Dreamin'

My life is such a blessing. It's odd for me to say that, because I once was a sad and bewildered boy who couldn't deal with the pain and abuse I suffered and so i turned inward. Instead of reflecting my suffering onto others I consoled myself by creating a fantasy world to live in. I hated the real world and its callous and constricted rigidity. My illusions gave me a safe place live. Nobody could hurt me there. It was a phantasmagoric neon-hued dreamland where I levitated above the purple clouds and bathed in brilliant glittering light. I spoke to the animals through my eyes, and I read their thoughts by waving my palms above their heads.
Music was made by every object I touched. Trees would hum in harmony and bells would chime when I splashed into the cold rivers and lakes. Raindrops whistled and in the breeze tall grass had the spiritual lift of violins.
I was the only human in my grandiloquent paradise. I don't have many memories of my childhood that aren't intermingled with my imaginary experiences. I often hesitate when speaking to my family of our shared experiences for fear of embarrassing myself with some utterly absurd imaginary event.
These are the lengths a child will go to when faced with the reality of a brutal unloving father who beat me literally every day. I like to think that these fantasy experiences and my glorious glittering creations have leeched out and influenced the real world somewhat. And as I look at my life today, with my family of happy and loving cast offs, spinning mirror balls, flashing colored lights, enlightening music and spiritually inspired dancing people - I know that by a small measure, I'm sure that they have.

The Misunderstood

Ignorance, vanity and fear is killing these amazing dogs. Lots of people see posts like this and think "gangbanger" or "dogfighter", but they are so wrong! We know the truth about these dogs, and we are trying to correct the mistaken belief that these are dangerous and uncontrollable. 30 years of explotation by the media and popular rap videos has created a myth that will continue to cause death and suffering for this type of mixed-breed dog. We can end this horror only by educating the public so we can reverse the tragic mass killing of these smart and loving animals. We owe these dogs a fair chance of survival and I believe one day in the future, they will no longer be brutalized by sick individuals, released from the sad practice of chaining, stopped from being the most euthanized shelter dog, and given a chance to be a beloved family member like all other dogs have. We must be vigilant and do our best to reeducate the public and stand up for the much maligned Pit Bull mixed-breed type dogs. They are not weapons. They are not warning systems. They aren't yard ornaments. They also are not for the feeble and insecure to use as prorection. They are not the device cruelly used to fight each other for the entertainment of evil and soulless gamblers. They aren't the sweeps-week sensationalist magnet the media uses to enhance viewership. They are the sweetest most devoted and most intelligent of all dogs. They are members of the military and police. They are support for the mentally fragile and medically needy. They are pure love!

Visualizers

I am an action guy. I don't day-dream or construct elaborate useless fantasies. I don't have much tolerance for people who never actualize their ideas. Most artists are portrayed as flaky dreamers but I'm not like that. I don't entertain all the pipe-dreaming, pixie-fluffing, wish-weavers, rainbow-painters and unicorn jockeys. People like that give real artists a bad name. The only ''starving artists' that I know are the ones who really have done nothing substantial outside of telling un-creative people their grand ideas and bold schemes. I have never expounded upon an idea, process, performance or invention without actually making it happen. Now, I have been called crazy for the many outrageous or provocative things I have actually done. And that description may fit me fine at times, for sure. Haha, But I would consider it the highest insult to imply that I am just a dreamer.
You see, like many artists, I have the ability to see the future. It's the act of visualization, and very few people have that skill. If you can visualize something, you can make it come true. All prophets were visualizers. But it also takes a confidence in your ability to develop and construct these visualizations through planning and hard work. It took a lot of failure, poor choice of materials and bad work ethics before I learned to trust my skills to manifest the creation of these hallucinations from the abstract to reality. The power of the creative mind is unparalleled in this world. It is a phenomenon that has propelled mankind's progress on earth and will be the force that propels us beyond the stars.

