Tag Archive | Fox News

Remembering —-

Me with my mom, Breeze, and my brothers

Being sequestered in the house has given me time to remember. Memories are great things. They’re one of the few things that can’t be taken from us. I want to share a few of these with all of you in the form of pictures. They are snapshots from my mind. I hope you enjoy them.

Chating with my sister Gracie on a visit to her home in Jacksonville.

Watching the last space shot leave the Cape











 In the photo above. Gracie is my half sister – we shared the same mother. She owned a couple of humans in the Jacksonville area. We loved to play together. The picture was taken in a park on the St. Johns. Every time I see the shot of the space shuttle it saddens me. Why was moronic decision made to scrap our space program? We don’t have to move backwards for the rest of the world to go forward. Horrible decisions made by past politicians sent away our space program and our manufacturing. The Chinese/Corona crud has highlighted how idiotic these actions were.

Sunrise over the Atlantic

Some things are hard to picture in words. A sunrise like the one above and a sunset like the one below fall into that category.

Sunsets are mind quieters, particularly one as beautiful as this.

There are those experiences that always stay with us. The pictures below are reminders of two memorable ones that I’ve experienced.


Ain’t I boootiful — chomp, chomp? – Gators like dogs but not in a good way!

The Night Herons raise a new generation!












Sharing memories with others! Isn’t that a great part of life? Some of my friends and my human’s friends are included in the photos below. They are the good times. Remember some of yours while you see some of mine.

Linda and Larry

Chet “Coach” – left, the Geezer – middle, Betty Ann – Right










More friends and more friends and more friends and more friends and more friends and more friends and more friends and more friends and more friends.

My friend for 13 years, Oreo.


The Geezer at a Book Club with good friend Babs (left front).











Hope these pics helped you remember your own good times and good people.




Cabin Fever!! TV makes it worse.

As close as I’m getting to the out side, A ride in the car


I don’t know about you, but I think life inside walls stinks!  My humans are doing the social distancing thing…religiously.

Before the Chinese Crud, taking a bathroom break was not a big deal. I hunt up the most convenient human, (usually Mrs. G – the Geezer is usually chained to the computer), give them a pathetic look, head for the door, wham…open Sesame…we go out for my relief. Not now. Before they exit they get the binoculars, check the road in both directions, wind direction, fan the air to chase away any clouds of virus laden droplets coughed or sneezed by the isolated giant who happened to stomp over the neighborhood. I expect them to fly a barge balloon over the house to discourage low flying aircraft. 

The Geezer and Mrs. G. stay entombed in the house, venturing out only to get groceries. My outdoor time is limited to potty breaks and riding shotgun in the car on my human’s grocery excursions.

Being relegated to life inside the walls means a steady diet of manure servings from the tube. TV is bad enough, but having to endure the steady parade of politicians, bureaucrats, and medical “experts” who are so self-impressed they need lead weights to keep their helium filled big heads from caring them up to the top of the stratosphere, is unbearable. My humans agree on that.

The Geezer has a good idea for raising money to pay for some of the costs. His idea is simple and he calls them potty pals. The picture of the politician you love to hate is placed on a plastic sheet with a ring around it. The ring is the same shape and size as a standard toilet. A star-burst is cut in the center. Place the potty pal in the pooper and shazaammmm…It will make a trip to the toilet more enjoyable. There’s no end to the potential targets. The Geezer’s favorite potty pal would be WHO Director General Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus. He calls him Sheisskopf for short.

Watching the endless parade of politicians vomit the same manure hour after hour on podiums is nauseating. The interesting thing is many simple inexpensive things could be done to attack the virus. It seems that anything that does not genuflect to the elitist academic egg heads is branded chafe before its reviewed.

The only redeeming portion of the whole TV spectacle is the recognition the on the front medical personnel are so rightfully receiving. They deserve all the praise they’re getting plus!

Let’s hope this ends soon. If the virus doesn’t wipe out society, TV and the elitist will.




Vindicating vacation value …

“Where do you want to go, Geezer?” I asked.

