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Do I hear sleigh bells? Or is it Gobble, Gobble?

I’m thinking the season is coming. No, I don’t have a red nose. I do like turkey!

Okay. I’m rushing it. In my defense, it’s hard not to. The Geezer and I have made several social calls in the last few weeks. As far back as November 3rd, we observed multitudes of colored lights appearing on porches, around windows, on bushes, even circling palms in some of our neighbors’ yards. The Thanksgiving turkey hasn’t met the Guillotine and people already are checking the northern sky for the fat man in the red suit.

With all the stores dressing for Christmas right after the 4th of July, it’s no wonder you humans allow your ‘not always strong’ minds to wander ahead. Aaahhhhh, try to remember all those store owners decorate their home Christmas trees with dollar signs. Get a grip. Remember that holiday that comes before Santa?

It’s THANKSGIVING! …… Not turkey day, diet abstinence day, football forever day, or “oh, no, not Uncle Pete!” day.

In your rush to get to that ultimate season of joy, you humans have a tendency to brush past Thanksgiving like the first Salvation Army kettle you spy outside Walmart’s exit. Thanksgiving is supposed to be a time of reflection and appreciation for the good fortune that has entered our lives. At least, that was the jest of Lincoln’s reason for creating it as a formal holiday. What has it become to some of us?

Turkey’s dread it! With such an attractive, pleasant, ugly, face. Its hard, easy, to understand its murder.

The compulsory day of gluttony – can heartburn be far behind?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You humans consider it a day to eat enough to increase your waist size so you can justify that new Christmas wardrobe. Green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, steaming baked biscuits, yams, wine, calorie-stuffed desserts, and…of course…turkey! Thanksgiving is a national day of mourning for the bird with the big chest. It’s been raised and hunted by men for that virtue (though some ladies can sympathize with that) since the pilgrims landed. When you think “Thanksgiving,” you have to think, “Fat!” with it.

To many, particularly men, it has become a day to participate in a marathon, a football watching marathon. The tube works overtime as you crush couches and consume untold unneeded calories. The potato chips, dip, little Smokies, and chocolate chip cookies are washed down with floods of Pepsi and Coors. Basketball has competed for a share of the audience. It won’t happen. Watching thin men in shorts works on the conscience more than watching fat men in pads. Humans don’t like to be reminded of their mistakes.

Fascinated by the tube, you human zombies eat snacks like a garbage disposal.

To those of us who reside with you humans, Thanksgiving is leftover appreciation day. Yes, it is a great day for pets. I’m less fussy than either the Geezer or Mrs. G. White meat, dark meat…frankly, I don’t give a damn. (I’ve always had a crush on old Clark Gable).

To the sound of music — “It was anticipation…”

Take your pick–“After the ball is over,” “Happy Days are here again!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To all of you have a HAPPY THANKSGIVING! (And try to remember why we celebrate it!)

 

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The Geezer is on the move…

The audience at one of the Geezer’s presentations

 

DL at the Cultural Center of Charlotte County

The Geezer’s season has arrived. He’ll be busy giving presentations and signing books from now to the spring. He was a speaker at the Cocoa Village Book Fest last Saturday, sandwiched in a public service day Sunday servicing as “Mr. Fix It,” for a charity children’s fishing tournament, did two historical presentations and a luncheon at Southwest Florida College for LifeLong Learning, and will be at the Cultural Center of Charlotte County all this weekend.

No dogs allowed. That means I get stuck “cat-sitting” for Missy. Oh, well………

Mischievous Missy

Visit the Geezer. (DL Havlin) He’ll be at the Cultural Center Friday & Saturday 9 to 3 – That’s at 2800 Aaron Street, Port Charlotte, Florida.

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Holiday House of Hope

I can’t go, but you can. Visit with award-winning author DL Havlin at the Holiday House of Hope, 11/30, 5:30-10:00 PM hosted by the historic Tarpon Lodge on Pine Island

Get your copy of “Turtle Point” set on Pine Island and Cayo Costa

Sandy’s Dream of Twelve Golden Days of Christmas!

