In Thursday's snapshot, this appeared:
So I'm at a daily paper visiting a friend who's an editor when a
name reporter decides he's going to make small talk while the editor's
on the phone and hijacks the computer to show me "something you won't
believe. It's so sad." Wrongly, I assumed I was about to see the
children of Falluja. Wrong. I saw a dog from Australia that people
around the world are donating to because it lost its snout saving a
child. And the dog's coming to -- or now in -- the United States with a
friend and will have surgery at one of the UCLAs (Davis?) and, turns
out, the dog's also got tumors and a sexually transmitted disease and --
On and on, it went. Now I love dogs. And if someone wants to send a
terminal dog across the globe for reconstructive surgery of a snout,
that's their decision. But I do think it's very sad that people want to
pull up a picture of this dog and oh-and-ah over it and these same
people will not even look at the children of Falluja.
I thought that was pretty clear. To community members it was. But to a number of visitors e-mailing the public account, I had just declared war on dogs.
They might need to try re-reading. In the meantime, we'll share a few dog stories tonight.
Provided we all remember what Tim Arango (New York Times) reported last month:
Iraq and the United States are negotiating an agreement that could result in the return of small units of American soldiers to Iraq on training missions. At the request of the Iraqi government, according to General Caslen, a unit of Army Special Operations soldiers was recently deployed to Iraq to advise on counterterrorism and help with intelligence.
No, visitors, I don't hate dogs. I'll share three dog stories.
I wanted a dog growing up. Couldn't have one, I was told. We already had a dog. So one day, while walking through the city I lived in, probably four-years-old but maybe five-years-old, I ventured down a residential street I hadn't been on before and a dog -- a little black and brown puppy -- followed me home.
That was the story I told. That was not the truth. I saw some puppies against a fence and walked from the sidewalk to the fence on the side of a house and began petting them through the fence. In time the others scattered but one remained licking my hand. Looking around and seeing no people, I opened the gate and the puppy came out of the fence. I closed the gate and started walking back to the sidewalk, then through a park, then on the way home. The puppy did follow me home. But I did let him out of the gate. I did steal him.
So there's story one.
Back in September, Tim Arango (New York Times) reported:
Iraq and the United States are negotiating an agreement that could result in the return of small units of American soldiers to Iraq on training missions. At the request of the Iraqi government, according to General Caslen, a unit of Army Special Operations soldiers was recently deployed to Iraq to advise on counterterrorism and help with intelligence.
Over the years, I've learned to let go of guilt for many things I did up to the age of 18. I'm not sure that it's a result of maturity so much as my 'hard drive' has gotten filled with so many other things to feel badly over that there wasn't room for everything.
The key thing I feel guilt over as a young adult, the earliest thing I now beat myself up for, is the dog I was just talking about. I was in college. I was working jobs (due to not taking the major my family wanted me to, I had to put myself through college in the early days). I did not have time to make it home. When I did, there were various people to talk to in the family, friends, etc. And there was ____ looking over hoping I would play with him. And I usually managed an hour -- my visits usually lasted less than 24 hours and then I'd fly back to college -- to take him for a walk. But the last time, while he was alive, that I visited, I didn't. It was raining, I was there for five hours. Anytime I looked out in the back, he was waiting and wagging his tail. Before I left, I spent five minutes with him. That's it.
As you can probably figure out, the dog was dead within a week. I feel so awful for that to this day. I should have taken him out. It was raining, yes, but he wanted to go for a walk. And he was older now (that's not me saying I didn't take him for a walk because I was worried about his age -- I honestly didn't think about his age) and he loved those walks.
And I failed him on that last visit and he never failed me. He was the most amazing friend.
Tim Arango (New York Times) reported September 26th:
Iraq and the United States are negotiating an agreement that could result in the return of small units of American soldiers to Iraq on training missions. At the request of the Iraqi government, according to General Caslen, a unit of Army Special Operations soldiers was recently deployed to Iraq to advise on counterterrorism and help with intelligence.
Again, that's what I'm still guilty for. There are many other things that I'm guilty for but that's the oldest one.
One visitor wrote, "Unlike you, I don't hate dogs. You've probably never even had a dog!" Actually, I've had several dogs -- and other animals -- over the years.
I don't currently have a dog. I do have horses. I've told Betty her kids could have a dog and I've told Ty and his partner that they can get a dog. (They live with me.) I'm not opposed to dogs.
But I don't have one currently. I could argue, "I'm hardly ever home" and that it would be hard for a dog to travel on a plane -- especially since I like big dogs. We've had small dogs, but my dogs have always been German Shepherds and Irish Setters. I like big dogs, they're easier to dance with. I'm not joking. If I have dog they learn to dance. They get on their hind legs and I hold their paws or they put their paws on my shoulder and we dance.
The last dog we had was an Irish Setter. The kids (my kids) had a Border Collie, two other dogs and an Irish Setter. When the Irish Setter died, I got another one for the kids but, not wanting to push it off as "here's the replacement!," I just said, 'I got this dog, if you want to play with it that's fine.' They didn't in the early days (which was fine) but within two months they were attached to it. Near the end of the 90s, I came home (from a trip out of the US) to find the kids very upset because the Irish Setter was sick and the vet said there was nothing that could be done. He was in the downstairs hall, at the back of the house and wasn't going to move. He'd found the only position he was comfortable in. The vet informed me of that when I asked about options -- such as taking him to the vet to be put to sleep or taking him upstairs to my bedroom which is where he liked to sleep. Traveling? No. He'd be in too much pain. Maybe, if we were quick, we could get him up the back stairs -- Forget it, when we even tried, he howled. So I went up to my bedroom, grabbed the pillow he had made his own years ago -- he'd taken it from the bed and put it in the corner he slept in -- and grabbed a pillow off the bed for me. And I stayed there with him, petting him for about seven hours until a little after midnight when he passed away. We had a funeral for him. The other dogs the kids had now live with them and probably I just haven't been in the mood for a new dog because that was the first of many important deaths that came one after another -- one a month -- for about three years.
No one wants to talk about what Tim Arango (New York Times) reported last month:
Iraq and the United States are negotiating an agreement that could result in the return of small units of American soldiers to Iraq on training missions. At the request of the Iraqi government, according to General Caslen, a unit of Army Special Operations soldiers was recently deployed to Iraq to advise on counterterrorism and help with intelligence.
So there are three dog stories and, no, I don't have anything against dogs. I'm sure I'll have another big dog soon, one you can go running with. I didn't insult the dog that was harmed when I brought her (I believe it was a female) up in the snapshot. My point was that the children of Falluja are suffering and that's also a tragedy but their suffering hasn't become an internet sensation.
It's over, I'm done writing songs about love
There's a war going on
So I'm holding my gun with a strap and a glove
And I'm writing a song about war
And it goes
Na na na na na na na
I hate the war
Na na na na na na na
I hate the war
Na na na na na na na
I hate the war
Oh oh oh oh
-- "I Hate The War" (written by Greg Goldberg, on The Ballet's Mattachine!)
The number of US service members the Dept of Defense states died in the Iraq War is [PDF format warning] 4488.
The e-mail address for this site is common_ills@yahoo.com.
iraq
i hate the war
the ballet
