Category Archives: Editorial

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Good Things

We started on bad footing. The tot lot was closed for construction, and there was a lot of rebar sticking up in there. Kids had climbed the fence and were playing, a few boys who thought danger was fun. I kicked them out. I was the Mad Lady for a while.

Later I came out with my dog and college students had broken beer bottles all around the benches by the tot lot. It was 6 a.m. and I was walking my dog but had to go home and get a broom and dust pan and bag for the trash. After an hour we finished our walk and I got in touch with our Council Person. His staffer merely informed me that leaving Chani on a leash on a bench in our park was a violation to which she would inform Animal Control, and that cleaning up a case of beer shards so that little kids would not be cut didn’t make letting my dog sit up and stay while I helped the kids and moms be safe was no excuse for my illegal actions. That started years of torment for our neighborhood. Three Animal Control trucks caused hundreds of thousands of dollars in irrigation damage going after eight widows and their Bichons and Poodles, miniature Dachshunds and Yorkies. Oh, heavens, what damage those ladies and their dogs can wreak.

Now I would still kick the kids out of rebar park for their safety but my husband asked me years ago if we had a kid, could they go blow stuff up. He is a physicist and software engineer. I said of course, honey, just 1/2 mile from the house and downwind. Have a hose and a fire extinguisher.

These kids ended up teaching me, and I and dog Chani taught them.What amazed me is that all but two neighbors got along. Unfortunately she ran the park, to our detriment and her husband seemed nice but played along. I believe she did not wish to have children, parents, dogs or their owners or even people walking in what she thought was “her”park. Well, we paid the taxes. Our park.

The kiddo park re-opened. Kids were fine. The older ones were branching out with their new fast toys. One day they went to see a neighbor I’d had dealings with. Not good. Police told me she was on meth and selling it and I knew she was up at three in the morning washing her car and singing loudly. She woke me up.

I picked up her dog one morning in the park and delivered him home on my dog’s leash, whereupon she screamed at me and told me never to touch her dog again. The coyotes were organized there, ready to take down a dog, and he was right in their territory. I knew he was in danger and that my dog would follow me, so placed her leash over his neck. I put my dog’s life in danger for his and was berated for doing so.

A few weeks later a few young boys came out of her place with a new toy, a Razr. I asked the boys to come into the conference room, a shared lawn, and told them if I ever saw them near her place again I would be in contact with their parents, and never to accept gifts.

A couple of years later two brothers, they’re probably in or have graduated from college now, came by and asked what kind of dog to get. I lent them an AKC breed book. The first thing they did when they got Sparky (their father’s military nickname, he must have been a radio man) a Jack Russell Terrier was to bring him to meet me. I was thrilled. They also returned my book! It’s gone again…….

When Chani died I went out to the park and got hugs and condolences from all the people there. I didn’t tell the tot lot folks, yet. It was too raw. It was so sudden and I usually dealt with the kids, not the parents so much. It was awkward and I’d like parents to tell the kids.

The boys were outside the bushes. The younger brother, Sparky’s co-owner was called in. He was so brave. I told him Chani was gone. J was about seven at the time. I thought of his dad’s military training when he asked me to tell him exactly what had happened to end in Chani’s death.

While putting it as delicately as was possible, I told him. He cried. As we were about to emerge from the bushes he looked as if he had been crying. I said that before he joins his big brother and friends, I was going to yell at him, so he would cry. I yelled “never do that again!” Whatever “that” was, was nothing. He could never do a bad thing in my or Chani’s book and would love our Zoe even though they’ve never met, are miles away and he’s probably now on Wall Street and driving a Ferrari.

Oh, the brothers introduced this old gal to Google. I’d never heard of it and was still on dial-up until I met my husband.

We have good memories.When our nephew was seven, he wanted to play a game on my husband’s iPhone. He would burst into our bedroom at six a.m. and not ask to play the game, he’d ask “is it fully charged?” I’d say yes and he ran out. Darn, I wish he got dressed and took the dog out.

No wonder he wants to be an engineer. Cheers from Dee

Going Postal

It’s not what you think it means. I adopted my first dog, Chani, in 1991. She had been kicked and hit by her owner, a deputy sheriff, and had rocks thrown over the fence in the yard where she lived by neighborhood kids.

