Perhaps the Swiss were imbibing a bit, as well?

Swiss World Cup Fans Show Their Colors

And you thought Bird Flu was worrisome

A Capricorn Beetle, thought to be extinct for at least 300 years, was found in a piece of furniture in a furniture shop in Wales. A carpenter at the factory thought it looked like "a monster from Dr. Who," according to the online version of the London Times. Another said "I was gobsmacked because it was bloody huge for a beetle," whatever 'gobsmacked' is. I thought it was a play, but what do I know.

Rather than smashing it with a hammer, as some employees wanted to do, they put the beetle in a bottle and a local entymologist scurried in and "recognized its importance." He predicted, sadly, its life expectancy was only about two more weeks. That's about two weeks longer than I'd predict if I found it.

I can't filch the photo, but if you'd like to toss your lunch, see this link http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/wales/south_west/5120626.stm

So what's bugging you this fine day?

Tell the truth with one foot in the stirrup

One of my favorite sayings is "Tell the truth with one foot in the stirrup." It's apparently a Turkish reference, with great wisdom for those working for idiots, and I've found in my career, sadly, there idiots above us. I cadged this from a friend's website, www.alpinek9.com.

The tribal wisdom of the Dakota Indians, passed on from generation to generation, says that, "When you discover that you are riding a dead horse, the best strategy is to dismount."

However, in government, education, and in corporate America, more advanced strategies are often employed, such as:

1. Buying a stronger whip.
2. Changing riders.
3. Appointing a committee to study the horse.
4. Arranging to visit other countries to see how other cultures ride dead horses.
5. Lowering the standards so that dead horses can be included (boy, is this true in academia!).
6. Reclassifying the dead horse as living-impaired.
7. Hiring outside contractors to ride the dead horse.
8. Harnessing several dead horses together to increase speed.
9. Providing additional funding and/or training to increase the dead horse's performance.
10. Doing a productivity study to see if lighter riders would improve the dead horse's performance.
11. Declaring that since dead horses do not have to be fed, it is less costly, carries lower overhead and therefore contributes substantially more to the bottom line of the economy than do some other horses.
12. Rewriting the expected performance requirements for all horses.
And of course....
13. Promoting the dead horse to a supervisory position (close enough for government work!)

There's a new book out that's a tell-all about bad bosses, which is almost an oxymoron. I welcome your comments about your experience with bad bosses. When I lived in LA and drove an hour or more to work each morning, I listened to a station I liked that had a great gimmick.

Each Friday, you could call in and put your boss' name on the "suck wall." You called in and ranted about what a tit he or she was, then a spray paint sound started as the deejays "painted" the first name on the wall. It always made me laugh and made going into work a bit easier. It's no wonder I can't keep a job, is it?

Don't worry -- our membership won't decline

English World Cup Fan Shows His Teeth, Unfortunately

The London Mirror reports that thirsty English World Cup fans are threatening to drink Germany dry. Hysterical brewers trumpeted the news that beer could run out before the World Cup final due to the high English demand.

There are 70,000 English fans in Nuremburg, who have drunk approximately 1.2 million pints of beer. A pint, as I had to find on Wikipedia, is 1/8 of a gallon. For the mathematically challenged, the Mirror reports that's 200 pints per minutes or 17 pints per fan. (That doesn't seem like that much to me, upon reflection,)

A barman in Nuremburg pub, which ran dry after fans drained all 32 of his 11 gallon barrels, said "Never have I seen so many drink so much in such little time," the Mirror reported. I guess he's never heard a good drunkalogue.

Wherever they went, the English sucked it up. In Cologne, local pubs ran out of Klisch beer. One brewery noted it produced a record 418,000 gallons to keep up with demand.

I guess we don't have to worry that our Fellowship will be declining any time soon, not if the English have anything to say about it. For today, cheers!

Advice for the day

Not that I know anything. But I do know this. If someone encourages you to be blunt, go for it! My whole life I feel like I've had to sugar coat everything. Maybe it's being a female, that marginal status I've talked about before in other blog entries. I'm always afraid I'll hurt someone's feelings, a few people aside who, over the years, I've tortured mercilously and owed big amends to.

I should be assertive, because one of the classes I've taught with great feedback is assertive training. I guess we do teach what we can't do.

I flew up to Michigan and back yesterday, which meant my day started about 4:45 a.m. and I was on the road back home until almost 11 p.m., so I was fried. My s/o had planned to come over to greet me, which when he suggested it I thought, "Hm, maybe not such a good idea" because when I'm tired, I don't want to interact with humans, only dogs. But I didn't say anything, because I didn't want to hurt his feelings.

