As she lay dying Part 2

He stood there, stiff, unmoving, recognizing the solemnity of the moment, recalling as he did so the words of his old commanding officer, who had said that there was nothing that a man could not face while standing to attention.

He stood to attention now. His fingertips almost imperceptibly gripped the seams of his trousers as he stood there. He realized that he had to set an example to his boy, that if he broke now, Marcus would see weakness in the face of adversity. "No coward my son." He thought to himself, certainly the boy had grown too soft in his years on the farm. He had become used more to the ways of a woman, than to the hard reality of life as a man.

There had been no choice. The call to war had wrenched him from both his home and family. He had seen such sights of carnage and bloodshed, that he was unable to speak of such things, even unto God himself.

He noticed the tremors in his mothers hands as she gripped the white sheets, and recalled the white bandages on the front lines which turned red with the blood of his brothers. he looked away, realizing that everything had changed, that he could no longer look upon a such trivial things as a benign white sheet, and not recall those terrible years of death and blood.

He was certain that these thoughts would eventually leave him, but his mind was constantly filled with the sights, sounds and smells of the aftermath of cannon fire and the screaming voice of his best friend after a musket had left him bleeding to death in a place called Antietam Creek.

Yet he was home now. Home and ready to lead his family again. Certainly his years in the war had left a gaping hole in the child's life.

He hardly knew his boy now, and though, at that moment, he knew that his boy was trying to speak to him, and moreover, that he wanted to sweep him into his arms and cry like a baby, for what he had known; what he had seen, and for all of the reasons that he felt that he had failed.

He could not. he could not do that, not let his son and family down by showing such girlish and futile emotion, no.. he slowly shook his head to himself.

Now was the time for action, for strength, for ignoring the pain and becoming a soldier. To soldier on where others would weep and wail. He had to teach himself to drive the horses again. had to learn the subtle commands to ensure that the pair plowed a straight line for the corn. He had to deal with the hogs and cows.. At the thought of this he shuddered inwardly, knowing that his father had intended that he go to the academy, to become an officer, not play in the dirt like a peasant and hope that something better came to him.

He looked down at his mother.. Certainly the end was not far away, but he begged that she return for one moment. One moment that she could tell him what to do. She had to give him at least one small word of instruction, for all that was ahead of him was so daunting a task, that he felt weak at the thought of it. he had no idea how much a load of corn should be sold for. He knew nothing about the chickens, ducks, nor how much to feed the horses.

His childhood had been filled with orders from his father. Then this voice had fallen silent, and shortly afterward, the voice of his captain had filled that void, allowing him to focus his efforts on what had to be done, rather than to sit all day and wonder what that might be.

"wake mother, wake." he urged within his mind, as if calling to some unseen, and unknown God..

Dear God, where was he now.. where was he when the darkness of death descended and took his mother away...

"For the love of God, woman, wake." came the voice again in his mind, and a moment later he looked hurriedly around the room in fear that these words, such were their magnitude and importance, had not been spoken aloud.

He watched as she continued to taunt him with he departure, breathing yet silent, un-speaking and leaving him to the misery of his burden. No direction, no instruction, just the repeating sound of the shallow breathing which imparted no wisdom at all.

As she lay dying.. part 1

The last rays of sunlight were casting shadows on the wall behind the bed. Young Marcus watched, transfixed, as one of the shadows began to look like the face of Jesus.

He reached out towards his father, and was about to touch him to get his attention, but a stern look from his father was enough to remind him that now was not the time for talking. Now was the time for watching life at it's end, the time when he would have to face the undignified end of the life of his grandmother.

She looked different now. Throughout his nine years, he had known her to be sprightly, alive, able to accomplish so much, that at times he thought that she was more like a man than his own father. Indeed it was his grandmother, Pearl, who had broken the two driving horses that took the corn to market. it was her, who only last year, had fixed the barn roof, and had used a ladder that she had made herself from a hickory tree that she had planted on the farm when she was a little girl.

Yet now, with Jesus and the assembled spectators watching over her, she could do no more than grip the white linen sheets and fight for each breath.

