Saturday, November 24, 2012

"It Seems We Are Not Much Changed, After All"


“It Seems We Are Not Much Changed, After All”

 

 

11/24/12

 

 

To my very, very dearest friends, and always constant, kind readers,

 

Less than forty-eight hours ago, we were as a grateful Nation, in some piety foregathered in our homes; surrounded by family members and dearest friends whom we would hold ever-close.  To join together—briefly—as members of a contented, ‘tribe’, sheltered, safe, secure; to share with them a special meal, symbolic of a time so long ago; but really, even further in the past, when Man dwelt in caves.

 

It was—for that one, particular day—a time to welcome, and to share, and to see that all were fed enough to make them want to stay and fall asleep!  How glad we were too see our loved ones thus happily satisfied.

 

Although we live in times of unparalleled immediacy, and luxury beyond the dreams of those brave men who wrote our Constitution (though, through their vision, hopes, and sense of unequalled, ‘rightness’, it was thought that—with freedom—God and Science would elevate the common man to a more civilized and reasoned state), our day of, ‘Thanksgiving’, harks to ages ancient and past.

 

Within us—still—are trace elements of a Puritan piety.  Though—in, ‘thanking’, God (on this, particular day!) for all we have—we could as effortlessly offer up our prayers to Gaia, the, ‘three-faced, Earth Mother’, guarantor of the harvest, and a time of plenty.

 

For a short while, many of us were happy, content to relax within the companionship of the collected and reassembled tribe; a time of laughter, of sharing abundant food and drink (always of paramount importance to primitive Man!).

 

And further—while thus gathered—to eat and drink, and eat, and drink to point of sleepy stupefaction.  That—too—is necessary in any tribal celebration (as for them…the next, uncertain, ‘filling’, meal might be days away!).

 

Oh to be sure, there were the inevitable clashes of temper, of food spilled and scattered; of trying to accommodate—perhaps—too many within a confined space; the discord of children and pets running underfoot and everywhere; of hungry people, waiting with some ill-humor should the meal—somehow—be delayed.

 

Of course, there were opposing views on politics, religion, and, the economy.  With not nearly enough seating room for everyone.

 

And then to add to the din, the clattering of pots and pans, of dishes and glasses hastily brought out; the dropping of utensils, and a kind of planned for/unplanned chaos.  Where to put the food, the napkins, and the elbow-jostling of trying to serve nearly everyone at once!

 

The period of groggy senescence that always follows when one has over-eaten into oblivion, and now merely wants to find somewhere to, ‘lie down’, speaks eloquently—as well—to a more primitive past.

 

There then has to be a usually disgruntled few who have to try to clean up the messes, and to, put, everything away, AND, wash all the plates, utensils, pots, pans, and assorted serving pieces left—not forgotten—but intentionally, ‘unacknowledged’, by those now readying to leave for home, or, those who are more that half-asleep, trying to watch football on TeeVee.

 

At day’s end, all should be satisfied, and happy fed. It is axiomatic, though, that in more than one household, more than one or two plangent sighs of relief are uttered that the, ‘holiday’, is now officially over again until next year!  “Next year, its your sister’s turn to cook!”

 

 

Directly following this time of pleasant (for the most part!) sharing, is a most strange phenomenon that is, “Black Friday”.

 

 

The, ‘day of Thanksgiving’, amiable, and almost tolerable (at worst), is—in less than twenty-four hours—given over the worst in Man, where greed, selfishness, anger, lack of patience, a complete disregard for any civility, temper surge to the fore, fuelled by an uncertain economy.

 

 

How awful can, “Black Friday”, be?

 

 

Think of five a.m. lines that stretch behind a store for a good five hundred yards.  Think of pushing.  Tempers. Persons suffering assault and arrest for attempting to, ‘break line’.

 

Think about an onrushing mob of people, shoving at each other to get through the store’s front doors when they open.  Think of people being knocked down, trampled, injured.

 

Think of armed police, throwing am alleged, ‘shoplifter’, to the ground with such force as to make him bloody and unconscious.