He thought for at least two minutes, that’s a long time when you’re waiting for an answer. Finally, he spoke, “Remember Seinfeld famously said his show was about nothing? So, I want to do the Seinfeld thing … Nothing. I want to go where I can do that.”

I looked at him wondering if the steam in his boiler had escaped. “Nothing? You can do that at home.”

“No Sandy, I can’t. The phone rings, the Internet calls, my next chapter demands to be worked on if I stay here. So … I’m going where no phone will bother me, where there’s no wifi, and to a place I’m far away from my research notes and computer.”

“Is there such a place beside heaven?”

“Yes, I think I’ve found utopia.” He smiled. “We’re going to Amity.”

The view from Amity Cabin’s front porch – A beautiful 38 acre lake we had to ourselves. Except for fish that lined up to strike our lures.


The place DL found was off the beaten path. Let me rephrase: This wonderful piece of seclusion was off a once used game trail. Located in Mississippi near the Alabama line, the farm Amity Cabin is built on isn’t close to anything most Americans recognize as a “destination.” The rolling terrain, the beauty of the unspoiled pines, magnolia blossoms, curious deer, and mirror-like-lake, wrapped  a serenity blanket around us.

Pines in the morning mists

A full house … The Mississippi Martin Family









We’d been at Amity for three days when the old boy’s wisdom became undeniably evident. He’d found the ultimate location and way to relax. We sat on the porch, watching martins pilot their bodies over the lake, dipping, zigging, zagging, and intercepting insects that would be their babies’ lunch. “I have to tell you, Geezer, I thought you were crazy. You weren’t. This is the closest thing to a battery charger for humans I’ve ever seen.”

He nodded. “The one solace accumulating years brings is the wisdom experience imparts. I spent years going on vacations that were scheduled tighter than my work regimen prescribed. I’d race from attraction to attraction, take advantage of sight-seeing or night-life at any place I happen to stay, and squeeze in some work to salve my misguided conscience. The result … I was exhausted at its conclusion. A vacation from the vacation seemed necessary. Then, I discovered this is what I needed. When I returned from a true rest, I found my productivity and creativity returned to the 150% I strive for.”

Mrs G and I had time to read our favorite magazine, Garden & Gun – Wow – what a luxury.

The Geezer rockin’ the day away on Amity Cabin’s front porch.









While our life style was definitely not an episode of “Naked and Afraid,” we were able to commune with nature. Deer visited daily … herons, owls, hawks, martins, robins, cardinals, and a multitude of other birds flitted around us … quail whistled “bob-white” from sun-up to sun-down, and a raccoon peered through the glass front door each evening, daring me to give chase. I didn’t even bark at him … not after his first appearance. It was my chance to relax, too.


A magnificent magnolia blossom. – The candle holders in the photo show size – each is 5″ in diameter. These flowers’ fragrance sweeten each day at Amity.


Most importantly, it was away from the filth Washington and the New York media dumps on us daily. There are no (vomit) politics on the farm. There are no assassination attempts at Amity. The only ABC we saw was in books we read. The FOX we watched had four legs. The Washington Post found its best purpose … to wrap garbage.

Yep, the value of our vacation was vindicated.


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Sometimes humans do horrible things – And Nero fiddles …

Sometimes humans do good things -

At times humans do good things – Sometimes they’re plain horrible!


Unless you are deaf, dumb or blind, you can’t be ignorant of the events of the last 48 hours. Humanities scum, filth, garbage … showed its depravity in Orlando. Unfortunately, the human who perpetrated this event will get the headlines. Sharing those headlines will be pundits and politicos who ask everyone to “be as one.” Aaaaaa … humans, let me enlighten you … you’re already divided. If you don’t make changes, severe ones, World War Three is in the wings. You cannot allow the type evil that is evolving in all areas of the world to grow and prosper. I’d prefer not to have to scavenge your bodies to survive.

I don’t like to talk politics so I won’t say more than this. You humans need change. In thinking. In policy. In honesty. In functionality. Most of all, in leadership. That’s at all levels, in all organizations. Government and the news media should be first, followed closely by what you humans humorously call collegiate education. Barking won’t get it. The only way a mouth saves is CPR. We have had way to much mouth – in fact, fifteen years of it is enough.


