HaWK on Birds

     As far back as I can recall, I was HaWK, to my grandfather.  Harson Welsey Kelley, he'd say, then use the acronymic nickname.  A cousin or two used it and anyone else hearing it would assume it was from the sharp features and prominent nose.  Harson was hawk-like, stern and sharp-eyed.
     The first word Harson repeated without prompting was "bird," and then "robin."  When he was four, he repeated his new brother's name as "Robin" for Robert.
     By the time HaWK was in grade school, he could identify every bird he saw.


     Starlings are the end of the evolutionary scale for birds. They will outlast all other species, especially songbirds. Their survival is built around the flock mentality.  Solitary starlings are still part of a flock and there are members nearby, unseen. When one flies from being startled, all fly.  Walking closer to a starling for a better look is fruitless.  Starlings avoid any contact with humans.  Starlings don't do backyard bird feeders. Seeds won't keep a starling going. They need the "meat", they need bugs in any form.  However, they will use a bird bath or puddle to wing-shower water deep into feathers, then leave.

     Sparrows, robins, blue jays, grackles, mourning doves, all will hunt in a mowed lawn.  A robin will work and look and wait and watch and finally stab and grab a worm, which it has to tug with just the right amount of pressure to extract the half still inside the turf without breaking it in two.  Which the robin swiftly eats or carries to a nest of young.  They seem to take more time to get the full worm out when feeding young.  They stab and knot it into a tighter parcel to carry and shove into gullets. 
     Flickers will drill into ant hills and flick in the insects on their tongue.  Blue jays will be finding a place to bury a  morsel, and likely won't remember to uncover it again.  Pigeons peck all the seeds in the grass, especially that spilled from feeders.  A grackle will search for worms but are not so successful as robins and will even knock a robin off it's catch to steal a piece of worm,  Sparrows try to move bugs which flee or fly and get captured in short burst of running flights.

     But the Starling is the star in the yard.  They go to the roots, eyes below grass level, beak opening to expose any beetle, worm, centipede, grub or larvae, which is promptly eaten.  No other bird can come close to matching a starlings canvassing and consumption of life forms in a lawn.

     Starlings also are glad to pick and scratch through whatever humans discard to find bits of nourishment or entire chunks of tossed or dropped cheese, meat, bread or dessert.  If it's lying in the road, they'll flit and fly and eat even as traffic is running close by. And when one finds a cache of trash, many are aware and gather to divide the spoils.  The only time a starling exhibits any aggressiveness is over a morsel of food.

     The most intense bird battles are between males in territorial clashes during mating season.  If not fighting another suitor, male birds go through some antics to attract a female's attention.  I've seen a red-bellied woodpecker hang upside down from a lower branch to impress a selected mate.   Sparrows and cardinals will feed bits of food to a female to show domestic qualities, like feeding a brood.

     Male robins will initiate a battle with lots of other male robins. They attack with beak and talon until the ground can't contain their intensity, so they wing the fight in flight, rising up in a blur of flapping and clawing and pecking.
     Sometimes one will dive into the middle of another fighting pair.  However, the usual method is a long, drawn out process of fake worm hunting in close proximity to each other.  They zig and zag and move towards each other, then away.  But not too far.  Soon, they cut the circle down to a small enough space to make an offensive move.  There may be a couple of these which result in defensive dodges or short flights.  Indeed, sometimes one will vacate the yard.  If not, the battle will soon be on.
      Confined to an enclosure, robins would battle to match fighting cocks and certainly the fighting quails in Afghanistan.
     Male starlings fluff out their neck feathers, vibrate their wings and vocalize whistles and warbles and weird combinations of notes to attract females.  Their ability to imitate may contain the sounds of saws and horns.  Starlings pair up with minimum aggression by the males and minimum resistance by females. Observing that starlings return to the same nest area, year ofter year, they may mate for life.  Their nest is usually in a hollow place.

     There were five large trees on the south and east side of Grandpa's yard. Nobody ever identified them and everybody asked what they were.  Sterile walnuts was the only explanation which made sense since they looked like large girth walnut trees.  Flickers used them to chisel out a site to nest.  The first one was taken over by a screech owl.  Which I removed and took to the woods to attract crows, the Klondike boys and I could shoot with my .22 rifle.  The second one was taken over by starlings. The parents remove the chick's waste and it appears to be in a membrane which they easily fly with and drop. Also, the nestlings eventually begin to back to the hole and do business, which tends to leave a smear along the trunk.
     The first time I observed it, Grandpa was standing under and looking up at the hole, wondering about the commotion.  He backed up with a laugh.
   
     Until recently, there was a huge box elder tree in the lot to the west of my property.  Red bellied woodpeckers tried for years to occupy their carved out space. One year I watched the process.  The female is separated from the male by a force of starlings.  Once the male is inside, two starlings will stay just outside and seem to be trying to keep the woodpecker inside. They dive and vocalize and when the woodpecker makes a break they chase and hassle it while a third starling goes inside to take up the battle when woodpecker  returns.  The starling now has a distinct advantage. Plus the other two are back.
     I wondered about the natural ability of the woodpecker to drill into wood, and when I watched one finally get into the enclosure with the starling, I figured  the it was a good showdown.  Have to admit my heart sank a bit when that red cap emerged with a struggle since the starling had him by the leg.
     When that tree was taken down, starlings did the same thing to red bellied's after they'd made the space in a maple tree across the street.  Haven't seen any red bellieds for a few years.

     Robins nest all around me.  One or two nests every year, mostly in small trees near the house.  On the nearest neighbor's drain, where it crooks to attach to the house from the gutter, is a robins nest.  Three years old.  This year, a second batch of eggs is being kept warm. This is not the norm, as robin's nest remains are left all over.  The base is mud and is difficult to be washed away.  Sometimes the remaining thatch may be pecked through for a nest being constructed elsewhere.

     The nearest nesting starlings are as close as my nearest neighbor.  They are using access to the soffitt hollow through a small hole in the cover.  I surmise they use material which deteriorates fast, the remains of which are shoved deeper into the cavity to make way for a new nest.
      Starling plumage is androgynous.  Except for the short period when the plumage isn't filled out, and lighter feathers show in the black.  These young follow and demand food from parents, just like other birds, except they learn to find food, sooner, since it's all they see from other starlings.

     Pine siskin, cedar waxwing, chickadee, juncos, cardinal, blue jay, mockingbird, Carolina wren, white capped sparrow, song sparrow, purple finch, white-crowned sparrow, chipping sparrow, house sparrow, grackle, pigeons. mourning dove, orchard oriole, robins and starlings...this variety of birds has been seen from my windows for the past 15-years.  For the past 5-years, the variety decreases.
     Robins and starlings are the most constant.   Cardinals are nesting nearby.  Carolina wren house is waiting for last year's occupants.
     Neighbor has a couple of seed feeders and ear corn for the squirrels.  I see an occasional grackle (they  nested in the neighbors pines before he had them topped), red-wing blackbird, cardinals, blue jay, large flock of house sparrow and pigeons.  Lots of ground feeding as one pigeon hangs on while flapping wings and spraying contents.  An occasional crow, but lots of pigeons.

9Aug15 -

     As a kid, I had a BB gun and I used birds as my main targets. I seldom hit and killed any.  The ubiquitous bird was the "English" sparrow.  Starlings hadn't happened yet, in SE Ohio in the 1940's.  Sparrows had the messy nests in deteriorating soffits and vacated flicker holes.  They were in any leftovers in garbage and operated in large flocks, feeding on ground and tree insects. And they were always wary of approaching humans.  At the time, I had no idea of their incredible eyesight.  A bird can watch for your gaze on them to move and that's when they fly.  You look back, it's gone. Mounting a rifle, aiming and firing...bird's gone.
    But a hit on a sparrow brings it down.  Small bird.
    Lately, I've noticed the flocks of house sparrows are like those days.  They love feeders and will take roost in bushes nearby so they don't have as far to fly. I have no idea the minute size of whatever it is they clamor for in the gravel dirt dust of my parking place, but groups will peck and flit around furiously until spooked away.

15Aug15 -

     Looked out the window and see a hawk atop the neighbors recently trimmed forsythia bush.  Smaller than a crow and half perched and half supported by wings across the clipped branches.  It was attempting to get at the sparrows in the tangle. The hawk struggled, for balance, then went to the ground and began chasing at the base, around the bush, trying to spook the smaller birds into flying. The sparrows remained.
     The hawk flew up to perch on the roof of the neighbor's car, stayed a few seconds, then dove back to the bush.  A sparrow flew out and the hawk gave chase, but soon returned to a tree near the forsythia.
    For the past few mornings, I've heard a blue jay giving warning cries.  I thought it was watching a cat on the hunt.  Now, I realize it was the hawk.  Before and after I observed it, there was an obvious absence of the pigeons which use my house as a waiting spot for the neighbor to fill the feeders.
     I'm more than a little certain, it was an immature Cooper's hawk.      
        
          

    
    

      

     

      

     
 
 
       
                   

PSEUDO SNOW

     Arthur Rider hasn't always detested dogs.   It's just that he has so much hate for the two confined in the yards on either side of his apartment, he has developed an antagonistic attitude towards all tame canines. Nobody is sympathetic to how seriously he feels stuck between barking loudspeakers when he cusses about the "stereo dogs."

     Arthur has never owned a dog.  He harbors no memories of a personal pet, one accorded special status in some human family.   Therefore, he doesn't empathize with people who accept dogs as the natural best friends of mankind.  In fact, he considers most dogs to be ill-bred, over fed and worthless, at best.  Vicious and stupid, at worst.

     Most of his early information (late '40's) about dogs came from Grandfather Rider's stories about foxhounds. The old man had raised them back when there were more foxes than bounty hunters.   It was great sport to maintain and breed dogs that could sniff out a trail and run all night trying catch up to the source of the scent. The hunters would sit around a campfire and listen, identifying each of their hounds by its baying.  The barking revealed other details such as position in the pack, tilt of the terrain and distance from the fox.

     The tales of these hunts, plus accounts of different litters being "thrown" by admirable bitches with fancy names, and whole lineages being traced back through generations, elevated the dogs to mythical status in the young boy's mind.

     However, Grandfather Rider, thought canine companionship to be highly suspect. He believed dogs should be kept outside the living quarters of humans. He would cringe and resound when he observed anyone allowing a dog to lick them, especially on the face.   "Do you know where that dog's tongue has been?" he would ask, startling folks being intimate with a pet.  Grandpa's disdain for house dogs passed to Arthur.

     When Arthur was twelve, he made friends with a small bull terrier which began to follow him home from the residence of one of his paper route customers.  It was five blocks and Brownie would sometimes sit at the door and wait for Arthur.  Even on winter days, sometimes.  Arthur had friends who were two blocks away, halfway for Brownie, so he spent time at this house, also.

