Shut Up!

For a cat lover, this may sound strange:

I hate cats!

Well, not true, really.

But I am SICK of cleaning the stupid scratch box every day.  I've never minded scooping poop.  But this is getting old.  Every day?  Come on guys!  Really?  Every day?

It's even worse when I try to get the scoop "under" but it cuts right through like a knife.  Ewwww...

Plus yesterday DJ was ticking me off with his LOUD demanding meows from the kitchen.  Yes, I guess you want more food, huh?  You GOT PLENTY of food!

Then his loud demanding yowl by the glass sliding door.  Yes, we KNOW you want out, but you're not going out.  That's a privilege reserved for when your master is home on the weekends.

We're the ultimate selfish couple... no kids.. and no cats.  We use those of others to satisfy our brat & cat needs.

Paddling ~ Upstream or Down?

In Hazard Perry Forest National Park one of the trails leads up to a fire lookout.

One summer I hiked up to it, not expecting anything other than to rest a while and turn around to head back down again.

“Did you want to fill up your canteen?” came a shout from the deck high above me.  The ranger was looking down and waving.

I accepted his invitation, and followed his directions to ascend the stairs up to the entryway.

What a view from up there!  Forest green carpeted the land for miles around.  Granite rocky hills stuck up here and there.  Off to the east I could see the mist from the falls, and the wide blue river leading to them snaked in and out of sight behind the trees and hills.

The ranger explained that while his main purpose was to keep an eye on fires (he even pointed out three that were burning, though nothing to be alarmed about) he also kept an eye on “idiots” as he called them.

He positioned the high-powered binoculars mounted in a post in the center, then motioned me to look.

I could see a man in a blue flannel shirt and green hunting cap paddling a canoe upstream.  He was working pretty hard at it, and it occurred to me that the dangerous falls were just a few miles behind him.

“This guy is okay by me,” said the Ranger.  “He’s doing the right thing.  However, sometimes I see him just relaxing with his oars up in the boat, enjoying the river as he drifts downstream.  That’s not recommended, but we don’t say anything.”

At this point I agreed, since I knew those falls very well from hearing about the many accidents and deaths that had occurred there.

“The worst, though,” continued the ranger, “is when he turns and actually paddles downstream, toward the falls”.

“Wow!  What then?” I asked.

I write him a letter and warn him that he needs to turn around and paddle upstream again.

“A letter?”

“Yes, a well-written, serious yet tactful letter”.

“Does that work?”

“Well, he’s not gone over yet!”

Higher

We're all trying to do the right thing.

Sometimes we hold out our hand and help our friend step up higher.

Other times when we slide back a few steps we pull our friend with us.

The intent is always to move heavenward.

brb

brb!

No Comment

"He remained silent on the subject.

It was, after all, what started everything."

into weather

To shut my mouth and then to walk for miles and miles and miles

Tears of a Dog

Seeing a video on Youtube about a man who sang a lullaby to a box of puppies and put them all to sleep reminded me... 18 years ago yesterday I was strolling along the Historic Canals of Venice Beach, California, and saw an extraordinary sight. Dusk was falling, the sun had set, but in the still waters I could see the reflection of bright red round sun. That was oddly beautiful and mysterious. Laughter echoed in the canal-laced neighborhood from somewhere around the corner. There was music. Talking... no it was singing. Just short bits of song. Then a group of pedestrians appeared, led by a woman in a cotton floral dress holding and strumming the strings of great acoustic guitar. Her followers applauded her recent effort and she laughed. As they came toward me, their attention was caught by a chained dog in one of the yards. They stopped and uttered "awwwws" of pity at the trapped animal, not only imprisoned behind his morning-glory flower embroidered wire fence, but also held by a snug red leather collar and an unusual metal chain. The chain was strange... it was a braid of three smaller chains, leading from his collar to a ringed metal stake securely pounded into the grass in the center of the area. The woman began another song, this time in French, and faced the dog as if to serenade it. Although I could not understand the words, her companions seemed to, and now I was convinced they were either French tourists on holiday, or perhaps Italians who just knew French. This is because some of them seemed to sing along softly. The dog... he looked up as he lay there, and when she had begun her song he stood up, his tail wagging excitedly. Animals don't really "get" music, so he obviously was just enjoying the attention. He was a small dog, black, a puppy at first glance, but then I could see grey in his muzzle so I realized he was an adult. Where was I this whole time? Well, I had slowly ambled down the cement walk toward the group and stood at the corner of the yard, leaning against the green leaves entwined in the wire fence. Here's where I could see both the singer, her group and the dog clearly. A couple of people looked at me and smiled and I smiled back... this was really cool... live music at dusk in Venice Beach... and in the quiet canal neighorhood, no less! The dog seemed to lose interest, and stretched, then lay back down. He rolled onto his side after a bit, and by the twitching of his tail I knew that he was dreaming. Happy dreams I would venture to guess... he nearly rolled onto his back at one point... so full of peace. The song ended... (and it may have been Italian but I think it was in French)... and the dog rolled back onto his belly, awake, but did not stand. His little doggy eyes looked suddenly watery. An allergy from night blossoms, perhaps? The sky was getting dark and the air was becoming chill. It looked like a tear dripped from the wide eye that was closest to me. This couldn't be true, but it did look like he was weeping. The group uttered a few more "awws" (I think they thought the same thing, that he looked like he was shedding tears) but soon laughed and moved on. I stood flat against the fence to let them all pass along the narrow walkway. There was a smell of perfume, probably more than one kind that hit me. Then they were gone. I didn't follow although if it hadn't been so late, or if I'd been invited, I might have considered it. The full moon had risen... and I could see it right where I'd seen that image of the red sun in the still water.