Last night when we spoke as I was leaving the airport to drive the two hours home, I was a little more direct and hemmed and hawed and said "I don't want you to stay up so late" and finally "I don't think I'll be very good company." I could tell I hurt his feelings because he's a planner, while I'm a "fly by the seat of my pants" kinda girl.

It would have been much better if I'd said originally what I was thinking: that it wasn't a great idea. Instead of being blunt, which he encourages me to do saying "Just tell me!," I tried to spare both our feelings and ended up hurting his. The lesson in all this is I have to risk telling him how I really feel at the time, rather than waiting until he's made plans despite my unspoken misgivings.

Anyway, the interview went okay, I think, but because I've been out of work for a couple years on paper, at least (writing a book is work, even if it isn't published yet), I had to explain why I wasn't working without discussing the transplant. That wasn't easy. So we'll see. I know that God will put me right where I'm supposed to be.

Here's the weird thing. There was nothing on my resume that said I ever lived in Glendale, Arizona. They had their security pick me up at the airport, a former highway patrolman who now heads up their security. As we drove he asked me about living in Glendale because his mother lived in Scottsdale. That means they did some background checking before I got there and signed off on backgrounds, which is illegal. I didn't say anything, just noted it. I don't like that. Cops are like that; they feel they're above the law so maybe he did this on his own. It creeps me out, though.

And that's being blunt.

Aren't we lucky?

According to a recent study, Americans face much more isolation than they did two decades ago. This study also said 25 percent of the respondents had no one with whom they could confide and overall, respondents said their confidants dropped from three to two.

We really are lucky, aren't we? Yesterday a new friend called who has about the same amount of time as me, and we talked for an hour about big challenges in her life. The great part? If I need to, I can call her tomorrow and talk about my challenges.

In college I took a class in comparative communism. One of the first things communism attempts to do, according to my professor, is to break down "horizontal linkages." Those are our friends, our families, our affiliations with churches or synagogues--our ties to each other that spread throughout society and keep us unified, at least at some level.

Breaking down horizontal linkages is accomplished by breeding fear and suspicion between people by rewarding those who inform (sound familiar?) and instilling fear: "trust no one," then people are forced to look vertically, to the State, to provide their needs. In today's society, if we need food rather than turning to our neighbors, we turn to social programs like food stamps. The more we depend on the State to meet our needs, the less need we have to ask for or give help to others. Are we becoming too dependent on the State?

After Katrina, Americans poured money into various charities, yet the Federal government was blasted for not protecting the citizenry against what was a foreseeable disaster. I don't know the answer to these big issues, but the future doesn't look to rosy to me. There's a Leonard Cohen song I really like and in it he says "I've seen the future--it is murder."

But I digress. What I was thinking when I read about that study was how blessed I am to have found the Fellowship. It taught me how to be a friend, so I can say today I have many good friends, confidants, throughout the country who, when I'm feeling disconnected, I know I can rely on to talk to. And that is pretty good news.

LA Sheriff's Department drones on

The Associated Press reports that the LA County Sheriff's Department plans to use drones to catch bad guys and search for lost hikers. "The 5-pound, 3-foot-long drones cost $20,000 to $30,000 each and can beam video images 250 feet to deputies below," according to AP.

According to the FAA, despite being warned that the drones need authorization prior to flight, the Sheriff's Department did a little demo last week, resulting in the FAA clipping the drones, well, wings, if they have them. A spokesman for the FAA said "I wouldn't term us as peeved, but we were definitely surprised." FAA officials shut down future flights until they can determine if they could interfere with other flight patterns.

The sheriff's office droned on about the FAA's intereference, saying "A private citizen can go into a store and buy one of those model airplanes and fly them around. But because we're doing it as a public service, we have to deal with the FAA?"

Hello! Model airplanes weigh, what, 30 pounds? Am I missing something or is the sheriff's department mad 'cause someone took their tinker toys away? I always find it interesting when governmental agencies kvetch about other governmental agencies' interference. Private citizens deal with it every day. What's good for the goose is no doubt good for the gander. Or the drone.

I don't know about you, but I'm flying on Monday and the last thing I want to hear during takeoff is the co-pilot yelling "Watch out for that drone!"