     Three free running boys and the dog were a common sight in and out of the neighborhood.  The dog's lady owner kidded Arthur's mother about suing for "alienation of affection."  The joke turned to a more severe accusation after Brownie was crippled by a car one night, near Arthur's home, chasing his friends from up the hill.

    Brownie limped on a broken right fore paw, bent to a 90-degree angle.  A huge callous began to form on the toe which served as pads and claws which could no longer be placed on the ground.  The owner refused to pay to correct the injury because it happened as the dog was "chasing after a bunch of kids."   Arthur's parents refused to accept any responsibility.

     The dog continued to hang around Arthur and his friends.  There were constant questions about the pitiful condition of  the crippled leg.  Arthur's helplessness, coupled with a feeling he should do something to aid his canine friend, would haunt him for years.  He most regretted allaying any private guilt by explaining the dog didn't belong to him.

     Thirty years later, while trying to concentrate in a quiet California setting, Arthur's tolerance of dogs began to wear thin.  Across the street from his second floor apartment, visible and audible through his large bay windows, were two large dogs.   They were chained to the front porch of the truck driver owner.  They barked at everyone who passed.  At first, they were a mere distraction.  Then they began his obsession to silence them. He yelled at them often, and they quieted, but resumed just in time to interrupt some thought.

    Years later,  Arthur and his wife moved downstate.  They rented another second floor unit.
On one side, was a six feet high board fence which surrounded a yard.  A female Doberman was loose inside.  She barked incessantly when left alone.  She barked at every individual or animal which passed.  Birds and squirrels in trees.  Mostly it was a bark of loneliness.
     On the opposite side of Arthur's was a huge German Shepard mix, chained with a short length.  This dog began barking early in the morning and continued for much of the rest of the day.

     Arthur worked for awhile then was layed off. While alone and trying to find a job, the dogs began to bug him.  The barking from both sides seemed to be projected upwards to his ears.  He grew frustrated with his inability to control the incessant racket.  He related to the "Son of Sam" murderer who claimed to have been driven to violence by yapping dogs.  Arthur considered getting a gun, or hiring one.

     He was feeling the pressure of lack of income status, spending too much time alone inside and a troubled marriage. The dogs kept barking.
     In an attempt to figure out whether to continue as a couple, his wife left the apartment for a trial period of time.  After she'd gone, her brother, Richard and his friend rented rooms, allowing her to keep the apartment.  But her husband's obsession with the dogs continued.

     At a nearby yard sale, he found an old food grinder.  It was heavy steel, a model he'd seen his grandmother use. H e decided to grind up some glass.  As a youth, he'd heard of neighbors disposing of unruly dogs by feeding them hamburger with glass in it. He had no idea how that would work and had never seen the result of such a poisoning. But he was shaking in anticipation when he got the utensil home and set it up, screwing the clamp tightly to the edge of his writing desk, after removing a drawer.

     He began experimenting with different kinds of glass and found all glass could be ground along the auger through the dies.   He added flour and sugar and salt to clear glass and white glass.  He ended up with a smooth, white powder, fifty-percent glass.  Planning the next step of getting it into meat, he put it into a sandwich bag, placed it into a small cedar box and closed the lid.

     Carrying the grinder to the kitchen, he rinsed and wiped it before storing it under the kitchen counter.  His heartbeat was an obvious thumping in his chest.

     "Hey, Art, me and Tom want to do a little quickie party tonight, couple people, beer and shit...you know."

     "Tom and I," Arthur scolded, after being startled. "I don't care.  Stay away from my desk."

    "You know you're welcome...."

    "But you don't want me hanging around lusting after the young ginch.  Plus, I don't need re-exposed to the most current drugs on the street, thank you.  Been clean too damned long for that!"

     "Thanks, man, we'll stake ya to a movie or dinner or both.  We'll be breaking it up and crashing by one o'clock.  Should be beer left over for you."

     Around midnight, Richard's girlfriend, Debbie, was fooling around in the back room which Arthur used as an office.  Richard kept trying to get her back, citing Arthur's warning to stay away from the desk.  The room was tiny and cluttered with just enough room for desk, chair and filing cabinet.  Debbie squeezed into the chair and put a sheet of paper in the typewriter.

     "Come on, baby, it's cold in here.  Art dresses like arctic circle when he's in here.  Let's go to my room, or at least where it's warmer."

     Debbie typed "Oh Kay!" and stood.  She looked around and spotted the cedar box.  She lifted the hasp, raised the lid and exclaimed "What's this?"

     Richard picked up the bag.  In his party-dulled mind and his horny-hyped loins, he wanted it to be cocaine, and it could be an answer to Arthur's dog obsession...even so, he never considered the cost aspect vs Arthur's lack of money.

     The rest of the party was in the front of the apartment, so at Debbie's urging, she and Richard decided to take it to the kitchen, do some lines and return the bag to the box, without telling the others.  Richard spooned some powder onto a glass tray, trimmed in wood, and arranged two three-inch lines with a credit card. They agreed to snort the lines simultaneously, Richard using a rolled up twenty dollar bill and Debbie a gold cylinder she carried in her purse.

     Facing each other across the counter they leaned towards the lines, holding their tubes to one nostril and the opposite forefinger to the other nostril.  Turning slightly to exhale from the mouth, they guided each of their ends to the lines. Richard vacuumed his in one clean sweep.

     He panicked as soon as the crystals lacerated membranes all the way to his lungs. He stood and tried to exhale the searing shards which stuck like boiling resin.  His gasps for breath were impaired and his body was shocked by oxygen shortage.   Reddish mucous drained from his nose and mouth.  His eyes bulged from fear and pressure on his brain.

     Debbie dropped the gold-plated tube, after sucking up only half her line, then whip-lashed her head backwards,, trying to remove the stinging that permeated her respiratory passages.  She choked and gagged in a frenetic attempt to rid herself of the nerve abrading particles, while trying desperately to get air into her injured lungs.

     While Arthur Rider was being held in custody during a police investigation, one of the "stereo dogs" was given away and the other fitted with a muzzle.



                                                             The End                          



       

Maxx's Muscle Mass Method

9Jun15 -

     It appears I have deleted or lost all of the past year or so of this post.

      Shit happens for a reason.  Can't justify this one.

        185 people were readers and I'm certain they got some info about maintaining muscle mass into the advanced age when muscle mass is incrementally diminishing.

     Calorie pounding is important to feed any attempt to add muscle mass.

I have simplified this count in the type of food and the minimum minutes of preparation.

    By now, you know, my drug of choice is marijuana.  You my assume that I am high on pot   A lot.

     I may do a day by day on this post but seeing as how it is so easy to lose, I may not bother.

I'll find another way to express my writing jones, although I admit to being really enthused about Maxx's Muscle Mass Method.  I know it will work for anyone.

5Jul15 -

      As I review the past year of this post M4, there has been a major evolution since that beginning in Jul 14.  So much so, that I'll condense it to where bare minimums apply to food preparation time.  When pounding calories, the most time should be spent consuming the food, not getting it ready to eat.
     I don't bake any whole wheat bread in the traditional way; whole wheat flour, yeast, oil, water, double rise, three loaves at a time.  Instead, I mix the flour, salt, oatmeal, an egg and water enough to stir to a batter consistency, then spoon it into a cup and microwave for 3,2.1.  Three minutes and twenty-one seconds.
     Addenda include peanut butter, chicken, fish, beans, broccoli, or whatever you like.   The  mere presence of oil inside the cup allows the loaf to be dumped out easily.  Once cooled it may be hand carried and eaten.       My first mix usually results in three cups of finished product.
     Then I do one with apple, raisins, walnuts, powdered milk.  Sometimes a sprinkle of sugar.  Sometimes with cocoa powder.  Cinnamon.
     Garlic, onion, carrot, rosemaryjane, curry, turmeric, other herbs and spices, beans and greens is the final fixings of the day.
     I previously used a crock pot to cook my beans.  The quantity was such that they began breaking down, even with refrigeration, before I used them up.  Now, I do a small quantity in a lidded stove top pan over high boil and close watch.  Beans boil over or boil dry in a short unwatched span of time.  So stay with them and keep adjusting the flame to where they don't steam the lid to rattle, but are quick steam cooking the hard beans. Once at that level you can come back to them, later, and check for softness.  There may be enough beans (or peas) for a couple or three skillet fulls, as opposed to the crock amount which lasted into weeks, so they are fresher.

     60-pounds of weight on a bar with vertical grip and room outside the iron for a horizontal grip.
Begin with 10-reps (which will apply throughout) of vertical grip squats. To a level thigh. Filling lungs on the way down and bursting the air out on the rise up. I elevate heels with a 2X4.
    Let the weight drop to arm's length and bend over, straight backed. Engage the lower back muscles by pulling the weight up to gut level and then allowing it to pull you closer to the floor until it is resting there just prior to the 10th pull up. then straighten up, move to a seated position and press the weight.  Move back to floor and curl the weight.  Change grip to horizontal and press to behind the neck, then do ten more squats.
     Move from there back to seated and press the weight.  Then move to floor, remove weight to front grip and curl the weight.   Then back to seat for front press.   Put the weight down and do 100 crunches, 10 full straight sit ups and 10 pushups.
      That's one set.  I do three.  A loosen one, warmup one and builder.

There's a year of posting condensed to the core.  I assume some reader interest lies here.  Actually, I felt obligated when I saw numbers added after it was deleted.

6Aug15 -

     I expected to still be running at age seventy-seven and the nine-miles I do every other day (all year long) is pain free, except for those little stabs in a knee or a foot.  These are genes attempting to slow an older body to stop exercising and sit down.  Sometimes I bag the run on the days I mow my lawn and the neighbors. 
     Never considered I'd be lifting weights at this age, but I put more emphasis on doing the three sets every other day.  Twenty minutes for each set, so it's only an hour.  I tell you it adds up over the years and the results will show in musculature.  Loosen up, warm up, build up.     


                   

THE BOOK OF OLD

De-criminalize marijuana on a federal level and offer statehood to Mexico.


  The last thing you have to worry about is getting old.  Fact is, you should practice getting to "old" so you don't end up being too old.  I've already ascertained old begins at 70.  If you have maintained any semblance of "in shape" to the age of seventy, three-score and ten, you will have to continue the same set of exercise.  Or you can finally give in to the genes which have pushed you from birth to reproduce and since then have been trying to take you out of the picture.

     Evolution is simple to follow if you grow to old.  Once you see back a few generations, you see how we all wonder and curse at the ignorant parents who bore us. Then find out we are them, half of each. To reproduce and spread them thinner.  Genes thrive, mankind evolves, genes thrive.

     Genes have made it possible for us to carve them up and splice them by evolving our brains, which we are capable of using to control them within our individual bodies.  Mind over matter matters more within us than as an abstract mental exercise. We can think our way to anyplace or any condition with proper diet and daily exercise.