 

Think of crates and boxes of merchandise being attacked full on, by a screaming, pushing mob.

 

Think—perhaps—of chaos one would think more befitting the end of the world.  Think of battles over parking.  Battles at the check-out line.  Fist fights, even.

 

Think of goods being thrown like weapons.  Children knocked to the ground by shove of cart.

 

Think of the reckless greed. Of impulse over-spending. Think of hands AND fist raised into the air, screamed signals to, ‘smash-and-grab’, whatever may be (on sale) to hand.

 

These giant stores—in minutes—had been reduced to nothing so much than, ‘retail’, war zones.

 

While I quite naively never would have thought it even remotely possible, yet—yesterday, on my computer—I saw a number of videos that were nothing more than variations on a theme regarding the, ‘Duality’, of Man; capable—simultaneously—of great beauty AND utter bestiality.

 

Since mere words can hardly seek to adequately illustrate this mass, ‘flight from reason’, I will attempt to provide for you—my very, dearest friends, and loyal readers—with a clickable link to a short video that—shamefully—speaks for itself; and…there are other videos, should you choose to stare at them in rapt horror.

 

 

 

 

Strangely—to me, anyway—was that amid all the confusion and violence, were people laughing and smiling, either amused at the antics of the mob, OR, laughing, eager to willingly join the fight.

 

This is almost like some kind of, ‘Jungian, Collective Unconscious’, primitive behavior that—indeed—seems to have its roots in the survival of earliest Man: that which attends to the thrill of the hunt, and the joy of the kill.

 

And the notion that ALL this is in some kind of preparation for gift-giving during—perhaps— considered THE most holy, religious time of the year…’Christmas’, ‘Hanukkah’, or, ‘Kwanza’, simply beggars my credulity.

 

 

But, perhaps I should not be so surprised after all.

 

 

Some ten years ago—now—when I was still employed, I had a co-worker who had a spouse, three young children, and, a rather large, extended family to have to shop for, for the Christmas Holiday.

 

We both worked the night shift, from 11:45 p.m., until the next morning at 8:15.

 

While she never requested to take, ‘Thanksgiving’, off, she always took the night of, ‘Black Friday’, off, and further, always arranged to leave work before 6:00 a.m. Friday morning, so that she and a cousin could, ‘hit’, the mall as early as possible.

 

Now mind you, she and her cousin had prepared (in advance!), and elaborate, ‘game plan’, to be able to get as much shopping as was possible done within a very specific time frame.

 

My dear friends, I knew how much she earned on the job as we were all paid about the same amount, and so—well knew—why she had to try to save as much money as possible, to enable her to buy the most gifts.

 

But sometime before she left work that Friday morning, I began to detect a certain nervous energy about her, impatient, and rather easily annoyed.  You could see it in her eyes, and in the involuntary movements of her arms and hands.

 

The pupils in her eyes would become larger, and, about her was a faint sheen of sweat, a clear indicator that her adrenaline and cortisol levels were rising.

 

Once—before she was ready to leave work one Friday--we happened to have a quiet space, sufficient so that we could go out to the front porch to smoke a couple of cigarettes.

 

When, in conversation, I happened to remark something to the effect that, ‘herds of wild, insane horses’, would not be able to drag me to the mall; to maddeningly try to find someplace to park the car; to join the rush at the doors; to fight with the crowd, pushing and shoving; to run—in general—amok, here and there, to sift-through upended and untended piles of merchandise; and further, to have to deal with exhausted, snotty, and mean-spirited salespersons.  And THEN, to try to somehow find where I had parked the car (while—easily—there would always seem to be ten, other rushed, and angry drivers verbally coveting my parking space!).

 

While I was saying this to her, I could see that she was getting somehow, ‘pumped up’, for the morning’s shopping, and her smile became actually quite feral.

