Thunder needs Lightning Help

9/4, 5:11 p.m. Update: Thunder's owner wants nothing to do with him. HB took him to the vet. Doc says Thunder is looking the best he ever has! The vet said he would not put him down. He explained Thunder's prey drive as awakening and that he should simply be an on-leash dog and be allowed to live out his days in peace. We are hopeful that a friend who rescues older dogs will take him when her new home is ready in November.

URGENT update: Thunder's original owner is considering putting him down. Please pass the word. This boy has a lot of love to give!



Meet Thunder. Thunder is a sweet boy of nine who was recently taken in temporarily by my Hiking Buddy (HB), mom to our Rhodesian packmates, Hank and Sue.

Thunder is a special needs boy. He has lived most of his life in a poop filled yard with no shade. He is terrified of flies and has eaten his own tail off to cope with fly bites. He had rarely been walked, never groomed, never had a toy or a soft bed or shade or a bone. The only dogs he ever met attacked him.

We have brushed him, medicated his bites wounds (ears and haunches) and started walking him on leash in the neighborhood. In spite of some lameness in his hind legs and toenails that are way too long, he loves his walks!



But we are an off-leash pack… On our second walk off leash in the creek, Thunder wanted to take off. He would not listen…something he normally does quite well. Mabel and I kept a pace with him and he finally started looking around for the Rhodies and we all started out of the creekbed together.

There was a small schnauzer at the top of the levy and I saw trouble brewing. Thunder was “pecking” at the small dog and then grabbed him by the throat. There was quite a fracas getting him to let go. The schnauzer was wounded badly but is on the mend.



We sought out advice from my brother-in-law, the professional dog handler. He made us realize that Thunder is basically a crack baby in canine form. The abuse he took from other dogs and the neglect (no socialization, no walks, etc) from his owner makes him over-react when he senses something is wrong.

Yesterday on another walk in the mountains, the pack joined up with some other large dogs they know. One is much older and does a dominance humping thing. A normal dog may growl or walk away. When this dog humped Thunder, he pinned him to the ground by the neck… a clear over-reaction. (The other dog is fine.)

And I’m telling all of you about this boy because he breaks my heart. He’s sweet and kind to humans but he needs to live in a situation where he is the ONLY dog. He can be walked but needs to be muzzled. And he’s lived peacefully with cats his whole life.

I’m hoping that my circle of dog lovers will get the word out to their circle of dog lovers at lightning speed so that this senior citizen can enjoy a few good years of peace and shade and love. Just because you don’t fit the requirements of Thunder’s needs, please pass this link along. You never know who might be able to help this boy who just needs one good break!

So please help me spread the word.



Thunder Tidbits:
Shepherd mix
Housebroken
Kind to cats
Has lived with a toddler
Needs to be the only dog
Loves to walk on leash or off
Requires muzzle when walking near other dogs.
Loves people
Likes to sleep in late
Would be ideal to find him a home in the greater Los Angeles area or Southern California and needs a forever home.


Please, if you are the one to help Thunder, email me at the link on the right. Thanks!

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The Strongest Woman in the World

I know I've referred to my mother as the strongest woman in the world here before. Thoughts of my cousin and that family rift has me thinking about the time I realized that my mom was made of nails.

My mother and her siblings never had an easy time with their older brother, J.O. Most had some kind of run in with him in their life time. My mother always tried to forgive, even when her brother was an ass.

In the fall of 1963, Mom had been putting on a bit of weight and found her monthly cycle to be spotty. Eh, Menopause was what she thought. Until a fateful night in November when I hauled off and kicked her pretty hard. She knew what that was.

Within a matter of a few days, she discovered she was actually five months pregnant by her married boyfriend of seven years. Knowing she couldn't show her face in our small town and wanting to protect her mother, she arranged to live with J.O., who was living in Colorado with his wife and the two boys. She took a leave from work and drove to Jackson to withdraw my sister from business school and took off for Colorado.

The agreement was, my sister and mom could live in the guest room in return for keeping the boys who would turn four and five in December and January. Within a week, my uncle had banished them to the cold, damp basement which was filled with chinchillas... my uncle's side business.

I could probably fill a book about their lives in that basement for the next four months - the sacrifices both of them made for me. Their greatest joy was the boys. The days were filled with their laughter.

My mother did not have an easy pregnancy. She threw up by the bucket the entire time they were in Colorado. During the day, she would sit in the only comfortable chair in the house...her brother's recliner. Mom was careful to always be out of it by the time he got home. But one day, he got off early. He walked in and saw her in his chair. She was about 8 1/2 months along and had to struggle to get up. His voice boomed through the house as he cursed her for being in his chair. That was the when Mom stopped forgiving him.