Privacy advocates are concerned. I am too. If you remember my blog entry "Fido's Testicals at Risk," you'll recall that this is the same department that pushed to ensure the LA County Board of Idiots mandated spaying and neutering, with a few exceptions, all dogs in the county. I think the sheriffs will be using the drones to spotlight dogs in yards to determine if they've been properly neutered.

Hide, Fido! The drone is coming!

Synchronicity

Remember that saying "It's always darkest before dawn"? It always seems true in my life, at least, and this past month has been no exception. I haven't been blogging much because I've been keeping my head down and putting one foot in front of the other.

As I said the other day, I began doing the footwork to start my own business. In doing so I called an old attorney pal of mine to catch up on Missouri legislative changes since I've been so out of it and he asked what I was doing. Since I hadn't spoken to him for several years, we caught up on things (the transplant and its aftermath one item), then he asked me if I was looking for a job.

He had a client that was looking for someone in Missouri to work out of their home to roll out a new risk management program, which fits my background. So he emailed me the contact, I said "what the heck," and emailed my resume. Two days later, one of the managers called me to talk about my background. A few hours later, their personnel department called to see if I was available to fly up to Detroit on Monday. "Let me check my calendar. Oh, yes, I have a nail appointment that I might be able to move," I thought.

God works when God works; I always need to remember that. They may not offer me the job or I may not want it. But it's a clear message from my Higher Power that He will make me uniquely useful in his time, not necessarily mine.

You are the daughter of a King!

The daily meditation book I use every day is called God Calling. If you look in the front of the daily meditation book most AA groups use, you'll see a dedication to this book. God Calling was written in 1932 by two "believers," women who were going through difficult times and took the verse from Matthew 18:19-20 to heart. "If two of you shall agree on earth as touching any thing that they shall ask, it shall be done for them of my Father which is in Heaven.

"For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them."

These believers waited for God's word and it came, powerfully. A.J. Russell then came upon the writing and edited it. God Calling has become one of the best-selling devotionals of all time. I buy it for women I love in my life. My significant other and I read it together every day we can. It always fills our heart with simple, pure joy.

One of my favorite passages spoke to me so clearly I was moved to tears. "You are the daughter of a King," it said. Each year I come across that passage I call my friend Lisa in Columbia and we repeat: "You are the daughter of a King." If I understand this in my heart, how can anything trouble me?

I remember when I was first clean I went to my father to make amends, as I've blogged before, and he interrupted me as I began to say how terribly sorry I was for hurting him so badly during my addiction. He held up one huge hand and said "You will never be anything less than perfect in my eyes." A father's love for his daughter, so pure, so unconditional. I believe that is how my Heavenly Father loves me, too, if I can remember it when I am down, troubled, worried about the future.

The past six weeks have been difficult and when that happens I simply keep my head down and walk forward in faith. Fear isn't lack of faith; it's fear. We can be afraid, momentarily or longer, and still have faith that God will bring us forward.

When I am fearful, I continue to pray. Although I certainly have been unable to make sense of the past two years--the painful death my mother suffered, my illness, the transplant, the loss of my career. I only know that God hasn't brought me this far to abandon me. I am the daughter of a King.

Could it really be that simple?

I was raised Catholic. My mother was a staunch Catholic; my father a Protestant. Needless to say as was the "rule," my father had to agree, before he married my mother, to raise any children from the marriage in the Catholic church. So we grew up Catholic. I even spent several miserable years in Catholic school, which did little but heighten my distrust of that institution.

About once a year my mom would let dad take me to his Lutheran church and I enjoyed it a lot more, probably because people were so friendly and always made a big fuss over me.

I stopped attending church as soon as I had the option, although I've had flirts with returning, once when I was in college and once back to Unity church, which I really did enjoy. One of the reasons I liked Unity was because the kids always came in from Sunday school during the service and the minister would ask them what they'd learned. One morning, he stuck a microphone in one small kid's face and said "So did you have fun this morning?"

The kid thought for a minute and said "Well, I had fun, but not a lot of fun!" He could have taken the words right out of my mouth. I go to church because it's a duty, not because I enjoy it. The body is willing but the spirit is weak.

Now, because my boyfriend is active in his church, I attend with him. His church is a non-demoninational Christian church and the minister, about to retire, has been there forty years. While I can't say I enjoy going, I seem to always hear something that applies to me.

I, and many of my Fellowship friends, I think, find our God in meetings and in solitude. To me, Sunday mornings would be best spent riding my bike on Missouri's beautiful Katy Trail, snaking along the Missouri River, where the blue indigo buntings flit beside you and the squirrels delight, like the Geico commercial, in running out in front of your bike in Kamakazi death dives, hoping to flip you over the handlebars. That, in the joy of the ride, in the music I listen to on my ride there to the trail, that's where I find God.