 

She told me that, while—basically—she HAD to go shopping on, “Black Friday”, to save money, she went because she, ‘loved’, the fight!  She liked pushing people about, in the frenzy to buy a particular thing; even, to get into, ‘tugs-of-war’, with other shoppers (especially in the toy stores!).  She actually relished the name-calling, the shoving and pushing to get through the doors.

 

Simply speaking, she was not satisfied unless—in getting what she wanted—to, ‘figuratively’, come-away with the taste of blood in her mouth!  In these, ‘battles’, often, merchandise would be broken, ripped-apart, thrown carelessly in a wide arc to the side, discarded in the search for more!

 

Personally, my very, dearest friends, as I have aged, become ill, am usually in great pain, and am anxious and agoraphobic, besides, ‘I’, could never be moved to visit the mall (or, any really large store!) ANY time of the year.

 

I don’t imagine I could now go to the mall during the holidays even if they were giving everyone new cars!  Or, paying-off all my indebtedness.  Or, offering me a monthly stipend sufficient for me to live in utter security and comfort the rest of my days. (Well, o-kay…maybe then!).  But then again, can you imagine the absolute carnage of people and cars.  I am sure—in that case—that there would be many, serious injuries, and probably a number of actual fatalities!

 

No, my dear friends, what holiday, ‘shopping’, that I might do (provided—of course—that I even HAD the money for it!) would be done online, from the relative comfort, security and safety of my own home.

 

 

And I should know.

 

One year—about fifteen years ago, now—despite having taken a major fall at work earlier, I thought I would go holiday shopping (for the next year!), on December 26th., the morning AFTER Christmas. I believe I managed to, ‘hit’, three, different stores on my way home.

 

Yes, everything was incredibly cheap, having been marked down again, and again.

Yes, I bought about a metric TON of shit.  And—in the process, somehow—completely and utterly overspent myself.

 

But, by then, the stores looked like nuclear test sites; merchandise was scatter all over the shelves, and, all over the floor, blocking the aisles.

 

The customers were animals in human guise; I cannot remember just how many times someone ran their shopping cart into me.  The salespersons were beyond caring, and more than a number of both shoppers and salespersons were argumentative, rude, and verbally abusive.

 

Shopping became a sort of, ‘smash-and-grab’; items were actually thrown into near-distant carts, and even over the top of shelves!  People (and I hesitate to even grave them with any, ‘humanness’) kicked merchandise out of the way; displays were toppled-over.  Children were crying.  There was no use to even ask for assistance, as most of the employees had retreated to the relative safety of the enclosed manager’s office.

 

Out in the parking lot, I saw a few, ‘fender-benders’, and a LOT of very near misses.  On the way to my car, drivers, ‘stalked’, me like sharks, to be the first one to get to my parking space.

 

When I happened to cross a row of cars (as I had quite forgotten where—exactly—I had parked), I was treated to a barrage of invectives that would make sailors blush.

 

 

And all for what?

 

 

Everything I bought languished in stacked grocery bags that lined my bedroom walls, proceeding to get extremely dusty, annoying, and always in-the-way. Finally, I couldn’t stand it, and began to wrap gifts sometime around the end of July; somehow, I had forgotten that when you buy a ton of stuff, you later have to wrap a ton of stuff! (a thing I never liked, anyway).

 

It amounted to nothing less than a, ‘mercy killing’, when—at last—I finally managed to box everything up, and mailed it all out the last week of November.

 

Of course, the Post Office was another story.

 

 

The question remains, my most precious friends: will I EVER do that again?

 

 

I believe that I can now say without fear of contradiction, not just, “NO!”, but, ‘double-Hell-no!’. Even if I did have the money.  “No, times ten to the hundredth power!”

 

For the most part, the, ‘things’, that I would like for the holidays cannot be bought or found in any store, or in any mall.

 

Further…there is absolutely nothing. ‘out there’, that I want, even remotely sufficient for me to don body armor, down enough coffee, or medications to be able to even reasonably hope to cope with the pure Hell that is, ”Black Friday!”

 

 

But…what do ‘I’ know?

 

 

Your needs, habits and preferences may well be starkly different from mine.  Perhaps you may not mind the melee.  Perhaps you enjoy the bargains.  I could be wrong, you know.

