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T'was the night before Christmas...
We ain't got any snow,
It's 4 below zero,
So take a blanket if you go.
Don't hang any stockings,
Leave 'em on your pink feet,
Cause if you get frostbite,
It won't be to neat.
On Target, On Wal-Mart,
Bark Pet-Co too
If you have any
last minute shopping to do.
What happend to Miller & Paine
where the wrapping they'd do.
Now I have to do it
and it will be late when I'm through.
Then on dancer and blitzen and
red Rebel too
It's off to Omaha to see
what is new.
The babies will be there
with rosy red cheeks
Hoping that Santa will
stop with some sweet little treats.
So a night with the fam
will be kinda neat.
Then it's home to my
hound,
To give him his treat.
And to you and your family
on this cold snowless night
Merry Christmas to all
and to Wal-Mart, good night.
Friday, December 24, 2004
Saturday, December 18, 2004
My Christmas story for you
There was a little old man standing out in front of a Wal-Mart store. He was a obese, short, and he had a scruffy white beard to go along with his long white unkempt hair. He wore a red and white Santa hat and had a smile and a Merry Christmas for everyone who walked by his kettle as he rang the bell for the Salvation Army. His gentle disposition and his physical characteristics made him very special at this time of years. This was his kettle and he did his job very well.
'Look, there's Santa," the kid exclaimed as families went in and out of the store. True enough, he looked like Santa. Then the unthinkable happened. The bell dropped to the cement and rolled away as he clutched his chest and fell to the ground.
A gasp went up as people watched. Some came quickly to his aid. A man took out his cellphone and dialed 911.
"He just fell over,"the man said. The operator got more information and it wasn't long before you could hear a siren off in the distance. Help was on the way. But for this old man, would help arrive too late.
Soon, the big red and white fire engine came to a stop in front of the store. You could hear the whoosh of the air brakes as firemen dressed in dark blue sweat shirts came out of the doors and opened compartments to take out a bag with lifesaving gear inside. A paramedic went right to the old man who lay motionless on the ground, his hint of white breath against the cold winter air now gone.
"Is Santa dead?" a little boy about five asked his mother. He grabbed her leg as she tried to spare him from the unfolding sad scene. He held his ground and watched. Tears formed on his face as he watched the firemen work on the old man.
"Is Santa dead?" he cried out. "Is he? Is Santa dead?"
"No honey," his mom said as she reached down and turned his face away from the scene. She tried to get him to go but he held firm.
The paramedic stopped working on the old man. He took his stethoscope out of his ears and put it around his neck and looked up at the engine's captain and shook his head from side to side.
The boy struggled with his mom and finally bolted free. He ran from her reach and over to the paramedic. Tears were streaming down his face as he looked at the old man who lay motionless on the ground. He shook the paramendic's shoulder.
"Is Santa dead?" he cried.
The paramedic turned and looked at the boy. He took a 4x4 cotton bandage out of his kit.
"No son," the paramedic said as he tore open the package, took out the bandage and wiped the tears from the boy's face.
"Santa isn't dead," the paramedic said as he looked back at the old man. "He is just a dead ringer."
'Look, there's Santa," the kid exclaimed as families went in and out of the store. True enough, he looked like Santa. Then the unthinkable happened. The bell dropped to the cement and rolled away as he clutched his chest and fell to the ground.
A gasp went up as people watched. Some came quickly to his aid. A man took out his cellphone and dialed 911.
"He just fell over,"the man said. The operator got more information and it wasn't long before you could hear a siren off in the distance. Help was on the way. But for this old man, would help arrive too late.
Soon, the big red and white fire engine came to a stop in front of the store. You could hear the whoosh of the air brakes as firemen dressed in dark blue sweat shirts came out of the doors and opened compartments to take out a bag with lifesaving gear inside. A paramedic went right to the old man who lay motionless on the ground, his hint of white breath against the cold winter air now gone.
"Is Santa dead?" a little boy about five asked his mother. He grabbed her leg as she tried to spare him from the unfolding sad scene. He held his ground and watched. Tears formed on his face as he watched the firemen work on the old man.
"Is Santa dead?" he cried out. "Is he? Is Santa dead?"
"No honey," his mom said as she reached down and turned his face away from the scene. She tried to get him to go but he held firm.
The paramedic stopped working on the old man. He took his stethoscope out of his ears and put it around his neck and looked up at the engine's captain and shook his head from side to side.
The boy struggled with his mom and finally bolted free. He ran from her reach and over to the paramedic. Tears were streaming down his face as he looked at the old man who lay motionless on the ground. He shook the paramendic's shoulder.
"Is Santa dead?" he cried.
The paramedic turned and looked at the boy. He took a 4x4 cotton bandage out of his kit.