Yesterday was Father's Day, so my boyfriend's daughter came in from St. Louis and we and his parents, two great 76-year old Show-Me natives, attended church. The topic was life's storms, and the message asked how we weather life's storms. I enjoyed the message, but as usual, it was the music that got my attention.

One of the lyrics from a song said something like "Ask God to change your heart." Could it really be that simple? When I'm struggling, as I've continued to do these last weeks, can a simple request to God to "change my heart" make a difference. Because it normally is the heart that is in error when I'm uncomfortable. My heart is usually judging people, places or things and none are living up to my expectations.

I heard a guy say in a meeting awhile ago that as a rule, everyone is doing the very best he or she can. And as a rule, it will never be good enough for me. How true for me.

And I know that in some way, the people who are judging me, at least I feel they are, are people I have somehow harmed, or they perceive that I have. I saw yesterday in the Bible that the word "harm" comes from the Greek word "hubris." Hubris, of course, means "excessive pride, arrogance." Yes, I've been accused of that a time or two. Aren't many of us egomaniacs with inferiority complexes?

As my sponsor has told me about this particular situation I've been in for awhile with some of my fellow members, all I can do is a tenth step. I've tried to clean up my side of the street--now it's up to them to either accept the amends or not.

In the meanwhile, I have a new tool. I can ask God to change my heart.

Some days the dogs say it all

Geez, I'm tired

I went to my transplant surgeon last week for a checkup and we discussed returning to work. Although I'm feeling great, I haven't had the stamina to return to work on a regular basis. They suggested I plunge in. Psychologically, those were powerful words to me. I feel again, after a year-and-a-half of being basically unemployed, that I can once again be a productive member of society.

So I've been busy working with my talented brother, who in one day completely redesigned my website. I've also been obtaining the various things I need to get back into business--licenses, equipment, bank accounts, but mainly cold calling and schmoozing people to use my service (risk management). And for the first time in months I feel positive about myself, about my ability to once again contribute to the world and be self-supporting through my own contributions.

In the early 90s when I worked at NA World Service, I remember my boss and friend Steve L. asking me if I worked the Traditions in my life, as well as the Steps. I wasn't sure at all sure what he meant. But over the years, I've found that working the Traditions in my personal life, and of course, the 7th Tradition tells me to be self-supporting through my own contributions, makes me feel better about myself and helps me forge "right relationships" with others.

One of my pet peeves in the rooms is people who openly talk about how disabled they are and receive social security or other disability income but are out making money on the side cleaning houses, doing repair work or somehow scamming the social security system, not to mention the IRS. Our program teaches us "cash register honesty" and to me that does not include earning non-reported income. It's called 'fraud' and it's illegal and it's not "practicing these principles in all our affairs." But as one member said, "If you practice these principles in all your affairs, you'll have fewer affairs."

But I digress. I know that I've always gotten much of my self-esteem from my ability to earn a living. Today I am grateful God has returned me to good health so that I can once again enter the working fray.

Missouri National Guard

Ai Chihuahua!

A Missouri woman, enraged when the four-week old Chihuahua she had purchased from a Missouri breeder died, returned it. She made quite a statement, however, when she repeatedly smacked the breeder over the head with the dead pup.

What can we learn from this? Yes, she needs some Prozac in her cornflakes, undoubtedly, but there's a bigger lesson. The Show-Me state is notorious for puppy mills and I have little doubt this little fletcher, sadly removed from mom and litter mates three weeks too early, came from one such mill.

Here's the deal. Puppies need to stay in the litter until seven weeks of age. The litter is where pups learn proper pack behavior--pack hierarchy--which makes socializing them to avoid dog aggression much easier. From the article it appears the reporters did no background research to determine this breeder's history, but I can tell you in my experience with breeders, those who allow pups to go home prematurely are idiots and shouldn't be breeding feeder rats, let alone puppies.

Yes, I will say that thwacking the breeder over the head is a bit much, but there's two sides to every story. Unfortunately, the reporters who covered this only got one side. Isn't that often the case?

I like this judge!

TAMPA, Fla. - A federal judge, miffed at the inability of opposing attorneys to agree on even the slightest details of a lawsuit, ordered them to settle their latest dispute with a game of "rock, paper, scissors.