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Take this Poll … I know it’s early … Animals vs Humans for President in 2016

Geezer & I share a Christmas kiss

By word (or treat) of mouth – my choices to out run the front-runners.

Didn’t we just go through the modern version of the Spanish Inquisition? An election? The ballots haven’t had a chance to mold and the news media is consumed by 2016. Humans should revolt and burn down the TV news networks and newspapers and give us all a rest. The idiots incorrectly labeled “journalists” remind me of Shakespeare’s witches in MacBeth … huddling around the caldron chanting “Double, Double, Toil and Trouble, Parties Burn and Nonsense Bubble.” Instead of the caldron, their instruments of evil are microphones, word-processors, and polls.

Like their Shakespearean counter-parts they’re up to no good, trying to keep the populace angry, divided, and misinformed. Half the population wants to cut the other half’s throats and all are ready to burn Washington. (That might not be a bad idea if all the politicians and bureaucrats are there at the time it’s made into ashes.)

The information these news folks put out sounds as though it was gathered at a sixth grade sleep-over. It sometimes is a series: one side dares the other, the other side double-dares the first, and the first side double-dog-dares the second, and so on. Think … the tongue-froze-to-flagpole scene in the “Christmas Story.” Of course those actors were more mature. But, remember, we’re talking about humans.

Then there are the polls. You know, those things the media says measure your thoughts, but are designed to shape them instead. They try to make one candidate inevitable and one mission impossible. Well, I’ve decided to give my readers a chance to pick animal competitors for the 2016 Presidency against two of the front-running human candidates. Take the poll and encourage others to do so. I’ll send the results to the TV networks.

August 3 – Goodbye, Mr. B

     I’m oh, so sad, today.  One of the Geezer’s and my friends has left us.  Mr. B, one of our family, passed away last night.  I know that we dogs are supposed to be at odds with our feline cousins, but as with almost all forms of contrasting life, an accord can be reached, and, as in our case, genuine love and respect can flourish. 
     Watching Mr. B the last few weeks has been difficult.  If there ever was a feisty cat, one with no fear, capable of amazing athletic feats, it was my old buddy.  Seeing him decline has been one of the hardest things I’ve had to do.  He used to chase me at random times for random reasons in an unending game of seniority tag.  By his reckoning, I’m a short time resident in the Gator home.  My 2 1/2 years pales to his 20 plus.  Certainly, I’ll miss him, but the Geezer and Mrs. Gator will much, much more.  Those two love us animals with deep uncompromising affection.
     Mr. B spent every night, up to the last ones, curled up in the Gator’s bed next to Mrs. G’s chest.  He was better than an alarm clock, waking her each morning promptly at 5.  Mr. B would see she was propped up in bed, pillows stacked behind her, waiting for the Geezer’s cup of coffee which the old man serves her in bed each morning.  Every day she gave Mr. B his after breakfast “ride,” a stroll around the house perched on her shoulder, a perk he enjoyed and guarded jealously.  When she arrived home each evening, he’d climb up on her chest and gaze lovingly into her eyes, asking no more than that he be allowed to stay.
     As much as Mrs. Gator will grieve her loss of Mr B, the Geezer’s feelings will equal or exceed hers.  There was a special bond between those two.  B was the Geezer’s writing companion before I came to fill part of that responsibility.  Often we’d share that joy, Mr. B draped over the Geezer’s right shoulder while I’d rest my head on the top of the Geezer’s left thigh.  We’d stay at our posts for hours at a time, waiting for the Geezer’s words of appreciation and the petting that always followed.  Mr. B’s favorite spot was sitting on the old boy’s shoulders.  Close seconds were the Geezer’s lap and on the recliner above the Geezer’s head.
     Mr. B was there for the Gators when Hurricane Charley destroyed their house, when they moved to new jobs, when reverses occurred in their lives, and he helped them celebrate those victories, large and small, for which humans strive.  He was so loyal.  In his last few desperate days, he refused to die without having the opportunity to say “goodbye” to the Geezer who was away at a writers conference.  He clung to that thread with uncompromising tenacity until his friend returned home.  In turn, the Geezer was with him at 1:30 when…
     Mr. B, I can only say to you these words that are the highest compliment that any of we living beings can achieve.  “You are dearly loved.  You’ll be severely missed.”  In memory of my friend, Mr. B – October, 1988 to August, 2009.
    There are tears on the keyboard.