The Geezer and I wish you all a very “Merry Christmas”

 

On the 1st day of Christmas
My human gave to me
A fuzzy rug on which to play

I’m a reindeer – Did I fool anyone?

On the 2nd day of Christmas
My human gave to me
Two Osprey screaming
And a fuzzy rug on which to play

These birds are my alarm clock EVERY morning

On the 3rd day of Christmas
My human gave to me
Three hats to wear
Two Osprey screaming
And a fuzzy rug on which to play

I’m now known as “Mahatma Sandy”

On the 4th day of Christmas
My human gave to me
Four pounds of cheese
Three hats to wear
Two Osprey screaming
And a fuzzy rug on which to play

What is life without cheese?

On the 5th day of Christmas
My human gave to me
Five kitties meowing
Four pounds of cheese
Three hats to wear
Two Osprey screaming
And a fuzzy rug on which to play

Aren’t they cute? Too bad they grow into arrogant cats.

On the 6th day of Christmas
My human gave to me
Six balls to go a chasing
Five kitties meowing
Four pounds of cheese
Three hats to wear
Two Osprey screaming
And a fuzzy rug on which to play

Shiny balls that will be easy to see no matter how bad my human’s aim is!

On the 7th day of Christmas
My human gave to me
Seven pictures of Rin Tin Tin
Six balls to go a chasing
Five kitties meowing
Four pounds of cheese
Three hats to wear
Two Osprey a screaming
And a fuzzy rug on which to play

What a hunk! Someone to dream about.

On the 8th day of Christmas
My human gave to me
Eight quail a whistling
Seven pictures of Rin Tin Tin
Six balls to go a chasing
Five kitties meowing
Four pounds of cheese
Three hats to wear
Two Osprey a screaming
And a fuzzy rug on which to play

A painting – These type don’t hide in the palmetto bushes.

On the 9th day of Christmas
My human gave to me
Nine sticks of Pupperoni
Eight quail a whistling
Seven pictures of Rin Tin Tin
Six balls to go a chasing
Five kitties meowing
Four pounds of cheese
Three hats to wear
Two Osprey a screaming
And a fuzzy rug on which to play

“Yum-yum Bells, Yum-yum Bells. Yum-yum all the way!

On the 10th day of Christmas
My human gave to me
Ten two pound steaks a sizzling
Nine packages of Pupperoni
Eight quail a whistling
Seven pictures of Rin Tin Tin
Six balls to go a chasing
Five kitties meowing
Four pounds of cheese
Three hats to wear
Two Osprey a screaming
And a fuzzy rug on which to play

Dare I say it? My tongue anticipates heaven!

On the 11th day of Christmas
My human gave to me
Eleven bottles of Dom Perignon Champagne
Ten two pound steaks a sizzling
Nine packages of Pupperoni
Eight quail a whistling
Seven pictures of Rin Tin Tin
Six balls to go a chasing
Five kitties meowing
Four pounds of cheese
Three hats to wear
Two Osprey a screaming
And a fuzzy rug on which to play

Ohhh my …. See dem pink eliepantttss?

On the 12th day of Christmas
My human gave to me
Twelve glasses of Alka-Seltzer a fizzing
No bottles of Dom Perignon Champagne
No steaks a sizzling
No Pupperoni
No quail a whistling
No pictures of Rin Tin Tin
No balls to chase
No kitties meowing
No pounds of cheese
No hats to wear
No Osprey screaming
No fuzzy rug to sleep it all off

“OH, what a relief it is!

 

Merry Christmas and … A Happy Hang-over … Opps! … A Happy New Year.

PLEASE! No noise … no bright light … no making me move … and NO food!

 

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A dog’s tale of Christmas spirit

As is my custom, I like to present my readers with a canine crafted Christmas story this time of year. This is a new one.