 

My question to you—my dearest, kindest friends, and ever-loyal readers—is: if you DO shop for the holidays, how do you do it?  What are your strategies?  What are your, ’game plans’?  How do you manage?

 

Please respond in the comment section, below.  I make no judgements, and am, ‘open’, to suggestions.  And, very much look forward to your replies!

 

Meanwhile, my friends, if you do go out holiday shopping, please, oh please do be careful!

 

I wish for you no pain, or, ’lessened’, pain; a respite from depression or despair.  I wish you freedom from want or need.  And to be in full, surrounded by family members, good friends, and pets who love you for the wonderful person that you are!

 

I wish you quiet and peaceful days, free from hardship, or calamity.  I wish you be comfortably warm-enough, or cool.  I wish for you balmy afternoons, and that you be better able to relax, and to enjoy what life has to offer!  And at day’s end, I wish you sound and restorative sleep, watched-over by gentle angels.

 

And…I wish for you and yours a most peaceful, happy, pleasant and enjoyable holiday season!

 

And—as always—please, please know that I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

"Thanksgiving Wishes From The Heart"


Thanksgiving Wishes From The Heart”

 

 

11/21/12

 

 

To my very, very dearest friends, and always constant, loyal readers,

 

I am so very glad that you chose to befriend me; your kind friendship has been a delight to me, and I am always so grateful for your kindness, caring, support, and encouragement which has made me to feel so very much less alone.

 

I cannot thank you in near full measure for your following my diary entries, as your reading, and comments to them make my heart happy, and give me a sense of purpose that I had once thought lost.

 

You have continued to, ‘be there’, for me, even when I am somewhat less than pleasant; even when—in pain—I become withdrawn and in despair.  I always know that I may rely upon your generosity, your strength, thoughtfulness, and consideration; even when you have been in pain or despair.

 

I hope so much for you to be well—completely, and thoroughly—yet, should you be in lesser pain, mental anguish, or hopelessness, I give thanks for any improvement, any cessation, any respite that you might experience.

 

I wish that you be safe and secure; surrounded by family members, best friends, and…pets (!), who love you for who you truly are, and who can bring a lasting joy to your life.

I wish that you be sustained, blessed, and ever kept safe and well by the Creator.

 

I wish you comfort; shelter that keeps you warm, and cool-enough, and that is filled with bright things that make you happy, and one that is decorated to suit your taste in both comfort and design.

 

I wish for you security, so that you might not know want.  With all the finances necessary—plus some besides—to help you further enjoy what life has to offer.

 

I further wish you plenty, that your stores be full, with enough to have, and some to share.

 

I wish you long, pleasant days, free from disruption or worry; with time to think, to contemplate, to give thanks, and to have some very quiet, personal time to follow your talents, or to explore your dreams.

 

I wish for you a most, ‘natural’, fatigue at end of day, when a, ‘dreamy, soft, and easy’, feeling leads you to a bed of coolest quiet.

I wish for you nights of blessed, sweet repose, filled with wonderful dreams; and watched-over by gentle angels to keep you through the night.

I wish you wake each morning, fully refreshed, to meet the sparkle of the morning.

 

I wish so very much that your life is full of richness, meaning, and purpose; and that you feel a certain joy, and happiness in daily living.

 

I wish that you consider just how very, very special and wonderful you are.  You are unique; there is NO one exactly quite like you in all the world.

Further, that there has never been one quite as wonderful as you, and that there will never BE one nearly as beautiful or as special as you.

You are truly, ‘one of a kind’, there are NO copies or substitutes.

I would wish you recognize more fully just how special you are; for YOU are HERE is this particular time and space.

I wish that you celebrate your uniqueness!

 

I wish for you the utter gladness that we have so many Rights and Freedoms so fully denied in much of the world.

 

I wish for you all these and more; I wish that—in this journey we call, ‘life’, that you find contentment AND a sense of lasting peace.