It didn't seem fair to Marcus, that everyone, including the preacher had gathered here to watch the end of such a strong woman. They were never there when the hogs had needed feeding, nor when the cows had escaped, and Pearl had to run outside in her nightdress to chase them back to the barn with a broom.No, nobody had been there for Pearl since she lost Leonard, some ten years ago. At first, a trickle of older widowers had called once or twice at the farm, but each one was rejected by Pearl as having no idea about what real farm work entailed.

Father Michaels, the preacher, leaned forward and whispered to mother as she stood next to the bed. Marcus strained to hear what was said, but he couldn't catch the words. Whatever had been said, it caused a single tear to run down mothers face, and she turned slightly away from father Michaels, and looked towards father, as if asking him to help shoulder the burden of that emotion.

But father appeared not to notice. he stared almost directly ahead, as if he was once again on parade in the army. His mouth was tense with concentration, as if fighting the urge to accept his true feelings for that moment.

Marcus could not cry any more.. From the moment that they discovered Pearl in the barn, until the moment that the doctor had left, yesterday morning, he had cried for this moment, the moment that he knew they were all aware was about to happen. yet it seemed strange to him that nobody wanted to be seen crying. It was as if they all had to keep trying to deny their own feelings, just for the sake of embarrassment from the other people who also said that they were friends of his grandmother.

Pearl coughed slightly, a trickle of saliva running down her chin. It was quickly dabbed away by mother, who tried to soothe Pearl, by placing a hand on her shoulder as she did so.

As each breath became more labored, more difficult and more draining, Marcus wanted to leave more and more. This was no way to remember his grandmother, it was as if all of these people had gathered just to witness the pain, the defeat, and the resignation of this strong person.

He looked up again at his father, and was again about to speak, but even though his father did not look back at the boy, his head shook slowly to deny any request that he was about to make.

White hands, hands whiter than they had ever been in her life, bleached further still, by the intense grip upon those linen sheets, accompanied by the harsh rasping sound of her troubled breathing.

Jesus had gone now, Marcus wished that he would return. Perhaps Jesus had abandoned his grandmother to the spirits of the night, perhaps the darkness was arriving to take Pearl with it. Marcus prayed for Jesus, prayed for his grandmother to simply wake, to finally get that one deep breath that she sought and to sit up.. But the labored breathing continued, and Marcus began to pray that this would simply end soon.

When dogs attack

I have been bitten by dogs several times in my life.. I think the first was when I was about three and decided to give our older family dog a kiss that she didn't want. Seconds later, she'd torn into my lower lip, leaving a scar that I still have today.. There is a great ex wife joke in there somewhere, about trying to kiss a moody old bitch and losing your face, but I just can't find it...

But.. The other times were a result of trying to be a superhero in the face of a dog fight, and I also bear a nice scar on my leg from an occasion that I stupidly tried and failed (miserably) to drag two large dogs apart by the collars (bad move) and had one of them (my dog) chomp into the first thing it saw, which happened to be my leg. (as I said... bad move).

BUT... I discovered a technique on a website that I have now had to use twice in the space of about a month, and works safely and perfectly every time! (the neighbors aren't too careful about letting their dogs run lose and attacking other dogs)

To try to explain the technique here would be foolish, as it's written out very well on it's own page, and the author has requested that nobody simply copies his work and passes it of as their own, but I honestly believe that this lesson should be taught in all schools and colleges, as you never know when you might be confronted with a pair of dogs that have gone to war with each other.

One word of warning, I'll give you, is that the site contains some pretty nasty pictures of what happens when people do the wrong thing and end up getting bitten as a result, but I hope instead of offending, they give everyone a greater incentive to learn the simple trick that will certainly help to keep both you, and the animals much safer.

So, the website is at:

DOG FIGHT WEBPAGE

and some useful free (my favorite price) dog training e-books are to be found at:

Free E-Books

I certainly hope that you check out those pages from this outstanding dog trainer, and that you never actually have to break up a dog fight, but if you do, you know how to do it safely :)

Fate of the duck

It was three o'clock in the morning when the storm hit the farmyard, Nobody had expected a storm this severe, not in July. But even if old man Tyler had known it was coming, he would probably not have thought to move all of the animals into the strong brick barn,

Doubtless his last thought would have been for the three ducks that lived on the farmhouse pond. He'd never truly liked the ducks, but Mrs. Tyler liked the occasional duck egg, and so he'd bought two ducks and a drake last year, and had moved them in to the old
duck house that his grandfather had made over a hundred years ago.