July 10 – What’s a stupid, naive dog to do…?

     One of my dog buddies from our street asked, “How can you put up with that old guy, Sandy?” 
     I looked at Barbie the neighborhood cocker spaniel and head gossip.  I said, “The Geezer?  He’s a nice guy.  Why would you ask something like that?”  My human and Barbie’s were discussing mosquitoes and other irrelevant human subjects while we patiently waited for them to resume our walks. 
     Barbie got as close to me as she could and whispered in Doganese, “I’ve heard he’s a cannibal!”
     I yelped, “What!!  Where did you hear that?”
     The Geezer Gator bent over to see if I was okay.  “You alright girl?” he asked.  He doesn’t understand a word of Doganese, though I’ve diligently instructed him in its intricacies.  Of course, at times that’s an advantage.  This was one of them.  I licked a paw and said, “Just a sand-spur, Geezer.”  He accepted my excuse and resumed his chat with Barbie’s lady.
     I motioned to Barbie and we moved away as far as our leashes would allow.  The Geezer is like practically all humans, their comprehension of languages other than those spoken by their species, is zero.  Still, the old boy is perceptive and he might have figured out what we were talking about.  
     I switched back to Doganese as I asked Barbie, “What are you talking about?” 
     “You know what I’m talking about.  You live in that house.”  Barbie looked at the Geezer with disdain.
     I said, “No, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Just like most of her breed Barbie was running her mouth, half-cocked.
     “Oh.  Oh.  I ask you, were his grandchildren here last week?  His ‘grands’ as he calls them?  Huh?   Huh?”  Barbie was practically panting.
      “Yes,” I said. 
      “And, and, are they here now?  Huh?  Huh?”
      “And, when and where was the last place you saw them?  Huh?  Huh?”  Barbie couldn’t contain her excitement, drooling at what she supposed was juicy gossip.
      I thought for a few seconds, replaying the kids visit.  “Last Saturday, in the kitchen, before they left to go home,” I answered.
      “I knew it!  I knew it!  I knew it!”  Barbie yammered.  “You just thought they went home!  He actually ate them!”
      “Bull shit!  How do you get from his ‘grands’ being in the kitchen to the Geezer eating them as the main course?”  I shook my head in disbelief.
       Barbie narrowed her eyes.  “The Geezer confessed to Mrs. Zoomer.  Manny, her chihuahua, told Scoop, the labrador retriever, who told Baseer, the afghan hound, who told Heinz, the… well, I’m not sure what he is, who told me in strictest confidence.  I had to trade something to get that information.”
      “What?” I asked.
      “Sex,” Barbie whispered.
      It was beginning to make sense.  Barbie isn’t the swiftest fish in the canal.  “What did Heinz tell you?”
      “Heinz said, that Baseer said, that…”
      I interrupted, “Skip that, just get to the point.”
      Barbie lowered her voice and glanced nervously at the Geezer Gator as she spoke.  “The Geezer told Mrs. Zoomer that he really enjoyed eating his Grands with sausage and milk gravy!”
      I started laughing so hard I could hardly stand on all four’s.  I said, “Barbie, you moron, Grands are a type of biscuit made by Pillsbury.  Honey, you’ve been had!  Or, let me rephrase–you’ve been screwed!”  For she had.  About that time, the Geezer and Barbie’s human, who the Geezer calls “The Fantastic Fanny,” broke up their conversation and we went our separate ways.
      After we were out of hearing range, the Geezer asked, “What was that all about?  You two were giving somebody a hard time.  Who was the victim?”
     “You.  Let me explain.”  I retold the story and we both got a good chuckle.  I said to the Geezer, “Poor Barbie.  Her ethics are non-existent.  She’s either stupid or naive.  It’s a good thing she owns a nice human.  If she had to earn a living I don’t think there’s anything she could do.”
      The Geezer rubbed his chin a few times then said, “Maybe there’s a couple positions she could hold.”
      “What?” I asked.  I couldn’t think of a thing.
      “A member of the US House of Representatives or a US Senator.”
      “I guess she might qualify for that.”  I thought of the leadership in Washington.  “Yes, she does.  Anything else?”
      “If she couldn’t handle one of those jobs, I can only think of one more– based on the last three who held the job, how about President?”
      I laughed and nodded my agreement.
      The Geezer sighed and added,  “There’s only one problem, Sandy.”
      “What’s that?” I asked.
      “After observing Clinton, Bush, and Obama, she’s probably over qualified.



