Respect For Spike - Part II

Another brilliant blog post featuring Spike.  This time, debating me.....



Point

Eating Baby Birds is Gross
by WHW
 Spike, I go out of my way to buy you healthy food. The vet has said it should be good tasting (have no idea how she knows that). Yes, I know I tried Walmart's Old Roy, but I got the message when you knocked your bowl over 3 days in a row.

So why do you still feel compelled to eat baby birds? You can't be hungry. I make sure you have plenty every night. I frequently give you a treat for walks that are uneventful. I know the boys sneak additional helpings of food to you during the day.

So what gives?

Yesterday evening, when I went out and saw you chomping down on those baby birds, I thought I was going to lose it. Just because they fell out of the nest doesn't mean you have to eat them.

That is just gross, dude.



CounterPoint
Damn, You Are A Huge Puss!
By Spike
 Before I start, I want it known that I do not like the fact that I am getting second billing in the title. WHW, do you think people are now coming here in droves to read you?? Yea, right. Next, I want to call out my fav librarian. Hey, CL....I dig your mentions for the Spikester. Keep it real (and put me in your next Tour!)

Now, let's address your stupid point, WHW. First, the vet may claim this dog food tastes good, but I am here to say it sucks....no, it sucks monsters. It smells like the dumb cats' liter box....and tastes like packing peanuts, sticks, and slugs. I eat it because I don't find starving to death all that appealing. However, you bring back the Ol' Roy shit and I may revisit my position on starving.

As for the birds...I have given you this lecturer over and over. It is the freakin circle of life. Remember Lion King??? Remember Mufasa explaining to Simba how important all of nature's creatures are? Well, this is the circle of life in 3-D, buddy. Get used to it. The birds lay too many eggs. The nest is too crowded. Too many baby birds in the nest. Some fall out. Spike gets something to eat that resembles normal food. Nice tight circle, isn't it Marlin Perkins?

I will tell you what is gross. The bathroom story you told me Tuesday night on our walk. I really do not want to know about your stall neighor's gas that could peel paint. Now that is gross....even to an animal that eats his own poo.

Next time you get ill watching me eat a bird I suggest you go back inside and stick your pacifier back into your mouth.

WHW = Huge Puss.

Respect for Spike - Part I

As many know, my long time buddy Spike passed away this week.  Out of respect for Spike, I am going to repost a few of the blog entries he wrote.

Here's to Spike.....hopefully off chasing rabbits.....

Here is his first post.......



Woof Woof


My recent blogging has worn me out. However, I do not want to let all of my fans down. I know I promised to blog every night this week....but I think Friday is going to be tough.

So, I have asked the family dog, Spike, to blog for me this time (please count this as Friday's entry). I bought and installed a canine font from Petco so everyone could understand him. He has been told that he can talk about anything he likes. Take it away Spike......

Hello there everyone. As WHW pointed out, my name is Spike. I have been with the family for many years. A little background on me....I'm a mutt. I am approximately 2 feet tall, and a svelte 50 pounds.

As WHW heads to the living room to rest his little eyes, let me outline the theme for today...WHW is a jerk. Hold on now. Before you kick into the "...but Spike, don't you think you are being a little tough on him" routine, let me state my case.

Point #1: He THINKS he is funny. For example, as he walked away from the computer he joked about my lack of opposable thumbs. Something about how slow I will type bacause of it. Hey, hunt-n-peck boy. I bet I can type faster than you with one paw tied behind my back. Heck, you don't even use your precious thumbs when you type. Dork.

Point #2: He THINKS he knows what is best for me. Last year, at the vet, he was told I was getting a bit heavy. My defense...muscle is heavier than fat. Anyway, Nerd-boy goes out and buys a special dietary dog food. Let me tell you, regular dog food is tolerable. This stuff was just this side of foam, sticks, and pebbles. Nice. I started getting used to it, thanks to the kids. WHW left the food bag on the floor. Whenever the boys would walk by, they would give "Old Spike" another scope full. Then, four-eyes comments that I look even heavier, and figures out how I'm getting my extra Carbs. He then puts the bag high up on the shelf. Nice way to treat man's best friend.