She was abandoned at one of the nation’s first no-kill shelters the same week I began volunteering there. As nearly a year went by, I visited her every Friday, even in a neck brace when I was unable to take her for a walk. There was chatter, and I was told by a former volunteer/staffer she had one more week to live.

She was a danger to men (people in uniform or any man who wore a hat) and children (rocks). I had her home the next day. We got training, formal and individual and I fixed the problems. I started walking over her when she was laying down to show that I would never kick her. Then faster, then running and jumping over her. Her reaction was “who is this strange woman I thought I knew?” Complete calm. Ready for the walk, training 101 and individual training. Our trainer had two highly trained Shutzhunds, German Shepherds. Chani stared. That was not taken kindly. No one stares an alpha dog in the eye. She did not know that.

Our neighbor worked for the Navy and usually wore a t-shirt, shorts and sneakers to work. One day he showed up in Navy dress whites. Chani freaked out.

I said, this is Chris! He reached out. She got it and everything was onward and upward from there. Sadly, Chani died 10 years after her adoption but she had friends.

Zoe is nearly 13 years of age now, an Australian Shepherd mix also from the pound, with no hips. We had her at six weeks, and she loves uniforms, especially postal workers. I don’t know what scientists think but can say two things: she knows a blue pant or short with a dark strip is the postal carrier; and she does sleep and dream about chasing bunnies and goes through REM sleep. Oh, another thing, dogs remember things for more than 45 minutes. Do something fun for Zoe, it is ROUTINE. She loves routine. Food or walk schedule. Routine. And yes, she remembers the routine even if we leave and return.

Lynn was here for a while and Zoe finds her in the neighborhood and drags me across the street to see her in her uniform. It’s funny how dogs are so different. Chani was abused and it took her a year to love kids and longer to love men in uniform. Zoe seeks them out, kids and other people and dogs as well. We formed Zoe, I rehabilitated Chani. Oh, if I met my husband ten years earlier Chani would have loved him and sped up the process.

In the end all the kids in the “tot lot” would call CHANI! They would run up to pet her. We started out years ago with “Mommy Nazis” and dog owners and became good friends. We cleaned up the park when college kids broke beer bottles and everything was OK. They stood by the swings and slide and let their little ones pet my dog. It was a sad day when she left us. Sometimes I got a hi, Dee but never again a shout-out.

Here, Zoe is a bit of a mascot who gets along with everyone. Of late, in an elderly stage, she has a five year-old buddy who wants to toss a ball at the park for her for 1/2 hour and she just looks at my husband and says she’s tired, then goes for the ball again to make the child happy. That’s our girl.

I wish we had children, but we have a dog. A great dog who goes Postal in a good way. She just wants a pat on the head and a “good dog.” Hey, she loves all y’all but still wants Lynn. Cheers, Dee

 

Tolerance

I can tolerate a lot of things. Pain, for instance. Doc’s have told me I’ve a high tolerance for pain for years, and I don’t know if that is a good thing.

When it comes to violence or sexual attacks, no way. I’ve had too many errant propositions from elected officials in elevators I’ve had to deflect, before sexual discrimination laws were passed, to count. When in doubt I’d met his wife and knew all about their daughter so would ask about the wife and how the daughter was doing in school, by name of said wife, daughter and school, of course. Deflect, never report.

Racial violence for no reason, even though I’ve championed human and civil rights, does not do it for me. We pay a lot to live here and one man was going home a block from a riot in a faux police uniform, badge and all. I ran upstairs to get him one of my husband’s shirts. He was gone already, a few minutes later, but told me he’d take off his shirt and badge before he entered the neighborhood. He was afraid he’d be taken for a cop and be shot. I will not tolerate that, nor will his wife.

That’s what we’re dealing with. I have no tolerance for mob behavior. I will fight with stalwart friends to gain a goal by words, setting times with the city council, but have never thrown a stone or bottle or carried a gun (heaven forbid, I’d be dead by now shooting my foot by accident) or wanted to learn how to make a bomb.

Tolerance is probably a word I learned in my aunt’s powder room. I had to learn a word, its’ spelling, and use it in a sentence when I returned. It took a while when I only did #1 and washed my hands. I was taught to be tolerant. Years later, I find that I am not on certain issues. Thank you, NSA for previewing this post. Dee

 

Hands

My body is such that if I reach the normal temperature of 98.6 I have a fever. Not so my hands.

