prejudice barks again

Meet my friend Shylo.  She and I room together along with my wife, mother in law and three other dogs.  I belong to Shylo.  I am her human.
She adopted me so that I could feed her, love her, bathe her and clean up after her.   She allows my wife to tag along because she needs someone the give her a hair cut.  She just tolerates my mother in law.

She is a great mother.  She has had two litters.   She  had eight in the first litter and 7 in the second litter.  They were all healthy and she did a great job of protecting them and mothering them.  She is just an all around great dog in every way that dogs can be great. 

Why do I bring this up?  What is the point?  Well I just learned that people are prejudiced against "black dogs".  That's right, black dogs.  I not saying it is political, it is just a fact.  At least it is here in California.  Black dogs are rejected at the kennels at a much higher rate than other dogs and therefore more are euthanized.  In order to get more people to adopt black dogs they paint their cages white and tie colorful bandannas around their neck.

I beg of you America, go out and adopt a black dog.  Lets show the world that we are not prejudiced.
Also, Shylo is pregnant again and her puppies are going to need loving homes.


frustrated male

Today I went shopping at my favorite store, "Home Depot".  The Macy's for men.
Tools, lumber, pipes and various other items for a man to dream  about while he shops.

Here's a little information for the women reading this blog.  A man shops different than a woman.  We know what we want when we leave the house. We go directly to the store, walk directly to what we want to buy and we are done.  We do not want to look all over the blasted store to find what we need,

Dreaming about tools and projects is what we do to kill time when the wife expects a project to be worked on.  When we want an item we want it to be where it has always been.

Today's trip was to buy rat poison and bug spray.  No big  deal.  It has always been on the shelf on the north wall of the store.  But today it wasn't there.  They moved it.  They moved my rat poison.  Now you might not think that is a problem,  All you need to do is ask someone.

With a man that will never happen.  When we are lost we will never stop to ask directions.  It's much better to wander around hoping for the best.

As I wandered around hoping for the best I noticed a gigantic picture of the store manager hanging high up on the front wall.  There "she" was in all her glory with a great big smile and a promise to be of service.
Then it dawned on me.  "She" moved my rat poison.  "She" was trying to force me to shop like a women.  "She moved everything so I would have  to hunt all over the store and end up spending more money.  My wife would love it.  She can shop and hunt for hours.  I hate it.  I want in and I want out.

Now we have  women messing in the last place where men can go to hide.  I know what's coming next.  They will tag me when I walk in and when my wife calls looking for me, the lady clerk will say "yes ma'am, he's on aisle 9. Yes ma'am,  I'll have him pick up some milk on the way home.

I did find a skill saw and power drill on sale.  I got a great deal.



"Golden Retriever dies in hot car".  This was not a TV news story.  This was not a news paper headline..  I don't think it even made the back pages of the local paper.

I heard about it in my writing class.  It was an awful thing to hear.  My mind and attention immediately left the reader and went to the dog.  I pictured it going from window to window, pawing at the glass, trying to get out.  It was going from back to front, licking the window, looking for air, panting frantically, needing water.The temperature rising baking the poor animal like a pig on a spit, but the pig is always dead,  The dog wan't dead, it was dying.  It was dying a horrible death.  It was locked in a hot car.  The temperature rising. 100 degrees, 110 degrees, 120 degrees, 130 degrees 140 degrees...When did it die?  How much did it suffer?  I was oblivious to the reader.  I had shut her out.  My mind, my heart and my soul was with the dog.  Who would do this?

The class prompt was "where are you?"  The writer was feeling sorry for herself.  Her nephew had fallen from a car and had been killed.  Someone in the family had left the Golden Retriever in the car and had forgotten it.

What kind of family was this  The writer wrote and read her words with with absolutely no emotion.  My mind was screaming "my god lady, do you know what you just wrote"?  Where are your feelings, your heart, your soul, your life.?  Are you really dead and no one has told you yet?

