Since Damnit’s passing Brutus is determined to ensure I have him at my side constantly. I assume he is taking care of me, and his kisses are frequent and new, for him. I understand he misses Damnit I do as well, but either he really wants me to recognize what a wonderful friend he is, or he is afraid I will be burying him next. He minds me dramatically different than at any time since we met, and he really has been one wonderful dog, from day one, excepting the Isuzu Trooper he trashed as a puppy. He ate all the knobs, pulled out the Radio, brought down the headliner, ate most of the gear shifting knob. That was over three hours. The only thing I have ever personally seen worse than what he did to that car? In the North Bend Bi Mart parking lot was a Volkswagen bus. In this bus were three young Doberman Pinchers. I don’t know if I spelled that right, but these three dogs ate every piece of plastic in that car. There was no headliner, the steering wheel was simply a round steel rod, with smaller steel rods poking off it. The pedals were little steel flaps, even the seats were just wire springs. These dogs got all the mats, all the upholstery, the dashboard, there was nothing left in this bus but metal. The dogs sat there, obviously proud of their work. The bus was fairly decent looking on the outside, but man, what those dogs did to that interior was amazing. I am sure the owner carried seat pads into work with him, because the metal seats would be impossible to sit on. I can imagine explaining the appearance of the interior to anyone would require the dogs presence, because the actual appearance without the dogs would be impossible to explain. Brutus did not do that thorough of a job, but then the other dogs knew better than to join in. Still, that microbus was a sight to behold. Dog owners do put up with enormous extra work training puppies to behave. Brutus was a real handful. I will never forget the first time he had his nails clipped. I looked in because I heard laughing, just under the pitch of Brutus’s cries. Four people were holding him while a fifth tried to clip his nails. The four holding him were laughing, because basically each had a leg and they started off on an examination table but when I looked in they were several feet away from any table. Brutus was scared until he saw me, then he calmed down and let them finish his nails. That was years ago. He still does not like his nails trimmed. I have not had him groomed, and I know he will allow me to bathe him, but he will not go easy into that situation. Maybe if we both take a bath he will allow that to happen. Maybe not. I can no longer lift him, so to bathe him will require many gallons of warm water. I can hold him to do that, then towel dry him off. The Fuller’s would be the easiest, except he would then want to go into the house and Climb onto the couch. I spoil him but I could not allow him to do that so probably I will have to do the bathing at Jerry Quillen’s house, then towel dry him, then put him into the truck. I can already envision him shaking inside the truck. Maybe he will just allow it to happen! Maybe not, lol. I will stretch his new found love for me. I do know I will want someone to video me doing it.
I may never get used to the Countdown, no matter how long I live. The Countdown. As a child we unknowingly, set ourselves up for The Countdown. It is as American as Apple Pie and ice cream. Summer vacation is 10 weeks and four days long. One hundred days until Christmas. Twenty days until Spring Break. Payday is eight days away. That Countdown. The Countdown until a good thing happens. If you are in jail you count down until release. This is all about expectations, because you count days or hours or minutes until some looked for event occurs, then wow, the good thing happens, you are busy for a while, then countdoen continues for the next happy event. Poor people usually count down until more money appears. Welfare check. Insurance check. Pay check. Tax refund. Bonus check. When you have money in the bank the Countdown is less important as The Countdown, because when you are homeless check day is when you are like everyone else. For me this lasts a week. Then three and a half weeks until I am whole again. Then three and a half weeks and I am whole sgain. When I was much younger sometimes I would wait a week for a positive event. I used to write letters to people and there would be a letter or two between my letters going out and ny receiving a return letter. Now I use IM (instant messaging). Instant gratufication. Letters are still standard to prisoners and their friends and family. I would write prisoners, when I was bored, or for work. When I was earning decent wages I would send money for clothing, or send stamps. Some people in prison have no one. Ive never been in prison, and do not want to go to prison. I am too old. Granted I would probably do well, since I know law and how to do certain legal issues. I’d be a jail house lawyer. Even then I would be locked into The Countdown. It is hard to avoid. There is one mistake people do while waiting for an event. They really wait, as in do nothing. Now that I am older, I see that waiting as a waste of time. That is one place everyone on this planet is equal. We each only have 24 hours to a day. No more, no less. What we do with that time seperates us from the rest of the animals. Best advice I can give a younger person: make each second count. Make your minutes matter. Hours become days. If you waste a day, that is time you will never see again. Doing things that shorten your life is also wasteful. If you smoke tobacco, or chew tobacco, you live less, and your end days are terrible. I have had friends die of lung cancer from cigarettes. Stop using tobacco. Stop using alcohol. Both are time wasters, as well as expensive and leading to poor decisions. I stopped over thirty years ago, and never a day goes by I do not thank my lord for showing me the way. I can still have a drink, but I don’t. I choose not to. You should too. Good night.