     There isn't enough emphasis on the elimination of our intake of nourishment. How we train our bowels to move is more important than what we eat. Watch any house dog and you notice the first thing after awakening from a night of sleep is stool extruding.  Before food.  Before water.  Leave a dump.  It is the single most important beginning of any carnivore's day.  Assuming, of course, it is well fed.  I have an old dog.  She still eats a lot.  Sleeps a lot.  As long as she can get off and onto the water bed, and is let out in the morning to leave substantial doo doos, she'll continue to age well.

    What human doesn't want the same for themselves?  To be able to eat, sleep and defecate in the morning.  Any of these three interrupted, you are not living to live anymore.  Losing one of these pleasures will lead to loss of the others.  Everything else you consider as necessary for happiness in your life depends on how you eat, sleep and pinch a loaf.

     The older you get, the less likely the chances of having formed feces which you can sphincter separate from your cheeks with minimum to wipe.  The older you get the sooner you forget to flex your abdominal muscles instead of bending and pushing against your navel.  The strain to attempt to strain a clog of food which lacks the required moisture and roughage past the last bastion of darkness can cause one's heart to burst first.  Factually, the more advanced in years, the more likely you will be wiping more ass than you  kiss.

       Everything I eat is calculated to be eliminated upon awakening.  I attempt to not consume anything which takes longer than twenty-four hours to work through my system.  Animal meat takes longer and exits less easily.  Alcohol dries everything up, for a day, at least, unless you are sober enough to drink lots of water prior to crashing.

      Nephew asks me when is the time I was in the best shape of my life?  Right now.  No, I mean anytime before now.  Right now, I am in the best physical condition I've ever been in.  I know.  It is no accident.  It's just that it took me seventy-four years to be in a position to work a plan thoroughly.  All I have to do is practice what I preach, all the time.

     Beans and greens and streams of tea.  Home baked whole wheat bread. Whole chicken, boiled. Tuna, salmon, mackerel.  All peanuts butter.  Raisins.  Walnuts.  Apples. Carrots.

     I have dry beans soaking and cooking in my crock pot, or sitting in the fridge afterwards. Along with the beans may be lentils, barley or split peas.  Greens may be broccoli, cabbage or fresh from the garden, like dock, chard, mustard, turnip, etc.

     This is 4Dec12 -

     After my BM, I nuked a cup of green tea and added a teaspoon or so of powdered milk to rinse down my first lungfuls.

11Dec12 -
     OK, every day begins the same way as the line above.
     My next drink is hot cocoa - powder, milk (all milk is powdered), sugar (all sugar is granulated cane or beet) (the cheapest). Water is three minutes, nuked.
     Throughout the day, I drink many cups of green tea and hot cocoa.  Also do some cups of cheap black.  Lately, on occasion I add a taste of Evan Williams bourbon.

     Today was a jogging day, so I went out the door, after the cocoa.  Been wondering about this chest pain and decided it was a muscle strain.  Of course, every unusual stuff in one's chest brings images of going down behind a heart attack.  As I hit the path, I was doing some deep chest breathing and seemed to be stretching past the little irritation. 
     At the intersection with a state highway, I had a clear view of traffic from both directions and sprinted across.  My plan of breathing past the pain was working, already, so I slowed a bit.  Another jogger appeared at my left side.  She passed, but seemed to not be that much faster to my pace.
     Blond pony tail, tall, ear buds, bicep monitor, shorts over pants, white skinny top with over shirt.  The shirt keep being pushed up by her substantial butt and she kept tugging it down.  At the risk of watching too closely too long, I kicked it up and passed her.  Now, I'm thinking to maintain the pace until well enough along that we'll have separation.
     Within 200 yards, or so, while I'm whistling at some deer crossing the path, she pulls alongside and ask if they are always here? 
     I know her name and where she's from, how long she's been using this path.  I hipped her to some kin of mine she knows.   Even intro'd her to this blog.  Then I had to admit I'd busted my pace to pass her and she made that up easily, so "..later on."

     Most of the water I drink is from the shower.  My first post-run sustenance is a sandwich of peanut butter and canned salmon between slices of home made whole wheat bread, plus tea.  Somewhere in this blog I speak to a recipe for the only bread I consume.  Whole wheat bread is available for a couple hours of yeast in warm water to loaves of hot bread.  Nothing else would work in my diet.  No commercial bread is even worthy of introduction to intelligent taste buds.
    Today, I used the end of a loaf.  Slathered some Kroger natural peanut butter on a slice, forked on a layer of fish, covered with another slice and nuked it for 25 seconds.  You can't wolf down a bite, or carry on a conversation, it has to be masticated and agitated across taste buds....  Corner-halved is two helpings. Rinsed with green tea.

   I substituted apple juice for powdered milk in my oats, apple, egg white, raisins, walnuts 5-minute nuked concoction. Eating second meal of the day.  Next is the real meal of the day, beans and greens.

     Half onion, three cloves garlic, sliced carrot, inch of cabbage, into hot 9-inch iron skillet.  Pour a little olive oil on and stir a tad, then add some veg oil and soy sauce.  Cover and cook down.  Uncover and spread a layer of the beans (today was a mixture w/lentils, barley and split peas-green and yellow).  Add salmon, tomato sauce, cheese and lower heat to simmer.

    12-12-12 -

     I use lots of powdered milk.  It's perfect, no fat, all energy.  I do not purchase sweets.  There are no cookies, candies, cakes or pies on my grocery list. I love sugar and chocolate, eat it like an addict. I still insist on fixes.  Powdered milk, cane sugar, cocoa powder. With water or dry.  Adjust each to the desired strength. I lean way to the bitter side of chocolate.  There's a little trick I do by adding egg white and peanut butter in the microwave that is purely delicately delicious. 

     I was up way early and finished my weight workout by 9:00, after the green tea and usual wake up.  Sandwich was peanut butter and mackerel.  So good, I did another half.
     Have the oats, apple, walnuts, raisins, apple juice in the 'wave.  Out of eggs and milk.

    Started a crock of beans, great northern, pinto, black-eyed peas.  I have enough from the last batch for today's b's&g's.

16Dec12 -

     Green tea with some powdered milk.  Bowl. Boiling water over tbsp. cocoa, then stir in powdered milk and sugar.

  17 Dec 12 -

    Been trying to get a day's nourishment writen down, but I've been out of bread (just got yeast and flour today) and been improvising, especially the peanut butter and fish or chicken sandwich I open with every day.
     Mixed whole wheat, egg, minute amount of baking powder, water, powdered milk, remains of a can of mackerel, then ladled onto my iron skillet and fried 'em on both sides. Hot cakes with peanut butter and butter.  In the second batch, I added nuts, raisins,and apple, then nuked half-cup portions.  All I remember is stretching my first meal into the second and eating more than I would have if there had been bread.

Today was a running day. I bagged it to get a ride to Jackson with the Paleo.  Whiskey, dog food, and Walmart..  Rare day off from either run or iron lift.
     Had my usual tea, then cocoa, and an apple to go.  Cocoa and Evan Wms. herb.  Baked bread.

18Dec12 -

     Green tea (milk), hot cocoa, run.  Two slice (buttered,  no p-butter) salmon sandwich. Cup-a-green.  Apple, egg, oats, raisins, walnuts, milk, water to wet, nuke 5-6 minutes.  Another cup-a-green.
Slice of bread and butter.  Biked to Family Dollar.  Cocoa, mackerel, salmon, all cheaper than grocery stores.

22Dec12 -

29Dec12 -

31Dec12 -

     Began this thinking I could do a day's worth of eating in one sitting, so to speak, but my larder was low and the greens and beans part has been compromised to strange mixes.  So, ideally, I slice three cloves of garlic, half an onion, and carrot into a 9-inch iron skillet with heat.  Stir it around and add a few drizzles of olive oil, then lower heat, splash in some soy sauce, put a lid on it and let it sizzle.   Slice the crown from a broccoli plant, finely, and put it into the skillet.
     The beans I use are from the crock pot and they are unseasoned.  I ladle them over the broc. then I add salt, pepper, paprika, ginger, turmeric and curry.  Then tomato sauce, chicken or fish, cheese.  Put the lid on low heat until the cheese is melted.  I usually stir it all through, first, but a pie slice with the layers intact is prettier.  And probably more civilized.
    I may devote a few lines to the concoctions I eat through when normal ingredients are scarce.
    Next year.

4Jan13 -

     The getting of that which represents happiness, to you, may stretch into your later years. If not, it is attained in earlier years.  This is when many find the "getting" is less satisfying than the goal.  The healthiest endeavor may be to change the goal, even in another line of work or venue.
     If your goal was reached into your "old" years, it may be difficult to change, so you remain, inside the goal, until you become an expert.
     At some point, my only goal was to write to publication.  I was certain I could make an income from the way I put it down on paper. Decades passed; marriages, kids, college attempts, lunch-bucket jobs (twenty-five, or more), addresses in five or six different states, arrests, little jail time...and all I really wanted to do was write a hit.
     During the last couple decades, or so, all I want to do is write, run, and lift. Full-time.  At this instant, I own a house, I have a monthly income and the only full-time female presence is my lion hound.  So, I am free to write anytime, run for an hour and a half every other day and do my weight workout on the off days. 
     I do not own a TV.  There is no time in my day for that.  I have a program on my computer which gives me ESPN and every soccer, football and basketball game in the world.
      The writing is all the time.  There are stacks of stuff to re-do and new pages being filled with my latest creative juices.

     I realize I've reached my goal.  I believe, now, that I write, primarily, because I enjoy my own scribbling.

24Jan13 -

     And I'm thinking about the need to have purpose in one's life.  The purpose becomes the life.  Any profession or endeavor which disciplines running events around the job. The more years spent in this routine of going to work every day, i.e., the getting up, the getting some nourishment, spending the eight or more hours required to receive a regular paycheck, leaving to prepare for the next day by resting, eating and sleeping.  Eventually, this going through all the motions, each day, becomes impossible to stop and lead any sort of productive existence.  After some time, it becomes clear the most unhealthy thing we do is to stop the routine and retire.  The stillness brings a permanent one.  Death.

     I was aware a long time ago, that I would never retire from a job.  Didn't intend to ever "retire."
My attitude usually prevented any long term employment.  USAF was the only job which lasted a full four years.  Obviously, it took many different jobs to get through two marriages and four children.  Count is over twenty-seven different full-time gigs. All gut jobs, except for some retail.

     My job, now, is physical conditioning.  Every day, after a cup of tea, I run or lift weights.  Then I begin my day.  But the job comes first.

27Jan13 -
29Jan13 -

     I consume lots of food.  When I think about eating, it is something I'm going to prepare.  I don't do burger-doodles or pizza palaces or restaurants.  I don't do carry-outs or deliveries of food to my house.  I totally enjoy my own cooking and baking.  Of course, I'm only nourishing myself.  It is a total myth that it is difficult to prepare meals for just one person.

     The fact is that when you are use to preparing all of your own meals, it is way easy to put something together to fill up a friend, also.