A boy died a tragic death.  A dog died a horrible death.  You wrote about these events the same as you would describe the time of day.  You want to write?  Are you kidding?  If you are ever going to be writer you had better develop some  feelings.  You teach music.  Do only teach dirges?  If you are going to write you had better learn to write words that are "hummable".


the lesson

the lesson

We sat in the police station's waiting room,  My wife was crying, I was mad.  Why would she do something so stupid.  I know she's not guilty my wife sobbed,  She wouldn't do that,  she doesn't need money.   She confessed I replied.  She is guilty, she took the money.  But why?  It's so stupid.  Who knows?  I guess she thought she wouldn't get caught.  My wife couldn't stop crying.  Where's the lawyer?  Will she get bail?  Damned if I know, this is all new to me.  He should be here any time.  He walked in, are you her parents?  Yes, can we get her out tonight, my wife asked?  I don't' know as I want to get her out, I said.  Maybe she needs a lesson.  Maybe a night in jail would be good for her.  But she so scared, my wife sobbed.  She was crying when she called.  "Please mommy get me out of here. I don't like it in here".  She seem so scared. 

She damned well ought to be, embezzling $30,000 dollars is no joke.  The lawyer said he would see what the charges were and if bail had been set.  He went in to talk to her.

As we sat there waiting and wondering, my mind went back to my  youth. 
I was in my parents back yard.  They had friends over, people they had know for 30 years.  I could picture them as if I was right there.  Tom and Brenda Parks.  Tom worked with my dad at the steel mill.  They were both pipe fitter welders. Tom and Brenda were also rock hounds as my parents were.  They belonged to the same club and had gone rock hunting together for years.  They were truly close friends. Tom was a big strapping man, tall, strong and proud.  But that night he was a defeated man.  His wife was sobbing then as mine was this evening. 

Back then they had faced much the same problem as we did this evening.  Evan, their only son, had committed a crime.  He stole some money.  But he didn't steal from a store like our daughter had. He stole from them.  He stole from his parents.  But it was much more complicated that that.  Evan was mentally handicapped.  Not severely handicapped, but handicapped. He went to regular high school but had to receive special tutoring.  He did graduate but only because they couldn't do anything more for him. 

After high school he made friends with a wild group.  They took him with them because he would do anything they asked.  He liked them because they were the only friends he could find.  The "friends" dreamed up a plot where Evan would steal his parents check book and they would get some money to party.  It wasn't a great amount, only $500.00 but it was enough to be classified as a felony.
Of course Evan got caught by his parents.  Instead of handling the crime at home, Tom chose to call the police and have Evan arrested.  Tom was really mad.  The boy needed a lesson.  He wanted no thief living in his house.  Over his wife's pleading he pressed charges.  A little prison time would do him good.  Evan went to prison.  2 to 5 for check forgery.  They said he would be out in 6 months.  Fine Tom said, he will damn well not steal when  he gets out.  He will be a better person.  Every man has to pay for his mistakes. 

It didn't work like that.  Evan was bitter.  He hated his parents.  He never wanted to see them again.  He had been forsaken, abandoned.  He didn't understand.  He was sorry, but for Tom sorry wasn't good enough. The boy must be taught a lesson.

Evan was a bitter prisoner.  He couldn't adjust to prison life. He was a dummy. The other prisoners tormented him.  He fought back.  His Sentence was extended.  He refused to see his parents.

He was killed in a prison fight eight years after his father had him put in prison.  The lesson had worked.  Evan would never steal again.  Tom's heart was broken.  He knew he had been wrong.  But now it was to late.  Tom would live the rest of his life with a broken heart.  He had wronged his own flesh and blood.

