While on a road trip, an elderly couple stopped at a roadside restaurant for lunch. After finishing their meal, they left the restaurant and resumed their trip.
When leaving, the elderly woman unknowingly left her glasses on the table and she didn’t miss them until they had been driving about twenty minutes. By then, to add to the aggravation, they had to travel quite a distance before they could find a place to turn around.
All the way back, the husband became the classic grouchy old man. He fussed and complained and scolded his wife relentlessly during the entire return drive. The more he chided her the more agitated he became. He just wouldn’t let up.
To her relief, they finally arrived at the restaurant. As the woman got out of the car and hurried inside to retrieve her glasses, the old geezer yelled to her: “While you’re in there, you might as well get my hat and the credit card!”
Monday, December 7, 2009
Saturday, November 7, 2009
WHAT I'VE LEARNED, Part I
I've learned that when you're in love, it shows.
I've learned that just one person saying to me, You've made my day!" makes my day.
I've learned that having a child fall asleep in your arms is one of the most peaceful feelings in the world.
I've learned that being kind is more important than being right.
I've learned that you should never say no to a gift from a child.
I've learned that just one person saying to me, You've made my day!" makes my day.
I've learned that having a child fall asleep in your arms is one of the most peaceful feelings in the world.
I've learned that being kind is more important than being right.
I've learned that you should never say no to a gift from a child.
Friday, November 6, 2009
ALWAYS LOOK ON THE INSDE
I remember reading a story once about a man
who was exploring some caves by the seashore.
In one of the caves he found a canvas bag
with a bunch of hardened clay balls.
It was like someone had rolled up some clay
and left them out in the sun to bake.
They didn't look like much, but they intrigued the man
so he took the bag out of the cave with him.
As he strolled along the beach, to pass the time,
he would throw the clay balls one at a time
out into the ocean as far as he could throw.
He thought little about it until he dropped
one of the balls and it cracked open on a rock.
Inside was a beautiful, precious stone.
Excited, the man started breaking open
the remaining clay balls.
Each contained a similar treasure.
He found thousands of dollars worth
of jewels in the 20 or so clay balls he had left.
Then it struck him.
He had been on the beach a long time.
He had thrown maybe 50 or 60 of the clay balls
with their hidden treasure into the ocean waves.
Instead of thousands of dollars in treasure.
he could have had tens of thousands,
but he just threw it all away.
You know, sometimes it's like that with people.
We look at someone, maybe even ourselves
and we see the external clay vessel.
It doesn't look like much from the outside.
It isn't always beautiful or sparkling
so we discount it;
We see that person as less important than
someone more beautiful or stylish
or well known or wealthy.
But we have not taken the time to find
the treasure hidden inside that person.
There is a treasure hidden in every one of us.
We are wonderfully made.
Not just our physical bodies, our spiritual selves,
which are sometimes hidden from others
by the "earthen vessel."
But if you take the time to get to know that person,
and if you ask the
Spirit to show you that person
the way He sees them,
then the brilliant gem begins to shine forth.
The glory of friendship is not the outstretched hand,
nor the kindly smile,
nor the joy of companionship;
It is the spiritual inspiration that comes
to one when he discovers that someone else
believes in him and is willing to trust
him with friendship.
Author Unknown
Friday, September 11, 2009
LIBERTY
Let every nation know, whether it wishes us well or ill, that we will pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe to assure the survival and the success of liberty.
-- John F. Kennedy
Monday, September 7, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
CHILDREN'S SCIENCE EXAM ANSWERS
Q: Name the four seasons.
A: Salt, pepper, mustard and vinegar.
Q: Explain one of the processes by which water can be made safe to drink.
A: Flirtation makes water safe to drink because it removes large pollutants like grit, sand, dead sheep and canoeists.
Q: How is dew formed?
A: The sun shines down on the leaves and makes them perspire.
Q: How can you delay milk turning sour? (brilliant, love this!)
A: Keep it in the cow.
Q: What causes the tides in the oceans?
A: The tides are a fight between the Earth and the Moon. All water tends to flow towards the moon, because there is no water on the moon,and nature hates a vacuum. I forget where the sun joins in this fight.
Q: What are steroids?
A: Things for keeping carpets still on the stairs.
Q: What happens to your body as you age?
A: When you get old, so do your bowels and you get intercontinental.
Q: What happens to a boy when he reaches puberty?
A: He says goodbye to his boyhood and looks forward to his adultery.
Q: Name a major disease associated with cigarettes.
A: Premature death.
Q: How are the main parts of the body categorised? (e.g., abdomen)
A: The body is consisted into three parts -- the brainium, the boraxand, and the abdominal cavity. The brainium contains the brain; the borax contains the heart and lungs, and the abdominal cavity contains the five bowels A, E, I, O, and U.
Q: What is the fibula?
A: A small lie.
Q: What does 'varicose' mean? (I do love this one...)
A: Nearby.
Q: Give the meaning of the term 'Caesarian Section.'
A: The Caesarian Section is a district in Rome.
Q: What does the word 'benign' mean?
A: Benign is what you will be after you be eight.
A: Salt, pepper, mustard and vinegar.
Q: Explain one of the processes by which water can be made safe to drink.
A: Flirtation makes water safe to drink because it removes large pollutants like grit, sand, dead sheep and canoeists.
Q: How is dew formed?
A: The sun shines down on the leaves and makes them perspire.
Q: How can you delay milk turning sour? (brilliant, love this!)
A: Keep it in the cow.
Q: What causes the tides in the oceans?
A: The tides are a fight between the Earth and the Moon. All water tends to flow towards the moon, because there is no water on the moon,and nature hates a vacuum. I forget where the sun joins in this fight.
Q: What are steroids?
A: Things for keeping carpets still on the stairs.
Q: What happens to your body as you age?
A: When you get old, so do your bowels and you get intercontinental.
Q: What happens to a boy when he reaches puberty?
A: He says goodbye to his boyhood and looks forward to his adultery.
Q: Name a major disease associated with cigarettes.
A: Premature death.
Q: How are the main parts of the body categorised? (e.g., abdomen)
A: The body is consisted into three parts -- the brainium, the boraxand, and the abdominal cavity. The brainium contains the brain; the borax contains the heart and lungs, and the abdominal cavity contains the five bowels A, E, I, O, and U.
Q: What is the fibula?
A: A small lie.
Q: What does 'varicose' mean? (I do love this one...)
A: Nearby.
Q: Give the meaning of the term 'Caesarian Section.'
A: The Caesarian Section is a district in Rome.
Q: What does the word 'benign' mean?
A: Benign is what you will be after you be eight.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Good Idea
WOULDN'T IT BE NICE IF
TONGUE DEPRESSORS CAME
IN FLAVORS LIKE CHOCOLATE
RASPBERRY INSTEAD OF
WOOD?
Sunday, August 30, 2009
LIFE
Life is like an old time rail journey -
delays, sidetracks, smoke,
dust, cinders and jolts,
interspersed only occasionally
by beautiful vistas and
thrilling bursts of speed.
The trick is to thank the Lord
for letting you have the ride.
Gordon B. Hinckley
Saturday, August 29, 2009
FOR THE LADIES
Women's T-shirts observed at Ocean City, Maryland beach.
Child-proofed my house, but they still get in.
I'm still hot. . . It just comes in flashes!
My reality check just bounced.
Life is short. Make fun of it.
I'm not 50. I'm $49.95 plus tax.
Dangerously under-medicated!
My mind works like lightening - one brilliant flash and it's gone.
Everytime I hear the dirty word "exercise," I wash my mouth out with chocolate.
In God We Trust. All others we polygraph.
I'm not fat. I'm just fluffy.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
TO WOMEN EVERYWHERE FROM MEN WHO'VE HAD ENOUGH . . .
If you think you're fat, you probably are. Don't ask us
Learn to work the toilet seat. If it's up, put it down.
If you won't dress like Victoria's Secret Girls, don't expect us to act like soap opera guys.
Birthdays, Valentines, and anniversaries are not quests to see if we can find the perfect present yet again!
If you ask a question you don't want an answer to, expect an answer you don't want to hear.
Sometimes, we're not thinking about you. Live with it. Don't ask us what we're thinking about unless you are prepared to discuss such topics as naval lint, the shotgun formation, or monster trucks.