But their break wouldn't come for six years. Mom was home for lunch with me. My uncle arrived. I hugged him and he sat down at my spot at counter where we ate. Mom was on the other side washing dishes. I sat down in the floor behind my uncle to play.

Before long, their voices grew angry and I started to pay attention. My uncle needed money. He wanted his share of the family money.

In 1960, when my grandfather had died, he placed my mother, his fourth child and second daughter in charge. He told her that more than the others, he knew she would take care of grandma. And she did. He left a whopping $1500 and 160 acres of land, cattle and various farm animals.

Mom invested that money. The cattle were sold off as needed to fill Ma's freezer. Mom got her mother Medicare and social security. Ma, for her part, took to her bed. "I just miss my Kirb," was all she'd say. Six years later, she could no longer care for herself. She came to live with us. But when she took a bad fall and Mom and I couldn't lift her...it was time to send her to a nursing home.

Ma thought she would get well and go home and would hear nothing about her house being sold.

Mother tried to explain to my uncle over and over that Ma needed that money. The money was not hers (Mom's) to give. He got angrier and angrier. And then I heard it. Those two little words: liar and thief. I was only six and I knew them was fightin' words to my mother.

For good measure, my uncle added, "Why, if you weren't a woman and this weren't your house, I'd whoop your ass."

Mother stood in front that sink calmly but there was steel in her voice, "You've got yourself an ass to whoop."

And with that, she started unbuttoning and rolling up the sleeves of her white blouse.

My uncle started stammering. I think we were both shocked by that steely calm in her voice. "I can't hit you here. You own this house."

"I don't own the damn street. Let's go!"

Mother walked ever so calmly out the door, down the drive and took her stand in the middle of our street, dukes up and ready.

I was filled with fear. Not that my uncle would hurt my mother. No. I knew if he engaged her, she would kill him and go to jail and I would be an orphan. There was no question how mad she was. There was no question she was angry enough to kill.

And my uncle had to know that. He couldn't even look at her. He got in his car drove away and out of our lives.

My mother's siblings all took her side. If they saw him, they were civil and all delighted at seeing his boys on occaision.

For years, my uncle would drive within a block of my grandmother's nursing home twice day. Never did he stop and see her. He took ill and had to go into the same nursing home. His window looked across the courtyard into Ma's room. When he was dying, Ma begged my mother to go see him. "I've said all I have to say," was her reply.

Uncle J.O. was a hard man to be around. But I can never forget that he's the reason I know what Wonderwoman really looks like. She doesn't have a fancy costume and magical powers. She is a woman of her convictions and tries to do what's right - even if she has to roll up her shirtsleeves and stand in the street, ready for a fight.






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Suffering

For those of you who have asked, my back is better but...it's been a really heavy week.

I am working...bidding commercials in Hollyweird. We have many, many budgets to go out in the next few days and I'm working long hours.

The other thing is that {Update 8/22: Better link to the story. Finally found a local newspaper.}my cousin was murdered on Monday. For days, we knew nothing more. The FBI would not release the bodies (a co-worker was killed too) or any information.

After being on the phone for days, our bits of information kept growing and growing. One other cousin was a former sheriff and could get further than we could.

Brett apparently stopped by the trailer of a co-worker and found five men beating him to death. He was stabbed to death and both bodies were wrapped in blankets and thrown in the woods. It took over 12 hours to find them. Their boss came looking for them in the afternoon and upon discovering so much blood, he called the police.

His co-worker had a long criminal record and the area is near a known drug hot spot. We think it was just a case of wrong place, wrong time.

Brett was just a few years older than me. And he has an older brother, his "Irish twin" born the same year, just eleven months earlier. Each has no memory of life without the other.

We played together constantly as kids. Their farm butted up to our grandparent's land. I would stay at their house so long, I would run out of clothes and have to wear theirs. I loved dressing like one of the boys.

I would help them with their chores around the farm which sometimes involved chasing down a chicken for Sunday dinner. After chores, we would ride a horse over to our grandmother's or fish or play. I thought those boys hung the moon.

There was something about both boys I adored. The older brother could do more with me...i.e. make me behave. It was he who escorted me down the aisle at my sister's wedding at age two. Brett was her ring bearer.

Brett was the visionary. He taught me to see things that weren't there. They had a long narrow driveway and it was full of pines. In the fall, he would rake and rake and start stacking pine straw about two feet high to build "walls" of a house. He would lay out each room carefully giving thought to where windows and doors and closets should be. Then we would play in our house which mostly meant running from room to room and giggling. And sometimes, we would re-model and add on a room.

There would come a time when I was six or so and our parents had a falling out. Their dad was my mother's oldest brother. I was so sad to drive down the road to my grandmother's and not be allowed to jump out of the car and make the run down that long driveway to see my cousins.