     Groceries do not take up a large portion of my monthly expenses.  Due to my poorness and oldness, I receive thirty-five pounds of foodstuffs each month, from government food bank.  There is nothing in the box which I would purchase.  But free food should never be wasted.  If it's purchased, it may be disposed of in any chosen manner. I do not store much food and never buy much canned.  So by the time each month's pickup date comes around, the thirty-five pounds is used up, except for dry beans and dry pasta.

23Feb13 -

    Keep hearing about hunger in the young.  Undernourished kids in school.  Unable to feed themselves or be feed on a regular healthy basis. In the United States of America.  With flush toilets and electric power and cheap beans and greens ingredients. Any kid can plug in a crock pot, fill it with water and dry beans and turn the dial to high.  After a day, there is edible healthy food (beans) to remove from pot and consume.  By continuing to add water and dry beans, healthy edible food will be available year-around.
     Any child can learn to bake bread. 
     Any child can learn to identify edible wild greens while acquiring a taste for all greens.
    So, excuse me, if a kid is hungry in this country it is because they won't take the time from all the other shit occupying their time to feed themselves.
   Of course, with out-of-shape adults constantly leading them to burger-doodles and ordering take-out pizza, the children of America end up with the same half-nourishment needs.  Except adult brains are already finished developing.  Children need full-nourishment to grow their brains.  The nourishment is the secret to evolution.  With less nourishment, evolution slows.  Unless we find a way to teach our children this importance, we may live to see our grands and great-grands less physically able to handle the rigors of thinking and dreaming and doing into later adulthood.

    I intend to put a week of my diet down in sequence.  It works to make eating enjoyable and constant.

Thinking about the kids stuff above, it appears my entire old people's regimen should begin with children, so I'll begin holding cooking classes for kindergartner's.  Get a trained teacher and teach three at a time, with each group following another in a five-day period of classes.  Film it and distribute.

4Mar13 -
1Apr13 -

     Neighbor kid says, "He's keeping you young," referring to my new dog, Joe. I'm near 75, and he's young enough to be a grand-son, yet he sees something in my attitude that says "young" in his eyes.  It was a special few splits of seconds that lit me up and I still feel it when I think about it.

     The only dog I ever licensed kept me young for the years I had her.  I was totally ignorant of dog ownership and vowed more than once to never have a dog, considering all the undisciplined ones I'd  experienced.  Never had one growing up in my grandfather's house, because he considered any canine other than a chained-til-hunt foxhound.  Since I came along way at the tail end of his foxhunting days, he was finished keeping hounds, boxed and chained at the far end of the property.
     
Brownie is a sad story.  He actually belonged to Satch Collins, but he followed me home from Collins' as they were newspaper customers of mine. A brindle bulldog, is the only description I ever heard, and that came from a stranger on the other side of town. Brownie was like a muscle-bound blowed up beagle with a large jaw and short snout.  He was black and tan brindled.  A stud when he started running with me and the Cundiff boys; take on any other male dog and chase a cat half-up the trunk to tree it.
     As I remember it, now, there was a real brief period of no more than three years when Brownie was with me or Gary or George whenever we were outside to play.  Their house was one block up the hill and Collins' was another two blocks, downhill.  Mrs. Collins once told my mother at Starkeys that she was going to sue me for alienation of affection.  When we weren't in school, Brownie was with us, running the streets, hiking through the woods to the lake, everywhere we went.  If we went out in the snow, Brownie would show up.  Sometimes he would shiver at the door, and if I didn't come out, he'd wander home, I guessed. 
     I was the oldest by a year and two. Brownie still followed George and Gary, and one evening he was hit by a car trying to catch up. Crippled his foreleg until he limped a callous on it.  I don't know what happened to Brownie.  I was old enough to have made it my business to find a way to have fixed that leg.  That dog was loyal to the people who allowed him to run in their pack.  We used him up like a stray.

Joe can retrieve cans.  Joe chased a rabbit down, killed it and carried it back to me.  He wanted to eat some but I pulled him away and finished the run.  On returning, Joe picked up the carcass and carried it as if to take it home.  Two deer crossed ahead, headed for the strip mine area.  Joe dropped the rabbit and chased the deer.
     On the last run, he tried to hump an elderly dude on the path.  I kicked him off and he immediately took up with two other strays.  I waited and watched to see if he further bothered the walker, and after seeing the man walk through the pack, I tossed the leash aside and went on to the lake.
     Stopped long enough to warn my favorite jogger about the loose mutt and his name.  Two more ladies walking, I figured could handle the hounds
     An hour later, as I approached the place I'd last seen Joe, at some distance, I pause to speak to two huge teenage chicks.  They spoke of a dog that looked like a black coyote, or something. I inquired about whether or not it had bothered them.  Oh, no, we walked right by it and it never moved.  It was Joe and he was lying on the ground, off the path, under the leash I'd tossed onto a bush.  Got up to be hooked up and led home.
     Still a pup at 7-mos., but way ready to begin serious training in obedience.  Absolutely attacks the coal semi's when loose.  Of course, Zimba had an attraction to the sound of some diesel engines but she raced them off the road.

7Apr13 -

     Been trusting Joe off leash too much.  He chased down to joggers when I let him loose at D-street.  They were 100-yards away by the time he caught up and began harassing them as they stopped to try to chase him away.
    I watched, helplessly, but began backing away even further from him.  By the time he noticed, I was near 150-yards away.  Joe did an all-out sprint back to my feet and waited to be hooked up.
     It is way tiring to be pulled the entire run, but he can't be trusted to not chase autos, other joggers, or squirrels.  Today, I walked him prior to my lifting and he found a pile of thrown out ham.  He had the fat and skin wolfed down and carried the jointed bone along.  When he dropped it, he found 3/4 of a loaf of unsliced bread.  Joe carried it and stopped to scarf, until it was gone.  On the way back, he picked up the dropped bone ad carried it home.  One piece is buried and the other is nearly chewed away.

9Apr13 -

     Joe plans an escape whenever anyone holds both storm and inside door open.  "Don't let the dog out!"  stuns people to freeze.  Dog's gone and I'm schooling someone on how to close the door behind you as you open the second.  Joe knows Paleo and he had little trouble hooking Joe up once he'd jumped into the van.  The last cat was a stranger and claimed he was a "dog whisperer, so I tossed him the leash and resumed my skillet fixin's.  There ya go, buddy."
    He did less grabbing and missing than whispering.  Ended up on his knees, trying to snatch Joe off an attack pass.  I've been there; necessary to grab the collar and throw Joe onto his back to hook him to a leash.  It's cam-phoned.

12Apr13 -

     Did my entire run with Joe on-leash, then released him two blocks from the house because it was beginning to rain, so there was little chance to harass anyone outside.  He was gone for over an hour and came back.  Quickest way to get him inside is to prop the door open and put some fresh food in his bowl. Tomorrow I begin the can retrieving lessons outside.  He'll bring tossed cans from all over the house and put them where I ask (in my hand or in a plastic bucket).  Ka-niece sent down most  of an entire chicken carcass, so there will be treats enough for a half-a-rack of cans.

     Age should improve your assessment of females, so settling for less than you were used to, is probably because you feel you are less.  But I can't justify that, since I am quite sure that I'm as good as I've ever gotten; physically, for sure and mentally, still thinking.  I was listening to some radio music and thinking how much better I would be, today, for all my ex's.  If they were alive or available. Obviously, I'm talking myself into having another full-time female  presence in my life and she won't be old. Of course, at seventy-five on the 4th of July, they are all young holes. But it is more than a tad disconcerting when I see chicks I (supposedly) hit on, years ago, who I wouldn't take out today.  Even if they would go.  So, unless someone drops in who one time dropped out just as quickly, shows up out of the blue...I can picture a couple of those, I'll be waving plastic and smiling at all the split-tails.



315 N. New Jersey Avenue
Wellston OH 45692





                                                                  BUSTER

                                                                        by

                                                            M. Harrison Philips




     I was standing in Bob's front yard, saying goodbye for the third or forth time.  He lived on the

outside edge of a tiny Ohio village and had invited me over to see if his Doberman could work with

his beagle and run a rabbit down.  The experiment didn't go so well.  The dogs were secured and we

were finishing another "last" beer when an adult beagle wandered into the yard.  After a quick pet and

a visual check, Bob said, "I think I'll keep him."

     I'm certain I said something about the dog seeming to be a healthy pet, and maybe a mention of

"dog rustling," but Bob simply walked the beagle to a chain in the back and hooked him up.  He answered

my suggesting the dog must belong to somebody with, "That somebody is me."

     Bob is a hunter with Kentucky roots and keeps dogs on the premises.  He named the "lost" dog Buster

and spoke of using him to breed some rabbit dogs to sell.  Most of our conversations were on-break at the

 foundry where we worked 2nd shift.

     "Hey, Phil, you know that dog I chained up while you were over to the house?"

     "Buster?"

     "Man, can he ever hunt!"

     I was reminded of  the time when we were in grade school that my classmate, Terry, invited me to go
rabbit hunting with his grandfather.  The old man drove us and his beagle to some woods. As soon as the
dog jumped a rabbit, the old man stationed us in position to shoot the quarry when the dog tracked it's
circular route.  Terry and I were as green as pool tables and twice as square.  We stood silently with
shotguns ready as the rabbit ran past us.
     "What the hell are you idiots doing?  Don't you know how to shoot those guns?  Jesus Christ, the dog
brought it right past you.  Let's go, you stupid asses don't know shit about hunting."
     Terry and I just looked at each other, made some crazy faces behind the old boy's back, as we loaded
up in the '53 Chevy. We were actually ready to try again, that day, after a few minutes of lecturing  but it was
cold and wet and the old guy was too pissed to fight the elements and our ignorance.
  It was a surprise, after my own early hunting fiasco, when Bob told me about missing a rabbit that Buster
had brought around, twice! He spoke of missing another shot, but I wasn't certain it was the same rabbit.  In
any case, he decided to change shotguns.  Not soon enough for Buster, however.
     Bob came to work with a story about Buster actually catching a rabbit and holding it until Bob
approached.  "The dog rolled his left eye up to see if I was looking, then he turned loose of the rabbit."
     "You surely didn't miss that one?"
     "Ah, man, wouldn't that have been a damned shame?  No, no man, I cut that bunny down with one shot
from that new pump-action I bought.  And that land by the railroad tracks is teeming with rabbits, so I intend
to show Buster that if he keeps bringin' 'em, I'll keep downin' 'em."
     The next time I spoke to Bob, at work, he was quite upset to tell me he'd shot Buster.  He explained he
may have been over-anxious or didn't realize the dog was that close, again.  When I inquired how bad it
was, Bob said Buster had some trouble walking but he didn't think he was carrying any buckshot.
     "Do you think he'll be gun-shy now?"
     "Maybe, I don't know, I just want him better so we can start hunting again."
     Buster recovered and during  the two years Bob and I took some breaks together, he owned many
beagles.  Bought a bitch carrying a litter and kept her as well as four of her pups, and had two or three
others but none compared to Buster.
     Years after our foundry days, I had a brief visit with Bob and he told me about belonging to an Ohio
beagle club.  Buster had won ribbons at field trials against younger hounds.