In cooking school I failed in one thing, desserts that require hand work, like making puff pastry, because my hands melted the butter. I let others do that, and paid them back by getting a mousse or ice cream or aspic or something out of a bowl they had and onto a plate.

Tonight our dog was lying on my husband’s empty space having a bad dream and I placed a hand on her non-hips for a few seconds and she went out of REM sleep and back to sleep. Yes, dogs do dream.

My husband often has dreams and if I place a hand on his back (he fell off a tree swing as a kid) he calms down and goes into a deep sleep.

There are more important things than cooking school. Pastry was never my thing anyway. I would have to work in a walk-in frig with a marble board. Mom and my younger sisters excelled at mincemeat tarts, cookies, brownies, many more desserts while I did straight cooking.

It is more important to me to tend to my family as if I can help them sleep and be comfortable, it is a blessing for all. Oh, dog Zoe is up and clicking her paws down the hall. She can’t let me be gone for five minutes! Think about that when you wish to adopt a herding dog. Yes, adopt, from a shelter. All of my four animals over 30 years have been adopted.

Zoe’s been with us for 12.5 years. She loves everyone, takes care of me and makes sure I never exit without her knowledge. Then she takes a position by the front door so I will return. I always have returned from errands promptly and always will, until it is impossible to do so.

Family is so important to me. So is sleep. It’s nearly 4:30 in the morning and she, Zoe The Hipless Wonder dog, is more than ready to be lifted back up on the bed. Who is training whom? Good morning, Dee

OTIS: Elevate Us

It turns out that I am the fourth of five unfortunate souls to be trapped in elevator #4 in the past week, and probably there for the longest time because Otis kept me busy pressing buttons and doors for 1/2 hour.

By then it was 6:30 and they finally got a truck to come out which took another 1/2 hour.

I was downstairs bringing in the dog late afternoon and a man I see reading the paper every morning shut the elevator door in my face, after I thanked him. Only one elevator is working for 20 floors of residents. It is rush hour now. Hopefully the stuck individual was released and is home safe and sound.

We pay a lot to live here. If management doesn’t have the money to pay for regular maintenance and repairs, they don’t belong in business and we will leave. If the bank who owns 40 stories of real estate here doesn’t want to allow management to spend money on this key issue, they do not deserve paying tenants. We’ve been here for years and in all my years on earth I’ve never been stuck in an elevator since last week.

School is starting up soon and when there is a moving truck outside or a furniture rental truck for rich kids whose parents are paying the bill, they shut down the only elevator that works these days. Yes, we are not allowed to use it. We live upstairs, way upstairs. I’ve had rheumatoid arthritis for 30 years, misdiagnosed for 20. Our dog has no hips.

Walking all those flights at least six times per day, while paying what we do for no service whatsoever, does not make sense. It’s time to move west, young man. We’re paying full income tax in two states, one in which my husband works and lives in a hotel, and one where he doesn’t make a nickel but it is our primary address.

Our dog Zoe has bottled water, a bowl, a 4″ orthopedic bed and a cargo net in the back of my SUV. All I need is my suitcase, guitar and laptop, dog food and it’s: have dog/doggie bags, will travel. I know my way, have done it before. Sick as a dog last time on that route, unable to speak at all so my husband followed in his car and when I got off the highway he followed, we got gas, water and used the facilities and, of course, took Zoe out first.

Fix the elevator, people! I’ll not be stuck again. Dee

To Sir, With Love

A couple of weekends ago I saw this poignant Sidney Poitier film about an engineer who could not get a job in his field so ended up a school teacher in a bereft docklands school north of London.

These days anyone would give the world to be in a loft or flat in that neighborhood. But I digress.

I hate to tell you the end of the film but you’ve had over 44 years to see it so I don’t feel bad. He tears up his engineering job offer and sticks with the poor kids. He has taught them skills, including manners, cooking and most important, respect for themselves, each other and society at large, in an unorthodox manner for the day.

There are “sirs” I love, from my father and brother to husband and his father and brother. In between there have been teachers/professors who made a difference. Often they taught between the lines, which spoke to me (my little brother drove me crazy but taught me even though I was brought up in a strict Teutonic home ‘tho he and my little sister had it much easier – I could blur some lines and maybe be able to break a few boundaries in life, which I have done).  Brothers are enervating but inspirational at times, just not when they’re playing drums on our suitcases in the back of the station wagon en route to our summer vacation, a long drive.