 

And please know that while we miles and miles apart, that you will always find some welcome space within my heart!

 

And should be able to draw-close with family members, friends, and pets, this holiday season, should you have plenty, I urge you to consider someone less fortunate than yourself: the elderly person, down the street who lives alone; the single parent with children fighting to make ends meet; or…if you can, to donate canned goods, paper goods, baby food, pet food, etc., to a local church’s food bank, even if you are not a member of that church.

Please recall that hunger and misery follows no faith, or other affiliation.  It may (with other’s donations) help any number of people you will never know.  Giving help—anonymously—is sometimes giving the best kind of help!

 

And please, please always know, my very dearest friends, just how very much I love you!

 

‘Happy, Happy, Holidays!’

 

love,

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles

Saturday, November 17, 2012

" :) !!! Today Is Daisy's 13th. Birthday !!!:) "


 :)  !!! Today Is Daisy’s 13th. Birthday!!! J

 

 

11/17/12

 

To my very dearest, kind friends, and ever-loyal readers,

 

 

Thirteen years.  Imagine that !

 

Hardly an eyelash flutter in geologic time, but—nevertheless—thirteen times that the earth has fully orbited the sun.

Perhaps a have-remembered scattering of calendar pages, but, an infant born thirteen years ago would now be in eighth grade !

If you were to get in your car, and drive for only ten miles, day in, day out for thirteen years (actually, about thirteen years and two hundred, twenty-one miles, give or take), you would have managed—most easily—to travel around the earth at its equator twice !

 

Thirteen years ago, my life was so very much different, as really, I can imagine everyone’s was.

 

It was—perhaps—sometime right after the beginning of November, 1999.

 

My dear father had died the previous year a scant twelve days before Christmas Eve, and my wonderful mother (who would—in two months celebrate her eighty-third birthday) and I had again assumed a quiet and rather unprepossessing existence.

 

I was forty-five years old, then, and in the peak of health; I was employed full time night shift at a small, geriatric residential treatment facility in town.

 

I had settled into a dull routine of working nights, doing errands on my way home from work, spending some time with my mother, and then trying to salvage maybe five usable—out of the next ten hours—sleep that would propel me into the next day, and then the day after that.

 

My mother and I were still grieving for my father, and—frankly—neither one of us were in the mood to fool-around with the upcoming holidays.

 

On fair days, my mother would go outside early, well before I got home, to tend to her flowers and plants; and in those days would—when it came time—to wash a couple of loads of laundry, and then hang them out on the clothesline to dry.

 

She was usually ready to call it a day right after I arrived home, and we would have breakfast, and then spend time conversing, before I said my, ‘good-nights’, and lumbered to my room to try to sleep.  Sleep did not come easily, and I found I was pretty much tired all the time, and straight out exhausted some of the time.

 

Before I got home, my mother would often go out to the end of our deck, and there through double-hand’s full of cubed up pieces of bread for the birds and squirrels that would always gather en masse in our back yard; their silly antics always amusing.

 

One morning—though, while talking with mom—I idly happened to look through the sliding-door window just in time to see this vague shape dart across the back yard, stay long-enough to eat the bread mom had thrown out to the birds, and then just as quickly run away.

 

At the time, a number of neighbors who had dogs would let them run loose everywhere, and so, I figured that it was probably some neighbor’s dog on the prowl.  And gave it no further thought.

 

Several days later, I arrived home on, ‘laundry day’, and could already see a clothes-line full of towels, shirts, and socks, etc. being half-heartedly dried by brief fits of still-humid breeze.  The towels probably wouldn’t be dried-enough to bring inside until early afternoon.

 

There are still two sheds in my back yard. One metal one my father bought and assembled, in which was the washing machine.  The other more, ‘open’, one that looked, somehow, like nothing more than a giant chicken coop was designed, and built out of wood by my father.

 

It was on that long-ago morning in November that my dear mother casually remarked to me that there was a dog sleeping out in the open, wooden shed.