Today I ventured off to Myrtle Creek, then Winston, then Roseburg where I glommed on to the 14 foot boat I borrowed 6 years ago and it got stolen. Ive posted pictures of me and my dogs putting along on the Umpqua River. Douglas County Sheriff’s siezed it in another case. I had a picture of me and the dogs in it, which was how I identified the boat and me. I had to show my drivers license but after two trips, I finally got the boat, motor and a few other things returned to who I borrowed them from. All went well, except it was way over one hundred degrees outside, and Brutus and Damnit were with me. Damnit has been failing fast, and today she and Brutus pooped all over the front seat. Brutus has diarrhea, so it was a rightous mess. Still, I was able to return things that had been long in my desire to return, but required thief catching, then their trial, then my identifying and receiving back said stolen things. My first endeavor was a semi failure because my trailer was too small, and its structure fell apart from trying to get the boat in it. This time I had a decent flat bed trailer so it was a fast load. All went well, although there was an odor to be sure, emanating from a very filthy front seat. We did Dairy Queen so the dogs got ice cream on a hot day. It was a very productive, several items accomplished, items returned, old friends visited. I also got some more neat stuff for my dell laptop. Well, a couple days have passed, Damnit has passed away, leaving me and Brutus now a duet. I buried Damnit at Jerry Quillen’s back yard. I was able to show Brutus Damnit’s body, something I felt necessary so Brutus knew Damnit was not coming back. Ive written one nice article about Damnit, but plan on writting another very soon, because Damnit was a wonderful, unique doggie and I would like to be able to demonstrate hoe truly great she was. That all being said, Damnit was really wanting to const A ntly be with me. She dtarted barking the minute I would leave her, barking constantly until my return. I looked into her eyes, and they were very clear. Her hearing was failing, but she did hear me when I called her, and she was able to hear the truck when I started it up. Her hind quarters were not supporting her, and although I considered constructing an assisting set of wheels, I assumed she would find whatever I built more of a nuisance than help, so I went ahead and dropped that idea. I found some of her pills under her mattress, which explained some of her falling down and pain. I really have a huge hole in my heart with this loss, as does Brutus. Brutus had actually made me think he wanted to be a single dog, but obviously that is not the case because Brutus is having a lot of issues considering its just him and me now. He watched me dig her grave, and watched me put her in it, then cover her up. I wish he could have helped, both because that would have eased my labors, but also so he and I could have shared more on her departure. I love and miss Damnit very much, and while I firmly believe she is now feeling pain free and now running like the puppy she always was, I have always had this loving little furball cuddled up next to me, and I will forever more miss both her love and companionship. I will write on her just as soon as I quit crying each time I think of her, and I quit moving my fingers in that scruffing method I had of stroking her head. Signing off. Have a great day.
I have an old dog (now) that, at 15, has been around me nearly her entire life. I have held her in my arms while her broken leg healed, cared for her while her original master got his life together, and then she wouldn’t go with him. He was kind enough to leave her with me, and she and I have seen a lot, shared friends, foods and fun. Her name fits her, and my life has definitely improved with having her around. Twice her best friend and body guard has been killed, and Brutus has been her third. Brutus is my bodyguard as well. Damnit will be 16 next month, and she is certainly doing well for her age but decidedly she is nearing the end of the line. I am, so far, able to care for her and do for her what I can. Yes, she has problems with her hind quarters, and she is slower moving and awkward at times. Sometimes both of them get stubborn, but she still knows what she wants, and occasionally she forgets what she is doing, but thats ok. I scoop her up and carry her, and sometimes she lets me know that she prefers to do it herself. She sleeps near me, if Brutus allows her to, which he does often. He knows her time is coming, and he is no spring chicken either, at nine. Thats old for a 120+ pound dog, but he shows no sign of slowing down, and he cares as much for Damnit as I do, frequently herding her away from trouble, the same as he tries to do with me. He watches out for me. When I visit Barbara and Denny Fuller, Brutus and Damnit seem to pace outside, going from the front to side door, then back again. Once in a while he will walk over and look in the window at me. He is always wagging his tail, and Damnit used to. The last year or so she tucks her tail, covering her butt.I assume she is covering a sore area. I have cleaned her there, brushed, soaped,combed and shampooed. She is clean, but I do need to watch for her, and help her keep clean. She also goes into the water to keep clean. A fastidious lady is Damnit. She likes being pampered, and also enjoys being brushed. When you consider all of the shitty times she has been through, her attitude is very good. She enjoys people food, and also likes her canned food and gravy. Brutus does as well, but Brutus does not like bread, Damnit loves bread. Damnit likes vegetables, cheese and some dog foods. Her teeth have slowly turned grey and dropped away. She barks as soon as she senses me leaving. She barks until I return. She loves me, of course. She depends on me helping her. That is good, because I have shed many tears over deceiding how to terminate her life. I am hoping she dies in her sleep. I do not want her to suffer, however I would like her life to be on her terms. So I do what I can and just hope it is enough. She has endured my homelessness, but we have had some times that were great, and some so so. She loves camping, as do I, and we will go again soon. Until then, I let her out numerous times a day and night. Thats Damnit, the dog.
This morning The song “Home, home on the range” is filtering back and forth in my brain. A simple cowboys lament, now mine. It is so easy to just skip over and read someone else, but wait, this isnt a western song, it is my lament. Tears in my eyes, I’ve just come back to my truck after letting both dogs out to pee. I had to pull Damnit up so she could go, and I watched as she staggered to maintain standing, failing, falling over, then standing, walking a few feet, falling, getting back up, staggering and then falling again. Each time she got back up she’d go in a slightly different direction. I finally realized she was trying to climb up to her favorite shady spot. She wanted to lay down and sleep, not pee. Either she has managed to poo, pee, or she decided she didn’t have to go. No matter, I scooped her up, and carried her back to the truck we live in. I gently placed her on the seat, and she went to her reclining spot, albeit too near the door. She has given up on the circling dogs do before they lay down, because she falls over way before she finishes the circle. That damn song is still playing in my mind. Home, home on the range. Home. Thats what keeps playing, I am adding the rest. Home. Would Damnit and I be in this death spiral if we had a home? If there were a home with us in the same mindset, would I have already put her down? All dog owners face this question of do I or do I not put down that furry little love spot we call by whatever fanciful name we saddled him or her with. Damnit. One of our languages more used word’s, at least by we who expletive life writes. Fuck actually a more common word, but who calls a dog that? Damnit raises enough eyebrows, what would people think if she was named fuck. Would you stand on your porch and yell FUCK! here Fuck. No, nobody would. That would be a low named critter, rarely hearing her name called. Damnit has been such a good dog, and she deserves being treated as a good dog. I just wish I had a place to bury her. I had hoped she would die of natural causes before now. Not just