15May13 -

     Joe hunts for spiders and has cleared them to a height of three or four feet, which is where they all may end up, no matter the higher webs.  I've noticed not hitting an occasional strand while doing one of the night walks to take a whizz.  He has also eliminated any wasp or fly on the inside.  Usually eats them.  But anything buzzing him may suffer his spring quick leap, and he'll take a stinging to put 'em on the ground to paw-pulverize.  Fearless Australian shepherd.
     A suit from the 1st National watched me walking Joe until I ask him what was up?  Had a female Australian shepherd that looked like Joe.  Told me she was 17-years of a great dog, "the smartest." Suggested I de-nut Joe.

   Zimba loved to go with me for a jog.  She would bounce around, getting ready while I was putting on shoes. After a while, she would stay close, off the leash and I assured everybody "She's harmless."  Joe gives not a damn about a jog, all he wants to do is chase, at top speed, with or without me.
   Finally had to fence him in, except when  leashed.  Chases the mailman, canners, squirrels, deer, etc.  He'll get plenty of exercise, but it won't be with me while I'm jogging.  Way easier for me.

Father's Day '13 -

     Jonesey, Joe,Yote, has been re-named, rebuked and reprimanded for most of his first dog year of life. But I've adapted, because he's my dog, and I want him to be well-disciplined and welcome, instead of wolfing and running wild.

     Sixty-years ago, a beautiful blond two grades behind me seduced me with simple ploys.  She snatched my blue toboggan and skated away at the local rink.  When she returned it, I was red and silent as she pulled it onto my crew-cut.
     I had a buddy who had his driver's license and access to the new family vehicle which he helped with the engine/transmission order, a sporty-fast '55 Plymouth.  I was still passing newspapers.  He was giving rides to the blond and her younger, dark-haired cousin. He pulled to the curb beside where I was preparing my papers to go on my route. He asked me to go for a ride and he'd bring me back in time to pass them.
     I got into the back seat with the blond.  She was a model body in a two piece thing made from two red bandannas.  I squeezed into a corner of the seat and she took up all the rest with tanned legs, arms and torso. My buddy was riding with the super close cousin, dressed in the identical handkerchiefs.  She wanted to drive, so they switched as soon as we were out of town. They were pinching and grabbing at each other while the car was flying along and I was a stiff as a statue.
     She was too beautiful to touch, even if I had the first idea about how to go about it, even though she was stirring around anxiously. Suddenly, the brakes were slammed as the car was stopped for a tortoise in the road.  I hurriedly exited, picked it up and returned to the back seat.
      I held the hard shell in both hands, using it as a means to ward off advances. The only thing I remember her saying was "You have a shell around you like that turtle.
       When I was returned to the curb, my buddy was still grinning a mile and the scantily clad lasses smiled and waved goodbye.
     I saw those girls many times afterwards, usually with the same buddy, and they always caused a stir.  For a short time, some peers believed I belonged to the blond and one of the first official dates was with a girl who asked the blond if it would be alright to ask me to a Sadie Hawkins dance.
     That's it.  My entire experience with that blond. Few years have passed when I didn't review that day in the back seat of that Plymouth.  It was a premature love jolt which never left me.
     I was gone from our hometown for thirty-five years, military, marriage and managing a family of four kids.  Never forgot her.  Twelve years in California with a beautiful blond second wife.  Never forgot her.  Twelve years as a vagabond.  Never forgot her.  Moved back to our hometown and bought a house fifteen years ago.  Never forgot her.
     In time, I became acquainted with her daughter, brother-in-law, cousins, nieces, nephews, son-in-law and son.  I bugged them all about re-introducing her to me but they all discouraged it.  I was too far back in her history, I guess.
     Recently, I attended the showing of her deceased son, a young dude I met late in his life, primarily at the party house of a friend of my girlfriend.  We'd be drinking and toking and I'd ask him about his mom but he always just smiled at the suggestion, since I was with somebody at the time.
      I was standing just away from the casket and his sister approached.  She smiled and I ask about her mom.  She nodded in a direction and said, "Here's my mom, doesn't she look good?"
        She walked to near my side, but was talking to another lady.  I stood closer than we've ever been together.  The conversation with the other lady seemed to be extended, but I stayed perfectly still, except with a couple glances at her daughter who was smiling and waiting, also.
      Unable to wait any longer than the sixty-years, I interrupted her and began my tale about how long I'd been back and still hadn't been able to arrange a face-to-face meeting.
      "You know who I am, right?"
      "Yes, I know who you are, I never forget a face, just names."
      All she knows about me is by the letters I write to the local editor. I talked to the other woman and had to tell her about my lifetime of infatuation.  She said it's never too late. All I can say is I want to get a new phone.

Jun 20 -

     Somewhere in this blog is my idea about home baked whole wheat bread.  Forget it all, except for the actual baking part. Sour dough as a leavening is far superior to yeast rise bread. I was hipped to it by an NPR station feature. A cup of starter for each package of yeast is the recipe substitute. Starter is simply equal parts water and flour left for a few days to sour.  I had excellent results first try.        
         
 25 Jun -

     I park my bike in front to leave the yard without my dog knowing.  Yote is in an enclosure at the other end of the house. He usually hears me and barks a high pitched cry.  Yesterday, I left to get gasoline for the mower.  By the time I'd gone to the other side of the block, my dog was already to the intersection, flying low.  He got in front of me but I saw the light change a block ahead and pedaled in 10th to get through the intersection.  Yodi was waiting and tried to block my way but I cranked on and turned left at the next intersection.
    The race was on, he was keeping up and then raced ahead to attack an automobile.  An older female driver stopped in the middle of the 4-way stop when my dog barked and bit at her front tire.  She turned her head to the right to  look at me as Yodi jumped up on to her driver's side door and looked straight through to me.  For an instant, the shocked expression inquiring about the dog was backed up by Yodi's face. She never saw the dog until he ran after me as I went behind the car.
     I pulled into the gas pump and leaned my bike against the post guard.  Yodi never slowed at the busiest intersection in town.  Chased a car and two trucks, that I saw, then dashed after me after I got a gallon and rode off.  Once home, Yodi emersed himself in the bathtub pond and has been limping around ever since.    
     I still do not know how he escaped this last time.

26 Jun -

     The father figure in my life is my maternal grandfather.  I say "is" even though he has long passed because I think often of how he would have lived my life. From birth to death, he was under the influence of one or more females.  Except for the hours he spent in manual labor jobs, a woman or women ruled his every waking minute.  The same held true for me, until I bought another house.  Since then, there has never been a full-time female presence in my home.  For nearly a decade, I claim no full-time female friend.
     Of course, no chick who has observed my strictly bachelor quarters of minimum creature comforts (queen waterbed excepted)  and non-stop party atmosphere immersed in loud music, has shown any inclination to move in.  Fact is, I'm not even seeing anyone.  However, as was the old boy's want, I attempt to be truly civilized in the presence of any lady I'm mentally checking out.
     Grandpa always planted a garden.  Everything harvested was prepared by a wife and daughters.  I prepare all my food and Grandpa never had fresh stuff from his garden which would come even close to my iron skillet beans and greens fixin's.  In his time, most all the main nutrients in food was cooked away in big steam boiling.  Corn, green beans, carrots, potatoes...overcooked but totally delicious, to our uneducated tastes, due to the meat base.
     Meat and potato fare was supposedly the way to good health.  Grandpa ate three meals every day.  He finally began preparing his own breakfast after he was taught how to cook oatmeal by a wife who had discovered late night TV and retired long after his 10 o'clock bedtime. He walked home to eat what we called "dinner."  He shared the table with kids coming home from school for the half-hour break. In the evening, we ate "supper."   Nobody consumed more than Grandpa and everyone was encouraged to fill a plate and empty it.  The wife, the daughters, the grand-kids he took in, all gained weight and tried to cut back, but Grandpa stayed horse-whip thin, even with his penchant for answering his wife's request for dessert (Grandpa insisted on a meal-ending dessert), "Pie or cake, Ernest?"
     "I believe I'll have both, Polly."
     There is no pie or cake in my house.  There is no commercially prepared confections. There's sugar, powdered milk and cocoa powder. My sugar fixes entail mixing these three, dry, and eating with a spoon. However, I heat water and mix the three for a chocolate drink many times during the day.

6Jul13 -

     Decided to keep Coyote Joe and begin serious training as a go-anywhere dog or one which can be left alone when I go alone.  This means 24/7 with me, inside or on a leash when I go. As Bill said when I complained about the Yote cutting into me social life.  He is your social life.
     The enclosure I constructed was wasted effort.

17Jul13 -

    I've given up on Yote (Joe) two or three more times during the past 10 days, but figured someone would eventually get a damned good dog, so I claim him as mine. Took awhile to figure the reason he kept running away was to go home, up the hill for a block, back to K-niece, whose name his tag is in.  Plus her neighbor who feeds the dog whenever he comes begging.
     He doesn't get loose to run, or hasn't for about four days.  When I do loose him, it is on vacant land, away from my house, so he has nowhere else to go but back to the leash.  He has a peculiar sequence he goes through.
     First he turns towards me and gets low to the ground.  Then he dashes on a fast path directly at me, before veering away at the last step, makes a pass by me to turn and come back again. Most times, he stands for the hook-up.  Other times, he bites at my shoes and cuffs, as if trying to keep me in place. He may get carried away and have to be commanded to stop.
     His favorite chase is birds in the low trees, as soon as he is freed. Mostly robins and mocking birds, which fly from tree to tree, screaming back at his barking. There's also a mud hole, nearby, which he never misses, getting in as deep as the level.  His black dust mop hair soaks debris and dirt, then dries clean as nylon thread.
   
     Been knowing this cat from my lake runs and he invites me to go kayaking with him at Lake Alma.  What about the dog?  Bring him.  Yote has only been over his head in water, twice, and that's on leash. He's a bit of a panic swimmer.  But I'd never kayaked, either.  Anj picks me up in a GMC pickup with a kayak and another board on board.  Yote needed no coaxing to get into the back seat.
     I held the dog on leash, as the gear was unloaded and I was handed a life vest.  After deciding the kayak would work better for me to begin with, I handed over the leash and tried to fit.  Legs too long for the needed adjustment.  I hung my legs over the side and paddled ahead.  Yote tried to follow and Anj let him swim, on leash, pulling the over sized surf board, as he knelt on it.  When Yote tired out, he hauled him aboard and Yote was as still as a pro, as Anj stood and followed me to the island, using the long stand up paddle.
    Since the bridge to the island has been closed for five or more years, I've often wondered if the last beaver lodge to escape the trappers was still active. Beaver and muskrat have been trapped away.
     We returned to the beach and Anj instructed me on the use of the big board.  I tried it as he and Yote lay around in the shallow water.  A forever day, for sure.