 

When I went out to look, I saw the most forlorn, bedraggled, filthy, starving wretch of a poor dog.  It hardly resembled a dog, looking—then--more like some starved, giant rat; you could plainly see all its ribs, and could count the number of visible ridges on its backbone.

 

It had lost a lot of fur, having almost none on its tail.  Its eyes were glazed and jaundiced.  It looked warily at me with horribly haunted, vacant, hopeless eyes absolutely full of misery.

 

I found out it was missing all its upper and lower front teeth; and was covered in burrs, nettles, and alive with fleas, which it hardly seemed to care about.

 

Mom and I immediately fed it, and gave it water.  I believe that it inhaled the food, hardly tasting it, and drank, and drank, and drank until her belly audibly rumbled.

 

When I arrived home the next morning, my mother said the dog was still there, and while still very, very wary of us, it did not seem to want to leave us.

 

One morning, soon after—while I was giving it a dish of food—it barred its yellow teeth, and growled menacingly at me.  I did not want to risk its biting my mother, and so I telephoned our County’s Animal Control Office, who sent an agent to us.

 

The dog was understandably apprehensive and afraid, but was docile-enough, when the agent slipped the wide leash about the dog’s neck, preparing to take it away where, in three days, the dog would have been euthanized.

 

But then something utterly amazing happened; the dog slowly came up to me, its ears completely flat, and its tail wagging ever so slowly.  The dog’s eyes got as big as saucers, and…she began to lick the back of my hand.

 

That—my very dearest friends—broke my heart.

 

The agent laughed and said, “...she’s decided to trust you instead of me.  Looks like you’ve got yourself a dog, mister.”

 

At the time, I did not want a dog.  I did not need a dog.  I hadn’t had a dog since, ”King”, the shepherd/collie mix puppy I had picked out of a litter when I was ten years old.

 

“King”, was very intelligent, and grew to be a beautiful, friendly dog who followed me everywhere.  And who was my best, ‘buddy’.

 

After a rather short illness, he died in 1970, while I was in tenth grade.  I stayed up almost the entire night, sitting outside with, ‘King’, in my lap, crying and crying, while he feebly tried to lick my face.

 

While I was away in school—the next day—my father took, “King”, to the vets, and had him put to sleep, and had him buried there.

 

When I got home from school, “King”, was gone; I never did have a chance to tell him goodbye, and that I loved him……

 

And so, the prospect of again having a dog did not thrill me, but when the County agent finally left, the dog jubilantly began to bounce from front feet to rear, like a wind-up toy dog, and she ran around, and around me making little, happy barking noises.

 

Regular care and feeding, plus a number of trips to the vet’s for examinations, shots, medications soon transformed a rather scraggily, timid dog into a beauty, with bright eyes, and a medium, black and white colored coat.

 

My mother came up with the name, “Daisy”.  And—somehow—it seemed to fit her perfectly.

 

Daisy remained an, ‘outside’, dog until the weather turned unexpectedly cold for Florida in January.  We started to let Daisy stay in the house at night, and then go outside on a long leash during the day.

 

But somewhere—in the next three months—it was Daisy who decided that she would rather stay in the house full time, going out only to, ‘take care of business’.

 

Daisy almost immediately bonded with my mother; in her eyes, my mom could do no wrong.  On those cold evenings, Daisy would crawl under the lamp table next to my mom’s recliner while mom watched teevee.

 

Occasionally, my mother would reach through the arm of the chair to pet Daisy, and call her little cute, made-up names; and Daisy LOVED it!

 

Daisy would sometimes play—briefly—with me, but she followed my mother everywhere, and—at night, when mom went to bed—Daisy would curl-up on the carpet next to the side of the bed mom favored.  And would not move a hair until my mother got up in the morning.

 

Weeks pass.  Months turn into years.  Time dispassionately disregards the fleeting hopes and dreams of Man.  In ever-growing, we age; and time blithely runs ever-ahead, even as we seem to fall further and further behind.