Sunday = 3D Sports. It's like the full moon or the changing of the tides. Let it be.
Shopping is not a sport and, no, we're never going to think of it that way.
When we have to go somewhere, absolutely anything you wear is fine. Really.
You have enough clothes.
You have too many shoes.
Crying is blackmail.
Ask for what you want. Let's be clear on this one: Subtle hints don work. Strong hints don't work. Really obvious hints don't work. Just say it!
No, we don't know what day it is. We never will. Mark anniversaries on the calendar.
Peeing standing up is more difficult. So we leave a few spots.
Most guys own three pairs of shoes - what makes you think we'd be any good at choosing which pair, out of thirty shoes, would look good with your dress?
Yes and No are perfectly acceptable answers to almost any question.
Come to us with a problem only if you want help solving it. That's what we do. Sympathy is what your girlfriends are for.
A headache that lasts for 17 months is a problem. See a doctor.
Foreign films are best left for foreigners.
Check you oil.
Anything we said 6 months ago is inadmissible in an argument. All comments become null and void after 7 days.
If something we said can be interpreted two ways, and one of the ways makes you sad or angry, we meant the other one.
Let us ogle. We're going to look anyway; it's genetic.
You can either tell us to DO something OR tell us HOW TO DO something, but not both.
Whenever possible, please say whatever you have to say during commercials.
All men see in only 16 colors. Peach is a fruit, not a color.
If it itches, it will be scratched.
If we ask what's wrong and you say "nothing," we will act like nothing's wrong. We know you're lying, but it's just not worth the hassle.
What the heck are doilies?
Learn to work the toilet seat. If it's up, put it down.
If you won't dress like Victoria's Secret Girls, don't expect us to act like soap opera guys.
Birthdays, Valentines, and anniversaries are not quests to see if we can find the perfect present yet again!
If you ask a question you don't want an answer to, expect an answer you don't want to hear.
Sometimes, we're not thinking about you. Live with it. Don't ask us what we're thinking about unless you are prepared to discuss such topics as naval lint, the shotgun formation, or monster trucks.
Sunday = 3D Sports. It's like the full moon or the changing of the tides. Let it be.
Shopping is not a sport and, no, we're never going to think of it that way.
When we have to go somewhere, absolutely anything you wear is fine. Really.
You have enough clothes.
You have too many shoes.
Crying is blackmail.
Ask for what you want. Let's be clear on this one: Subtle hints don work. Strong hints don't work. Really obvious hints don't work. Just say it!
No, we don't know what day it is. We never will. Mark anniversaries on the calendar.
Peeing standing up is more difficult. So we leave a few spots.
Most guys own three pairs of shoes - what makes you think we'd be any good at choosing which pair, out of thirty shoes, would look good with your dress?
Yes and No are perfectly acceptable answers to almost any question.
Come to us with a problem only if you want help solving it. That's what we do. Sympathy is what your girlfriends are for.
A headache that lasts for 17 months is a problem. See a doctor.
Foreign films are best left for foreigners.
Check you oil.
Anything we said 6 months ago is inadmissible in an argument. All comments become null and void after 7 days.
If something we said can be interpreted two ways, and one of the ways makes you sad or angry, we meant the other one.
Let us ogle. We're going to look anyway; it's genetic.
You can either tell us to DO something OR tell us HOW TO DO something, but not both.
Whenever possible, please say whatever you have to say during commercials.
All men see in only 16 colors. Peach is a fruit, not a color.
If it itches, it will be scratched.
If we ask what's wrong and you say "nothing," we will act like nothing's wrong. We know you're lying, but it's just not worth the hassle.
What the heck are doilies?
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
YOU ARE WHAT YOU THINK
It's a psychological law that whatever you desire to accomplish. you must first impress upon your subconscious mind. What you impress upon your mind, you'll inevitably become.
Your inner thoughts can cause you to be rich or poor, loved or unloved, happy or unhappy, attractive or unattractive, powerful or weak.
Relentless, repetitive self-talk will change your self image. You'll affect your subconscious mind with verbal repetition. Constant repetition carries conviction.
