I am a Dog Person

I love all animals.

I love some more than others, that is simply a fact.

But when I think about all of the animals who have walked through a portion of my life, though I have enjoyed the company of a variety - dogs speak to my heart.

I love the soulful look in their deep eyes that look at me and attempt to reassure me through the times of my life where I'm not even sure I need the comfort - but they know.

The devoted companionship of a gentle soul that greets me as if I am the best thing in the day is a warm tribute to a very flawed person who lacks most of the skills that are socially useful or acceptable.

But to my dog, I am a hero simply by inviting her up onto the bed beside me for hugs and kisses before she goes to her sleeping spot at night.

She works herself into a virtual frenzy of sniffing and circling my legs when I have been out in the world without her to accompany me.

She knows when I come in with the groceries that I have bought her some and won't leave the kitchen until she sees her food safely placed into her cabinet.

My dog isn't just a dog. She is a friend who sits with me and listens heart to heart and knows how to make my day better.

She is able to be wildly and brilliantly excited about every single walk even though we follow the same paths. It's like everything is a blessing to her.

I need to be more like my dog.

I need to appreciate the people I love and be joyful at their coming, sad at their departure and ecstatic upon their return from even the shortest of errands.

I am a dog person because the dogs of the world love me without even knowing me. I don't know why this is my blessing. All I know is that I am thankful for the company.

The Checkbook is Empty

My congressional district needs a boondoggle.

My senate district needs a bloated pork bill to pass.

My house district could use a few inflated infrastructure bills to help us out.

And by us, I mean ME.

My checkbook is woefully thin and I could use a cash infusion to help me be all I can be, all I want to be, all I imagined I could be and a few all I could's that haven't even crossed my mind.

California, the state of excess, is asking us in the hailstone and sarsaparilla belt to give them OUR tax dollars to build a high speed commuter train that "everyone" wants, but which no one will use. It isn't chic to ride the bus or the train!

Paris Hilton and her purse puppy will NOT be the spokes lifeforms for public transportation.

Chances are, Miss Hilton does not wish to sit by F-Dog and the Home Patrol while she attempts to cover her delicate nostrils with a perfume scented hankie.

That would be unacceptable.

And chances are F-Dog and the Home Patrol won't want to ride the public transports, because to do so means they don't have 'the power' to control their mode of transportation and hence the violence and the get-away.

It isn't rad, hip, cool, or dope to wait for the 5:15 cross town bus to escape from bustin' a cap in someones ass. No self respecting banger does that. Ever.

And while I am all 'gangster' and fully knowledgeable about gang activity (NOT!)...I know they won't be riding the Metro flashing gang signs at the opposing turf lords and politely waiting for the ding at the next stop before pulling out a semiautomatic and letting rip their dogs of war. (And yes, I realize the phrase is 'gangsta'...)

High dollar businessmen looking to seal a deal with 'the man' aren't going to ride on the high speed train to nowhere, they could possible drop a call on a multi-million dollar deal and lose big time.

So who will be funding the continued operation of this "necessary" transport.

Grandma.

Yep. Toothless and smelling faintly of wintergreen Ben-Gay, Jergens hand lotion and Dentu-Creme, Grandma will be riding the train all the time.

With her stockings rolled down to just below the bend of her knee, her hairnet firmly in place and secured with a couple of strategic bobby pins, Grandma is the target demographic with the disposable income needed to keep the S-Bahn of California in operation.

Cool people don't ride public transportation.

Cool people drive Ferrari's.

Famous people don't queue up at the bus stop. They are queued up to... by the paparazzi, the gullible and the naive who are willing to believe that somehow, their lack of responsibility deserves rewarding by billions of the tax dollars from people in Nebraska, South Dakota and Alabama.

So when are the good people of the sunkissed state of California going to help MY state and MY needs?

I'd like to have the benefit of their motion picture money flowing towards my state. Can't we prorate it? Afterall, slack-jawed, tobacco chewing, cousin marrying, pregnant at the alter Alabamians watch the movies they make. Doesn't that make us ENTITLED to a bailout?

Come to think of it, our participation in the world market as a whole should entitle us to a great deal.

The more I think about it the more I believe we have supported the economy of the rich for too long.

I declare today the start of a new market.

Today, those with empty checkbooks despite the hardwork of spouse, live-in's and hanger's on from the Dairy Dip are now going to get what they have only seen on the silver screen.

Cooter and Rufus will be issued one of the cars belonging to the rich and famous. Everyone knows when you are rich you have a stable full of cars, horses, llamas, women, whatever.

And if you are rich you will share willingly under President Obama's trickle down economic plan to help the disadvantaged in Alabama.

I'll just sit here with my checkbook open and wait for the numbers to change. While I'm waitin' -anybody want a fudgesicle?