 

The longings of Youth become the fevered dreams of the Ancient.   And—as much as we might like to , ‘stop the clock’,--we are as almost helpless spectators reviewing the parade of minutes as they pass from the Present to the Past, and into faultily-recalled memory.

 

In February of 2008, my dearest mother passed from this world, hopefully, to join my father.

 

At home, our, ‘little pack’, dwindled to just Daisy and me.

 

For months after my mother died, Daisy would run around and around the house, stopping here or there to look in all the rooms, looking for my mom.  I could not explain, ‘death’, to Daisy (frankly, my dear, sweet friends, I can hardly explain it to myself!), still, I believe that Daisy, ‘knew’, somehow.

 

And so, ever since, it has been just Daisy and me.  Both of us have aged, and become ill.  Both of us have pain.  In her own way—now—Daisy is as fully disabled as am I.

 

No matter where I go in the house, Daisy follows close behind.  If I am (as I am now) at the computer in my study, I can see Daisy curled-up on the rug not five feet away from me.

 

Should I venture out to the kitchen for more coffee, or to find something to eat, or to take medications, Daisy follows slowly behind.  When I finally weary of the day, and have medicated-myself sufficiently-enough to go to bed, and—hopefully—to sleep, Daisy now curls-up on the rug beside, ‘my’, side of the bed to see what fitful sleep either of us may be able to find.

 

When I put her food down, she often waits until I am sitting out at the counter of the kitchen having my dinner.

 

And should I have to visit the bathroom, soon after, Daisy will slowly pad-up the hall, looking in the doors of the rooms until she sees me.  Once she is somehow satisfied where I am—only then—will she go back out into the living room, to lie down upon the rug in front of my loveseat.

 

Daisy has become much more than just, ‘company’.  She truly is my, ‘pal, and my buddy’; although she probably thinks I am weird, I do carry on conversations to her; sometimes I make-up, and sing silly, little songs to her.  Or I call her a number of silly, ‘pet’, names.  These, she tolerates, no doubt looking to the Heavens for patience!

 

And as Daisy may have been 1,5 to 2.5 years old when she, ‘adopted’, us, after thirteen years, she may well be almost 15-16 years old. In that regard, we practically BOTH are becoming geriatric.

 

Although—at first—I may have not wanted or needed a dog, after thirteen years of loving, loyal companionship, I now can hardly recall a time when I did not have her.  And—in truth—I cannot know how much longer I will be able to have her; that…will come…in time.

 

Meanwhile my very dearest friends, today is Daisy’s thirteenth (arbitrary) birthday !  I have tried to make of it as special a day as I could; earlier, I cooked a full pound of really choice ground beef, which I have divided into two servings.  One, this morning, and the other, tonight.

 

I also arranged (and paid extra) for the mobile groomer to come out, today, and to give Daisy the, ‘royal’, treatment.  Now, Daisy is nicely and neatly trimmed; she got a flea bath AND an oatmeal bath to soothe her skin.  AND she now has a cute bow above her ear (which knowing Daisy) she’ll have shaken it off by tomorrow!

 

Today is, “Daisy’s Day!”.  Really, friends, they ALL are.

 

Since it is her birthday, Daisy especially wanted me to tell you (should you too have a dog or two) that—to help celebrate her birthday—she asks that you spend a little more time than usual, this evening, with your dog.  Give them lots of extra attention, affection, and love.  Many ear-scratches, and nuzzles.  And—of course!—a few, special treats!  If you are still able, to maybe get down on the floor (at your dog’s level), and play with them; hold them, hug them, and always tell them how much you love them!

 

And…huh?..uh…wait a minute.  Daisy is pawing at my leg, trying to tell me something.  What?...oh…oh…o-kay.

 

Daisy just told me that—since it is her birthday—cats are included, too!!!!!

 

My very dearest friends, and kind readers, I would like to wish each of you lessened or no pain, freedom from want or care; surrounded by family, friends, and pets who love you.

 

I hope that you are fully able to enjoy a safe, happy, and plentiful Thanksgiving, and holiday season!  I think of you so very often.

 

And, please, please always know that I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles