Battle Scars

Last night I watched the Kansas City Royals whip the Baltimore Orioles to go up 2-0 in their best of seven series. At roughly the same time that this was happening, the two SEC teams from the state of Mississippi were busy beating the snot out of their opponents, causing me to wonder what could possibly be next. Are the Cleveland Browns about to embark on a ten game winning streak?

While all of this was happening, Lucy and I were furiously engaged in a game we like to call, “Find Daddy’s Face,” whereby I lay on the floor face down trying to cover my entire head with my arms while Lucy searches for a weakness in my defenses with her probing wet nose and powerful paws. Molly was especially gifted at this game, and Lucy is equally enthusiastic, and never fails to burst through and end the game in a flurry of wild puppy kisses to the face. Only, somehow along the way one of her ginormous paws happened to slice across one of my ears. Caught up in the game, I ignored the brief but searing pain. It was only ten minutes later that I sensed something warm on that ear and asked Pam to inspect the damage. Only then did I notice the blood stains on the shoulder of my shirt. Lucy’s razor-sharp claws had inadvertently sliced a thin line down from the top of the ear down close to the lobe and it was bleeding like crazy.

This wound is just the latest in a series of gashes, cuts and bruises administered to me by my wildly enthusiastic puppy. The back of my hands are littered with teeth and claw marks, my right forearm looks like a drug-addicts worst nightmare. In other words, it’s awesome!

What’s the point of having a dog if you can’t get down on the floor and wrestle? Of course, Pam thinks it’s ridiculous and that we “play too hard!” What do women know about such things? Nothing, that’s what.

Lucy the Digger

Ok, so Lucy is a rain lover. She sees no difference between bright sunshine and drizzling rain. She stands at the back door giving us her best “I really got to go,” whine until we get up and let her out. Once she gets out onto the deck, she picks up a soggy ball in her mouth, turns around and stares back at us as if to say, “Well? Can’t you see that I want to play fetch?”

Once she realizes that we are wimps, she goes out into the yard to do her business, and she takes her sweet time doing it, wandering around in full sniff mode. She eventually comes back onto the deck, where she perches herself at the top of the steps, sits down and surveys her kingdom, with not a care in the world and oblivious to the rain.

After a week of puppy life we couldn’t be happier. This adorable dog seems to grow noticeably overnight, every night. We are both starting to worry about just how large she may become. Of course, she still plops herself down directly on our laps as though she were still 2 months old, a comical sight.

We also have in Lucy… a digger. Nothing gives her more joy than to furiously gouge great holes in my backyard next to tree roots and such. This will be item number one in her next Puppy I dog training class at Petco. But the good news is that she adores the back yard. Unlike Molly who loved being outside as long as we were outside with her, Lucy is fascinated with every breeze, every smell and every sound. She is particularly fond of pine cones. As I write this she is in the middle of the yard laying on her belly going to town on a rather large one all in the midst of a fine mist. Whenever she gets tired of the pine cone, she grabs a mouthful of grass. By next Spring I’ll have no grass and a yard full of ankle-breaking holes!

Selling the Heavens

One of the great things about having a blog is that you are able to get things off your chest in a public forum. Sometimes it involves grand political issues, but other times, it’s just the little irritants of life. When a life irritant happens to collide with human vanity, well, then that’s just a bonus.

The other day I heard a radio advertisement that I have heard a thousand times before. It has always bothered me, but especially so this time. You all have heard it too. Maybe some of you have actually fallen for it. If so, try not to take this personally…but you’re an idiot.

The International Star Registry is a monument to the unbridled hubris of man, exhibit A in the case against man as an intelligent being. Human beings have been laying on their backs in fields at night staring up at the great canopy of heavenly lights for millennia, but it took 20^th century hucksters to come up with the idea of selling them to us. “Name a star after someone,” the announcer shrieks. “Give the gift that will last a lifetime!!”

A visit to their website is even more repulsive than this 30 second pitch. There we discover that there are three levels of stupidity associated with this scam, Custom, Deluxe, and Ultimate. I mean, if you’re going to name a star after someone, screw Custom and Deluxe, right? Go big or go home. What does this Ultimate package get you? A personalized star chart, for one thing, along with a handy wallet sized card with your stars’ coordinates. Yeah, you wouldn’t want to be caught away from home without proof of your intergalactic property rights. The big prize, of course, is your 20X16 framed certificate of authenticity done up in only the finest calligraphy in the Galaxy.