"No son," the paramedic said as he tore open the package, took out the bandage and wiped the tears from the boy's face.
"Santa isn't dead," the paramedic said as he looked back at the old man. "He is just a dead ringer."
Monday, December 13, 2004
A month late...
I don't think it is global warming. I think the calender is screwed up. In fact, I think it is one month off. Just imagine if the retail community suddenly started making a big deal out of that...two Christmas seasons. Kind of like daylight Christmas season. How awful would that be?
OK, I am not a Christmas season fan. In fact, I am not even a winter fan. I would have made a lousy indian running around in those skimpy hides.
But back to the point. It's been really, REALLY, nice for December in Nebraska. Cool but not cold. Rain but not snow. There are still plenty of leaves on the trees. Nature is still in the late fall mode. Get the picture?
I think it is really November and somehow the calender got enough frequent dayer days to come up with an extra month and inserted it without anyone knowing. That's good for the crowd that doesn't see much future in ski Nebraska. Bad for the guys who rely on ice skating.
But for me and the trusty hound, it's good. The walks continue and I am also running three times a week--leash in hand--hound under foot. He likes aerobic stuff and since he is moving into dog teenager years, I suppose he is thinking about how he looks and maybe wants to get rid of the puppy fat and buff up as it were.
Well as long as the weather stays like this, it's outdoors for us.
Now that's a Christmas gift I can appreciate.
OK, I am not a Christmas season fan. In fact, I am not even a winter fan. I would have made a lousy indian running around in those skimpy hides.
But back to the point. It's been really, REALLY, nice for December in Nebraska. Cool but not cold. Rain but not snow. There are still plenty of leaves on the trees. Nature is still in the late fall mode. Get the picture?
I think it is really November and somehow the calender got enough frequent dayer days to come up with an extra month and inserted it without anyone knowing. That's good for the crowd that doesn't see much future in ski Nebraska. Bad for the guys who rely on ice skating.
But for me and the trusty hound, it's good. The walks continue and I am also running three times a week--leash in hand--hound under foot. He likes aerobic stuff and since he is moving into dog teenager years, I suppose he is thinking about how he looks and maybe wants to get rid of the puppy fat and buff up as it were.
Well as long as the weather stays like this, it's outdoors for us.
Now that's a Christmas gift I can appreciate.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
The old house
I just learned something horrible.
Our old family home is empty and has been empty for over a year! That's awful. It was a great old place as old homes go. It sits on the corner in a big lot in Hartington, Nebraska. It's a big two story wooden house with lots of windows that my mother used to hate to clean. It's dark gray with white shutters. And it's empty and silent now. That's awful.
Especially this time of year. Add a foot or so of snow and freshly scooped sidewalks which defined the lot and big bushes holding up the puffy white stuff and you have picture-perfect, Christmas card kind of house. The local photographer once braved the snow and the cold to take a picture of it with a fresh, unplowed and unscooped snow--the big flake fluffy kind--making it a the home for the holidays.
Plus we had Rudolph. My mom found a stuffed deer head above the beer cooler in dad's bar. The bar was, and I think still is called, The Chief Bar. During the holiday season, all kinds of little displays showed up from the liquor salesmen. One had a big red flashing bulb. Mom spotted that flashing red bulb and it was gone before the holiday liquor bottles were. She taped it to the stuffed dear head's nose and hung it on the porch. Instant Rudolph, blinking red nose and all.
People from all over drove buy on snowy nights to see Rudolph and her stuffed santa. The Cedar County News did a story about her creativity. It was the perfect touch to the smell of sugar cookies which filled every drafty corner of that big old house. And if you stopped to look at Rudolph, you couldn't miss the floor to ceiling Christmas tree in the bay windows. Late into the night, the snow glistened from the glow of the tree.
But now the house is empty. It's tied up in a typica American divorce tragedy. It stands in darkness. Mom would have hated that.
Mom and dad are gone and I am an old goat who feels awful that one of the most wonderful places ever stands dark and drafty in the cold Nebraska winter.
I hate the darkness, too. Maybe Christmas Eve I will go up there, buy a cup of hot chocolate and a sugar cookie and sit on the old porch railing, whisper Silent Night, and listen to the wind in the trees.
God Bless you Mom and Dad.
Our old family home is empty and has been empty for over a year! That's awful. It was a great old place as old homes go. It sits on the corner in a big lot in Hartington, Nebraska. It's a big two story wooden house with lots of windows that my mother used to hate to clean. It's dark gray with white shutters. And it's empty and silent now. That's awful.
Especially this time of year. Add a foot or so of snow and freshly scooped sidewalks which defined the lot and big bushes holding up the puffy white stuff and you have picture-perfect, Christmas card kind of house. The local photographer once braved the snow and the cold to take a picture of it with a fresh, unplowed and unscooped snow--the big flake fluffy kind--making it a the home for the holidays.