No Regrets

I'm standing in line at Family Dollar. A middle-aged woman stands behind me. She is using her outside voice. "Hey white boy" she says "Did you take my dog?" I do not move or blink. "Cause I seen you carryin' on with all yo Pitbulls!" I slowly turn my head and look at her angry face and smile "Are you speaking to me?" "Godamn right I am! My neighbor said you steal people's dogs. Ima call Dekalb Po-leeses on you if you got my dawg. He was from a champion fightin' dog, worth five hunnert dolla'. I know you got him!" "Ma'am I certainly don't have your prized canine, you have me confused with another Caucasian fellow." I mutter as the line inches forward. "Well Mrs Martin say she seen a white boy get him while I was in South Carolina!" she says, hand on hip. "Must have been another white boy. I don't even like dogs." I reply, trying to block her view of the 3 bags of dog food in my cart. "O.k. My old man was pissed off when he find out" she says, finally lowering her volume. "How unfortunate for you to have lost his fighting dog. I understand your consternation. He was rightfully perturbed." I said. "What?" she asks quizzically. "If I catch that muthafukkin white boy done stole 'im, Ima cut him up!" the woman grumbles, making a stabbing motion with her purchase, a pair of pink flip-flops. "Indeed" I assure her. Then, she throws her flip-flops and a package of discount panty hose on the nearby day-old bread table and steams out the door. Silence. Then, everyone in line chuckles as I toss my bags of dog food onto the checkout counter.
I smile and think to myself, "Yes lady, I took your dog. The little white baby PitBull I found emaciated and scrounging for food in busy traffic. You're damn right! I grabbed that little boy and drove him to a place far away. Where he got neutered and vaccinated. Where he was fed well and is loved ferociously! I have no regrets. I'd do it again. No, I didn't put signs up. But neither did you or your old man, who probably calls himself a breeder! Ha! Right. So every negligent dog owner gets his prized so-called "fighting dog" knocked-up and they all of a sudden realize... ."I'm a BREEDER! ". Lazy dog-fighting scum.
.Yeah, I took your dog!"

Less Talk More Action

There's several archetypes of folks I know or run across that occupy this sphere of activity known as Animal Rescue. 
  One common type I don't indulge are the Armchair Rescue people. Keyboard Commandos that do absolutely nothing to help dogs.They are a blight upon the massive needs at hand for swift assured action. Animal Rescue volunteers aren't Walter Mitty action figures. We don't just share or re-post videos that show abused and neglected dogs as we lounge in the comfort of our suburban breakfast nook over a fresh-brewed Columbian Roast Cappuchino, We aren't the fools who make histrionic pleas in ALL CAPS filled with exclamations!!! while demanding others take action. "SOMEBODY HELP THIS DOG!" I have no patience for the delusional people who surf the Animal Rescue sites for posts about abused or tortured dogs so they can feel important by pleading for others to act. "I'd take the dog myself, but it's so far away from my house, and I just vacuumed the carpet" "Oh, I would go get that dog, but I have allergies" or, "Well, my boyfriend doesn't like dogs." and, "My landlord won't let me keep one here in my tiny apartment". The worse type will post "OMG, the evil killers at this shelter are going to murder this dog tomorrow! Somebody save him!" "Go get that poor baby NOW!" As they cut another slice of coffee cake and flip through the TV channels to see what Jenny Macarthy is wearing today. Helping at-risk animals is not the time-filling activity of bored suburban housewives.This is not a game.
  No, we are activists working ahead of the curve to anticipate situations and be proactive supporters. We have our resources in place and keep a vigilant awareness of our surroundings in order to act swiftly and without hesitation to help end the suffering of at-risk dogs and get them medical help. I am appalled by the lack of involvement by people who see these animals in traffic or chained to a tree, and do nothing. The people who will drive by a stray dog without rendering help are themselves very sick, selfish and dangerous sociopaths. Anyone who will see a dog in danger, but casually hurry on by so they can make their friggin' important business appointment, to me is a mentally deficient and morally corrupt individual.
  My friends on the other hand will risk their own safety to do whatever has to me done to help the dog. Come hell or high water, we jump in and grab the ones on the street or network to line up rescue orgs or get fosters for death-row dogs. We never order people to act if we can just take action ourselves. So when I make disparaging remarks about abusers, I'm not anxious or morbid at the thought of these evil people hurting these animals. There's really no time to dwell on what-ifs when action is needed. All needs are centered on the animal, not our comfort, our finances, our relationships or our clean carpets. Those things don't matter when the safety of an injured or fearful dog is at risk.
  We aren't heroic either. We are only doing what any decent person should do. The question should be, Why are there not more decent people in the world?

A Dog's Gift

A few years ago, when I first moved into this pocket of evil here in Decatur, It was more common to see dogs running loose on the street. You couldn't go one block without seeing several dogs running down the street or rummaging through garbage cans. On my street alone, I was stunned that backyard "breeders" openly defied the laws and no matter how many calls to Dekalb County Animal Control I made, I was more likely to get a knock on my door by an officer who loudly rebuked me for making threatening calls than have someone who cared about animals coming to their aid. Since LifeLine Animal Projecttook over the operation of the shelter, there have been great changes, but they have zero control over the Dekalb County officers who have a hostile attitude towards dogs. The dispatcher at the AC here recently said their job was to protect people from dogs but not to protect dogs from people. I had reported two dogs chained up, and after two months, nothing had been done. After raising hell I finally got a response that the owners were given an ambiguous period of time to comply and now 6 months later, the dogs are still on chains. There is no accountability in this department.
Last year I was riding in a taxi and suddenly a Pitbull dog ran out into the road and the car in the lane next to my taxi slammed into the poor dog and kept going. I screamed for the driver to stop, and he eventually did, more than a block away. I jumped out and ran back to the dog, who got hit two more times before I ran out into the road and waved my arms to stop cars. Every car that stopped began screaming obscenities at me. I called Dekalb Animal Control to get some help, but the dispatch told me they didn't help animals hit by cars, but to call back if it was dead and they would send somebody to get the body. I picked the dog up and carried him to the curb, as a line of cars streamed by me, but I got nothing but angry looks. "Please" I said, "Can you take me to a vet?" But I only got cussed out. I held the poor boy and stroked his face, and talked to him in a soothing voice -but I could tell it was too late. I vividly remember him turning his head towards mine and looking at me as tears streamed down my face and seemed to say "It's OK, please don't cry." And then he gave me a hearty wag of his tail, and as I looked deep into his eyes, and he looked into mine, he seemed to smile, and then he was gone. The last gift from a dying dog was his profound ability to love.