The lawyer came out.  They set bail, he said, $50,000 dollars.  I know a good  bail bond company.   If you can come up with $5000.00 dollars, we can get her out tonight.  Call the bail people I said .  I'll put it on my credit card.  Will she have to go to prison?  She did confess.  Well sometimes, he explained, if this is the first offense and restitution is made the store won't press charges. Then it's up to the D.A.'s office if they want to prosecute.  Most of the time they do not.
I said,  I'll take a loan on my house.  I'll pay every dime back.  I don't want any child of mine in prison.


goodbye america

I think America needs to be mourned.  After centuries of being the big man on the block America has finally given up her space on top and now grovels in the slop and swill of the pigs with the likes of all of the mid-eastern countries.  We now march up and down the streets in protest of bullshit.  We now fight over things that do not exist and things we do not understand.  We now murder and kill over religion and politics.  We now have street brawls.

What really makes all this great is that we have a "king" or probably an Ayatollah because our king just died,
The King is dead, long live the king.  Kennedy is gone, drifting out to sea on a pyre of fire.  Mary Jo Kopechne  is being vilified even after the death of her murderer.  She better not come back to tarnish the memory of good old Teddy.   She should be happy that she gave her life for the king.  Mary Jo Kopechne should be happy that she was not avenged,  Our King was needed to help the poor.  But the poor, the downtrodden are to bow before the new Rulers.  The people pay taxes, the new ruling party does not think they need to pay them.

The king of Los Angeles  Mayor Antonio Ramon Villaraigosa   does not feel he should conform to the laws they are shoving down the peoples throats. You poor plebeian bastards better not use to much water.  We, the elite,  need it.

Oh how I pray for the reincarnation of Robespierre.  Cutting all their flippen heads off seems like a thing the middle east does and after all, we are down there groveling in the slop with them.

I'm moving to Australia with "whitesnake"  he does it better and he will behead the "bastids" for me

goodbye america


Obama, now you've gone to far

Admittedly I didn't vote for Pres. Obama.  However I am a person that likes to support my president.  I don't always have to agree but I think it's necessary to pull together.  So when the president came up with the idea of back yard gardens I jumped on the band wagon.  I decided on tomatoes, cucumbers, green squash and watermelon.  I ordered the hanging garden from the net and set out for home depot.  Potting soil, several kinds of tomato plants, 1 cucumber plant, 1 squash plant, 1 water melon plant  and  $30 bucks lighter, I headed home.  By Friday I received my hanging gardens  and Saturday I spent a couple of hours planting my food for next winter.  Yes sir Pres. Obama, I am going to do my part.  I over watered the plants in the hanging garden and they all died.  The ones I planted in the ground seemed to doing fine.  Back to home depot to get more plants and leave more money.  That was OK because I knew I was going to have fresh food all summer.  I replanted the hanging garden.  This time I choked them to death.  I didn't give them enough water.  Not a big problem, the land based plant were  doing fine.  I threw out the hanging gardens and concentrated on ground game.  My wondrful garden was growing just fine so I let it tend it's self for a few weeks.  When I checked  my squash plant I had one giant green squash.  I harvested that one and never saw another squash again.   Well I still had the maters the cukes (notice how I'm beginning to speak the farm lingo) and the melon plant was doing just fine.  I would go out every day and check the "garden"  The cukes and the maters were growing and beginning to ripen.  Ah Saturday I'll harvest I thought.  When the glorious day of harvest arrived all the ripe maters and cukes were half eaten.  Some damn varmint  got my harvest before me.  I watched and set traps to no avail.  Every time the damn maters and cukes were just about ripe, that damn varmint would get to them first.   Then one morning I saw racoon tracks on my drive way.
A sneaky raccoon was stealing my garden.  I pulled out all the plants but the melon.  I googled raccoons and it said they are not partial to melons,  (I wouldn't bet on it).
I think Pres. Obama knew about the raccoons and had a secret plot to feed the raccoons of America.
Yes pres. Obama you went to far this time but I got even.  I caught that raccoon and dopped him off  on the white house front lawn,  I hope he eats all your Easter eggs.

About Me

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So Cal, United States
I am an apprentice writer of short stories and I also attempt a little poetry.