Judas

First off, I know in my head I did the right thing. The dog had to be castrated. That doesn't keep other feelings from surfacing.

I felt like Brutus, Judas, and Benedict Arnold all rolled into one this morning, when I snapped the leash on Bear and walked out the door with him. We weren't going on just any walk, we were taking the last walk of his life with his nads dangling where they ought to be.

Sure I am projecting my feelings and values on an animal, but isn't that what pets are for? We bring them into our families and they become one of us. We give them our words and sometimes their looks or well-placed sighs let us know they know more about us than we might think.

Even in war, men tend to respect each other's private parts. Only the dirtiest fighters will go below the belt. Most honor the code. Therefore, it is difficult to lead another male to a place where those parts will be snipped off and discarded like a candy wrapper.

To make matters worse, Bear took the walk enthusiastically, thus proving he is not fluent in the English language. I have been talking about his operation since it was scheduled last Saturday. I am sure if he knew the destination of today's walk he would have bolted to save his jewels.

Still he walked and he hiked his leg and scratched the ground with all the gusto two testosterone driven testicles can provide. A man to the end, Bear walked up the steps to the vets office and went in the back room with his tail high and his dignity in tact.

I am supposed to call at 3:30 PM today to see how the surgery went and to find out when I can pick him up. I hope he forgives me.

I will update this post when I get word.

Until the next time
John Strain

Nuts

by Bear

Hi everyone, it's me Bear.

Do you remember a long time ago I told you about blood dripping out of my weenie? We went to the vet and he said it was my prostate and if it happened again I would have to be neutered. Well, it happened again.

Actually, it happened one other time, but it stopped. Daddy took me to the vet Saturday and it was not a fun visit. It seemed more like a reenactment of the rape scene in the movie Shawshank Redemption than a doctor visit.

When we walked into the lobby, I got to meet 3 other dogs. They were nice. One had to stay to get boarded. I felt sorry for him. I sure hate it when I have to stay.

Then there were two golden retrievers that just had to get their shots. Then it was my turn to go into "that room."

Daddy told Mr. Rusty about the blood dripping out of my weenie. They picked me up and put me on the exam table. Mr. Rusty told Daddy to hold my head, because I wasn't going to like what he was about to do. What an understatement. That is about the time they made me feel like the new fish on cell block 9. He put his finger in my rear end - not my idea of fun.

He told Daddy my prostate was enlarged and we could cure the problem by neutering me. Then I got a shot and Mr. Rusty gave Daddy some pills for me to take.

They said I had to come back on Wednesday morning to get neutered. No big deal right? That's what I thought until I read this article on the Internet.

Now I know why they call it being neutered, because if they said "We are going to cut your balls off," no one would ever do it.

I guess I don't have a choice. Daddy tried to make me feel better by telling me a joke. It is a little nasty, but I will go ahead and repeat it for you here:

Q: Why do dogs lick themselves?
A: Because they can't make a fist.

It is easy for Daddy to laugh, it isn't his nuts getting cut off.

That's about it. I go under the knife on Wednesday, but I am going to take it like a man; no whining or wussing around for this dog. Toughness isn't a set of nads, it's attitude.

I need to keep telling myself that.

So if you start whining about something today like your job or something, just remember poor Bear. At least you aren't getting your balls cut off.

That's my news from here. Wednesday is the day I start practicing for the Vienna Boy's Choir.

Now if you'll excuse me I am going to go lick myself while I still can.

Bye for now,
Bear

Peeing outside

Since the advent of the indoor toilet, men have been passing down a tradition to each generation. It is a rite of passage, and something, in my own experience, only men seem to appreciate. I am of course speaking of peeing outside.

Nothing screams freedom more than whipping it out and letting 'er fly. We do not recognize the limitations of bathrooms and public toilets. The world is our urinal and we exercise our freedom and our manhood each time we whiz in the woods.

I am not speaking of the crude kind of peeing outdoors driven by bad manners and alcohol. It is not unusual to see one of these gosh cretans hosing down one of the streets or sidewalks in the French Quarter. They are not exercising their freedom, they are demonstrating their lack of breeding.