Walmart Creep

I had $20. left after paying rent and getting a Uhaul van this evening, so I went to the Walmart nearby to get some dog food. Wearing my brown coveralls with the quilted lining, work boots and a bright orange knit cap. I made my purchase and tossed the bag of dog food on my shoulder and was hobbling slowly out the door. I stopped to shift the big bag to the other shoulder before leaving the storeand I noticed a man blocking my way. He was a white man with an over-sized coat with a hood that seemed to completely shroud his face. He turned toward me and he had a black scarf covering the lower part of his face and a pair of sunglasses. All I saw was his cheeks. He kept looking left-to-right down the sidewalk but stopped and fixated on me. I struggled with the bag and because of a deep leg wound I couldn't make it 4 or 5 steps without grunting and trying to keep the bag on my shoulder. Dude says "Excuse me sir, I'm a welder from Valdosta working with my boss on a construction job and the truck broke down right down the street and all I need is $14. so I can get a clutch over there at the Auto Zone and I'd appreciate it if you would let me borrow some money I could pay you back as soon as I go get my boss and get the money from him." he said without looking at me but still looking left-and -right and not speaking with any inflection whatsoever. I told him I have no money and tried to hobble away but he followed me to my van and told me again how he just needs $40 to fix his transmission. I said "You just told me you needed $14. for a clutch!" "Well the $14 is just for the clutch but I need $40. for the guy down there to fix it". "I have no money, man. I wish I could help you but I'm unemployed and just getting food for my 8 dogs I saved from the street. Wish I could help" I replied as I opened the van door and tossed the bag of food inside. "He seemed startled and said "Oh...is this what you are driving?" looking at the giant orange Uhaul signs all over it. "Yep, gotta go" I said as I painfully pulled myself into the driver's seat. Then he moved closer, fidgeting in his jacket. I grabbed the door to close it and he blocked me. "Dude,I gotta go!" and I started the engine and threw it into reverse causing him to move backwards to keep from getting hit by the door. He stumbled,and then dropped something from his coat. When he bent down to pick it up, I slammed the door and locked it. That's when I saw the gun. I threw it into drive and hit the gas, peeling rubber and slamming into a couple of grocery carts and causing quite a commotion from all the people getting out of their cars ,who turned and gave me mean looks and wondering what this speeding maniac in a Uhaul was doing driving crazy. My heart was racing and I looked back as I careened out of the lot, and saw the guy running back towards the store and jumping into a white van going in the opposite direction. I drove home shaking and tensed-up with my eyes bug-eyed and gritting my teeth. I hobbled inside and laid on the bed until I could breathe again.
I think I was almost car-jacked and robbed. Shit.

A Sad Death

I'm heading OTP to try to convince a guy to hand over a dog that is chained up in his basement. A friend saw a photo of this dog that an electrical contractor showed her, and she called me for advice. The dog was thin and frail, and she wanted to save it from death. I called the Police Supervisor and they won't get involved without a search warrant, but he implied that if I go there and get the dog, they wouldn't hinder my efforts because the guy is always bothering them with irrational 911 calls. I'm showing up with cash to offer, almost $200. If he refuses my generosity, I'm waiting til he goes to work 3rd shift, and taking the dog. The last time this happened to me, the dog was found at my house. and then put down rather than surrendered to rescuers. (Please don't bash me for this, it's what I must do.) -UPDATE ON THE LITTLE BROWN BASEMENT DOG: When I met the man, he said the dog had died yesterday. He opened the door to the basement to show me the little brown dog down there in the dirt, still chained to a pipe (??). The old man smelled of beer and he was very defensive to all by questions. I was told it was really his wife's dog. (I was told before that the dog was only 4). I got dizzy and staggered outside to throw up. I was frustrated, and I could only cry. I asked him if I could take the dog with me, so I could bury him, but the old man said no. He said the dog was sick for a long time and I asked why he had the little fella chained up in a dark basement, and he just said it was so he wouldn't run away. Someone should have acted sooner. I only learned about the dog yesterday, but the dog was already dead by then. I know of 3 people who knew the situation was dire, but couldn't and didn't go find a way to get the dog fed and to a vet!    Why is there a disconnection and so much avoidance with people? I couldn't sleep knowing that hungry and sad dog was suffering. I had to try something! I'm not so absorbed in the workaday world of earning money and meeting social obligations that I can shove the life of a suffering dog into that blind spot where we hide all the things that we failed at. A place so unseen by us that we often tend to deny that we did anything irresponsible or harmful. Is it that easy to clock out of the world and leave our kindness and affection entrapped in a dark unforgiving dirty hole, without a single loving hand to show our love? REST IN PEACE BROWN DOG! RUN FREE AND BE THE LIGHT AND LOVE THAT WE WILL NEVER BE.