because I want rid of her, since I do not want rid of her, but because to have her put down means I have to eliminate something else in my budget. I helped someone in worse shape than me, financially. I loaned him $40, so he would have gas to get to California. At least in California he can work, even though he drives truck, there is not much work for him in Oregon, with a California drivers license. That was Damnit’s pill money, essentially. Randy, if you read this, stop feeling guilty, your needs were greater than all other of my needs. When he and I spoke over our three disconnected phone calls, he has had his motorhome catch fire, his tire went flat, and he was awaiting a part. There are times when life adds worries to your load. His challenges are just that, challenges. He is overcoming them. When he and I met some eleven days ago, he quit facing challenges. We were introduced so I could help him. I helped him. First up, was he needed to stop thinking of suicide. He had planned on going to the high Sierras and starving to death. That is not a pleasant way to die, and his self preservation would take hold and save him from himself. I just pointed out his dog, and the pact all dog owners agree to when they acquire a dog. The folks that introduced us want me to help them as well, although the help they need requires specific, special abilities. Good thing I am uniquely qualified. Theirs is a matter of Attorneys being greedy and unscrupulous. Its in most of their natures, but that is not allowable. I know about the law, and lawyers. They are a simple lot, and easily understood. Money is their primary motivator. Often they seek to assist. That is often their easiest task, assisting you. I enjoy assisting others to do things correctly. Lawyers tend to uneasily do things. That is a misuse of the word uneasy, meaning to feel as if you are not sure of something. Lawyers are a special breed. Who else would call a two hundred page document “a brief”. Lawyers make the simplest act hard to understand. They are trained to ďo that. They claim it is so as to avoid confusion. Actually, it is how they guarantee there will be another lawyer involved. In America live more lawyers per capita than anywhere else in the world. I can not prove it, but any involved in law would readily agree because they perpetuate the need of a lawyer through use of “phrases” only lawyers know how they have been interpreted to mean. A movement to force an end of this “flowery lingo” is called “plain english”. Plain english means, simply placed language. “Defendant does hereby pray and beg for fairness” becomes “The accused asks for equity”. Now you only have to define equity. Before you had to define defendent, pray, beg and fairness. Add that the definition in one area is not the same in another. That guarantees the final wordage is still open to interpretation. That is digression. Back to Damnit and her situation. She does still have moments of joy. Her moments of anguish are much more. If I were Damnit, would I seek an end to life? Probably not. And that is how this decision goes. As to Randy, his work is done, and he will raise capital to “pay off” the Oregon problem. Like most problems money is the solution. Money would give me a home. I could cook, in a home. Yes, a home, with a range. There, the lament is done. Time for breakfast.
A quote from the Beatles White Album, ending with “well we all want to change the world”. I have always felt the world could be a better place, and I have tried to behave as if it were better than I was experiencing. My interactions with police, for example: I have run on the wrong side of the law, but always with the understanding that my fight, if caught in an illegal act, would be in Court. There are several reasons for that, and my explaining it will provide a glimpse of why I have always felt so comfortable working within the “system”. First, the police and I, and everyone else, are all playing a role. Good guy, bad guy. Pot head narc, the role does not matter. Authority anarchist. Black white. I do my thing they do theirs. Anyone that takes a gun to an encounter with police is asking to be shot and killed. I have been arrested numerous times, because I am a pot head. I never do anything other than cooperate. I am nice, respectful and do as I am told. I will see how it plays out in Court. The police have to do their job, and they have to do it correctly, or the case is thrown out. Often Police become bitter and resentful because cases get tossed out when they dont do something properly. They will sometimes lie to try and “make it work” but dirty cops always get greedy and get caught. Too bad, since most cops are decent human beings. What happens is they only hang out with themselves, and lose the personal connection. The war on Drugs, started by Richard Nixon, created a shadow underground economy and that was what made the hippie culture flourish, even to this day, although many of the hippies have died off.