When you change your values, you'll change your behavior. Start thinking of yourself as becoming the person you want to be. Self-suggestion will make you the master of yourself.
You can become whatever you want to be.
Your inner thoughts can cause you to be rich or poor, loved or unloved, happy or unhappy, attractive or unattractive, powerful or weak.
Relentless, repetitive self-talk will change your self image. You'll affect your subconscious mind with verbal repetition. Constant repetition carries conviction.
When you change your values, you'll change your behavior. Start thinking of yourself as becoming the person you want to be. Self-suggestion will make you the master of yourself.
You can become whatever you want to be.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
SEATTLE NITWIT
When a man attempted to siphon gasoline from a motor home parked on a Seattle Street, he got much more than he bargained for.
Police arrived at the scene to find an ill man, curled up next to a motor home near spilled sewage. A police spokesman said that the man admitted to trying to steal gasoline and plugged his hose into the motor home's sewage tank by mistake.
The owner of the vehicle declined to press charges, saying that it was the best laugh he'd ever had.
Police arrived at the scene to find an ill man, curled up next to a motor home near spilled sewage. A police spokesman said that the man admitted to trying to steal gasoline and plugged his hose into the motor home's sewage tank by mistake.
The owner of the vehicle declined to press charges, saying that it was the best laugh he'd ever had.
Monday, August 24, 2009
DOG FRIENDS
They told me the big black Lab's name was Reggie as I looked at him lying in his pen, the shelter was clean, no-kill, and the people really friendly. I'd only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open. Everyone waves when you pass them on the street.
But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn't hurt. Give me someone to talk to. And I had just seen Reggie's advertisement on the local news. The shelter said they had received numerous calls right after, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn't look like "Lab people," whatever that meant. They must have thought I did.
At first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys, almost all of which were brand new tennis balls, his dishes, and a sealed letter from his previous owner. See, Reggie and I didn't really hit it off when we got home.
We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his new home). Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to adjust, too. Maybe we were too much alike.
For some reason, his stuff (except for the tennis balls - he wouldn't go anywhere without two stuffed in his mouth) got tossed in with all of my other unpacked boxes. I guess I didn't really think he'd need all his old stuff, that I'd get him new things once he settled in, but it became pretty clear that he wasn't going to.
I tried the normal commands the shelter told me he knew, ones like "sit" and "stay" and "come" and "heel," and he'd follow them - when he felt like it. He never really seemed to listen when I called his name - sure, he'd look in my direction after the fourth or fifth time I said it, but then he'd just go back to doing whatever. When I'd ask again, you could almost see him sigh and then grudgingly obey.
This just wasn't going to work. He chewed a couple shoes and some unpacked boxes. I was a little too stern with him and he resented it, I could tell. The friction got so bad that I couldn't wait for the two weeks to be up, and when it was, I was in full-on search mode for my cell phone amid all of my unpacked stuff. I remembered leaving it on the stack of boxes for the guest room, but I also mumbled, rather cynically, that the "dang dog probably hid it on me."
Finally I found it, but before I could punch up the shelter's number, I also found his pad and other toys from the shelter. I tossed the pad in Reggie's direction and he sniffed it and wagged, some of the most enthusiasm I'd seen since bringing him home. But then I called, "Hey, Reggie, you like that? Come here and I'll give you a treat." Instead, he sort of glanced in my direction - maybe "glared" is more accurate - and then gave a discontented sigh and flopped down, with his back to me.
Well, that's not going to do it either, I thought. And I punched the shelter phone number. But I hung up when I saw the sealed envelope. I had completely forgotten about that, too. "Okay, Reggie," I said out loud, "let's see if your previous owner has any advice.
"To Whoever Gets My Dog. . . . Well, I can't say that I'm happy you're reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie's new owner. I'm not even happy writing it. If you're reading this, it means I just got back from my last car ride with my Lab after dropping him off at the shelter. He knew something was different. I have packed up his pad and toys before and set them by the back door before a trip, but this time. . .it's like he knew something was wrong. And something is wrong . . which is why I have to go to try to make it right. So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help you bond with him and he with you.