The Power Of Love

Today I am thankful for all the kind words my friends have shared about the great loss of my beautiful and regal dog Woody. I had no idea how much change was inspired by the single act of me bringing him off the streets. For a dirty, matted, wounded and lonely dog that everyone abused, it was a life-changing event that allowed his loving and gentle spirit to to be revealed. The first time I saw him, he looked at me and said "help me". My heart sunk and I spent every day for the next 4 months looking for him. When I found and captured him and got top notch medical treatment for his wounded leg, he bonded with me and joyfully showed his awesome love to everyone who knew him. I've heard some truly inspired stories by people so moved by his rescue that they in turn went out and captured a lonely stray. Woody would have loved to know all this was for him.

Dog's Short Lives

  I've always been cynical. It's such a human trait. I've been fond of saying dogs live such short lives because they are pure love. Where else would humans learn what that means? Dogs come to us as beautiful helpless gifts. But we don't learn. We allow others to neglect and hurt them. So because of this, we are condemned to be here longer. We humans are not their superiors. Through our dominance we only bring exponential pain and misery to this cynical world of our own making.
 So, in honor of my heroic and noble friend Woody The Lion Dog, I will try to cast off my own cynical mindset and find more ways to help dogs teach us about love.

Death Of Woody

Woody The Lion Dog died in his sleep this morning. Standing guard by the door making sure we were safe while we slept. He had never known love before I brought him in off the street. His struggles and his courage makes his death even more profound to me. He was beloved by us all. His gentle beatific grace and his warm and generous love will be missed. You know I loved you Woody. We will see each other again beyond the veil and in my dreams.❤

Woody's Gone

The loss of my dear dog Woody has facilitated my inward reflection and thus, the path to acceptance of this agonizing event. The 5 stages of grief is the process we use to deal with our pain.
This is the penultimate reflection on the human condition when experiencing the death of a loved one. I have found that there is a universality to the way all people process grief, and for me, I've found comfort in knowing I'm not alone when I feel the loss of a treasured friend, my dog Woody.

Missing Woody

I'm missing my boy Woody. I'm too sentimental. A neurotic romantic when it comes to spiritual matters. But life is about loss. Survival is intrinsic, and we must leave the dead behind us, as we strive onward through the ink of time. No energy is lost in the voyage from life to death, it is only transformed. Love is the power that we generate from being alive that perpetuates endlessly. There us no life without love!

Sassy Love

This morning I got a call from a young woman named Tina. She called to thank me for giving her grandmother a stray dog I found. She said her family was worried because for several years they thought she was unable to live alone and care for herself, but since I offered her the dog, a sweet little Border Collie mutt named Sassy, her Grandmother is a whole new person now. Tina said she has come alive, started walking the dog every day, eating better, cleaning her house and even brings the dog to all family events, and even insisted on allowing Sassy to attend a recent family wedding! Tina told me that nobody in their family had ever had dogs, but since her Grandmother got Sassy, she and her mother both adopted shelter dogs! Of course, you know me, I started getting weepy at the thought of one lonely stray dog having such a powerful effect, and being the cause that saved the life of two more lonely dogs. I don't need to be thanked, I told her, the knowledge of the singular power of a dog's love to transform a whole family, bring joy to an elderly shut-in, and save two death-row shelter dogs is all the thanks I needed.

Mrs Mirror Ball

My neighbor Mrs. Mirable (I thought she said Mirror Ball) stopped me as I walked my crew this evening. A year ago, her husband threw a baseball bat at me when I confronted him about chaining his dog to a tree. Then, later that month she shows up at my door crying and asks if I can help her because the dog was sick and her old man forbid her from getting the dog to a vet. One look and I could see it was dying, so I took the dog to a vet and found it was suffering from heat exhaustion. I paid the vet and haven't heard from her since. Today she happily confided that her husband is in prison now and she and her sister lived in the house now. "He don't like no white folks." She said. And I told her " Well, throwing a baseball bat is no way to make friends!" She said she knows lots of nice white folks! We laughed. She said the dog is so sweet and stays inside with her most of the time now. "Ima make you a plate of chicken wings! You eat chicken?" She asked, smiling. I told her "That would be great!" And then me and my dogs walked on down the street.
Mrs. Mirable now knows the power of that dog's pure love! She cared about a poor dying dog, and defied her abusive husband to seek help for it. Karma is real. And sometimes change has it's own surprises!

