Sharp Shooter

  I picked a friend of a friend up at the Atlanta airport who needed a ride to nearby County Fair, where she was some sort of big top celebrity.
  A tiny woman in her '70s who wore one of those embroidered country western outfits with purple roses down the sleeve of her fringed cowhide jacket and along the bottom of her skirt.  And on the front above each breast pocket, there were crossed long barrel 6-shooters embroidered over a bulls eye target. Of course with matching boots and hat.  She carried a wooden box as big as a mailbox with the same western  pattern of crossed handguns elaborately carved and inlaid with mother of pearl. "Goddamn TSA wouldn't let me take my shootin' irons in my carry-on bags!"
  She grumbled and hopped into my truck. "You don't look like a Romeo!" She chuckled. "I hate planes!" Her name was Jennie Lee Sacks and before we left the kiss-ride, she started reciting her famous history. At 7 years old she travelled the U.S. with Ringling Brothers as a solo trick sharpshooter riding a painted pony bareback, that jumped through flaming hoops as she shot bottles tossed in the air and even doing a headstand could shoot a cigar from a man's mouth while the pony leaped over logs.
  She was a prodigy shooter and horse rider known throughout the west. She said she held the record for consecutive target hits with 137 bottles shot in one minute. "Got paid good money for a kid in 1953! Sent me to college where I majored in finance!" Retired from the rodeo circuit at 20 she got a good job as a CPA  for Exxon and now just does seminars.
 She said she shows up at rodeos and country fairs just to sign autographs and get a smell of the manure.  She showed me a poster of her doing the hangman trick, hanging from one leg over the saddle taking shots at a spinning wheel with candles on the rim. "Well look at that! Impressive!"
  As we drove through the darkness she became quiet. After 30 minutes she fell asleep and folded herself up into a tiny little ball. She still seemed very childlike with her western outfit and curlicue hairstyle.
 As I rounded a curve, I saw a horrible site!  Right in the middle of the road was a magnificent 14 point buck, braying and bloody, trying to stand up.
  Two young men in a camo painted truck had hit the deer and it couldn't stand up.The two guys, dressed in camo coveralls we're panicking and hollering at each other. I parked and ran over to them. "Calm the fuck down!" I said. "Goddamn it Patton" the bearded one said. "Hell, I tried to stop, Chase!  What can we do?"  I said, "The poor guy is in pain! Don't you have a rifle or something in that big truck?" " Shit I never actually shot a deer before!" "What?" I said.
They both got more hysterical and they just started pulling the buck by his huge antlers, when  we heard a BANG! We saw the deer collapse with a single drop of blood drip down his nose. All 3 of us turned to see my passenger standing in front of the headlight with her pistol still pointing towards the deer as she flipped it caught it with her other hand, twirled it around her finger, flipped it back to her other hand and slid it into her holster.  The two men just stared with curiosity. "There's your trophy boys! Suitable for mounting!" She laughed and crawled back into my truck and said "Pussies- Come on Romeo, I have to be in Greensboro by 8:00!"

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.