June 22 – M Bare Ass

     The Geezer sat on the seawall and I laid down on the dock in front of him.  When I glanced up, I wished I hadn’t.  To put it delicately, the combination of my position, the spread eagle “V” formed by the Geezer’s legs, and his loose fitting shorts and underwear, exposed his “family jewels.”  The male human body lacks aesthetics in that region.  This problem increases with age, and as I’ve told you, the Geezer “ain’t no spring chicken.”  I laid my head on the planks, covered my eyes with my paws, and said, “Hey Geezer, give a girl a break.  Your private parts are showing.”
     I heard rustling as the Geezer said, “Sorry, girl.  Is that better?”
     I lifted a paw and confirmed the old boy had covered the view; one that would nauseate vomit.  “Thank you,” I muttered in relief.
     “No…, thank you, Sandy.  It sure would embarrass me if someone else had been looking my way.”
     The Geezer’s statement aroused my curiosity.  I asked, “Geezer, tell me about the word embarrass.  Do you know what its derivative is?  I was just wondering if it had anything to do with having that part of the body exposed or something close to it.  Like in “Mmmmm, bare ass.”
    “I guess I should know that, being a writer and all, but to be honest, I don’t.  Yours is a logical deduction, Sandy.  A lot of situations that cause humans embarrassment are a result of being caught with their skirts up or pants down.”
     “I thought so.  Remember when Mrs. Zoomer’s bent over to pickup her hat and split her pants wide open?  She kept saying, “I’m so embarrassed.”  Her face turned the same color as a tomato and I’ve never seen a woman of that size move so swift and agile.  Normally, she has the grace of an NFL offensive lineman in ballet class.  She had underpants on even though they were sunk deep into the Grand Canyon.  If she’d been sans panties I bet she’d have broken the world 100 meter record.”  The recalled picture of the event caused this dog to laugh.  The woman damn near spit out her false teeth she reacted so violently.
     “That’s not very kind, Sandy,” the Geezer said in his most admonishing tone.
     “Ohhh, Geezer I’ve heard you talk about Mrs. Zoomer’s Grand Canyon many times, and you have to admit she’s not going to win a dance contest that has any song playing other than the Baby Elephant Walk.”
     The Geezer stood up, faced the Zoomers house, came to attention, and saluted smartly.  “Sandy,” he said, “The Grand Canyon I refer to is the one located between Mt. Everest and Mt. McKinley on her chest.  As far as her dancing ability, I can’t comment one way or the other.  Mr. Zoomer’s doesn’t dance so I’ve never seen her shake that booty.”
     “If she does, you can bet a seismograph is breaking somewhere.”  The picture Geezer’s last statement brought to mind was Mrs. Zoomer’s waltzing with her husband.  Poor man.  His whole body could fit in the space between her mammeries with room for a dump truck thrown in.  Mr. Zoomer’s bod was best described by Mrs. Gator when she remarked that, “At least they don’t have to worry about being locked out, Ben (Mr. Zoomer) can slide right under the door.” 
     We were getting away from my question.  I decided to drag my buddy back to the topic even if he were kicking and screaming.  
     “Now, about my theory that the word embarrass comes from people being caught bare assed.  Can you…”
     The Geezer Gator interrupted me before I could finish my sentence.  The thing that makes me maddest is he generally knows what I’m going to say.  “There are many things that can embarrass humans other than being caught nude.  Take the time Mrs. Gator told her friend Irene that the clothes Irene’s sister wore, and I quote, “Makes her look like she shops at a 2nd hand boutique for destitute clowns.”  When Mrs. G. found out that Irene gave the dress in question to her sister, that was embarrassing.”
     I finally understood why Irene gave Mrs. Gator that chocolate pie.  The one which Irene put a bar of Ex-lax in its making and claimed it was accidental .  The Geezer was babbling on in his antique logic and finally reclaimed my interest. 