Here’s the money paragraph:

    Flowers, cards, and candy are nice; when you name a star after someone, it will stand the test of time. When you buy a star from us, you will be buying a gift that you can share forever.”

…..when you buy a star from us????

When did the scumbags at the International Star Registry come into possession of the cosmos? Better yet, who were the previous owners? How much did they pay for the heavenly hosts?

Can you imagine what it would be like to hear the CEO of this abomination of a company trying to explain to his kids what he does for a living?   “Well, Daddy pretends that he actually owns the stars so he can presume to have the authority to sell their naming rights to all the idiots in the world.”

When George Bailey promised Mary that he would lasso the moon and give it to her in It’s a Wonderful Life, I’m pretty sure it was a figure of speech. When the ancient Greeks came up with the names of the Zodiac, they did so out of a desire to extract meaning from the heavens, born from the awe that the stars of the universe stirred within them. 5,000 years later, a bunch of slimy hucksters gaze into the firmament and see nothing but an opportunity to make a buck trading on the pride of mankind.

…twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are?

Maybe that's it...we've lost the wonder.

Has My Country Lost Its Mind?

The Ebola outbreak in West Africa has claimed the lives of thousands of Africans and several westerners there trying to treat the sick. Somehow this disaster has become a political issue in the United States. Every day it seems we hear new hysterical news reports of faulty screenings at airports, accusations of political correctness preventing a properly frank appraisal of the issue to the American people, and our porous borders being a potential portal for the spread of the disease. The noted infectious disease expert, Rush Limbaugh, has even suggested that President Obama has intentionally allowed infected West Africans into the country as payback for slavery.

Good Lord!

This story is proof positive that everything, and I do mean everything in this country is political. But it’s also disturbing proof that there is no end to the list of jobs that the United States military is asked to do that have nothing whatsoever to do with killing people and breaking things. 3000 military personnel have been sent into the midst of an Ebola outbreak in a foreign country with a fuzzy mission of unknown duration. Am I the only one who finds this to be a ridiculous use of military assets? What’s next? Will the first armored division soon be deployed to Shanghai to assist the local police with rush hour traffic?

In my opinion, an outbreak of an infectious disease in Country A. is a regrettable tragedy for Country A. Country B has an obligation to see to it that the disease stays in Country A. since its primary constitutional obligation is to the citizens of Country B. not Country A. This does not mean that Country B. cannot send doctors and nurses to assist Country A., but it must be at their invitation. It would seem self-evidently clear that Country B. would severely restrict, if not prohibit altogether, travel from Country A. to Country B. until the disease has been checked. This policy would not have roots in racism, or colonialism or imperialism, but rather would be a natural response born of common sense.  

But, this is not the world where we live. Instead, with the active aid of a sensational media, whipping up hysteria to feed the 24/7 news cycle, Ebola in Liberia has become a political and even a racial issue with possibly implications for the November elections.

Only in America.

My New Routine

I have a new routine. It has been unavoidable. You cannot introduce a 5 month old puppy into your life without a few life alterations. The first has been to my bank account, significantly lighter since Lucy’s arrival. Pam cannot leave the house without “picking up a few things” for the puppy. She has already amassed quite an impressive stash of sparkling new chew toys, not to mention her shiny new dog bone shaped ID collar with Lucy Dunnevant etched into the silver plate. Her new bright red food bowls look smart sitting on her giant food tray in the corner of the breakfast nook. At this pace, Pam will be on Petco’s permanent Christmas card list before the end of the month.

My old routine was much less exciting. I would wake up somewhere between 5:30 and 6:30, walk downstairs and make coffee. Nothing else could happen until that coffee was brewed. Then I would check the news on the internet, spend 15 minutes or so inspecting any overnight damage that may have befallen foreign markets, and then write a blog entry if I was so inspired.

My new Lucy-inspired routine still involves the brewing of coffee, but it has to wait until I have released her from her crate and endured a wildly enthusiastic greeting of puppy kisses to the face. After sitting on the floor with her so she can sit on me while giving me more kisses, she races to her toy basket and picks out a favorite for a vigorous game of tug-o-war. Only then does she realize that she really, really needs to pee. So, she marches over to the back door and lets out a discreet whine. I take advantage of this break to brew my coffee and at least make an attempt to check out the news. When she comes back in, she is ready to rumble, so a bout of puppy wrestling takes place in the family room. Only after all of this does she assume her favorite position on the sofa for a very brief break, which I use to continue what used to be my regular routine. Then, after about ten minutes, it dawns on Lucy that she is hungry. Break time is over!