Sugarfoot's Story

I found Sugarfoot running wild in the West End 5 years ago. When I first happened upon her while visiting a friend, she was so emaciated she could barely walk. Her legs shook and her skin was rotting off of her in some places. She had hundreds of puncture wounds from fighting- either in an organized criminal enterprise, or from the daily struggle to find food and take it from bigger, meaner street dogs. She also threw up continuously and when she walked, she pooped a glob of runny brown funk with every shaky step. She smelled awful from the rotten food she found behind dumpsters and tried to eat, because it came out one end or the other smelling worse than when she devoured it! She saw me coming towards her and she hunched over, glancing right, then left for her escape but she knew she was cornered. Her eyes narrowed and she gathered her growl from an inaudible gurgling to an emphatic warning. She bunched her nose up in that street-dog full-fang viciousness. I talked to her and wrapped my coat over one arm with a leash in the other. And just as I was close enough to snatch her, she went all berserk and opened that huge mouth preparing to rip me apart, my friend started cooing and talking baby talk to this female Jabberwockey from Hell and she was mesmerized! Ten minutes later the dog dropped the tough gal routine and happily jumped in the car when I opened the door. She seemed to gather her strength an when she stood up on the back seat she gave me a durable bark and her eyes lit up! A happy smile began to grow and as her mangy stinking tail started swinging her rotten turd funk all over the car. Then she puked and took a big dump on the seat.She was a street fighting survivor and I knew I had my work cut out for me. Sugarfoot is called the Drill Instructor over here because she runs the goddamn show and corrects infractions and maintaining order with her Mean Girl act and every day will run inside and bark at all the lazy lay-abouts and force them to run out back to play She runs everybody's show now!

(The first 2 images were of her 5 years ago. The final photo is how she looks today ♥)

Fool With Money

Went to the Dolla Sto for a delicious and refreshing bottle of Noname Soda. I was in line with maybe 10 people behind me and when it was my turn I smiled and set the discount beverage on the counter. The cashier did not smile back. "$1.22" he mechanically recited. I slid my debit card as directed. NOT Approved! The line was noticably irritated. A collective groan was audible and everyone behind me began leaning forward with scowls and snarled lips. No problem, since I got paid yesterday, I had cash on me. I swiftly pulled my bundle of 20s from my pocket, slipped off the rubberband and my panoply of currency burst forth in a fluttering waterfall of bills! It was like a tickertape parade of green spewing out in every direction! Suddenly, everyone became so very helpful and concerned about my unfortunate predicament! I assured everyone that I had the situation in hand, and that I sincerely appreciated their friendly offers to assist! So I'm on all fours reaching around to sweep it all into a manageable pile and I gave the fellow a $5. for the drink. Then, I stuffed my errant duckets into my pockets as the looming crowd became irate. "I'm sorry, hehe, I'm done now! Thanks for being patient!" I stuttered, and waddled out the door, stopping to get one last 20 out from under one unhelpful young lady's foot. Needless to say, as soon as I was outside, I ran to my car and sped out if the lot, eyballing my rearview to make sure I wasn't followed. I was happy to be safely home, but realized I'd left my discount beverage on the counter! ‪#‎TalesFromTheGhetto‬

Illegal Eviction

As the horror of my illegal eviction becomes clearer to me, I'm forced to deal with my losses. 
The legality of my eviction is bogus. In essence, the marshal believes whatever the landlord claims, without question, and believes that 100% of the time, tenants are scofflaws and stealing from the wealthy. I have grounds to sue them, but I can do nothing to get back my treasures and collectables scattered in a landfill somewhere. I lost all my black velvet paintings from the past 3 years, all my assemblages and sculptures, many rare vinyl records, all my slides, negatives and photographs from 30 years of work, and my most treasured possession, the ashes of my beloved dog Woody who I loved more than anything. They have no compensatable monetary value. They are irreplaceable! It has been a devistating loss, for which I did nothing wrong. Power and priveledge are the drug of the rich. The illicit and heartless actions of our corporate masters. The cruel and inhuman monsters unleashed by the 1%.