   Not unlike today, which ended with that Nazi kike friend of mine, enticing me to go see Krebs, who already said he had to work, tomorrow and wasn't staying up late. Took Joe-yote and sprang for a half-a-rack of Miller Old Milwaukee Best Ice-5.9% alcohol.  Two young holes there, and they split in a hurry after I show.  N-k has already busted the pack and offering around. Yote announces the Seth and shortly thereafter begins whining behind being tangled in his leash tied to the front porch.
....so, I'm leaving for home with my dog, finishing my second brew.  I unhooked him.  Within a block, I'd emptied the can, crushed it, picked two apples off a tree...Yote found some high weeds across from a cops house and took a late night dump.
     I went up the steps at the A Street entrance to the town founder's crib.  Sat on the porch and talked Yote into coming for a hookup.  Then I remembered I'd left my wallet behind the visor and walked back to get it. Went inside, got another beer and said goodbye.  Wasn't home a second when Joe Yote broke past the storm door and split.  Wonder if this is home, yet. I'm crashing, gotta run tomorrow.  Wherever he is, he's going to Alma.

      At this age, it becomes too obvious that active olders are scary to young world-in-the-palm-of-their -hands chicks.  Trouble is, they're all chicks; 8 to 80, blind, crippled, cross-eyed or crazy.  And the young hard-legs all come talking about how they hope they're in as good as shape when they are my age, as if I just began my regimen last week. I don't mind outliving pets, but outliving young friends is worse.  The older one gets the more obvious it becomes that one must continue on one's own. You wait for assistance, you keep waiting until you are gone. Get up, tell 'em to get off your back and allow you to move past "right around here" as Grandma Florence used to say while twirling her hand in a circular motion in front of her.

21Jul13 -

      Zimba would stalk a rabbit in the yard, get close enough to faint a leap, then run after the fleeing bunny. She could hot track and sight chase for the full circle the quarry would travel.  In high weeds, she would run on her back legs, head up to see any movement. She never caught one, to my knowledge, but was really into the stalk-and-chase.
      This morning, I watched Yote-Joe jump a rabbit and chased it down in the weeds.  I called him off, but he'd already had it in his teeth and tossed it to flip circles in the air until it was barely panting when I leashed the dog and led him away.  We were fifty yards away when I unleashed him.  He immediately ran back to the catch.  I kept walking and Yote stayed behind.  When I was some distance away, whistling and calling, he would flip, carry, chew on and soak it in a mud puddle.  Finally, I went back and hooked him up, but he never loosed the rabbit.  After carrying it for a ways, he stopped and began eating.  From back to front, "lucky" feet to eyes and ears, Yote devoured the entire carcass.  It was as wild an event as I've seen in a while.

26Jul13 -

     Deconstructed my 7-ft cube greenhouse.  Paleo said it was the perfect southeast facing construction which early man preferred in a cave opening.  Cookie said it was a work of art. It was partial walls of 2X4's and salvaged house windows in wood frames, all screwed together, sans any sunken posts.  Lots of glass has been shattered by wind and recklessness but I kept accumulating more old windows so there is enough to enlarge the next greenhouse project.  Had to work around two large wasp clusters until everything was down and on the ground.

2Aug13 -

     Lots of wood from the pine and apple I felled plus scrap from projects, so I've been burning in my open, stone half-circle fire pit at the edge of my garden.  For the most part, at night, and getting one started in damp, just rained weather is a fun challenge.  The closest neighbor to the fire cares not a tad and offered me  beer from a pickup bed cooler, one night.  Tonight, while mesmerized by the flame and coals, I felt like back on the Shoaitie, in Humboldt County; eighty-acres, California.  Same stars above, same warmth, same alone and same company, a black dog.  On Horse Mountain Road it was a male Lab/Golden Retriever that I was holding for Kevin Forrest while he was at Lake Mead with the Dept of Forestry.  Tonight it was Yote Joe, an Australian Shepherd stud's pup that I took over for a relative after the mutt began terrorizing our neighborhood.  Seamus was free to roam, in the woods or in town (Eureka, CA).  Yote is confined to a line all the time, keeps racing to go back "home" whenever he's loose.  Has snapped two chains.
      Seamus was totally trained and sociable with people and their pets.  Yote has attacked cars, trucks, mail carriers, canners, motorcycles and bikes.

6Aug13 -

     HaWK was talking to an ex-cop about the time he was driving Cactus's car and Fast Eddie asked for a ride home from Bailey's.  HaWK said sure, if Eddie would drive.  They got stopped, HaWK with pot and Eddie ends up arrested and locked on a drunk driving charge.  HaWK had to call The Sweet Baboo to come to the station and pick him up, since he was too intoxicated to walk away.  While Eddie was being booked, HaWK put the bag of reefer under the candy wrappers overflowing an ash can.
      The next morning was pouring rain and HaWK, The Sweet Baboo and Cactus were discussing the evening before.  The car was impounded and they were thinking of ways to get it released when HaWK remembered the pot.  He dressed in a jogging outfit and dashed out the door.  He ran to the police dispatcher and checked the ash can.  Still full of candy wrappers.  He talked to the dispatcher about getting the car released and when given information, he thanked him, backed away long enough for the dispatcher to turn his back, grabbed the marijuana from beneath the trash and dashed back to the apartment to the shock and surprise from the other two.  All three were friends, years younger, The Sweet Baboo, Cactus, Fast Eddie,  This story may as well be fiction because all the others who can verify it are dead. And I was old when they first met me.

11Aug13 -

     Started researching the possibility of recovering muscle mass after the loss years that begin after age 30.  The weightlifters very definitely believe the loss can be slowed or even reversed.  With volumes of high protein diet and supplements...plus iron.
     Probably have to up my workout to more than one set and egg white consumption into the dozens per week instead of two a day.  Oats will become double the amount I now use in my 2nd meal of three.  And the three will probably increase also, towards 5 or 6 a day.
     Since I've stripped myself down to a stringy 160, any mass change will be visible early.

     Many of us will devour an entire plate of food and barely be aware of masticating.  However, after coaxing a bit of leftover from teeth or gums via sucking or tonguing , we will move it about the inside of our mouth, trying to maneuver it between two biting surfaces to chew like the last bite on earth.  We'd do well to grind every mouthful so completely.

22Aug13 -

     They called it "the Dinky."  It was a small engine train which took passengers from the depot to a path along the track where the Lake Hope group disembarked.  The path led to just below the dam with access to the change rooms and down the wooden steps to the beach.
     Entire families would make a day of it, catching the train, spending the day, then walking back to load up and come home.
     Preparations began early and once the water was off, so we couldn't bathe and there was a trauma about "stinking up the train," but we were going to be in water all day, so the return trip was taken care of.  Besides, there were food baskets to prepare for a hungry bunch day at the lake and suits and towels to keep track of.

     The train and track are gone, replaced by a paved "bike path."  It's two blocks from home and I use a portion of it to walk my dog. The depot is still standing but no tracks run close enough to board directly from the brick platform entry. Recently, I watched a blond dressed in beach whites spraying Roundup on the bricks from a high pressure utility rig.  Due to lack of use, some thin grass is squeezing up around some of the bricks and she's beautifying the city.

     It  the Dinky days, there was an entire train yard and maintenance building.  There was lots of traffic, with a crossing guard and boxcars lined up for blocks in a section where there were no cross streets.  Yote chases rabbits, feral cats and deer in that area, now.  I was walking the ties and trying to balance on a rail when I remembered walking from our house to grandma's.  The street ended at the tracks and there was a long line of waiting boxcars.  Mom wanted to climb between them and offered to help me (I was about five) but I was afraid the train would start and trap me. She couldn't change my mind, so we walked ten cars away from the shortcut.

24Aug13 -

     At the "orphanage" where I lived until college, there was a field of sweet corn every year.  And when it was ready, the cauldrons of  boiling water were filled and the roasting ears served with butter and salt.  Grandpa's crop was unmatched and once a son-in-law of his topped off at 13 off -the-cobs after already consuming a large meal.
     Sweet corn is a fading taste. As soon as it's off the stalk, the "sugar" begins turning to starch.  The quicker it is cooked and consumed, the sweeter.  The sweetest is stalled quickly with a session in a 'wave for 5:55.  Then slathered with butter.  Skip the salt, enjoy all the sweet side.
     The microwave is an advantage Ernest didn't have, but dropped in boiling water, immediately after shucking still saved most of the sugar change.  However, his crop was all at once vs my three different patches planted at sequential times.  I did three off my second patch, today, and all it brought me was memories of his, but not this late in August.
     Zimba used to nibble the corn off, but this Joe Yote eats the cob and all.

29Aug13 -

     
     Yote slipped his collar on the run, today, and went after a Siberian Husky, leash harnessed by a friend of mine. These two canines were balls to balls and jaws to jaws, in a serious heart ripping fight.  The other owner was holding on with both hands but couldn't restrain his attacker.  I was trying to get close enough to  a loop around Yote's neck but it would have been sticking a finger in a blender.  I finally did get a leg and tried to pull Yote away but he continued to battle. I decided the only way to end it was to leave and hope my dog followed.
     I was fifty yards away before he answered my calls and stopped biting, then he broke away from the other dog's mounting grip and ran to be re-collared.  His mouth was full of blood, but no other signs of a skirmish. I understand the other dog has some open wounds.

8Sep13 -

     Growing old.  How does one grow an "old?"  I am growing an old.  Old me.  I have the regimen and the recipe.  And it is free.
    To begin with, growing old is like life insurance, i.e., the sooner you get in (buy), the better the odds of getting the premiums back, or a paid-up policy. The younger you begin, the better the end result.  Beginning younger certainly is one-up on growing older.
     However, you may be like me, old already (70+, it's in the blog), and wondering how difficult it is to be able at 80?  And, perhaps, beyond.
     It can not be done on professionally prepared food, unless you have a personal chef.  And a diet of meat will shorten your lifespan, so forget growing an old main-meal-is-meat eater.
     Exercise can begin as a daily requirement at any age.  For the most part, it begins way early and ends too early.  People in their prime will hone their bodies and minds to an athletic endeavor mentality, then begin to slow down after the sports seasons end. The very time they should be developing a workout to continue throughout the rest of their lives. Obviously, athletes deteriorate faster, due to the stresses and strains of their game, which inhibits the daily physical effort of staying in shape, afterwards.
    Well, as I told my high school football coach at a 50-year reunion, after watching the star athletes struggling, "I'm glad I didn't go 100% all the time."

      Exercise must not be interfered with by jobs, tv, cell phone, tiredness or whatever excuse you place ahead of exercise.  Excuse before exercise should only happen in the dictionary. I don't care what your living profession is, it isn't enough energy exertion to keep you in shape. There's an hour somewhere in your daily 24 to devote to yourself, your mind, your body. Your growing old.  You're growing an old.