I didn’t back seat belt laws for adults, just for kids. Imagine how annoying he would have been between me and my sister, belted in, in the back seat. Mom, he’s poking my arm! She didn’t see it and loved him more than us so told us to forget it. Now he’s more than family, he’s also a best friend.

The ladies I respect and love will be included in a later post. I awakened early this morning. Dog was still on the bed, husband a couple thousand miles away at work. Zoe usually gets off the bed around 4:00 a.m. to go underneath the bed below my pillow, for beauty sleep. That’s why she, at about 90 in “people years” looks better than I do in the morning.

I had written an entire blog in my head during this morning in a few seconds of REM sleep. It was recalled for a fraction of a second then lost forever. I ran to the office to write it down and it was gone. Poof!

A difference was made this weekend. I spent 20 years working with disowned shelter dogs and cats, and spaying/neutering feral cats. We have a 12 year-old “pup” who is very sweet to everyone. She’s an Australian Shepherd mix, a herder, but our neighbor’s five year-old grand-daughter was frightened of all dogs because she had been bitten by one.

We (Zoe and I) wrote her a letter speaking of fear and how I got rid of some of my fears. The next day the little girl begged to call on our dog Zoe with Grandma and played with Zoe in our home and was still a bit fearful of placing out her hand flat with a treat on it, as one would give an apple or carrot to a horse. She probably gave Zoe 100 treats but after Zoe did the trick she threw the treat on the floor for Zoe to retrieve. Permit me to say that Zoe slept soundly that evening. “I’m tired, Mom, put me up on the bed.” Yes, in our home I am Otis the elevator for our Hip-less Wonderdog.

Today I sent F’s grandpa an email telling him of my petting an ornery mountain lion. Once. Do not try this at home. I was properly supervised. His grand-daughter wants a dog but should not have one until she faces all her fears. Miss F made great progress in 24 hours. We were thanked and look forward to seeing these kids again.

It’s funny that we’re living amongst very interesting people and two of our neighbors are grandparents who have grand-kids who love our dog and call on her to play or walk or chase a ball. I don’t know what I’d do without Zoe.

Our place is clean within an inch of its life, until Zoe sheds all over, yes today, and my arthritis is making me strive to walk twelve blocks a day. We’ve a new maid and she knows the name of our Zoe’s imaginary evil twin who we’ve never met or fed, taken out or to the vet. Her name is Chloe, who leaves fur under the bed.

Yesterday Ms. B was lying next to our bed with a vacuum cleaner and saying some not nice things about evil imaginary twin dog Chloe. I made up for it. Last week, on my husband’s flight home, a baby was crying and driving all the passengers nuts. My husband reached into his shirt and grabbed a balloon and made a balloon animal in front of the screaming kiddo and tendered it. The baby was quiet. The navigator came back and gave my husband a set of “wings” that he gave to me and I gave to Ms. B for her five year-old son. Apparently he likes pins on his school backpack. As JFK said for an astronaut, John Glenn (later Senator) this medal came from the ground up. As did he, and circled the earth then went back up years later on the Shuttle.

One thing perplexed me, that the original astronauts forced an explosive hatch, a window and called it a spacecraft but decades later they called it a shuttle. As in an elderly Dee saying now it’s time to go to dinner, dear, it’s 4:oo p.m. and there will already be a line at the buffet. Let’s take the shuttle. It’s like getting the bus. Now the entire program has been de-commissioned, unless NSA has taken it over and is using it to spy on us.

What goes around, comes around. I’ve never seen the people who’ve deeply hurt me go through this, on their end however know what awaits evil people. I love seeing happiness and joy and giving to life, love and people. I believe in people, until they give me a reason not to do so.

It’s been a rough week. I made this post up as my brother just said, seat of the pants. I’m Red Adair. I fight fires, situations that come up that I must deal with before anything else. I was always afraid to write because I kept everything inside. Now I can write 500 words in ten minutes. Wouldn’t the gals on my dorm wing lined up at my door to borrow my 1957 Smith-Corona electric portable typewriter love that! I still have it and take it wherever we move. It’s the heaviest “laptop”  I’ve ever used.

Wouldn’t the gals love my secret?  I may have been able to teach them to write their own paper in ten minutes. Do the research, think it though then write……..Dee

 

Prep

Stuck in an elevator alone for an hour awaiting rescue, I thought about some things.