The Geezer and I wish you all a very "Merry Christmas"

The Geezer and I wish you all a very “Merry Christmas”

I watched the dog from my apartment window. The first time I noticed him was when I was eating lunch one Saturday. It was a blustery December day, cold, dreary … the type day best served by fireplaces, sofas with blankets, hot chocolate, and football games on the TV … not being outdoors. My apartment building adjoins the park where I saw him; that park’s lively April through October, but is as still as a mortuary in the cold Midwestern winter.

The dog was by himself, his actions rather strange for he chose to sit by an isolated park bench away from the access sidewalks that criss-cross the facility. Immobile as a statue, he faced into the wind and waited. I might have forgotten about him if it hadn’t been for the fact he was a Golden Retriever, one of my favorite canine breeds. It was for this reason I noticed the same animal, sitting precisely in the same location, after I returned from church the next day.

I’m a project engineer and elected to take a break in job assignments. Christmas was coming and with it another anniversary. My wife died, an untimely victim of a drunk driver the preceding Christmas day. Our ten years together was hardly enough and there were no children to help fill a Grande Canyon sized void in my life. Pity from relatives and friends, though well-meaning, added to my anguish. Their efforts to force me to indulge in an active social life revolted me. I was home, alone, on Monday and when lunch time arrived, I looked to see if the dog had returned to the park. He sat there, waiting for someone or something, patiently.

It was a bright, sunny day, with clear skies and cool temperatures. Between eating a sandwich, sipping coffee, and reading a novel, I kept tabs on the beast. The dog sat there, gazing intensely at the park entrance. The clock in my kitchen chimed two, I glanced at the dog in time to see him walking, alone, to the park’s front gate. I watched him cross the street and disappear into a maze of apartment buildings and homes. I decided I’d see if he’d return the next day. He did.

At eleven the next morning I saw him stroll through the park entrance, trot straight to the same bench, face the gate, sit on his haunches, and wait. Promptly at two, he left. Fascinated, I waited for the animal to change his behavior. He did not vary from his routine. Rain, wind, bitter cold … nothing made a difference. The only change I could see was his body thinning and a slightly perceivable slow-down in his gait.

A few days before Christmas two inches of snow covered the ground. I fancied I could see the animal shake. The poor dog looked as empty-hearted and forlorn as I felt. Before I gave it much thought, a pack of hamburger was in the microwave defrosting.

When I entered the park and stepped the hundred yards that separated us, the dog never looked at me. His eyes were focused on some unseen being in the world outside the park entrance. Goldens are known for their friendly disposition, but this one never acknowledged my existence, even when I sat on the bench next to him. His body was emaciated, his eyes slightly sunk into his skull.

“Hi boy.” The dog ignored me. “Who are you waiting for?” The retrievers eyes remained fixed on the gate. “You hungry?” I removed the hamburger from a cloth cooler and held it on my lap. The dogs nose twitched and its tongue circled its mouth. It did not move or take its eyes away from their vigil. I unwrapped the waxed paper from around the meat and placed it in front of the dog. It whimpered, but remained immobile. “Go ahead, boy.” He whimpered louder. “Go on,” I coaxed. The dog’s hunger won for a few seconds. He dropped his head over the meat and in a couple of gulps the hamburger disappeared. The dog returned to its watch. No amount of petting or verbal persuasion could distract it from its purpose.

“That dog belong to you?” A policeman stared down at the two of us. His expression was friendly, but sad.

“No, officer. I’ve been watching it from my window.” I pointed to my apartment. “I felt sorry for him.”

“It’s a stray. Some people reported it hanging around their home a couple days ago. I been keeping an eye on it. It doesn’t have a home. Sleeps where it can find a warm spot. One thing it does do, it always comes here during lunch time. I was hoping it was yours. Now I’ll have to call animal control and get it put down.”

“You don’t have to do that, do you?”

“Afraid so … unless someone adopts it.”

I heard myself say, “I will.”