     Diet must not be interfered with by what you are probably consuming on a yearly basis, grease, sugar, empty carbs, animal fat, artificial sweeteners and flavors, flour dust pastries and bread.  You don't chew and swallow, but wash bites down with an icy drink of something.  Water is the last consideration, except for plastic bottles which are tossed with most of the liquid after the chill is off.

     Must admit I forget when I fit all of the above.
      I do remember the first time I concentrated on getting 'in shape."  I'd gotten a DUI and lost my license, so I began jogging to work.  It was about 15-blocks.  I took two apples for lunch, stopped at the YMCA on the way home from work to lift weights and walked home to a meal of meat and potatoes. I was in my early-thirties and stripped to 160 lbs on a 6-ft. frame. That size has been sort of a benchmark, since then,   Not until I became a serious daily jogger who ate volumes of everything, especially sweets and ice cream, did I maintain that weight.

      I've always been concerned about being overweight.  I played ball at 190, but was never really in shape.  Most of my life, my appetite exceeded what I needed.  I wasn't aware that weight can be controlled by constant attention to details over a span of time. Your genes do not want you to designate these details and delegate the hour each day to develop them.  Your genes like you old and then older and then gone.  They do not fear death by your demise.  In fact, after your reproductive time, they hasten it with constant reminders; pains of simple strains, slips and unsteadiness.

24Sep13 -


     If you last long enough, evolution will become more evident on a personal basis, as you, yourself, evolve.  Almost to the man, or woman, old brings out the best attitudes, and conflicts about the present or near future evaporate in  "I'm sorry, I just don't care anymore, life's too short."

     My Grandfather, on my mother's side, could set a rodent trap so "dear" that none escaped with bait.
For mice he used a plain wood base Victor with a finger-numbing spring powered catcher.  I'd watch as he pulled against the spring to set the bar across to the bait holder.  The design latch was the curved end which held to the bait section.  Moving the bait would slide the bar loose, releasing the 90-degree arc with a neck-braking snap.  The more evolved mice could eat the bait and never move the locking device to trip the trap. In fact, the trap was made to set easily with about 1/16-inch of "play" so the process would not result in accidentally pinched fingers.   Grandpa taught that this should be reduced to way less than recommended, until the release bar was held by a shadow distance from the edge.
   The slightest vibration would trip the trap, so setting it down was a no-bump slide to place on a mouse path or hole. I remember listening in the dark, with the radio on, for the startling sound of metal crashing into wood.  Sometimes the trap would flip over with the mouse intact. From those days until very recently, I could rid a house of every mouse with a couple Victors.
     I still have an old trap.  And mice.

10Oct13 -

     My personal evolution allowed the mice to stay.  I knew my advantage, so I made a silent pact about where they leave their pellets.  The reason is to have a ready energy source in case this chosen nesting site runs so low on food, the babies are starving.  Rats do the same thing, which only adds to their dirtiness.
     No pellets on my stove and two counter spaces.  I was aware where most of the activity was and allowed them to feed from my compost bucket. It worked.  For awhile. Then I discovered trails in the dish towel drawer and another drawer with dog food.  I reverted back to early days and have caught three, so far. The last one almost backed out in time but was caught by both front paws.  Shock killed him as quickly as if the metal pinched his neck.

  Personal evolution stalled.  Similar to the Republican Party.  They have stalled the economic evolution of their country.  All evolution has stallers, people or animals or wildlife which misses the advantage of evolving to a higher order.  Maintaining too old vs trying the new. This assures the process of evolution is slow, deliberate and encouraging revolutionary action.  The kids will always try to prove their ancestors as relics, old-fashioned, un-hip.

23Oct13 -

     Been sans a phone since Frontier fucked up my change over from land line to strictly Internet.  They disconnected the phone but never showed up to do a wireless hookup to Internet.  I went with a cable connection and the price just went up to $46.00 per mo.  The phone will be just in time to cancel Time Warner. It's a free "lifeline" wireless.  Same income verification land line Frontier got from Verizon.  Actually, Verizon dumped the land lines on Frontier.
     7th Street Bill just dropped off some produce from his garden.  Christmas pole Lima beans, sweet potato, green peppers, apples and two potatoes.  Jug has been mushrooming because I know which to eat.  I keep telling him I can walk a half-block and gather all I need, but he brings me half a plastic grocery bags with varieties to clean up.  Chanterelle and small puffballs have been in my stir fry dishes for a month.

17Apr14 -

     Half-a-year since I've been here and now it's the beginning of 'shroom season again.  Been mostly cold with one or two warm nights for the fungus to grow.

18Apr14 -


    E-mailed the magic-flight people about "testing" their vaporizer.  It's a battery powered pot box and the process requires a steady draw, which seems to burn through screens.  The company provided a new one both times mine burnt a hole. It's an enclosed contraption which doesn't allow for changing screens like dry or water pipes.
     My personal take on vaporizers is that they are gimmicks.  Joints and pipes are full effect hits and nothing matches the buzz, be it breathtaking or skull hollowing.  Trash weed is less potent, no matter how you fire it.  "Toast 'em" as The Splib used to say.  Match or lighter directly to the herb and suck it in.  Simplicity satisfies.  This should be in my Pot post, but it's in The Book.

     My "old" seems to be showing up too often, lately.  I be causin' cuts and bruises like a kid who never knew better or had no experience handling blades and drivers.  All at a time when I am as physically able to handle (Looking for a better handle on life) as any time in the past. 
     Since beginning my quest to add muscle mass faster than I'm losing it, I've gained 12 pounds.  I can see it.  My shoulders and arms and chest are defined be more muscle than I've ever shown.  But even at my bulkiest, I had no measurements like now.  I am a bodybuilder.  My runs are just preparation for the next day of lifting.  I look forward to cramming high protein food that I prepare.  I do not eat out.  I couldn't afford for somebody else to fix what I feast on.  Can barely afford it myself.

     Point is, things still get out of hand because I neglect to secure my immediate surroundings, not paying strict attention to details.
     Of course, some things are cumulative, so I don't envision the result.  Like keeping my dog chained, then being upset when he barks at mail delivery, kids on bikes, neighbor kids, other dogs.  But, I chain him, come inside, then have to dash out and "correct" him by being aggressive, which he returns.  However, the long chain is the only way to keep him from dashing away and ending up in the neighborhood he came to me from, which is a mere two blocks away.
     Do not adopt a dog which has an established territory close by.
    

   24Apr14 -

     Now I realize I made decisions which were counter to what I had in mind for Joe-Yote  when I adopted him so soon after losing Zimba.  She was trained to the point of allowing her to roam freely.  She dumped her doo-doo on her home grass, but was out of sight many times.  I know, now, that she went up the street to be fed kraut food and was probably invited inside.
     Ironically, Joe-Yote began to run free in the same neighborhood as the kraut and was fed cat food.  So when I brought him to my house, he made a break for the same place to be fed and cooed to.  But he was a running male pup and soon began to draw the ire of other dog owners which brought the cops with complaints. When I met the pup, he would follow the mailman from his 'hood to mine, but as he got older, he began attacking the mailman from his old porch, as well as cars, bikes, or other loud engines like motorcycles and lawn mowers.


     26Apr14 -

     Heard these doctors and scientist discussing whether or not playing computer games could slow the old timers mental state. Even spoke of programming games especially designed to strengthen the old gray matter.

                                       T'ic, Tac, Toe...

The only game I know
Just never got into them
Not even pong or donkey kong.

X's and O's, impossible to lose
If one has a first move.
Played with a pencil

Marking on plain paper
Nine squares to fill
Or less with some skill.

Takes two to play, but not while on the way, and attention is focused by both.

     27Apr14 -

     It's been two weeks since the "perfect storm" of events which nearly got Yote iced.
     The nearest neighbors were enjoying the first day sunny and mild enough to be outside.  The couple was working on a  dyi hardwood table and their 7-yr old daughter was practicing on a 1st two-wheeler.  Knowing the dog's aggressive barks would be continuous as long as the bike or the kid was moving, I kept him inside, instead of chained outside.
     The family action was in the center of the block and the bike ride was a coast to the south of my west facing windows. Then she moved east and began the coast from just outside my south-facing back door. By then, Yote was aware she was there and was racing upstairs, then down, to try to get a closer look.  He was standing and pushing on the storm door.  I pulled him back, locked the latch and turned to hook him up.
    He hit the door head first, loosed the top hinge enough to slip the lock and charged out.  By the time I turned he had knocked her over, came around the front of the downed bike, barked and bit at her shoes.  She kicked and screamed and he nipped her ankle.  By the time I got to him, he was moving onto her body.
     I remember thinking I had to remove him without anymore harm to her.  Somebody will have to tell me how I did it.  I was on the ground, attempting to restrain him but he got loose by torquing my left ring finger.  He continued the chase until the father heaved a power stapler at him.

    2May14 -

      The mother was holding her crying, bleeding child, the father was retrieving his stapler as I walked into the scene.  My dog was walking up the driveway from the south, ahead of two neighbor men familiar with Yote.  He stopped when I ordered and I leashed him, assuring the two, "He has to be put down," and continued to the house. The four adults and and the child went inside the neighbor's house and I walked the bike to their back door.
     When I returned home, I stood outside for some time, contemplating ending the dog's days.  After awhile, the father walks up, explaining that nobody, not his wife or the girl, was blaming me.  I told him my sick feeling about it all and that I didn't have a way to kill the dog.  He said he'd do it.  When I told him I didn't want to bury Yote on my property, he offered to take care of that, also. Just let me know when you want to do it. He questioned whether the dog would go with him and I said I'd go along.

5May14 -

     A friend has returned my dog to me on many occasions during those first months when Joe Coyote bolted away to his old 'hood.  Sometimes I told him to keep him, since he lives close to where the dog runs to.   Once, he did keep him.   Even had him tied in his back yard.  But the dog went into a funk and he begged me to take the dog back.  There are times when he was as frustrated with the pup as I was.  Plus he is an old friend of the father of the child.  He showed up right on time and I told him the story.  He left and came back very soon with a shotgun and a shell.  Then he went to talk to the father.
     He explained the law pertaining to the rabies procedure after a dog bite. The dog must be quarantined for 7-10 days to monitor its life. If the animal is killed prior to the quarantine period, the head must be severed and frozen for health department investigation.  Cooler heads prevailed and my friend returned to tell me that nobody was going to shoot Yote. The next day I was visited by the dog warden, called by the health department and had a followup from a city policeman.