Then our grandmother went into a nursing home and we hardly saw the boys. Their parents died and whenever there was some family event, both would show up and pay respects or visit with family. One was rarely seen without the other.

My heart is so heavy and sad to know that he had to die this way. It can't be easy to know five men are attacking you with a knives. He deserved so much better. He certainly deserved not to suffer. And he is not suffering anymore.

His family is. His brother most certainly is.
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Backing Out

My back is out. Sitting = torture; Standing on my pathetic feet = almost torture. No blogs for a bit.

In the mean time... if that dang Verizon ad stays on this page, PLEASE click it! I make a few pennies from the crappiest phone company in the world.

And I will be back...when my back is back.


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Nobody Asked Me Part Two - An Open Letter to Ivan Seidenberg

Dear Mr. Seidenberg (CEO of the WORST phone company in the world, AKA Verizon),

Brother, Can you spare 12 hours?

Do you have 12 hours in your busy schedule to spare? No? Well, neither do I. Yet your phone company seems to think nothing of asking for a 12 hour block of time so that your technician may or may not show up to fix my slow-as-molasses internet connection. And they even have the gall to tell me that I will be billed if the tech shows up and I'm not home.


What about 22??

Do you have 22 hours to spare??? No? Well, you guessed it, neither do I. I actually have to work for a living as I have phone bills to pay. Yet that is how long I've spent cumulatively on the phone with your incompetent technicians... an my internet STILL is not fixed.

Nobody asked me, but, is this any way to run a company? If my service were so bad, I would be out of business. I think you can and more importantly should do better by your hardworking, paying customers.

Shouldn't you respect our time as much as you respect your own??



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Nobody Asked Me...

... But if they did, I would tell the geniuses that design computers, that all those plugs for USBs and Ethernet cables should be placed either on top or front of the can.

Why?

Because middle - aged women with bad knees and questionable eyesight do NOT enjoy crawling around on the dusty floor trying to figure out which cable goes where with an unreliable flashlight blinking in her eyes and a tech support agent yelling at her over the speaker phone! Trust me, we curse your peanut-sized design brains every time it happens!

I recently spent 21 hours (yes TWENTY ONE!) on the phone with Verizon tech support trying to get my new modem to work. It was spread out over a weekend...apparently I have nothing better to do with my life. And there's more to come. My modem is still not working properly!

So while we're on the subject of things nobody asked me, I think it should be mandatory that the CEOs and every other manager down the line to middle management should have as one of their job requirements to call their own tech support for help with some issue once a month. Really, do you think these bozo's have ever tried to get help through their own help lines??? If this were required of them on a regular basis, I'll bet their crappy service would improve! Are you listening Verizon / Citibank (Shittybank)/ WAMU ????

Let them wait on hold, press 1 for this and 2 for that. And Verizon's stupid voice analysis... let's not single them out...does any voice analysis work for anyone out there? My voice is never understood. With Verizon, you can press numbers except at the very end. It goes like this.

Annoying Female Mechanical Voice: Before I can direct your call, I need to know which operating system you use. Is is Windows or Macintosh?

Me: Windows.

AFMV: Before I can direct your call, I need to know which operating system you use. Is is Windows or Macintosh?

Me(louder): Windows.

AFMV: I really want to help you but I need to know...

Me: WINDOWS!!!

AFMV: I really want to help you but I need to know...

Me: WINDOWS!!! WINDOWS!!! WINDOWS!!!

AFMV: I'm sorry, but I really need to know....

Me: WINDOWS! WINDOWS!!! You F*&^ng Machine Bitch.

I suddenly become worried that the neighbors will call the cops or the loony bin. Then I start speaking quietly in my mixed up language mantra that I use when recordings can't understand me because they are not human beings! I eventually get transferred.

But then, I have to deal with the issue of understanding the actual live human on the end of the phone who is more likely than not on the other end of the world! What happened to good old American customer service? It moved to India or the Philippines. I often seem to get the person with the thickest English accent to the point that I cannot understand them at all. I'd love to see the CEOs of the companies that use these places actually try to have a conversation with one of these techs, much less get their computer working!

And nobody asked me this either but whoever trains the phone techs in India / Philippines, please, please do not teach them to apologize constantly. I don't want an apology! Just fix my damn problem and let me get on with my life! That is not part of the American linguistic style... have you ever thought of recording American customer service reps and using the tapes as training devices? Oh, but then you'd have to find an American customer service rep...

If you ever do find one, could you please let me know what company they work for??? I'd really, really like to bank / shop there.



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By Any Other Name

Here in LA LA Land, we try to do our very best to make everything sound as glamorous as possible.

So it shouldn't have surprised me today as I was taking a shortcut through Burbank, to find that I wasn't sitting next to just some ordinary business. No indeed. I was waiting to turn left by Burbank's Car Appearance Center.

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