But tonight would be it's last night, for as the storm whipped around the farmyard, a strong gust of wind hit the side of the duck house, and flipped it over and over until it lay smashed against a wall, its door hanging open at a crazy angle, and feathers swirling up into the night sky.

Tyler stirred in his bed as he heard the crash, but thought that it was a stack of apple crates that had fallen over.. He decided to re-stack them in the barn the next day, and went back to sleep.

Meanwhile, in what was left of the duck house, there was panic and pandemonium. a slow trickle of blood had started dripping from the lower side of the smashed building, at a place that used to be a side wall.

In it's cartwheel across the farmhouse, one of the ducks had been killed, her crimson blood now dripping slowly from her beak, and running down her white breast, staining the feathers a deep pink as the blood ran to the ground.

The other duck was so panicked by the smell of the blood and the storm, that she exploded from the door of the duck house, in a flurry of feathers and straw and took off into the night sky. The wind carried her higher and further than she had ever flown before, and in a moment she was no more than a tiny white speck in the night sky. Another moment, and she was gone.

The drake, also alarmed by the whole incident, flew out of the doorway, quacking loudly against the storm, and for his loss, until all of the other animals on the farm started to wake up and tried to understand what had happened.

When he realized that it was pointless calling for the lost duck, and that he had to find some kind of shelter, the drake went to the barn to find a dry place to stay. Molly, the carthorse stood in the middle of the barn, slowly chewing a mouthful of hay, when he walked in.

She turned to the Drake and asked him what had happened.

In wild and excited quacking, the drake informed her, that his house had been destroyed, and that both of the ducks were now gone, one dead, and one lost to the night. She bent her head down to his, and blew a comforting horse breath towards the young drake.

"What is your name young drake?...What do they call you?"

"I have no real name," the drake replied, I always hoped that the farmer would call me Charles, but he doesn't seem to understand me."

"Then I shall call you Charles," said Molly, as she blew him another comforting breath.

"you may stay with me, here, in the barn. but I have a few rules that you'll have to follow."

"Rules?" Said Charles.

"Well, I think it's simply awful how you talk," Molly said with a slow horse like rumble, "you simply have to learn to nicker and neigh.. I have been doing it for years, and all of the other animals love me, people simply cannot stand the cacophony that you ducks make in the morning."

Charles jumped back, surprised "me? talk.. like you... you mean not like a duck?"

Molly nodded her head in a slow carthorse nod, and drawled a slow "yes" and then went on to explain, that there should be no flapping, (as she found that somehow slightly frightening, although she wouldn't explain why) no quacking, no preening, and no coming back to the barn wet. (Although she was willing to make an exception on this night).

Charles, dejected, asked "But why, if I am a duck should I be like you?"

With surprising annoyance, Molly retorted "Because I have lived here for 10 years, and doing what I do has worked for me. That's why."

Charles resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn't make any progress with Molly, said his goodbyes, and wandered back across the yard in the cold to the small hen house, to talk to the rooster. At least, thought Charles, the rooster knows what it's like to be a bird.

The rooster was far more accommodating, and woke his hens to tell them the news.. They fussed around him and dried him off with their wings, clucking assurances of sympathy.

The rooster, Chanticleer, (although most of the animals called him Colonel C.) waited until Charles was dry, and seated on the edge of one of the nests, before he began.

"You'll be up and out at 4:00 sharp with me for the morning crow, then we'll be collecting grain with the ladies, and keeping lookout for the cat. There is going to be no point in sitting around and feeling sorry for yourself with me young lad."

"Crowing....?" said Charles, his voice trailing off in disbelief.

"Yes, well, I don't expect you to completely master the thing on the first day, but as we are making you welcome here, you'll be taking crowing lessons from me and then we'll be assisting the ladies with their wing stretches and dust baths, and keeping a sharp lookout for the cat."