Eviction Drama

Thanks to all you wonderful people, I'm enduring this totally unnecessary, vicious and illegal assault by the thieving 1% .
   I did nothing wrong. My psyche was raped by having my things smashed and recklessly strewn across my lawn. It's fucking drama queen street theater! It's meant to serve as a warning to all renters not to defy their masters. 
From an entertainment perspective, I can appreciate it as penny opera street theater. And it has all the elements of a Greek tragedy. Malevolence, pathos and the hero's struggle was all right there using my front porch as the stage. It became quite the spectacle! The Marshal stroking his gun, a landlord acting like a petulant child, me begging, screaming and weeping and then in act three, the arrival of a crew of shabby chain-gang prisoners in orange jumpsuits, escorted by polo shirt wearing guards out of a van, and then after having their shackles removed, each putting on a full bio hazard facemask, goggles, respirator, rubber wading boots and gloves and the final touch- getting sprayed with delousing chemicals before they enter my deadly lair of doom! They delighted in my misery by making eye contact with me as they smirked and they then would maliciously bash my belongings to bits. Motherfuckers should be in jail.
The marshal was the hired thug they used to intimidate me! Beware peasants! We own you! Whatever, drama clowns, carry on with your amateur hour antics . You can't crush me. I'm protected by an invisible force-field made of the most powerful thing in the universe...Pure Love!

Nascent Nucleoids

Beware the Nattering Nabobs of Negativism, and also those Nascent Nebulous Neophyte Neurotic Netizen Nucleoids of Normalcy!

Turdzilla

I went into my bedroom (the fur-ensconced chamber where I sleep with my 8 dogs), to wake up my lazy-ass dogs and before I opened the door, I was alerted to a pungent cloud of stinking rot that burned my eyes and caused a severe gag reflex and I began coughing. What could this toxic vapor be? Was a sewer backing up? Did a coven of rabid skunks convene in my basement? Did the long-dead souls from a forgotten Indian burial mound manifest inside my home? Have the Illuminati brotherhood begun experimenting on us  with experimental bio-chemical weapons? Maybe Satan himself was rising up from hell to suffocate me with his sulfuric effuse! 
  When the fog began to clear, I saw something odd on the floor. A large slow-moving object. It looked at first like the head of some hairless alien creature!  It was brown and shiny. As I watched, this dripping mass of fetid glop  morphed and undulated into unidentifiable and indistinct shapes before eventually solidifying. I watched plumes of wispy white smoke rising up and dissipating into a gray smog that hung in the space above my head. I had never seen such an evil entity, I was perplexed and felt dizzy and weak, but right before began to fade out , I gathered the strength to open a window to either scream for help or jump out. Then, a rush of air swirled in around me and the putrid stew quickly escaped. It was only then that I realized it was a turd. 
 Not just a turd! It was the turd Mother of all turds! Mega Turd! Turdzilla!  Either one of my dogs ate a dead Sasquatch or their furry ass is possessed by an oxygen-destroying malevolent demon. When the tears of poison gas can be flushed from my eyes I will probably contact the CDC for a team of Bio-Waste technicians to formulate a plan to shoot this cosmic slop into the the sun, or drop it deep down into some undersea volcano. This deadly entity of Satan must be exorcised! I may just move.

Welcome Wagon

I was taking my girl Sweetpea for a walk and we were strolling along not bothering anyone, when a neighbor comes bounding down the sidewalk with his huge butt swaying to and fro with every deliberate step. "Hey, Is that a Pit Bull?" he says. "Excuse me?" I say, looking around to make sure he was talking to me. I chuckle and continue our leisure stroll down the street and look over my shoulder and say derisively "Do I know you?" "I just want to know if that is a Pit Bull dog" he says, putting his tiny baby hands on his gigantic hips, and scrunching his lips so tight his mouth looked like an asshole. "Haha, are you talking to me? I don't believe we've met! Are you with the Welcome Wagon?" I chuckle and smile at him and add, "I never got a basket of fruit!"
He points one of his tiny fingers at Sweetpea and says "I don't like Pit Bulls!" "Well she's not a Pit Bull" I tell him. "How do you know you hate Pit Bulls if you don't know what they look like?" He puts his miniature hand where a normal person would have a chin and furrows his brow as he appraised the conundrum I had constructed. "Maybe it's not Pit Bulls that you hate after all, since you don't know what a Pit Bull looks like, or you wouldn't have asked me if she was one! And I can assure you, sir, she is not!" I reply, "That, my friend," I explain gesturing majestically at my Sweetpea, "is a rare and elusive Pittapotamus!" Then, me and Sweetpea look at each other knowingly, and continued our stroll.
Then Mr. Chinless McWobbleass loudly exhaled, like one might do after taking a long shit, puckered up his sphincter-mouth, his squinty mole-eyes opened very wide- then he spun around on his chubby feet, muttering and waving his baby hands over his head, and I loudly laughed as his elephant-ass began swaying back and forth again as he tromped back up his steps. I stop and turn back towards him and right before he slams his door I say "I'll be looking for that fruit basket!"