     “Then there was the time when I was partying with a bunch of my work-mates sitting in our favorite bar.  In walks this woman.  One of the guy says, “See that gal?”  He pointed to the curvy lady, “I used to screw her blue.”  He went on to give vivid details of the gal’s anatomy, ability and stamina during sex, and ended with a Monica Lewinsky reference.  He hadn’t noticed the thundercloud on one of our friend’s face.  The reason was evident when the upset gentleman introduced the lady as his new bride.  That was super emba–”  I returned the favor by interrupting the Geezer.
     “You’re proving my point; everything you’ve talked about is connected in some way to having a bare ass or covering it up.”
     “Come on, Sandy.”
     “No, really Geezer.”
     The old boy said, “You know that’s not true.”  I hate it when Geezer gets his, I know better than you ’cause I’m older and wiser, look.
     “Okay, Geezer.  I know how to settle this.  Promise that if I ask you a question you’ll answer honestly and you’ll tell me the whole story.”
     The Geezer lifted a brow and looked at me like I had a smelly dead fish draped over my snout.  “Yeah, I promise.”  He was wary and cautious.
     “I want you to tell me the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to you.”
     The codger jerked back, contorted his face, and shook his head.
     I reminded him, “You promised.”
     He took a deep breath and said, “It was back several years ago.  Mrs. Gator and I were leasing a 100 year old ranch house on 1,000 acres.  Of course, the structure was built without modern tools that keep doors and windows square, floors level, and so on.  The house was 1/4 mile off the road, guarded by a locked gate.  I was coaching football at the time and Mrs. Gator borrowed the car to go shopping with some friends while I was at the school.  One of my coaching buddies dropped me at my home after practice.  It was at the farm lane gate I discovered I’d left my house keys in the car with Mrs. Gator.  No problem.  I climbed the gate and hoofed up the sand ruts to the house.  I could wait outside; Mrs. G. would be home soon.   About 2/3 of the way up the road, my lack of keys became more of a problem.  Last night’s triple helping of chili had worked its way through my “bod” and was suggesting its emancipation.  The urgency had become great by the time I twisted the door handle.  It was securely locked.  The old wooden Florida style house was built on pilings, but I could reach the windows in the living room if I stood on a 5 gallon pail.  The cypress was old and rotten so I figured I could force the sash open.  I found a screw-driver and, after a few seconds of prying, dislodged the latch holding the window down.   I got the rickety window pushed up enough to crawl inside.  After stepping up on the pail, I inserted my head and torso through the opening with my waist resting on the window sill.  As I tried to wiggle through, my butt touched the window and it slammed down on my back.  The sash wedged at an angle shackling me in place.  There I was, pinned in the window, unable to move either way.  Struggling to free myself resulted in kicking over the pail and that left me dangling in the opening, my full weight resting on my distended stomach.  The urgency had become a full-fledged emergency.  I writhed around trying to push the window up between stops for necessary tight cheek periods.  Right before my capitulation to nature was eminent, the window popped lose from its jammed position and I slid backwards off of the sill, landing in a heap outside.  I struggled to my feet.  The emergency had become a 5 star, red, terrorist alert.  There was no alternative.  I dropped my drawers to my knees, assumed the position, and commenced fertilizing.  It was then the car horn tooted.  Mrs. Gator and 4 of her friends were leering and laughing at me from the Ford.”
     I said, “See Geezer, I rest my case.”  The old boy turned pink just talking about it.  Humans are strange.  I do that every day.  After all, when you gotta go, you gotta go.  Bare ass.  Yep, that’s where the human word came from.