"First, he loves tennis balls, the more the merrier. Sometimes I think he's part squirrel, the way he hordes them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there - hasn't done it yet. Doesn't matter where you throw them, he'll bound after it, so be careful - really don't do it by any roads. I made that mistake once, and it almost cost him dearly.
"Next, - commands. Maybe the shelter staff already told you, but I'll go over them again. Reggie knows the obvious ones - "sit," "stay," "come," "heel." He knows hand signal - "back" to turn around and go back when you put your hand straight up; "over" if you put your hand out right or left; "shake" for shaking water off, and "paw" for a high-five. He does "down" when he feels like lying down - I bet you could work on that with him some more. He knows "ball" and "food" and "bone" and "treat" like nobody's business. I trained Reggie with small food treats. Nothing opens his ears like little pieces of hot dog.
"Feeding schedule - Twice a day; once about seven in the morning, and again at six in the evening. Regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand.
"He's up on his shots. Call the clinic on 9th Street and update his info with yours; they'll make sure to send you reminders for when he's due. Be forewarned: Reggie hates the vet. Good luck getting him in the car - I don't know how he knows when it's time to go to the vet, but he knows.
"Finally, give him some time. I've never been married, so it's only been Reggie and me for his whole life. He's gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can. He sits well in the backseat, and he doesn't bark or complain. He just loves to be around people and me most especially, which means that this transition is going to be hard, with him going to live with someone new. And that's why I need to share one more bit of info with you. . .
"His name's not Reggie.
"I don't know what made me do it, but when I dropped him off at the shelter, I told them his name was Reggie. He's a smart dog, he'll get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt, but I just couldn't bear to give them his real name. For me to do that, it seemed so final, that handing him over to the shelter was as good as me admitting that I'd never see him again. And if I end up coming back, getting him, and tearing up this letter, it means every thing's fine. But if someone else is reading it, well. . . well it means that his new owner should know his real name. It'll help you bond with him. Who knows, maybe you'll even notice a change in his demeanor if he's been giving you problems.
"His real name is Tank, because that is what I drive.
"Again, if you're reading this and you're from the area, maybe my name has been on the news. I told the shelter that they couldn't make "Reggie" available for adoption until they received word from my company commander. See, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could've left Tank with. . . and it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq, that they make one phone call to the shelter. . . in the "event". . . to tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily, my colonel is a dog guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed. He said he'd do it personally. And if you're reading this, then he made good on his word.
"Well, this letter is getting to downright depressing, even though, frankly, I'm just writing it for my dog. I couldn't imagine if I was writing it for a wife and kids and family, but still, Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family. And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he loved me.
"That unconditional love from a dog is what I took with me to Iraq as an inspiration to do something selfless, to protect innocent people from those who would do terrible things. . . and to keep those terrible people from coming over here. If I had to give up Tank in order to do it, I am glad to have done so. He was my example of service and of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades.
"All right, that's enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter. I don't think I'll say another good-bye to Tank, though. I cried too much the first time. Maybe I'll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth.
"Good luck with Tank. Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight - every night - from me.
Thank you, Paul Mallory"
I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Sure I had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the Silver Star when he gave his life to save three buddies. Flags had been at half-mast all summer.
I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the dog.
"Hey, Tank," I said quietly.
The dog's head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright.
"Come 'mere boy."
He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head tilted, searching for the name he hadn't heard in months.
"Tank," I whispered.
His tail swished. I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my face into his scruff and hugged him.
"It's me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal gave you to me."
Tank reached up and licked my cheek.
"So what da-ya say we play some ball? His ears perked again.
"Yeah? Ball? You like that? Ball?"
Tank tore from my hands and disappeared in the next room. And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.
But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn't hurt. Give me someone to talk to. And I had just seen Reggie's advertisement on the local news. The shelter said they had received numerous calls right after, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn't look like "Lab people," whatever that meant. They must have thought I did.
At first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys, almost all of which were brand new tennis balls, his dishes, and a sealed letter from his previous owner. See, Reggie and I didn't really hit it off when we got home.
We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his new home). Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to adjust, too. Maybe we were too much alike.
For some reason, his stuff (except for the tennis balls - he wouldn't go anywhere without two stuffed in his mouth) got tossed in with all of my other unpacked boxes. I guess I didn't really think he'd need all his old stuff, that I'd get him new things once he settled in, but it became pretty clear that he wasn't going to.