I am a good legislative analyst, writer and cook, not necessarily in that order. I am not usually, nor do I wish to be, the person on stage. I am the one who makes the person on stage who he/she is.

In the real world, I write the speech, the legislation (I was a legend back in the day), stay after hours. Now I cook for my husband and always do mis en place, every dish in our home. No matter, I get to prep, cook and clean up, something none of my roommates would allow me to do in college. In college I never cleared plates or cleaned up because I did prep and dinner.

In high school and college I had trouble writing because I was told I was useless and would never amount to anything. Several mentors told me otherwise. I wrote crap in college, then excelled at legalese, and then consulting documents including formative papers, studies et al.

It is such a joy to finally write on my own, for fun. I have a voice. It is something many mentors gave me over the years. They gave me how to speak and spell and how to make a coherent sentence. Every time I write a post I look at it and ask how they would see it.

Gone are the days of typewriters, lined paper, carbon paper and not knowing my muse. It’s life!

Now I write to write, and events change my life every day. Oh, I missed gymnastics yesterday at the Olympics but saw the first page of the paper. If I did (and I did) want to be a ballerina or a gymnast I’m too old to be either. I do have an education.

Now I “prep” sometimes for my husband, a genius physicist and engineer. It’s interesting that I used to revise his resume and papers and now I prepare dinner. I still write and he does ask me to review things. I still do taxes. As to prep, I do take care of our dog as well.

Years ago I had two great professors who tried to make me into what I could be. It took me a bit longer to figure it out. They taught me information that would change my life and put the life puzzle together. Thank you Fathers C and J. Be with God, my Fathers, and I will join you and perhaps play bad guitar on a good guitar.

I’m not going to “prep” for that. Ribeye is on sale. Baked potato, roasted carrots? He’s snoring so doesn’t have a say in this. I am a leader and deal with it in my own way, the power behind the throne. In any city I’ve lived in I can get you anywhere without traffic. Dee

 

Control

It’s early, I’m up for a couple of hours while awaiting sunrise, husband finally home and snoring, dog underneath my side of the bed for dark so she can get her beauty sleep before the sun comes into the windows. Routine, I have become a herder! Perhaps I was always a herder.

When we married I didn’t sense any control issues, few now. It is external forces at work. I have the bank accounts. I pay the bills. Utilities, even the bank says they will not do what I ask without my husband’s permission. Excuse me???

Yesterday I was stuck in a hot elevator alone for an hour before someone opened the doors and offered to close them to bring me up four feet. Believe me, having no control over your life stuck in a hot box brings you to say “no one is going to shut this door on me again.”

Stuck in an elevator. Four feet up and ten feet from home I could see my home and imagine our dog Zoe worrying about me (she sat at my feet for 1/2 hour afterwards) and my husband on a plane home from work.

My control issues are not with my husband or our families, they are with outside parties who do not acknowledge my existence in order for me to conduct normal business. I am currently shopping for banks and health insurance companies who do their jobs and deal with my infrequent questions as if I am an adult and do not need parental or spousal approval.

We’re going on a trip this fall to celebrate my father’s 85th birthday. I am the eldest child which might suggest my age, not a kid. My father does not treat me as a child, nor should my bank, electric company, cable company, water & sewer. They all had me get my husband on the phone to give me permission to contact them when they were my accounts! Now they’re reverting to bad past practices.

I am getting older and it takes ten times longer to return something to Amazon than it should. That is time that could be spent in more industrious efforts and time that is taken from my life. At least my husband got me decent headphones so I can work around the house while being on hold to awful music.

Muzak should be outlawed. In terms of control, I would like every customer service agent and corporate executive to call in to their own business and listen for 20-45 minutes to wait for a human to answer the phone. That is their assignment for the day.

Enjoy your weekend. My loves will sleep until they awake and I envy them that opportunity, I was lucky to sleep until nearly 4:00 a.m. I will make breakfast or lunch, we’ll run a few short errands and hang out.

Folks ask me what we’re doing for fun this weekend and my husband is so tired from a long work week in two cities and nine hours getting home that I just say, “hanging out.” He has another nine hours getting back before dawn on Monday so he deserves the rest. I love that he wants to come home on the weekends. Control? In certain situations, yes. There is a caveat for this weekend. No getting stuck in an elevator. Cheers! Dee

Stick It!