My friend Marty used to have a condo in Florida until Hurricane Opal blew it away. He had a tradition of peeing off of the balcony the night of his arrival. This could sometimes be a tricky maneuver since the wind was often blowing in off of the gulf, however most guys are quite skilled when it comes to placing a stream of pee and Marty was no exception.

I have peed off of boats, behind buildings, bushes, and trees. I have peed in the high desert of Utah, the road side in Boston, and off of the Natchez Trace in Mississippi. I have peed in Canada and Minnesota in the lake country, and in the Mountains of New Mexico. I haven't thought about it much, but I have quite a peeing outside portfolio as I am sure most if not all men do.

Peeing outside is not something we do for fun, it is something we do to express our freedom. It is our way of saying, "Sure I am too lazy to go inside and pee in the toilet, but I am a man and I'll damn well pee anywhere I want."

We relate to our dogs and to the wolves that mark their territory. I have peed all over my yard at one time or another. Sometimes, it is just the thing to do.

Most municipalities have laws against this, but unless you are exposing yourself to a crowd or peeing on someone's property, male officers look the other way. I am sure they find it hard to arrest someone for exercising a God given freedom. It is part of the code. It is acceptable - to men.

Women find it disgusting, but I think they are a bit jealous because their plumbing does not lend itself to such an activity. Women are much more exposed to practice the freedom of peeing outside so usually opt to go indoors unless it is an emergency or they are in a swimming pool.

That's just the way it is.

Until the next time
John Strain

A Tuesday in October

I took off from work yesterday. I have some vacation days to use up before my anniversary date and I don't want to leave them on the table.

I got up at the usual time, made coffee, and ran my morning workout. Bear got a longer walk.

I watched the financial shows and took my time getting a shower. After that, I downloaded some music on iTunes and surfed the net.

I had a few fleeting thoughts about using my time wisely and getting something accomplished.

There are some projects that either need my attention or would put me in good stead with Barbara. To name a few:

Reduce clutter in our back room
Fix my shed that Katrina broke
Trim the ligustrums
Blah, blah, blah

Before I knew it, the day was half gone. Too late to start any projects, so I watched a little TV. I was treated to the ravings of reporters and politicians in the Foley feeding frenzy. What a crock.

About 2:00 I took Bear outside and we walked a mile to the river. He had a blast fetching his tennis ball and swimming. We walked back home and I hosed the river water off of him.

I think his favorite part is getting dried off. He presses his head into the towell and leans into your hands. After he properly groomed himself, he took a nice nap while I called my dad.

My dad is 81 and lives in Kansas City. I don't call him as often as I should so I called. Things are fine in KC. We caught up on things, talked about sports, and he told me he was proud of me.

I am pretty lucky to be nearly 50 and to still have both of my parents. It is even better to know they love me. My mother leaves comments on the blog that makes my coworker Christine nearly hurl. After she reads one of them, she mocks me: “John for world leader.” I guess she is mocking me.

A good example is my last post when I asked the question about the word "skiffing". I used it to refer to a leaf sliding accross the concrete. I couldn't find it in the dictionary.

My mother's response was it must be an inferior dictionary, because I couldn't be wrong. How true. Anyway, this sort of thing bothers Christine. She is so beaten down now, she rarely even mentions it. I don't confuse her silence with conversion though.

So, just a Tuesday in October, but it brought some good stuff. A good memory at the river with my pal Bear and welcome words from my father.

I don't even care that I didn't accomplish anything constructive. Those things will wait for just the right weekend.

Until the next time
John Strain

October

I love October:

NFL football
College football
Cooler weather
Halloween
Good childhood memories
The month I asked Barbara to marry me
The World Series
Carmel apples
The last bit of peace before the holidays
Bonfires
Marching bands
The sound of leaves skiffing along the street driven by a cool north wind
No full moon is prettier or more foreboding than the one in October

So enjoy all 31 days of it folks.

PS I used the word “skiffing” above to describe the sound a leaf makes as it skips along the concrete. That must be a made up word because I can’t find it in a dictionary. Have you ever heard or used the word?

Until the next time
John Strain