Plus we had Rudolph. My mom found a stuffed deer head above the beer cooler in dad's bar. The bar was, and I think still is called, The Chief Bar. During the holiday season, all kinds of little displays showed up from the liquor salesmen. One had a big red flashing bulb. Mom spotted that flashing red bulb and it was gone before the holiday liquor bottles were. She taped it to the stuffed dear head's nose and hung it on the porch. Instant Rudolph, blinking red nose and all.
People from all over drove buy on snowy nights to see Rudolph and her stuffed santa. The Cedar County News did a story about her creativity. It was the perfect touch to the smell of sugar cookies which filled every drafty corner of that big old house. And if you stopped to look at Rudolph, you couldn't miss the floor to ceiling Christmas tree in the bay windows. Late into the night, the snow glistened from the glow of the tree.
But now the house is empty. It's tied up in a typica American divorce tragedy. It stands in darkness. Mom would have hated that.
Mom and dad are gone and I am an old goat who feels awful that one of the most wonderful places ever stands dark and drafty in the cold Nebraska winter.
I hate the darkness, too. Maybe Christmas Eve I will go up there, buy a cup of hot chocolate and a sugar cookie and sit on the old porch railing, whisper Silent Night, and listen to the wind in the trees.
God Bless you Mom and Dad.
Friday, December 03, 2004
A different way today
The City was finally fixing some of the bad planks on the bike bridge over 48th street. That means pickups all over the place. Why is it when there is something little to fix, you have pickups all over? I am sure Ford knows these things.
Anyway, with a blocked bridge, Buc and I had to use a different path for the daily walk. After all, you wouldn't want to read about how I fished and dangling dog out from a hole it the bridge, would you?
I took a more social approach to the walk. Less squirrels and rabbits and more humans and cars. He needs to know more about humans and cars and how to stay out of the way, look before he crosses a busy street and things like that. I am assuming I have the smartest dog in the world and would do these things should he ever chew through his leash and choose freedom over comfort.
The path took us by a couple of big stores. Suddenly, he stopped and his ears perked up.
"What?" I asked as he held his ground with the leash. Normally, he'll prance along right next to me with a loop of leash in his mouth just to show everybody he is driving, not me. He dropped the extra hunk of leash and tilted his head up and sniffed and listened again.
"What?"
He turned and looked at the store and finally, I figured out what had his attention. Mind you, this is a 4 month old dog, or in human terms, he is a little over two. He was hearing the Salvation Army bells in front of the store.
"It's too early for that," I told him and tugged on the leash in a less donative direction. No deal. He held his ground and forced my hand. Would I have to yank the hell out of him like so many spoiled little brats inside of that big store?
"I'll start giving them something next week," I told him. "It's too early to get all mushy about Christmas and all of this stuff. Let's go."
He looked away.
"You're embarrassed?" I asked? He kept looking away from me and sniffed the air again.
Now this is his first Christmas season so I was highly suspect about his knowledge of giving and bells and red kettles and such. But then I thought about it. He came from the pound. That's kind of like a homeless shelter. Maybe he heard some of the stories about cold, milkbonelerss nights. Maybe he heard about little brothers and sisters being taken away, never to be seen again. Maybe he was recalling the night the old dog in the corner slept away back in that drafty cage in the corner. Maybe he knew and he wanted me to change the world starting today.
Then again, maybe not.
"Come on, let's go," I said as I drug him away.
Anyway, with a blocked bridge, Buc and I had to use a different path for the daily walk. After all, you wouldn't want to read about how I fished and dangling dog out from a hole it the bridge, would you?
I took a more social approach to the walk. Less squirrels and rabbits and more humans and cars. He needs to know more about humans and cars and how to stay out of the way, look before he crosses a busy street and things like that. I am assuming I have the smartest dog in the world and would do these things should he ever chew through his leash and choose freedom over comfort.
The path took us by a couple of big stores. Suddenly, he stopped and his ears perked up.
"What?" I asked as he held his ground with the leash. Normally, he'll prance along right next to me with a loop of leash in his mouth just to show everybody he is driving, not me. He dropped the extra hunk of leash and tilted his head up and sniffed and listened again.
"What?"
He turned and looked at the store and finally, I figured out what had his attention. Mind you, this is a 4 month old dog, or in human terms, he is a little over two. He was hearing the Salvation Army bells in front of the store.
"It's too early for that," I told him and tugged on the leash in a less donative direction. No deal. He held his ground and forced my hand. Would I have to yank the hell out of him like so many spoiled little brats inside of that big store?
"I'll start giving them something next week," I told him. "It's too early to get all mushy about Christmas and all of this stuff. Let's go."