Devil's Grandmother

 I seen ya. Snobby orange skin old hater. I seen you eatin' your boogers. You was driving that Lexus with the terrified little poodle in the back window of your Hatermobile. You cut me off and I had to hit my breaks and swerve to keep my big van from knockin' precious into the next world. As your soul sucking vortex of anti-matter passed me, I seen you digging deep into your snooty proboscis with that expensive french nail and pulled out the motherlode of nasal gold and putting it on your scaley lizard tongue like it was caviar! 
  From my perch all I could make out was the silhouette of your long boney finger going into your hollow cranium. Your wirey red perm looked like flames and your satisfied pout at your delicious nostril turd made me gag. Poor little dog, window dressing for the devil's grandmother, eyes bulging and teeth grimacing, gave me a horrified a look that said "Please kill me!" 
  Then you were gone. Nothing left but black smoke and the acrid smell of hair perm, sulfur and carbon monoxide fumes. In your wake of monied privileged scorn, I watched as you plowed your booger-fueled chariot of loathing over the horizon and into the setting sun.

Crotch Grabber

I was walking SweetPea the Pittapotamus down the sidewalk near the motel I'm staying in, and there was a young guy loping toward us with his pansy ass sticking out over his britches and he was holding his too-large pants up by grabbing his package, as is the custom, and his movement was so bizarre, at first I believed the young man may have had a debilitating affliction or maybe a rodent had attacked him and was devouring his genitalia. No, he was simply enacting an attempt at trying to look menacing, (Haha, unsuccessfully, I might add). Sweetpea was so startled by his unusual gait, that she barked at him when he got about 10 feet from us. And the guy turned from menacing thug to terrified little baby. He held his arms straight out to defend himself from this fat little harmless dog, and he let out a frightened wail! His pants then fell down revealing purple underwear and his tiny willy bump. I laughed at the beauty of it all, and as he scuttled along the gutter with his jeans below his knees, then expressed a rude remark about my Sweetpea and asked if she was going to "eat" him! I turned towards him and laughed loudly as he passed by, and I said "what's your problem, dude?" and chuckled, "She's not a Zombie!" Then he scowled at me and began trotting down the road In his loping, groping baby-dick ass-pants idiocy, and cursing at my darling Pittapotamus. So I hollered back "Buy yourself a belt and quit being a pussy!" I was tempted to say "Sic-em girl!" But that would have been mean.

Spread Love

I appreciate the kind words, but I don't think what I do when I see a dog in danger should be called heroic. It may be rare, and difficult. It may turn my whole day, or maybe my week into a difficult series of conflicts or struggles. But it doesn't rise to the level of being heroic.
Here's why- I only do what any decent person should do. It should not be an unusual or surprising activity because we all should have an active roll in preserving the life of a suffering animal. If I see a dog, I stand up and speak for it and use my superior knowledge of this human created "civilized' world to protect it. And I believe that any of you, presented with the exact call to action, would have done the same.
But there is something bigger than me at work here. I do believe that. The universe guides me to these dogs for some reason I will probably never understand. It involves the incalculable and un-quantifiable power of this energy force we call love. It's a power source greater than the sum of it's parts. So dig it! We all have it in us to be the hero, if that's what you want to call it!

heart emoticon LOVE! SPREAD THAT STUFF ON EVERYTHING! heart emoticon

Spread Love

No matter whether I find the perfect house for me and my dogs, I know that we are all going to be alright. I would never put my dogs' lives at risk, but as the saying goes- "shit happens". I've learned some valuable lessons about having a backup plan if the unexpected happens. I've learned that there's no shame in asking for help if you are willing to help others as well. I learned that having a sense of humor is better than dwelling on revenge. I learned a lot about human nature and that the desire some people have for amassing material wealth, has an inverse effect on others. Wealth is an energy source that isnt destroyed it's only transformed. You cant "get" without "taking" It's the cruel reality of wealth redistribution. We love things but things do not love us back!
But the most enlightening aspect of my recent struggles is that my belief that by showing our love and exercising compassion for suffering creatures we create an energy that is exponentially more powerful than what any one person creates. It's the spiritual algorithm of love, the most powerful force in the universe!
Like a wave of kindness, I have witnessed the spark generated by my commitment to ending the suffering of unwanted neglected and abused pets turn into a wildfire of caring that burns brighter with every enlightened soul it awakens. So thanks to all you beautiful people for your powerful and everlasting energy source! Together, we will make a difference!
❤ LOVE! SPREAD THAT STUFF AROUND! ❤