I tried the normal commands the shelter told me he knew, ones like "sit" and "stay" and "come" and "heel," and he'd follow them - when he felt like it. He never really seemed to listen when I called his name - sure, he'd look in my direction after the fourth or fifth time I said it, but then he'd just go back to doing whatever. When I'd ask again, you could almost see him sigh and then grudgingly obey.
This just wasn't going to work. He chewed a couple shoes and some unpacked boxes. I was a little too stern with him and he resented it, I could tell. The friction got so bad that I couldn't wait for the two weeks to be up, and when it was, I was in full-on search mode for my cell phone amid all of my unpacked stuff. I remembered leaving it on the stack of boxes for the guest room, but I also mumbled, rather cynically, that the "dang dog probably hid it on me."
Finally I found it, but before I could punch up the shelter's number, I also found his pad and other toys from the shelter. I tossed the pad in Reggie's direction and he sniffed it and wagged, some of the most enthusiasm I'd seen since bringing him home. But then I called, "Hey, Reggie, you like that? Come here and I'll give you a treat." Instead, he sort of glanced in my direction - maybe "glared" is more accurate - and then gave a discontented sigh and flopped down, with his back to me.
Well, that's not going to do it either, I thought. And I punched the shelter phone number. But I hung up when I saw the sealed envelope. I had completely forgotten about that, too. "Okay, Reggie," I said out loud, "let's see if your previous owner has any advice.
"To Whoever Gets My Dog. . . . Well, I can't say that I'm happy you're reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie's new owner. I'm not even happy writing it. If you're reading this, it means I just got back from my last car ride with my Lab after dropping him off at the shelter. He knew something was different. I have packed up his pad and toys before and set them by the back door before a trip, but this time. . .it's like he knew something was wrong. And something is wrong . . which is why I have to go to try to make it right. So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help you bond with him and he with you.
"First, he loves tennis balls, the more the merrier. Sometimes I think he's part squirrel, the way he hordes them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there - hasn't done it yet. Doesn't matter where you throw them, he'll bound after it, so be careful - really don't do it by any roads. I made that mistake once, and it almost cost him dearly.
"Next, - commands. Maybe the shelter staff already told you, but I'll go over them again. Reggie knows the obvious ones - "sit," "stay," "come," "heel." He knows hand signal - "back" to turn around and go back when you put your hand straight up; "over" if you put your hand out right or left; "shake" for shaking water off, and "paw" for a high-five. He does "down" when he feels like lying down - I bet you could work on that with him some more. He knows "ball" and "food" and "bone" and "treat" like nobody's business. I trained Reggie with small food treats. Nothing opens his ears like little pieces of hot dog.
"Feeding schedule - Twice a day; once about seven in the morning, and again at six in the evening. Regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand.
"He's up on his shots. Call the clinic on 9th Street and update his info with yours; they'll make sure to send you reminders for when he's due. Be forewarned: Reggie hates the vet. Good luck getting him in the car - I don't know how he knows when it's time to go to the vet, but he knows.
"Finally, give him some time. I've never been married, so it's only been Reggie and me for his whole life. He's gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can. He sits well in the backseat, and he doesn't bark or complain. He just loves to be around people and me most especially, which means that this transition is going to be hard, with him going to live with someone new. And that's why I need to share one more bit of info with you. . .
"His name's not Reggie.
"I don't know what made me do it, but when I dropped him off at the shelter, I told them his name was Reggie. He's a smart dog, he'll get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt, but I just couldn't bear to give them his real name. For me to do that, it seemed so final, that handing him over to the shelter was as good as me admitting that I'd never see him again. And if I end up coming back, getting him, and tearing up this letter, it means every thing's fine. But if someone else is reading it, well. . . well it means that his new owner should know his real name. It'll help you bond with him. Who knows, maybe you'll even notice a change in his demeanor if he's been giving you problems.
"His real name is Tank, because that is what I drive.