He looked away.
"You're embarrassed?" I asked? He kept looking away from me and sniffed the air again.
Now this is his first Christmas season so I was highly suspect about his knowledge of giving and bells and red kettles and such. But then I thought about it. He came from the pound. That's kind of like a homeless shelter. Maybe he heard some of the stories about cold, milkbonelerss nights. Maybe he heard about little brothers and sisters being taken away, never to be seen again. Maybe he was recalling the night the old dog in the corner slept away back in that drafty cage in the corner. Maybe he knew and he wanted me to change the world starting today.
Then again, maybe not.
"Come on, let's go," I said as I drug him away.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
A winter run
I never got into treadmills. They are as boring as talking to the postmaster about retirement. I am an outdoor guy so, bad knees padded, shoes on, dog on the well-chewed leash, it is off to one of Lincoln's great bike trails. (I might add it is handily installed right behind my house.)
After the two mandatory stops for pooch maintenance, it's time for the run. Now mind you, I am kind of an old guy so let's not be thinking maraton here. Plus, I hate the cold and I have a small pooch out in front of me galloping along as if he was free or something.
I follow a running program from Fit for Life. 2 minute walk. 1 minute slow jog. 1 minute faster jog. 1 minute fast jog. Repeat four times plus a really fast run at the end and a cool-down. Cool down? Dude, it's winter in Nebraska. We don't need cool downs for crying out loud.
I was into the second repeat when it happened. The usually healing Buc, running at my pace to my right, spotted a rabbit running in the ditch to my left just as my left foot was coming down for the next step. No way I could stop without pulling every muscle from my butt to my toes so my tennie raked the poor pooch's foot and landed on his toes. You can't imagine the howl. I am sure the nearby neighbors were speed dialing the Humane Society to report running puppy abuse.
There he stoop in the snow, paw up, nose and ears down, looking up at me through the top of his eyes, asking in doggie silence..."what did I do to have you do this to me?" Dogs don't understand the concept of you are in the way and when that happens, accidents happen. They howl and look at you as if you were the retired, uncaring postman.
I got down on one knee to examine the damage. He turned away. I grabbed the paw. He howled more. I gently examined it. "Wiggle your toes," I ordered. (They told me in first responder class that you should do that to see if something was broken.) He just looked. See above. That look again.
I put my finger under his paw and pushed up right before the toes. They spread out. No breaks.
That was enough. "Look," I said. "Good atheletes work through pain. Let's go."
I turned to start a slow jog. He milked it again holding out the crippled paw and giving me the look again. I pulled on the leash. He tried the paw and looked at me. Finally a step. Another look. Another step. Another look. Then he bolted off after a squirrel. It was a good move because I was holding the leash lightly. He was gone. Full speed.
That's when I stepped in the hole.
Maybe the treadmill idea isn't so dumb.
After the two mandatory stops for pooch maintenance, it's time for the run. Now mind you, I am kind of an old guy so let's not be thinking maraton here. Plus, I hate the cold and I have a small pooch out in front of me galloping along as if he was free or something.
I follow a running program from Fit for Life. 2 minute walk. 1 minute slow jog. 1 minute faster jog. 1 minute fast jog. Repeat four times plus a really fast run at the end and a cool-down. Cool down? Dude, it's winter in Nebraska. We don't need cool downs for crying out loud.
I was into the second repeat when it happened. The usually healing Buc, running at my pace to my right, spotted a rabbit running in the ditch to my left just as my left foot was coming down for the next step. No way I could stop without pulling every muscle from my butt to my toes so my tennie raked the poor pooch's foot and landed on his toes. You can't imagine the howl. I am sure the nearby neighbors were speed dialing the Humane Society to report running puppy abuse.
There he stoop in the snow, paw up, nose and ears down, looking up at me through the top of his eyes, asking in doggie silence..."what did I do to have you do this to me?" Dogs don't understand the concept of you are in the way and when that happens, accidents happen. They howl and look at you as if you were the retired, uncaring postman.
I got down on one knee to examine the damage. He turned away. I grabbed the paw. He howled more. I gently examined it. "Wiggle your toes," I ordered. (They told me in first responder class that you should do that to see if something was broken.) He just looked. See above. That look again.
I put my finger under his paw and pushed up right before the toes. They spread out. No breaks.
That was enough. "Look," I said. "Good atheletes work through pain. Let's go."
I turned to start a slow jog. He milked it again holding out the crippled paw and giving me the look again. I pulled on the leash. He tried the paw and looked at me. Finally a step. Another look. Another step. Another look. Then he bolted off after a squirrel. It was a good move because I was holding the leash lightly. He was gone. Full speed.
That's when I stepped in the hole.
Maybe the treadmill idea isn't so dumb.
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