This new routine is extraordinarily inefficient. By the time she gets settled down, it’s time for me to get a shower. I will have to come up with a different schedule for keeping myself informed of world events and writing blog posts. Mornings are now officially Lucy Time!

What Does Money Actually Buy?

Everybody knows that money doesn’t buy happiness, although for short periods of time, it can rent it, but that’s a story for another day. It is generally understood by all but the most superficial among us that the best things in life, the most enduring things don’t require money... friendship, loyalty, courage, etc..etc. However, in sports the opposite seems to be true. If your team wants to compete they better be willing to spend some serious money, right?

We are a week into the baseball postseason, and I am thrilled. I attended my very first playoff game the other night and along with 44,044 others saw my Nationals lose 3-2 to the San Francisco Giants. Despite the loss, it was a glorious thing to behold. I had a sore throat for two days! Last night I watched the Kansas City Royals finish off a sweep of the heavily favored Anaheim Angels, possessors of the best record in baseball, and it got me to thinking. Does money equal success in Major League baseball?

There are 30 teams in the Major Leagues. The two worst teams in baseball this year were the Texas Rangers and the Arizona Diamondbacks. The Rangers payroll was the 8^th richest in baseball, the Diamondbacks, the 11^th richest. In fairness, the lowest payroll in baseball belongs to the Houston Astros, the third worst team in the league. But, what about teams that have made the playoffs?

Those Kansas City Royals who just swept the mighty Angels out of the playoffs did so with only the 19^th highest payroll in the league. The Angels, by contrast checked in with a whopping $155,700,000 payroll, good for 6^th highest. Of the ten teams that made the postseason, five of them are among the top ten payrolls in the game, while the other five are ranked anywhere from 13^th to 27^th. So, I suppose that the results are inconclusive. But wouldn’t it be great if the World Series ended up pitting the highest payroll in the game against the 19^th highest payroll? For those of you keeping score at home, that would be the Los Angeles Dodgers with their $235,000,000 worth of talent against the Kansas City Royals who have managed to get by spending only $92,000,000.

Of course, everything is relative. It’s hard to consider any franchise rich enough to lavish 92 million dollars on a bunch of guys to play baseball as a “little guy.” Player salaries long ago entered the realm of things for which there can be no rational explanation. But having said that, unless my Nationals can storm back from a 0-2 deficit to beat the Giants, I’ll be pulling for the Royals the rest of the way.

Now For the Hard Part

Lucy has taken over the Dunnevant house and all those who live therein. She has managed in five short days to thoroughly steal our hearts. She has accomplished this great feat despite several missteps:

1.     She is scared to death of practically everything. Raising the shades, running the garbage disposal, picking up anything larger than a breadbox causes her great tumult. The sound of wind, small black lanterns, the unexpected shutting of a door are things that produce in her a deep sense of foreboding and gloom. Most terrifying of all seems to be the dreaded food-processor!

2.     Although she is house broken to a certain extent, she is not 100% so. One poop, thoughtfully deposited on the hard wood floors of the dining room, and a pee on our already stained beyond remedy master bedroom carpeting have brought out Molly-era wooded gates at key strategic points throughout the downstairs.

3.     Taking her for a walk in the neighborhood is something close to shock therapy. So many smells, so many barking dogs and scary noises! Just about the time she seems to not be terrified, an acorn will fall to the ground, or a flock of geese will appear overhead causing unhinged panic to ensue.

On the other hand, she has had her first bath and behaved marvelously. She was a model passenger in her first car ride, and she is the best snuggler ever. At some point yesterday, I laid down on the sofa for a nap and before long, Lucy had climbed up and laid down across my chest and was soon snoring like a lumberjack. I hope I have not set a bad precedent by allowing this, since at some point she will be a 90 pound snuggler! But, it is exceedingly difficult to disturb a sleeping puppy. It just may be the most comforting thing in the world to have a puppy fall asleep on your chest.

Much must be done to plan for her care in the coming weeks. Pam has informed me that since I have been the one lobbying for this dog, I need to be responsible for the legwork associated with her care. She will be returning to work next week and we will be away on a vacation the week after that, so I will be in charge of working out the details. It’s only fair.