"Again, if you're reading this and you're from the area, maybe my name has been on the news. I told the shelter that they couldn't make "Reggie" available for adoption until they received word from my company commander. See, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could've left Tank with. . . and it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq, that they make one phone call to the shelter. . . in the "event". . . to tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily, my colonel is a dog guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed. He said he'd do it personally. And if you're reading this, then he made good on his word.
"Well, this letter is getting to downright depressing, even though, frankly, I'm just writing it for my dog. I couldn't imagine if I was writing it for a wife and kids and family, but still, Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family. And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he loved me.
"That unconditional love from a dog is what I took with me to Iraq as an inspiration to do something selfless, to protect innocent people from those who would do terrible things. . . and to keep those terrible people from coming over here. If I had to give up Tank in order to do it, I am glad to have done so. He was my example of service and of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades.
"All right, that's enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter. I don't think I'll say another good-bye to Tank, though. I cried too much the first time. Maybe I'll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth.
"Good luck with Tank. Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight - every night - from me.
Thank you, Paul Mallory"
I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Sure I had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the Silver Star when he gave his life to save three buddies. Flags had been at half-mast all summer.
I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the dog.
"Hey, Tank," I said quietly.
The dog's head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright.
"Come 'mere boy."
He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head tilted, searching for the name he hadn't heard in months.
"Tank," I whispered.
His tail swished. I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my face into his scruff and hugged him.
"It's me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal gave you to me."
Tank reached up and licked my cheek.
"So what da-ya say we play some ball? His ears perked again.
"Yeah? Ball? You like that? Ball?"
Tank tore from my hands and disappeared in the next room. And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.
RED NECKS
"Hello, is this the FBI?"
"Yes, What do you want?"
"I'm calling to report about my neighbor, Billy Bob Smith! He's hiding marijuana inside his firewood."
"Thank you very much for the call, sir."
The next day, the FBI agents descended on Billy Bob's house. They searched the shed where the firewood was kept. Using axes, they busted open every piece of wood, but found no marijuana. They got mad, swore at Billy Bob and left.
The phone rings at Billy Bob's house.
"Hey, Billy Bob! Did the FBI come?"
"Yeah."
"Did they chop up your firewood?"
"Yep."
"Happy birthday, buddy!"
"Yes, What do you want?"
"I'm calling to report about my neighbor, Billy Bob Smith! He's hiding marijuana inside his firewood."
"Thank you very much for the call, sir."
The next day, the FBI agents descended on Billy Bob's house. They searched the shed where the firewood was kept. Using axes, they busted open every piece of wood, but found no marijuana. They got mad, swore at Billy Bob and left.
The phone rings at Billy Bob's house.
"Hey, Billy Bob! Did the FBI come?"
"Yeah."
"Did they chop up your firewood?"
"Yep."
"Happy birthday, buddy!"
Sunday, August 23, 2009
The Man in the Glass
When you get what you want in your struggle for self
And the world makes you king for a day
Just go to the mirror and look at yourself and
see what the man has to say.
For it isn't your father or mother or wife
whose judgment upon you must pass
The fellow whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the one staring you back from the glass.
Some people may think you're a straight-shootin' chum
and call you a wonderful guy
But the man in the glass says you're only a bum
If you can't look him straight in the eye.
He's the one you must please, never mind all the rest
For he's with you clear to the end
And you've passed life's most difficult dangerous test
If the man in the glass is our friend.
You may fool the whole world down the pathway of years
and get pats on the back as you pass
But your final reward will be heartache and tears
If you've cheated the man in the glass!!!
Friday, August 21, 2009
Somebody Stole MY BODY!
We have all heard about the person whose kidneys were stolen while he was passed out. While that was an "urban legend," this one is not. It's happening every day. I'm sending this "warning" only to a few of my closest friends. You too may have been a victim. READ ON!
My thigh were stolen from me during the night of August 3rd a few years ago. It was just that quick. I went to sleep in my body and work up with someone else's thighs. The new ones had the texture of cooked oatmeal. Who would have done such a cruel thing to legs that had been wholly, if imperfectly, mine for years? Whose thighs were these? What happened to mine?