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June 5 – Lie detectors, pedals, windmills, and Beano – A solution to the worlds problems?

       “Why do you do that?”  I watched the Geezer Gator get his tide marker out for his monthly update.  Each full moon he measures the level of the high tide from the top of the sea wall and records its height on a strip of wood.  He’s done this since I’ve been here in our Southwest Florida home– that’s 2 1/2 years.
       “It’s my version of a lie detector, Sandy.”  The old boy looked at the stick and grunted.  “I’ll set this out so I don’t miss marking it.  Full moon is on the 7th.  I forgot last month.”
       “You okay?  You haven’t fallen and bumped your head?  Or developed malaria?  Maybe we should take your temperature.”  Once in a while I get concerned about the old boy’s mental state.  I figure there must be rust on that brain of his.  “How on earth can that serve as a lie detector?”
       The Geezer Gator laughed.  “I can understand your confusion.  This started ‘BS.’  That’s ‘before Sandy.’  Five years ago when the flap about global warming was peaking, I decided to do a little survey for myself.  I’ve owned this place on an ocean-connected canal for 29 years.  I hadn’t noticed any difference in the water level, but unless you recorded the actual height would you really know?  It’s pretty important since the information some folks have been putting out is that this property will be under water in a few years.  I decided to find out for myself.  Was the book “An Inconvenient Truth” fact, or just “A Politically Motivated Lie?”
       “And the answer is?” I asked.
       The Geezer shuffled through a stack of papers stored by the stick.  “In the 63 observations I’ve made, the net increase is 3/16 inches.  That’s in about five years.  Actually, it’s gone down a couple times.   Since the average high tide level is 29″ from the seawall top, and if I use the 5 year rate of increase it means the seawall top will be breached in 773 years.  What do you think, Sandy?”
       “Liar, liar, pants on fire!”
       “That’s my deduction too, Sandy.  But, lets remember there are a lot of factors that may change.  And, while the increase is insignificant, it is an increase.  Things could get worse.  China and India are just really getting started on putting autos on the road.  The global economy is developing new industrial capabilities and power requirements world wide.”  He got his sly, ‘my tongue is in my cheek,’ look.  “And of course, there’s the continuing problem of animal life producing all those pollutants.”
       “Sounds like none of that is going to change.”
       “Let the liars, I mean politicians, have some time to dream up ways to make it appear like they’re working on the problems while at the same time strengthening their political power and padding the pockets of their friends and business partners.”
       “That sounds pretty cynical to me, Geezer.”  I have to keep the old boy in line.   “Just how would they go about that?”
       The old boy rubbed his mustache and looked into space hoping a friendly alien would beam down an answer.  Amazingly one must have.  He smiled and said, “Bicycle pedals, Windmills, and Beano.”
      I couldn’t believe my ears.  “Geezer, what are you talking about?  How do those three do anything to solve the problems of more cars in the emerging economies, the need for more power, gases in the atmosphere?  For example, China and India already have huge numbers of bicycles.”
       “Did I say bicycles?  I didn’t say bicycles.  It’s pedals, pedals, pedals.  In fact, the politicians will tell you that pedals solve the unemployment problem as well.  We’ll hook up those pedals to electrical generators, have the unemployed turn them in shifts, convert all cars to electric, and have GE make the conversion kits.”
       I enjoy a spoof as much as the next canine.  I played along, “What if there aren’t enough people unemployed?”
       “No problem.  The government will simply decree that ALL people must spend two hours, or what ever it takes, on the power tread mills.  Freedom is no longer an issue, government can do anything, like set salaries, cancel debts, bankrupt businesses, make value judgements of a persons mental judgments based on race and gender.  Why not tell us we have to do our part for the collective?”
       No sense reasoning with the Geezer when he gets those hypotheticals rolling.  He always seems to come up with another tale.  I decided to move on.  “The windmills are for generating power, right?”
       “Yep.  GE will have a monopoly on that, too.  So that fits.  Might be able to use some of the unemployed to blow on the blades.  The government is creating more of those folks in the auto industry by producing more cars in China.  They could set up a couple windmills in the studios of MSNBC, CBS, CNN, ABC, FOX, and NBC so that something usable comes out of those blow hards.”
       “I’ll drink to that!” I had to agree.  I cautiously asked, “Butttt..What about the Beano?  Explain that.”
       “Sure, Sandy.  We can get the government to hire Haliburton to clandestinely put Beano in all foods for humans and all domestic animals, world wide.  Think of the impact.  Less methane to attack the Ozone layer.  You can eat leftovers without fumigating the house for roaches.  Cows won’t poot in pastures decreasing the mating urges of bull frogs and crickets thereby eliminating those surplus populations.  I won’t ever have to worry about cutting a fart in a crowded elevator, having to look at the guy next to me like he did it, while waving my hand in front of my nose and saying, “Some People.”
       I shook my head and said, “Geezer, really.”
       He laughed.  “Okay Sandy, I take it all back except for one thing.”
       My paw covered my squinted eyes because I had to ask.  “And…what’s that?”
       “Politicians are liars.”
       You can’t argue with a universal truth.