For emphasis, he ended his reply with a short crow, which made the hens around him sigh with admiration and respect for the old bird.

"Bbb but I'm a duck" pleaded Charles, I just need somewhere to sleep, and then I thought I would head to the pond for some wading and paddling in the mud. The cat doesn't bother me there, and I'll be no trouble here I promise."

Annoyed, the rooster clucked "But you have to pay your way here sonny my lad, we have some compassion for your immediate situation, but it's our way around here, not yours. You'll be crowing at 4:00 and that's final"

Charles realized for the second time that night, that nobody could truly understand his situation, and that charity and compassion came at a price too high for him to pay, for he was a mere duck, not horse nor rooster, and whilst by comparison with both animals, it had been shorter, it was what he had known all of his life.

Certainly he was willing to repay the kindness bestowed upon him by the other animals, yet none was willing to see him as he was.. To recognize that he was just "him" and that using the storm as the chance to change him, was unfair, and would only make him far more miserable than he was already.

Truly at this point he was far more devastated and miserable than any of them had fully understood. None had seemed too interested in even trying to understand. Nobody seemed to understand genuine empathy.. Not even a fellow bird.

So once more, Charles said his farewells, after thanking the hens for thier kind words, and headed out into the cold wet night.

There was one animal that visited the farmhouse who had always been polite.. Had often told Charles that he would be welcome at any time, and had sat and talked to him from the edge of the pond, and had admired his plumage, and had always said that he wished he could swim as well as Charles did.

Charles often felt a little uncomfortable by the attention.. Something in his gaze, and in the intonation of his words had seemed a little too intense, a little too sharp.. But as he walked towards the sprawling patch of brambles at the back of the farmhouse, Charles attributed that attentiveness to sincerity, to a genuine desire to help, to become his freind.

In fact, he thought, as he wandered into the brambles, I should have come here first.. At least he will accept me as I am, unconditionally, and will understand the pain I am in.

A step or two later and he noticed a white feather on the ground in front of him. It was colored with a deep pink, as if ..... He realized that it had come from the duck who he thought had died...

His heart skipped for joy in his chest, he realized that she must have simply been wounded, and had decided to come here for shelter. He quacked again and again at his relief and then quacked a happy greeting to his old freind, and marched happily into the foxhole.

Be strong and know I am with you

My child so tender, cry not for the broken dreams of today,
As we commend your cherished pet unto the ground,
cry not for the friend who now lies still,
nor for the milk that fell and pooled,
and frustrated you as you tried to drink.

I will be there to be your guide,
to help correct the things I can,
to understand that one so young,
cannot defend from pain so deep.

Today's sorrows will fade yet more will come,
and I promise not to join the lines,
of people who will seek to hurt,
and to deceive on every turn.

As you awaken to this life,
you will be hurt, of that I am sure,
your tender heart will face attack,

And grief, hate and tragedy will become
familiar faces upon life's tempestuous seas.
Yet do not let despair paint ugly scars across that heart,
fight on through the storms to face the light.

For your heart is worth more than gold to me
At every step I shall defend you,
with more strength than I would defend myself.

It matters not if this is today,
with milk and glass upon the floor,
or thirty years from now when
things all turn to dust before your eyes
and threaten to break you, as I know they will.

There is no price that can be put upon,
what you gave to me by just being here,
so as always I swear to never charge,
nor place a condition upon,
what I will always gladly do for you,
I say this from the goodness
and strength of my heart,
that you created when you were born.

So be strong my child, for more tears are to come,
and remember that when you are in your
most joyous moments, or your darkest hour,
you can call my name,

And I will be there.

Hymns To the Silence

I have always been a great fan of what is undoubtedly
one of the best albums I have ever heard:
"Van Morrison's Hymns to the silence"

And for the past few days, I've been thinking a lot
about silence, stillness, and all that comes with it..
so although it's an AMAZING album, and I love it...