Point #3: His inane stories. He walks me every night, which is good. Unfortunately, he tells me these stupid stories as we walk. Probably 75% of them are about some bizarre thing that happened to him in the bathroom. I'm pretty sure the only reason he is telling me these stories is because Mrs. WHW finally got tired of them. I got news for WHW, it ain't normal for one person to have so many bathroom stories. Dude, keep your head down as you go in, do your business and get the heck out of there. Enough about the poop balls. If I hear that story one more time, I am going to gouge my eardrums out with a milkbone.

Point #4: He TRYS to be tough with me. A couple nights ago, I was in a barking mood. I am a dog. That's what we do. Also, I really wanted to spend the night outside. Well, about 2:00 AM nerdlinger comes downstairs, wearing his Napoleon Dynamite T-shirt and his Spongebob shorts and tells me to cool it. That night I wasn't buying it. Heck, I know very few members of the animal kingdom that would be afraid of someone wearing that get-up....possibly a hampster...a little hampster. Anyway, I wait for roughly 20 minutes, just long enough for Rip Van Winkle to get back to sleep, then I tear loose a series of barks that impressed even me. You would have thought the house was being invaded. Well, WHW comes downstairs again, pillow-head and all, and tells me I am outside for the night. News flash geek, that's what I wanted. Check and Mate to Spike.

Point #5: The cats. A couple years ago we had a few mice in the garage. No big deal....at least I didn't think it was. Well, WHW decided we needed a couple cats. What that means is, he watched a bunch of Tom and Jerry cartoons and decided cats would be cool. He was wrong. The first time one of them rubbed against me, I let them know in clear terms that they were not part of my family. Oh, they are clever. The other day one comes over to my water dish. Poor pussycat was thirsty. One backhand later, pussycat is not thirsty. I didn't notice WHW standing near by. The %^$# cat did. WHW comes over and tells me to back off. Whatever. Dumb cats.

Now, I'm sure he has told everyone how he is a nerd, how he is a loose cannon, how funny he is. I'm here to set the story straight. WHW has his good moments...like when he is feeding me, brushing me, and walking me....and when he is sleeping. But overall, he is enough to drive a dog to drink.

Well, I better sign off. My paws are tired. Besides, I think I see one of the cats nosing around my Snausages.

Later peeps. Peace out.

Respect For The Pickers

File this post under the very crowded topic of "Bill's brilliant Ideas."  This one came to me as I recently walked past a designated smoking room.

Who has never picked their nose??  Be honest now.  It could have been an all out dig in the car, a subtle, glancing pick at your desk, a nostril bleeder in the bathroom, or even a kleenex-wrapped finger assault, made to look like a typical nose blow.  It could even have been the clean up phase of a country blow (many of you know what that is).

We have all done it.  It's as natural as scratching an itch or using an air horn to remind neighborhood dog walkers to pick up Fido's poo as he drops it in your yard.  

Considering it is so natural, why doesn't it get at least a hint of respect?  Smoking, an obvious bad habit, gets a ton of respect.  Yet picking, considered to be taboo, does serve a useful purpose in life.  Unlike smoking, I see very little risk to others from second hand picking.  And, when done properly, it enables the picker to breath better.

With that in mind, I propose setting up Pick Stations in airports, malls, and places of business.  These stations would be safe havens for someone who needs to pick.  The stations would be amply stocked with kleenexes, Q-tips, hand sanitizers, and relaxing music.  They could be partitioned off to provide a comfortable level of privacy for each picker.  

Think of the value to society....the reduction of stress from someone who KNOWS they need to pick....but finds themselves in a public place.  Much like a restroom in a department store, these stations  would provide a sanitary and socially acceptable way for individuals to "mine for gold".

It is time to give picking the proper level of respect it deserves.

To quote George Costanza, "I guarantee you Moses was a picker".