May 15 – Out whating?

       “Hey, Geezer, what’s out-housing?” 
       The Geezer Gator looked at me as though I’d eaten loco weed.  “Out-housing?” he repeated.  “Are you sure?  You know plenty about that already.  That’s what you do every morning when we take our walk.”
        I gave him my, you’re a smart ass, look.  “Geezer, I do lots of things each morning.  Give me a break.”
       “I guess being city born and a youngster you don’t know what an outhouse is.  An outhouse is what folks used before toilets and indoor plumbing.  It literally was a small house located “out” or away from peoples’ homes.”
       “Oh.”  I still was unclear about the word.
       “Sandy, you sure you wanted to know about out-housing?  How was the word used?”  The Geezer could see I was confused.
       “I heard Mrs. Gator and Mrs. Zoomers talking about how the Smith’s were in deep doggy dew because of the out-housing happening at Mr. Smiths company.  Mrs. Zoomer said the Smiths were about to lose their house.”  I scratched my ear with my paw.  “I guess that makes sense, but wouldn’t they be in deep human poo, not doggy dew?”
       The old boy grinned the way he does when I do something dumb, like the time I tried to eat a bottle of Tabasco.  “You need to improve your eavesdropping skills.  I think you got the words wrong or mixed together, Sandy.  I think you heard them talking about outsourcing.”
       “Out-whating?” I asked.
       “Outsourcing.  That’s when a company decides to buy materials or services they previously did for themselves.”
       “Hmmmm.  Why would a company do that?  Don’t the people they buy it from have to make a profit?  Wouldn’t it cost more?”  It didn’t sound logical to me.
       “That might be hard for you to understand.  It gets complicated.”
       “Try me.”  I wanted to add, it might be for human brains, but not for my sharp canine intellect.
“It has to do with costs.  Sometimes you can get something done cheaper by another company because of the machinery they have or the technology they use, but most frequently it’s because of cheap labor and often the labor is cheap because it’s not in the US.  They call that offshore outsourcing.”
        “That’s not difficult to understand, Geezer.  But, how does that effect the Smiths?”
        “Well, when a company outsources, it gets rid of the expense it had to make the part or perform the service.  Mr. Smith’s job was to do work his company decided to outsource.”
        “Oh, then Mr. Smith has to get a job somewhere else, right?”
        “Yes, but a lot of companies are doing that so it’s hard to find jobs now.”
        “Okay, but…..”  I still didn’t understand the logic.
        “But, what?” 
         The Geezer was grinning at me, but I had to ask anyway.  “If people keep outsourcing, how do you humans buy the things you need?  Won’t the companies that saved the money not gain anything because the humans they sell to can’t afford it and they’ll have to reduce their price or go out of business?  A few people will make out like bandits for a short time, but everybody gets clobbered in the long run.”
        “You’re right Sandy!  That makes you smarter than most professors at Harvard, all our politicians, and the Wall Street crowd.” 
        Of course, the Geezer didn’t have to tell me that.


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