This isn't a tribute to Mr. Morrison's work..
it's a tribute.. or something.. to the silence :)


I cried out across the waters of silence
Searching for a point of reference on the horizon,
A familiar face or shoreline to show me how far I had traveled,

But no wandering soul in that silence called out to me,
And though I strained my eyes to see through
The icy blackness of the silence,

No harbor lights shone to guide me,
I felt nothing underneath me, but rivers of icy black,
That pierced the soles of my feet and chilled my legs to the bone

And above me, that same dark and cold penetrated my head,
And froze my thoughts in that still dark, silent moment.
I raged against the silence, shouting until my voice was hoarse,

And realized that the silence took my words and dissolved them
Like a single snowflake as it lands on the warm black asphalt
At the beginning of winter, I too was absorbed by the black,
Adsorbed by the silence.

I felt it’s fingers clutch at my remaining thoughts,
Pulling from me every emotion, every concept that was me,
And I struggled to hold on as I stood there..

And then in an instant it was over..
the icy hand of the silence
swept over me like a cloak, and in one movement it
took me down into itself, and I became still..


There was nothing to fight, for as much as I was there before,
I was gone now.. as much as the silence had been waiting before me,
I was now part of it.
Seamlessly moving though a void of eternal dimensions,

Concepts of boundaries that I had cherished and regulated,
Concepts of time, space and reality,
They were all different now,
I was one.. one with the most magnificent..
The most magnificent nothing… and I felt the pure dark energy

The energy of night, the energy of an ethereal entity
Which stretched across the ages..
That touched all, and all touched it..
In that moment, I was no longer searching for the shoreline,
For I touched all shorelines that had ever been,
I had no need for the lights from a single harbor, for I wandered simultaneously along every dock, and I felt the brick and paint of every house..

I touched every heart and mind, every leaf and rock was my home…
I had never felt so much loss of self,
So much destruction of all that I was…

Yet I had never imagined so much power,,
The unstoppable force of an indescribable energy.

A moment, and it was gone.. the cloak had lifted and I stood,
As a young man, under the streetlight,
Not far from my home..

I heard a car horn on the street not far away,
And I felt a surge of relief
That I was here, and now…

Yet I felt greater, a loss for the stillness and sanctity of that moment,
I felt as though I had lost.. I had lost something that
Was part of me, part of my soul..
Part of the silence that is within all of us had gone..

And although I would not have ever imagined
Wishing for the blackness to return…
I turned towards home,
Pushed my hands deep into my pockets to fight the cold

And as I wandered homeward, I sang hymns to the silence.

Scary Future

Today is the first day of the rest of my life..

Cool huh?? INSPIRING…

But then I drift a little, and look back… (and yes, I know that the statement is all about looking forwards)..

I see train wrecks…

Unimaginable apocalyptic catastrophes, most of which I was solely responsible for…

Some were set up for me by circumstance…. But in reality, I’m to blame for most of the crap that I have had to wade through..

My close friends, of which there are really only 2 or 3, know all to well the nastiness and idiocy of my past…

The stuff that marched Bill Clinton from office..?? Please.. Don’t make me laugh… I’d shrug that off like a bad case of fleas…

This is life altering stuff.. The kind that makes you look back on your track record and see a carpet bomb that went off at every turn…

A friend of mine once commented.. “you seem to go through life, moving from one crisis to the next” (and yeah, I hated it, but it seemed true).. Another pal said “if you weren’t living on the edge every day, you couldn’t survive.. It is what keeps you going” (and I hated that also.. but again couldn’t argue..

I see myself now on a precipice… The chance to actually start carving the stone that will make today the rest of my life.. and seeing the monumental drop beneath me that will make all self-created screw ups and mistakes seem trivial..

There are lives at stake here.. and now, not just the lives that I might accidentally brush against in the course of my own stupidity, but lives that depend on me.. If things do not pan out.. if things aren’t suddenly gelled together in front of me in terms of new job, new home, new.. Everything, then it’s a looong way down.. And I truly do not want to fall now..

I set my sights on the future, but I am equally scared of it.. I feel like when Wyle E Coyote runs off the cliff.. Knowing that if he can just snag a few seconds of grace from the gravity Gods, he’ll have won the game.. But equally certain that as it happened before, he’s going to be down in the canyon in a cloud of dust that resembles a miniature Hiroshima blast..