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RU3Q4nRWq7I

You Must Have Faith - And Ignore The Why

Today I attended the visitation for a remarkable 19 year old man who died recently. He was the son of a very good friend, and was a close friend of one of my sons. He was a fun loving young man who always had a smile on his face. To say I respected and cared for him would be an understatement. His death has taken me down a familiar path of thought and emotion that always ends the same way.

While growing up, my family didn't attend church on a regular basis. However, looking back, we had a very spiritual home. The Bible was the word of God, and the Golden Rule was the rule of the home. There were also the deep-rooted, fundamental beliefs, such as

1. We are all God's children
2. God loves all of us....even before we are born
3. Jesus was God's son, who died for all of our sins, and rose again
4. God works in mysterious ways
5. Everything happens for a reason

From my earliest memories I completely embraced my spirituality, accepting these beliefs as facts, never really questioning them. They were wonderful facts. They made me feel good. However, there were (and still are) times I struggle, especially with the last two.

As a child I would watch broadcasts of poor kids in Africa who had no food. They were starving. I can still see them in my mind, with flies clinging to their faces. How could this be??? God loves us. We are all his children. Why, God? Why???? What work is this? What is the reason? God can do anything....why won't He help them? Why?

When I asked my mom, she would say things happen that people simply cannot understand. We must try to carry God's message to them....loving our neighbors as ourselves....helping send them aid so they wouldn't starve. Use your faith to guide you. Made sense....but deep down I still wondered why.

As I got older I would see the old videos from the horrific WW II concentration camps. The unspeakably terrible things the Nazis were doing to people simply because they were Jewish. How evil one group of people could be to another. Why? Why was this allowed to happen? These people were innocent victims.....tortured and murdered. Why didn't God stop this? Why? This time, instead of asking my mom or dad, I tried to think it through using the principles and spiritual lessons I was taught. My final landing point was the same place....I must remember these horrible things, do what I can to not allow people to be vicious to other people. But the why is something I cannot understand.

When my oldest son was in first grade, one of his friends was playing little league baseball. In a freak occurrence, a foul ball struck him in the chest in such a way that it stopped his heartbeat. He was a first grader....why did he have to die? Why??? Why couldn't that foul ball have have gone a foot to his left and missed him?? WHY?

These are just examples. Every day I see things that challenge me.....

1. Why are fiends allowed to kidnap and kill young children?
2. Why are innocent people allowed to be killed by drive by shooters who seem to have no regard for any one's life?
3. Why are innocent populations in countries allowed to be butchered by insane rulers?

Why? Why?? Why????

Then there are some very personal and emotional experiences. My dad passed away suddenly when I was 23. My mom passed away when I was 25. My oldest sister passed away before I was 40. With each of these events, I traveled through the textbook series of emotions....

1. Shock - This can't be happening
2. Grief - I wish this wasn't happening. I wish I could talk to them one more time. I hate thinking they suffered...or were overcome with incredible fear. Why couldn't I help them?
3. Anger - This should not have happened. This is not right. WHY did this have to happen???
4. Acceptance - This is life. This cannot be changed. I must accept, remember, and live on.

I would spend many evenings in a dark living room or bedroom asking why. Why God? Why did they have to die when they did?? Was there a reason that I could understand? None of them were particularly old. My mom and sister were sick....but couldn't they get better? Why not? Why?

This brings me to the day after Christmas...just a few days ago, when I learned of this young man's death. In what seemed to be an accelerated pace, I went through the first couple of emotions (shock and grief). I have spent the majority of my time in anger.

This was a very good person who made others around him laugh and feel good. He would have been a wonderful grown man. Why should his life be ended so soon??? Why couldn't he get the same opportunity I have to live a full life? WHY?????

Later today, as I sit in the church pew during his funeral I will likely begin locking in on the acceptance of this. Doing so without the why I so desperately want.

For this is how it is. My mom's advice 40+ years ago is probably as true today as it was then. Carry on the message.....accepting that I cannot understand. I have my faith. Faith is there to replace the why....to take me to the acceptance phase without the why. Why becomes far less important when there is faith.

It's just really hard sometimes. Hard to close my eyes and let myself fall backwards, trusting that my faith will be there to catch me. But it has every time in the past. Every time.