a cat that has been with them since it was a kitten. And sometimes it’s a human to whom they were paired and are now about to lose. All of those are harder when you get older.

It is often said that Facebook makes us cruel and venal. Today, and quite a bit recently, I saw just the opposite happen. I had a dear friend let her sphere know that the love of her life, her husband, would not be leaving the hospital after a long illness. He’d been fighting hard, she’d been fighting hard, but the battle is being lost and he’s now being given palliative care. I can’t reach out and touch her hand, but I can pray. A lot of others who read her post chimed in as well. The best in us comes out when another’s in need.

Another friend, much younger than me, has a brother-in-law who’s in an induced coma now while they treat the flesh-eating bacteria that is trying to take his life. It’s under control. But it’s the second person whom I’ve been aware of with this condition in the past three years. Satan is pretty busy trying to bump off good people with this one.

A third friend was bitten by the dog she adopted. No biggie, right? Wrong. There is an infection raging in her body and she’s been hospitalized to treat it with massive doses of antibiotics. For her act of kindness, adopting a dog, she’s at risk of serious damage to her body.

Pray also for my friend who is in chronic pain and undergoing a procedure this Friday for a chance to end that pain. If it doesn’t work, I know they’ll be devastated. The pain is crippling, and depressing. Mind and body go together, and this good soul is very low.

Finally, pray for another brave person I know who is dealing with a sexual assault many years after the fact. Struggling to be free of the shame, guilt, and depression that ride along with that soul-stealing act of an evil man.

All of these people have loved ones who suffer along with them. Pray for them also. It’s harder in some cases to be the caregiver than the one cared for in these situations. Each of them will be touched by your prayer.

Remember the lonely who have no other to comfort them and pray for them. Reach out and do a kind deed for an older person who is alone.

Thank you for listening to me today. It’s been a tough day.

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I have a favor to ask of my readers: would you kindly share this blog with your friends, family, and colleagues? We hit a million views in 2014, and while the readership continues a nice growth trend, it could be a lot better. Just hit the Facebook like button, share it on your timeline, tweet the blog with a link, and tell that person at the next desk that there’s this lunatic who writes about all sorts of stuff that they might like.

I appreciate your help. When we hit 2,000,000 readers I will give away something cool to a drawing from the subscribers (that’s the box on the right toward the top) who have helped promote this mess. No used sheets, probably not honey, more likely gift cards. Be a part of it. I’ll update from time to time where we’re at in the count. Thanks.