‘Royal’ came home with me from the pound on Christmas Eve. It was obvious the dog had been well trained and cared for before his abandonment. He reacted to his new home with an attitude of grateful acceptance. As I had expected, there was a defined reservation in his demeanor. I new I was number two and probably always would be. We woke on Christmas morning … me grateful that something had entered my life to return some focus to it … he grateful for his improved chance of survival. I told him, “Well Royal, we got each other for Christmas.”

We spent the morning introducing ourselves to each other until eleven. It was then Royal barked for the first time. He changed from being calm and sedate to agitated. He went to the apartment door and scratched it and the floor beneath it. “Have to go out?” I asked. He barked and kept looking back and forth at the door and me. I had the leash on him and as we left the apartment there was no doubt where he was headed.

He led me to the park bench, and we sat there and waited, for what I had no idea. It was sunless, very cold, the wind was vicious, snow flew by horizontally and I settled deeper into my coat, wrapping my scarf over my face. Royal whimpered then began barking. When I uncovered my face he was staring at me … I thought.

From the bench next to me a soft feminine voice said, “I’m so happy that Clancy found a new home.” The voice came from a pretty young lady. Her long silver coat covered her in a manner that was surreal. Her brown hair spilled from a knitted cap, she had brown eyes, and smiling lips.

“You know who the dog belongs to?” I asked. She rose, nodded, said “yes,” and knelt in front of Royal wrapping her arms around the animal. It whimpered softly. The girl said, “Clancy belonged to Sally James. Sally had leukemia. The last weeks she lived she came to this park and sat here with Clancy.” The girl stroked the dog and scratched behind its ears. She put her head next to the dog’s ear and whispered to it. “I lost track of him after Sally died.” She patted the Golden on its head a few times and stood up. She smiled at the dog then at me.

I hoped for a negative answer. “If you’d like to take the dog, since he knows you …”

“Oh, no. I can’t have him with me. No dogs allowed kind of place. He is yours now. Besides, you two were made for each other.”

Royal, or Clancy, rested his head on my knee. His eyes were fixed on mine. It was as though a bond had passed from the dog, through the girl, to me. Looking deep into his eyes, I asked, “Ready to go home, boy?” He whimpered a positive response.

“Jessica approves.” It was the girl’s voice, but my wife’s name. My head jerked up to look at her … to ask her. No one was there. The dog and I were alone. His head and eyes were on me and are hearts were one. The weather hadn’t changed, but my life had suddenly turned warm. I spoke to the wind that howled around me, “Thank you Sally. Thank you Jess.” I will never be sure, but I believe I heard two women’s voices faintly, sweetly answer in the wind, “Merry Christmas.”

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Fall has fell! … The Geezer’s on the road again.

I hear Willie singing, "On the road again"

I hear Willie singing, “On the road again”

 

Fall is in the air! It’s only 92 degrees today and the humidity is 78%. Well, that’s better than its been. It means the holidays are coming and, best of all, the election will be over! It’s also traveling season for us as the Geezer starts his appearance schedule after his hip replacement.

Dogfucius has some bits of wisdom for the upcoming season.

Advice to does. A horny deer and a horny dear both must be approached with great caution unless one wishes to be horned. Approach a horny deer from downwind for best success when hunting. Approach a horny dear from upwind for nostril relief. (Hunting these is not necessary.)

Do not discuss going to Grandma’s house for Thanksgiving with any of your turkey friends.

Buy stock in insane asylums. The election will be over soon and overcrowding will be a problem.

I suggest humans with white chimneys post the following sign on Christmas Eve: “Santa, this is not our outhouse.”

Men, do not argue with your spouse about who will be the back half of your Halloween costume if you’re going dressed as a horse. You are what you are.

Speaking of horse rumps – My human, the lovable old Geezer, will be signing books at the On Point Book Fair tomorrow. If you’re in the Tampa, Florida area, he’ll be at the Westshore Plaza 10AM until (ugh) 9PM. Look for the sign with DL Havlin printed on it and the Geezer wearing his black Stetson.

 

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