I spent the entire summer looking for them. I searched, in vain, at pools and beaches, anywhere I might find female limbs exposed. I became obsessed. I had nightmares filled with cellulite and flesh that turns to bumps in the night. Finally, hurt and angry, I resigned myself to living out my life in jeans and Sheer Energy pantyhose.
Then, just when my guard was down, the thieves struck again. My rear end was next. I knew it was the same gang, because they took pains to match my new rear end (although badly attached at least three inches lower than the original) to the thighs they had stuck me with earlier. Now my rear complemented my legs, lump for lump. Frantic, I prayed that long skirts would come back into fashion.
Two years ago I realized my arms had been switched. One morning while fixing my hair, I watched horrified, but fascinated, as the flesh of my upper arms swung to and fro with the motion of the hairbrush. This was really getting scary. My body was being replaced, cleverly and fiendishly, one section at a time. In the end in deepening despair, I gave up my T-shirts. What could they do to me next?
Age? Age had nothing to do with it. Age was supposed to creep up, unnoticed and intangible, something like maturity. NO, I was being attacked, repeatedly and without warning. That's why I've decided to share my story. I can't take on the medical profession by myself.
Women of America, wake up and smell the coffee! That isn't really "plastic" those surgeons are using. You know where they're getting those replacement parts, don't you?
The next time you suspect someone has had a face "lifted," look again! Was it lifted from you? Check out those tummy tucks and buttocks raisings. Look familiar? Are those your eyelids on that movie star?
I think I finally may have found my thighs . . . and I hope that Cindy Crawford paid a really good price for them!
This is NOT a hoax!
This is happening to omen in every town every night.
Warn your friends . . .
My thigh were stolen from me during the night of August 3rd a few years ago. It was just that quick. I went to sleep in my body and work up with someone else's thighs. The new ones had the texture of cooked oatmeal. Who would have done such a cruel thing to legs that had been wholly, if imperfectly, mine for years? Whose thighs were these? What happened to mine?
I spent the entire summer looking for them. I searched, in vain, at pools and beaches, anywhere I might find female limbs exposed. I became obsessed. I had nightmares filled with cellulite and flesh that turns to bumps in the night. Finally, hurt and angry, I resigned myself to living out my life in jeans and Sheer Energy pantyhose.
Then, just when my guard was down, the thieves struck again. My rear end was next. I knew it was the same gang, because they took pains to match my new rear end (although badly attached at least three inches lower than the original) to the thighs they had stuck me with earlier. Now my rear complemented my legs, lump for lump. Frantic, I prayed that long skirts would come back into fashion.
Two years ago I realized my arms had been switched. One morning while fixing my hair, I watched horrified, but fascinated, as the flesh of my upper arms swung to and fro with the motion of the hairbrush. This was really getting scary. My body was being replaced, cleverly and fiendishly, one section at a time. In the end in deepening despair, I gave up my T-shirts. What could they do to me next?
Age? Age had nothing to do with it. Age was supposed to creep up, unnoticed and intangible, something like maturity. NO, I was being attacked, repeatedly and without warning. That's why I've decided to share my story. I can't take on the medical profession by myself.
Women of America, wake up and smell the coffee! That isn't really "plastic" those surgeons are using. You know where they're getting those replacement parts, don't you?
The next time you suspect someone has had a face "lifted," look again! Was it lifted from you? Check out those tummy tucks and buttocks raisings. Look familiar? Are those your eyelids on that movie star?
I think I finally may have found my thighs . . . and I hope that Cindy Crawford paid a really good price for them!
This is NOT a hoax!
This is happening to omen in every town every night.
Warn your friends . . .
A child's definition:
A father was approached by his small son, who told him proudly, "I know what the Bible means!"
His father smiled and replied, "What do you mean, you 'know' what the Bible means?"
The son replied, "I do know!"
"Okay," said the father. "So, Son, what does the Bible mean?"
"That's easy, Daddy. It stands for 'Basic Information Before Leaving Earth.'"
A father was approached by his small son, who told him proudly, "I know what the Bible means!"
His father smiled and replied, "What do you mean, you 'know' what the Bible means?"
The son replied, "I do know!"
"Okay," said the father. "So, Son, what does the Bible mean?"
"That's easy, Daddy. It stands for 'Basic Information Before Leaving Earth.'"
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