This time there is no safety net to speak of.. This time it’s for life, for real, and for family…

This time, I have to pull not only a job, but a home (and a stable one) out of my ear (or somewhere) and do all of that within 30 days from now, while several monkeys sit and eat peanuts on my back..

I am against all odds…

But maybe that’s how I always survive??

Here’s to hoping that (at least) those monkeys can fly (wouldn’t want to be a monkey killer too!)


Be safe, be well, and be alert (your country needs lerts)

Job Application

Dear Mr Bush..

Although you're about to leave the white house, in following the news, I've noticed that you may well be an advocate for a system that will certainly help me a great deal..

Let me explain.. I have lost a bunch of money in my life.. Certainly not the billions that your banking groups (like Citigroup) have managed to lose, and I've not yet had a sufficient effect on the economy to create any joblessness.. However, without any formal training whatsoever, I have managed to poorly invest and squander what money that I ever earned, or was entrusted to my care...

I believe, therefore, that this obviously outstanding and commendable skill, makes me eligible for one of the current government's bailout schemes.. Whilst I am only one individual, I can guarantee to lose several millions each week, and you should therefore appreciate just how competent a money drain I may be able to be..

With that in mind, and in order to accelerate this entire process, I have, today, decided to step down as my CEO, for which I will award myself a severance package of several million, and rejoin the organization as Chief Liason Officer for International Relations and production.. As you will most certainly be aware, this new position will be exceptionally stressful, hence I am willing to charge a new corporate jet, a house in the Hamptons, a Ferrari, and a company yacht to one of your bailout plans with immediate effect...

I feel certain that you'll be willing to help me in the next few weeks, as it clearly appears you're doing all you can to throw money away as fast as possible, and sink it into organizations that have already lost trillions, and are still tanking...

After all, it's not like you're going to be able to walk away with any of it... so sure.. I fully agree, you may as well spend it all before you go... I'm certain the next guy will be able to take the heat when everyone realizes that all the money is gone (which I am certain is your plan), and by then, you'll be miles away :) - love it by the way!

In the certainty that you'll be more than interested in proceeding with this venture immediately, I would be more than happy to receive, by return, the first few million for me to waste.. Oh, and please don't think too hard about what is happening to all of those "average" Americans... You haven't done anything about that at all since 2001, so why ruin a good thing? LOL ;)

Thanks..


Pony

I forgive you..

And on the subject of animal rescue...

Here is one that I wrote, a few years ago...

I forgave him when he shouted,
I forgave his foul words,
I forgave him when my only food,
was only fit for birds,
I forgave him when my coat turned dull,
from standing in the rain,

when he beat my back until it bled,
I forgave him once again.
I forgave him when he left me,
in this rotten stall to die,
I forgave all this without a thought,
without a question "why".

But now I see you standing here,
you say I have to go,
you say I'll never walk again,
you're sad that this is so.

I see the gun,
I close my eyes,
I shall no longer live...
You took away my life of pain...

It's YOU I should forgive..

Sometimes it's just not possible to save every one.

Until you do..... you won't understand

Kathie Sullivan-Parkes, East Corinth, VT wrote this one.. (she also asked that if anyone uses all or part of it, that her name is given :)

It sums up much of my life, and why I have a small cadre of dogs all of whom have unfortunate beginnings....

Until you have held a tiny puppy in your arms as it kissed your face with slobbery puppy breath and felt the love,
Until you have held an injured or severely ill dog in your arms and felt their pain
Until you have looked into the eyes of a tired aging senior dog and felt their wisdom,
And until you have seen and understood the look in your dogs eyes that tell you their time on earth with you is over .... and you humanely let them go,

You will never understand the life of a rescuer.

We find beauty in the most incomprehensible places and the otherwise homely faces.
It is our gift to see beyond the dirt, terror, sadness and defeat and find the true soul that lies within.
We are Rescue.

I salute all you guys who work with rescuing animals... Man can perform no higher service, than the defense of those who cannot defend themselves