6May14 -

    Thus began an entirely different relationship between the dog and me.  For the ten days of quarantine, Yote was with me inside the house and on a leash outside.  It was more continuous hours together since I acquired the dog. I was on edge to prevent another incident.  I notified the health department that the dog was still alive. The I made an appointment with a vet whose office was within walking distance.  A rabies shot was another health department order. It was raining until we were almost there.
     Neutering was also requested and scheduled.  I was told I'd be called and jogged home. It seemed a short amount of time had passed when they called that Yote was ready. At the office, about fifteen minutes was required to hear all the instructions and take care of the charges.
     I heard Yote yelping and when the door opened, he was trying to be led with a Queen Elizabeth funnel fastened to his collar.  I told him to come on and took the leash.  He was groggy and confused but made a growl pass at two young  doberman pups on the way to the door.
     I was carrying an umbrella and within a couple blocks it began raining.  Fortunately, most of the way home was via a bike path.  After awhile, I removed the plastic collar and held it in the umbrella hand, while leading the miserable dog with the other hand.  It was long walk home.
     There are no doubt canines which require measures to be taken to hasten the healing of the incision to neuter. The Elizabethan collar may be required to keep a dogs teeth and tongue away from the wound.  A quiet place alone may be required of some dogs, for the first week, or so, to keep them from splitting the stitches.  Keeping a patient from jumping or running stairs may be possible for some dogs.
     I removed the collar early, put it back on but it seemed too much of a hindrance and he would only keep trying to remove it, so it was taken off.  I could keep him from licking with a "no lick" command and he didn't like the taste of the antibiotic spray

8May14 -

   Yote is not a good patient and I'm too impatient, so the stitches had to hold.  It was a week, yesterday, since his visit and we did the donut run, this morning.  I even allowed him to run and scoop in the knee-deep water at the beach.  He tries to pull me in and it's a tug to stay at the edge of the sand.  He's never been off-leash outside since the incident.
     Which reminds me of those stiff leash-collar glow-in-the-dark novelties I used to see at rock concerts.  I'm bee buzzin' like a band saw and someone would lead one through the crowd.  It was someone leading a dog and I could see it, though it was a dark dog being walked through a shadowy group. It was all in my mind.  There was no mutt.  But the initial reaction was there was
    Yote dumps about three blocks into a run.  His preferred spots are in the weeds and undergrowth along the running path.  I'm sure I appear as to be holding an empty leash stretched taut, like those outdoor concert freaks four or five decades ago.
     It's obvious, this has become a dog blog.

12May14 -

 
     Robot dogs?   While watching my dog nap, stretched out and still, I imagine him in terms of a robot.   Battery operated, covered with an artificial hairy coat, resting most of the day and night.  A dog that would jump, run, sit, bark and lie down with a soft voice command.  No feeding (just recharging), no wet, no chunks, no exercise required.  No curling up on beds or furniture.
     Sounds so good, they're probably already available.  Plus, if you already own a well-disciplined canine, you could get a robot dog, no threat companion, for your live one.
     Robot cats would be a much better pet.
But later for that...20May14 Yote pulls towards rustle off island path.  I investigate which puts him closer and he attacks.  It's a young robin, hanging upside down, tangled in a wad of fishing line.  It's a steep bank, I order the dog off and sit while I reach for the bird.  It immediately bites my index finger.  I needed reading glasses to see the loop and kept getting tension while working, then the dog bolts towards an armada of geese.  Ended up biting through the string to free the robin (with a loop of line still dangling) and then it released its beak from my finger and flew away.  Noticed blood on the grasp hand before I was aware of the thorn cut.  I have two nests of robins at the east and west side of the house.  Plus a house of Carolina wrens and cardinal nest in the hawthorn.

     A cat would upset this balance.  Any cat.  They stalk birds and they kill many.  But they rarely eat them, or anything else a cat may stalk and kill, such as rabbits, rats, mice, moles, snakes, crickets, grasshoppers and butterflies.  It's no secret, house cats, pound-for-pound are the number one killer in animals.
     So a cat robot would be perfect. A ball of fur which rests, stretches, curls up again.  The purr would vibrate with petting.  No litter box, no picky appetite, no reason to be outside killing smaller prey.

14Jun14 -

     Yote managed to extend the leash to catch and kill a baby Carolina wren in the cellar entrance.  While cutting the hole from the doughnut run, a pale gold goose appeared on the path ahead.  It was immature and flightless, so I figured it would head into the lake.  Instead, it went into the underbrush, probably attempting to get to a nest.  It stopped too soon and Yote had it in his jaws.  I short-leashed him and told him to drop it.  He did, but as soon as I reached for it, he snatched it and finished it off.  He wanted to carry it away, but I wasn't ready for one of his carnivore raw meat gorges.
     The neutering didn't lessen his aggressiveness directed towards other dogs. Might be a tad deferential towards me.  Still totally on guard at every door slam or visitors.  I usually put him on the leash when anyone comes inside.

15Jun14 -

     Couple of decades ago, Andy called and told me his new daughter had cf.  He explained cystic fibrosis to me and I could offer only sympathy, although I couldn't honestly relate, since I had four daughters and all were healthy.  I'd only heard of one other cf child and assumed the worst but wasn't close enough to the father to followup.
       A few years later, I was a vagabond (homeless, jobless and penniless) and called on Andy.  He and his wife allowed me to hang around, as they were both working full-time jobs and farming a couple hundred acres of corn and beans.  There was plenty to do to work off my r&b.
     In addition to Sarah, there was another daughter, Calista.  The workload schedule was hectic.  Added to it was the constant cf care for Sarah.  Everything she consumed had to be preceded with a huge pig enzyme pill for proper digestion of her food. She couldn't snack, so mealtimes were a cram session of pills and persuasion by parents.
    At some point, I found a way to encourage her to finish her plate.  I told her dad it was "easy beans."  I called her Easy Beans.  Calista had no restrictions and a healthy appetite.  I called her Lo Cal.
     There were strictly scheduled sessions of Sarah being prone and her mother pounding on the kid's back with enough force to loosen buildup in the lungs.
     I was told that Sarah had been made aware that her life was destined to be shortened.  She knew the enzymes were important and she suffered the "beatings" although it was a challenge to settle Sarah into the routine every morning.  There was no outward appearance of her illness.  She was active with a mischievous smile.  In deference to my age, she was told to refer to me as Mr. Maxx.  I went with her father to watch her dance class.  When Miss Vicky ask about me, Sarah told her, "That's Mr. Maxx, he lives in his car."  Everything I owned was in my 1978 Chevy Monza hatchback wagon, so even though it was true, we laughed about it.

17Jun14 -

     I sat with her on occasions.  Once she locked Lo Cal in a bedroom and I had to crawl through a window to get in to open the door.  She ran through a stake line string after a warning and I smacked her ass on the run, then went back to the fence job. Somewhere in this blog is a poem she made up.
     
     I was an every day runner, at the time, and she showed an interest.  After questioning her mother about the possibility of Sarah doing some short runs with me, I was told it was definitely a good idea for her condition. At age six, she and I were entered in a 5k race.  After we caught up with some walkers, she lost interest and slowed.  But she finished and received a special medal.
    After I left the farm, Sarah kept beating the odds.  She had a car, a cashier job and a boy friend by the time she finished high school.  She graduated from college and is getting married.
     I recall her father telling me about a county queen contest she won and her excellent ability on a horse. The last time I saw her, she'd had a back problem which required a metal rod to correct.  Everyone around her seems to be slumping.  The "beatings" are replaced by an electric vibrating vest.
     Sarah is the only cf sufferer I've been personally able to observe.  Some children are special in spite of cruel odds.  I saw parents who softened the disadvantage by always rolling the dice to win.

25Jun14  -

     The USA feels obligated to send armies to foreign lands to keep "over there" from coming "over here."
     Why does the country with the best possible geographical position (maintained borders to the north and south plus oceans at each end) on earth feel so frightened?
     This paranoia of being invaded by anybody and everybody did not begin with 911.  It only proved that a small squad of terrorist bent on a world changing attack on its Trading Center in America could alter us all.
     They did it by working under cover of a friendly country, Saudi Arabia.  They learned to fly in Florida but not the landing part of the training.  They criss-crossed the nation over and over again, planning and practicing for years.
    Yet, we were soon convinced to invade Iraq, again, and get rid of a common hoodlum with a bitter cruel army of bodyguards controlling the masses, because he had weapons of mass destruction and threatened us with them. Once he was taken from a hole and hanged, all control in Iraq was lost because we got rid of the military and the bureaucrats.
     911 was still sticking in our psyche, so we went after the engineer Osama Bin Laden.  He was in the mountains in Afghanistan or Pakistan, so troops were sent into Afghanistan and bushel of money (literally) were delivered to Pakistan's president to insure we could chase his down there if necessary.

     In my lifetime, the USA has waged and ended war against Germany, Japan, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan.  We have sent troops to kill and stop Christians, Buddhists, Muslims and the Godless to prevent them from getting us. Whenever we considered conquering to occupy and rule, the distance seemed to far to add to our land mass.

    We keep an attitude of needing to leave America and curtail enemies plotting against us.  Each generation is almost guaranteed a war to win; by spending vast amounts of citizen money and lives but never gaining anything.  No land, no natural resources, no friends, no new tax base, no end to war-torn families, no peace.

   
     Mexico would welcome an invasion and an end to the border fence bullshit.  Allow Mexico and USA to intermix.  We need more land and they need more protection.  Send some troops and build the four lanes south.  There's already another post for this - Old Mexico 51st State.

18Dec14 -

    Been in this crib for 15-yrs.  Been nursing the gas hot water heater along for past few years by setting temp low enough for showers.  The dial is past low.  Replaced two thermocouples but the third one I've purchased isn't heating to keep pilot on.  I'm replacing with an electric tankless model.  Have to make sure what I'm buying since I'll be doing the installation.

    The gas range I have was free for the hauling.  I replaced a control on it once that I believed to be defective, only to find out I'd hooked it up wrong.  Now, the thermocouple is worn out.  The cool end is different than the water heater in the four-screw cap.  I'm sure It will have to be ordered, if I can get the old one out.  Actually I've been doing without the oven by microwaving a loaf at a time for 16-minutes.  The top burners still work.

     Both these items will eventually be free (if I go electric range) since I have solar panels, inverter and control box to be installed.  That's waiting for the battery, cables and wiring.

     Buncha different shit hit at 76 and doubtless to be cleaned up by 2015.  But I feel physically able to handle it.  Doesn't effect my running, lifting or eating which are just parts of Maxx's Muscle Mass Method.  Old is just as much a buzz as young was.  I'm catching up on Playboy, jug walks in to do a bowl, but prefers to go score something better and returns to speed toke two bowls of not chicana juana.  Then splits.  I get the blog jones and sit down with a 1903 replica bottle of Miller High Life.  Bullshit Loudner drank it when we were in high school.  Said it only takes a dime more to go first class.  I drink Miller Old Milwaukee Best.  It's cheap and 5.9% alcohol.  For the taste, I drink Blue Ribbon.  


   

   


 

   
   
   
   
     

   


    
   



   



   

 

   


       
     
   




       
   


 
           
   


         


  
    



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