Homeless - 81

Hiya, troopers,

Hope things are going well for you. I'm getting by from day to day which cannot be said by the current inhabitants of your local cemetery. No responses yet from the resumes I sent out regarding entry level CEO positions - go figure...

This has been the wettest summer in the Dallas area since I moved here in '89. Well, at least in my memory. It rained nearly everyday over a three-week span, usually in the late afternoon or late evening. It is somewhat difficult to deal with when your vehicle doesn't have AC but I found a measure that is effective; that of pulling into a self-serve car wash, parking under the canopy in of one of the vacuum bays and opening the doors of BT to let the breeze cool off the interior and my young hide. It seems the Northeast are having some problems with the heat. I'm just glad the oil slick in the Gulf hasn't ignited from a lightning strike or by a terrorist. That situation is saddening. I had many good times on the Gulf Coast, ones that I remember fondly. Many people live there because of the lifestyle and now that's been taken from them by an irresponsible corporate entity. I'm thinking pitchforks and torches myself...

I finished reading Ancestors by Scott Siegler yesterday; only took a couple of days - my fingers move fast. It is an engaging book about genetic manipulation and corporate greed with various subplots. It all works well. In the first third of the book, there were three things that really struck a chord. I never read a book that that reflected some of my actual experiences. No, none of them involved faster-than-light travel, anti-matter warheads or four-titted humanoid females.

First, on my last IT contract there were occasions where I would whip up a batch of brownies (not the magic kind but, oh, was I tempted)and take them to work where they didn't last much longer than a snowball in hell. They were greeted with much fanfare and joy, and when asked about the recipe, I replied that it was a recipe that my maternal grandmother taught me when I was a child. In actuality, she is the influence that oriented toward the culinary arts...such as they are...or were. On the last day of my contract, I sent out an email sharing that the generations-held recipe was actually Duncan Hines brownie mix with the addition of pecans and/or walnuts added, with olive oil substituted. In the book, there is an interplay between a couple of characters about the home-made brownies that one of them made from a long-held family recipe. The other character replied that they must be related because this came from her family recipe by the name of Duncan Hines. Yes, this gave me a few moments of mirth after reading. And I thought I was sooo original...

Second, every work environment should have a 'battle cry', a call to arms to rally the troops against the amassed forces of evil. So it is in the library branch that I have the privilege of being part of a team that pushs back.

'YOUR FACE!' Now , I've never heard that saying beyond the branch environment, It originated from one of the personnel, Sara. Yes, she is hot; in fact, smokin' hot, Intelligent, attractive, sense of humor, puts up with my shit...and she shares her food with me. What more could a guy ask? Easy there, Clyde, she's married. I know, a lotta of the good ones are taken.

In the book, there is a interplay between a couple of the characters where that saying is employed.
'Your face is a brownie.'
'You are such a sock.'
'Your face is a sock.'

This, too, gave me a few moments of mirth...

Lastly, concerns a dog named Mookie that I had the privilege of knowing - a Jack Russel/terrier/something
or the other mixed breed...and smart. She weighed 20 - 23 pounds, had a white-coat background with large black spots. When she looked at you, her right ear would flip over halfway while the other stayed fully erect. Her eyes had a fire in therm, one of curiosity and adventure, a shine in them that said whatever I was up to, she was wanting part. No, she wasn't my dog but the canine companion of the human female that I shared intimate moments with...many times over the span of a couple of years. I wasn't working during that time and Mookie spent a lot of time with me. There were woods within walking distance that she and I frequented in all types of weather. The area was heavily wooded with a large creek that flowed through - fish, cranes, hawks, squirrels (we'll get back to that), rabbits, skunks, etc. Mook's owner wasn't an 'outside' person but the Mook was an outside dog and liked roaming the woods with me for hours at a time. The first few times that we went to the woods, it seemed a new world opened up for her. She lived with four cats and a human so the interaction didn't include our jungle friends. She was wantonly chasing birds, butterflies and stopping to smell everything. Needless to say, our adventures in the woods consisted of several hours each trip which resonated my earlier experiences as a child living at my grandmother's.

The Mook had a personality. She had a affection for Vienna sausages, those in the small can. She knew that I was fully stocked since I had a couple with crackers while sharing a can with her the first time. There were times she would sit in front of me and look me in the eyes, though I was pretending to ignore her since I knew what she wanted and was manipulating me to open that can. I would move my eyes in another direction and she would reposition to ensure she was in my field of vision, attempting to reacquire eye contact. When I put my hand over my eyes, she would growl and bark as if saying, Give me my sausages, bitch, I know you have some! And I would because I'm such a soft touch.

The Mook is the only canine that I have known that could chase down a squirrel. For those of you that are unacquainted with a squirrel's speed, let me assure you that those creatures have much quickness. She didn't know what to do after she caught them and in that fleeting moment of hesitation, the squirrel wasn't hanging around to find out since there was always a tree a yard or two away. Mookie was gifted with the ability of high-speed in short distances - at least in those days. She is four years older now and probably not as quick. I know I ain't.

While I was in the relationship with her owner, I would grill Porterhouse steaks and save the bones for Mookie and a neighbor's dog. One time, I gave a bone to Mook and the Duke, a neighbor's black Lab - there was always fat and meat left on the bone. Duke promptly finished his bone and went after Mook's where he was greeted with a short, low-pitched growl from Mook of which Duke promptly did a 180 as if saying Don't want any part of that shit, leaving Mook to enjoy her bone in peace.

A thing about the Mook is that she never backed down from other dogs. When a male tryed to mount her, he was greeted with fangs and claws. She was not a dog's dog, she was more of a person's dog. She preferred the company of people, maybe because of an opposable thumb needed to open a can of Vienna sausages, and the petting machines that we humans can be.

I last saw Mook over 18 months ago when I happen to drive by her dog-sitter's place. She saw my truck and made a beeline toward it, recognizing it and me It was in the cooler months. She had grown a bit, the white background of her coat wasn't as white as it used to be. She greeted me enthusiastically and I hugged her and said things about how I missed her, how is she doing and other stupid stuff. During those exchanges, I noticed her eyes.

That gleam in her eyes was gone, replaced by a dullness, as if the excitement was displaced with melancholy. The zest seemed to be gone. We spent a few more minutes together and then she walked back to the dog-sitter's apartment - that's another story about the darkness of human nature. But just before Mook rounded a corner that would take her from my sight, she stopped and looked back at me, her ears perked up with tail wagging slightly. We held each other's eyes for a few moments longer until the moment was broken by the dog-sitter's demands to come.

She is one of the non-humans that I think of occasionally, that I hope is doing well or at least lived well with caring humans in their world who took care of them and loved them.

At any rate, in the book, there was a canine of nearly the same breed named Mookie who the author portrayed as having the same attributes - those of courage, adventure, fun-loving, an elan for life...and, of course, a penchant for Vienna sausages and the occasional Porterhouse bone that had been grilled, with a significant amount of fat and meat still attached.

Hope you are doing well, Mook, and keeping those four cats in line.
Take care.


Next time,
David