No, it’s not what you think. It’s what gymnasts yell to their team members to “stick” a landing on a vault, floor exercise, dismount. It means bend your knees, look as if you meant to do what you did, rise up and elevate your arms and look at the judges and wave to the crowd.

If you take a step you’ll be penalized but if you fall on your face or on your butt it’s better to take a step. So, stick it.

Next is stuck. I took our dog Zoe out this evening, re-filled her water bowl and headed out without her, keys still in the door and ran into neighbors at the elevator. I had recycling to take out and was going to a local market to buy my husband his favorite frozen pizza as he’s coming in shortly after a long flight home.

Seconds after I bid adieu to my neighbors I hit the number for recycling, the elevator doors closed and it lurched and its computer went down. Thirty minutes later it lurched again. My cell would not work and my husband was on a plane, anyway. I was in intermittent contact with the elevator phone people.

Forget the high school days of stick it! This was just an old lady stuck alone with her recycling in an elevator, for an hour before anyone came to rescue me. I was four feet down and ten feet from our home when Mr. Otis came and opened the doors.

The first thing he said was “I’m going to close these doors and bring you up.” I replied “No way anyone is going to close these doors on me again.” He jumped down to lift me and the staff member that found me, J, held out his hand. I put one leg up and J pulled me. Thanks!

After playing with our dog and our neighbor’s grandkids I went home and started shaking. I had told the elevator operator/phone support (no cell phone service in the elevators) that if the #4 elevator kept jumping up and down I wrote a draft will yesterday and to tell my husband it’s in Word, the most recent document.

Guess what? I stuck it. Through dropping up and down I kept my knees bent for shocks and never fell or even took a step forward. Later I called my brother-in-law and told him to ask our nephew, nearing teen years so we’ll lose him forever, what to do if he was stuck alone in an elevator.

God bless him, he said “sit down.” The operators had me doing so many things inside that I could not do so. My husband just took the dog out, on the only working elevator for 30 stories of folks. It turns out others have been stuck in this elevator over the past few days and it was supposed to be turned off today. It wasn’t and it was hot in there and I didn’t know that the other one is sketchy as well. We have a number of floors here.

We also have pregnant ladies, elderly and disabled residents who need an elevator. I’m sure they’ll fix them tomorrow as there will be one elevator for movers and another for people who live here. The movers are more important.

And as the late, great Walter Cronkite would have said, And that’s the way it is, date…. Dee

ps No longer stuck.

 

 

 

Little Dog

I once knew a 3# Yorkshire Terrier named Savannah. She was too tiny to even wear the smallest size at the pet store so a joint friend, a retired milliner (hat maker) would sew her costumes. My favorite was the denim and gingham jacket with matching hat for our July 4 BBQ. One day she went purposefully away from our area of the park.

There were two large Rottweilers barking like crazy. I told Savannah’s “mom” we had to go and get her. She said no. Savannah told these big dogs off and they were quiet and walked away. S lived for another ten years. I don’t know about the Rotties!

Our country tends to give money to the rich (banks, insurance companies, wealthy people) and forgets the people who actually pay taxes.

I am a little dog going after an insurance company for denying a claim. I’ve done it before and won. Great story about that one, having the insurance commissioner call my agent after they dated my check the first of the month (the date due) then they cashed it in at the bank the morning of the 2nd and sent me a cancellation of policy notice.

Calling and telling my agent that fact plus that our state had a 15-day grace period did no good. I was an analyst working at the Legislature for insurance. I ran into the insurance commissioner at a reception, he rubbed his hands together with glee and told me to call in the morning. Two hours later my agent called and asked why I ever thought my policy was cancelled (the Commissioner had the paper canceling it). An hour later the Commissioner called, said he thought the guy peed his pants and that it was the most fun he’d ever had. btw I changed agents.

Sometimes the little dogs win. I’m going to win against my insurer and a huge hospital chain. My dog had bad hips and now she has none, had to grow her own but is silly happy) but has made her way for over 12 years. She used to roll down a hill belly-up and all the dogs left her alone. Why? She loved all the other dogs, people and their kids, and no dog wanted to eviscerate her.

She is a mascot and nearly 90 in people years. I’ve gone belly-up for a while to be left alone but no more. I’m going after the insurance and health “care” regimes because there is no doubt there is a cabal here. I just have to find the angle. A good lawyer wouldn’t hurt. Battle! Dee