Doody Scratch

I coulda had lots of money, but it woulda got stole. Coulda had a big fancy sports car racing robot with shiny things and big tires. Coulda wore them fancy get ups you see them folks in the city put on to go watch the airplanes take off. Or have a room holdin' a hundred picture books with lots of nonsense in them like how caterpillars jump so high or what kinda food clouds eat. When I had me a roll of dollars I coulda paid a fella with one of them snakeskin bow-ties to sing a song about the way a pretty girl washes her pantloons, while me and Billy Mack mighta went and special-ordered a bushel of cracklin boiled peanuts and throw the shells out the window without a care. I woulda spent some time makin pau-pau pickles or turnip butter like the hooty French rascals you might find ona TeeVee machine dancing around funny with their tiny feet pointed down so they wont have googlywhat sunder or crookburn rash. Sure.
I coulda done all that nonsense and in full daylight, but instead I got a old dog. Doody. He's afraid of baby shoes and holiday whistlers. Will chew a dent in my Bonner hearing trumpet if I run outa red wigglers that go into his water bucket. Doody dont do nothin' except sleep on his back and chase the haints Nurse Alewine dont like him cause he stink up my rinky tink water parlour with the evil devils handsoap. I could had a good bit of fun but I wanted to be over here lookin at Doody scratch. Coulda. Hes a fine boy so I think I'll keep him.

Every dog has it's day

No Dice! I was seeing the world through rose-colored glasses and being led down that primrose path, barking up the wrong tree, he had me over a barrel and it was time to fish or cut I almost bit off more than I could chew , was wet behind the ears, and thought the deal was the best thing since sliced bread! 
It's really a blessing in disguise. But lets not cry over spilled milk because the proof is in the pudding. I won't beat around the bush, I was being sold a bill of goods that would cost me an arm and a leg and and I would have been up the creek without a paddle.
Right now I'm out on a limb, and the cat's out of the bag, I'll cut to the chase- so its back to the drawing board,I'll have to burn the midnight oil get off the fence and make hay while the sun shines 'cause the early bird catches the worm!
So now it's down to the wire, It's really the best of both worlds friends, and since we know every cloud has a silver lining and it's not over 'til the fat lady sings, keep this under your hat- (Every dog has it's day!)

evil aliens

My body is going through some sort of metamorphosis. Maybe this is how those people in Alien felt before that slimey monster ripped through their chest. Or when those ass-weasels chewed through the colons of those Steven King characters in Dream Catcher. That's got to be the reason my insides feel like there is a life and death Armageddon battle being fought down there! If a bloodthirsty creature doesn't jump out soon and go on a murderous rampage, then maybe instead, I'll wake up tomorrow inside a lovely cocoon made of black velvet and dog fur, and then majestically emerge as a beautiful translucent multicolored polyester dayglow superfly butterfly!
Either way this stomach sickness has to end soon!


So, let me state the obvious. I'm looking for a house in the country to rent. City houses don't facilitate more than polite dainty dogs like those teacup poodles that sleep in your shoe and poop the size of an M&M. City houses, for god knows why, have carpet that has huge thick sponges under them that absorb gallons of piss and dogs find attractive. Even well behaved house-trained dogs can't resist letting go a silent cascade of their golden home brew when nobody's watching. So, no carpet.

Twigpickers

I'm staying with my friend Tim JeffPlisner in a nice townhouse his family owns. Me Sugarfoot, Bootsy, Sweetpea, and Boobear have our own room upstairs. It's very nice here. But there are a bunch of old folks here. You know, the busybody Homeowners Association types who are always outside picking up twigs, walking their lap dogs and scowling at everyone with a look of disgust. The old ladies in their lime green stretchy pantsuits that don't reach their ankles. And old men that wear gigantic shorts over their boney bird legs with brown socks and sandals. I was walking my guys, who are sweet and never bother anyone, and we were in a grassy area when an old twig-snatcher comes around the corner of a building with his dog off leash and it starts making the most vicious snarling sound. It was barking and growling sounds and it was charging towards me and my dogs who were on leashes and harnesses, and the leashes were all joined together with another leash wrapped around my waist. "Sir, you better call your dog!" I hollored to him. He slowly stood up from his twig gathering hobby and his scowl was discernable from half a block away. "What?" He replied, annoyed that I had the nerve to address him while he was acutely focused on his very important work. "Get your dog!" I screamed. Now the man's dog was in a full charge toward us, and my crew started barking and pulling on the leashes. The idiot twig man shrugged and bent back over and continued his critical work. "Hey! Do you want your dog to die?" Now my dogs were in unison pulling with all their might, and my shoes started sliding on the wet grass and the dude stood up saw my dogs and asked "Is that a Pitbull?" "No, but you better get your dog on a leash!" Now his dog was running at us and when it got within 10 feet of my guys, I slipped- and they began pulling me across the grass with all their might! Luckily, I grabbed a small tree as we flew across the lawn and i held on with all my might. So then this dimwit finally calls his dog and turns around and with his most derisive twig-snatching snarl says "I hate Pitbulls". And as i lay there covered in sweat, in a tangle of leashes with all my panting exhausted dogs, in my muddy, grass-stained and torn brand-new JC Penny jumpsuit, I gathered my breath and shouted back "Well I hate Chihuahuas! "