The argument was over a location to take the sworn statement of a witness inan insurance lawsuit.In an order signed Tuesday, U.S. District Judge Gregory Presnell scolded both sides and ordered them to meet at a neutral location at 4 p.m. June 30 to play a round of the hand-gesture game often used to settle childhooddisputes.

If they can't agree on the neutral location, he said, they'll play on the steps of the federal courthouse. The winner gets to choose the location for the witnesss tatement. "We're going to have to do it," said David Pettinato, lead attorney for the plaintiff, Avista Management. "I guess I'd better bone up on 'rock, paper, scissors' rules."

***

I love this judge. I truly think if you're going to act like a spoiled brat, hey, you'll get treated like a spoiled brat. Of course, it's just like an attorney to think 'rock, paper, scissors' has rules.

The passing parade

I went to a meeting a few nights ago determined I was not going to say one word. I was just going to listen because I had my undies in a twist over some incidents that have occurred over the past few weeks with fellowship members. There was a young man, however, that opened the meeting when the leader asked for a topic and what he said, well, it might as well have been me speaking.

He was upset with gossip and the lack of anonymity that he was encountering in meetings and among the Fellowship. He talked about his unwillingness to go to meetings, although to his credit, there he sat last night, at a meeting. He also talked, at only nine months clean, of the need for vigilance. Although he probably hasn't internalized this, at this point in his recovery, as with about anyone in early clean-time, he is simply "talking the talk" while still learning to "walk the walk."

But vigilance, as I've said before in this blog, is what it takes to keep coming back. We must be vigilant, defined by Webster's "keenly watchful to detect danger." Sometimes danger is hanging out with old friends, but the longer we stay clean, the more subtle the danger may become.

Danger can parade as a variety of things such as

** Slipping away from meeting attendance;
**Self-hatred;
** Experiencing feelings of shame so deep-seated we may not even be aware we're acting out of those feelings;
**Relationships placed before our recovery;
**Success, oddly enough, which may detract us from our primary purpose, staying clean and sober or allow us to convince ourselves that we've somehow overcome the need to work a program;
**Anger, especially as my friend from Old Shoe Bill says, "justifiable anger, the best kind";
**Loneliness, feeling not a part of the group;
the list could go on and on.

When I feel like I was feeling, I am hyper-vigilant. At this stage in my recovery, it's not about wanting to drink or use. It's about soul sickness so deep that there's only two cures: the final solution or God. God often speaks through others, my sponsor, friends, at meetings. So I know that when I feel this dis-ease that I had felt for the better part of the week, I needed to hit more meetings and to reach out to others. And pray. As my former sponsor's sponsor used to say, "God is the answer. Now what was your question?"

If I don't remain vigilant, as one recovering addict who meant a great deal to many in the early Phoenix NA Fellowship said, I'm eligible to become one of the "passing parade," those who show up for awhile and then fade off into the sunset.

Yesterday at a meeting we were talking about the eight step, and in the 12 & 12 it says basically that we "take what we have learned [in our previous steps] about ourselves to forge the best possible relationships with those around us." Right relationships with others seems to be my major dilemma.

I've come to a bittersweet revelation this week; bittersweet because realizing a non-so-nice truth about ourselves is bitter, but also sweet with the possibility of surrender of this defect. I've accepted that my nature, unchecked, is to be impatient, judgmental and angry. This is a big chunk of truth and hard to swallow. But with this knowledge, accepting it as truth, I can now move forward out of the problem and into the solution.

I've been quiet for a few days, cautiously peaking my head out, because it was definitely my "turn in the barrel." There is light out there today and I'm grateful.

Doggie Diner

I never thought the name "Jeb Bush" would darken my blog, but here's a piece of legislation that (while stupid because why bother to legislate doggie dining, just let each restaurant owner decide) will have Florida dogs everywhere saying "hot diggity dog."

In a three-year pilot program (I didn't know dogs could fly, but then, Dog is my Copilot), dogs can dine outdoors with their masters if the restaurant owner agrees. Another clenched paw for doggies everywhere.

I went to Ecuador one summer with a good friend. We spent ten days there and while I was there, I got violently ill and lost about 15 pounds, although I still managed to enjoy myself. When we arrived at the Florida airport, I was so grateful to be back in the US that I just about kissed the ground.

The first thing we did in Miami when we got our rental car was tear down to Miami Beach to eat lunch. We wanted good ol' American food. We ordered giant hamburgers. Sitting on the floor by the next booth was a pit bull, who eyed my burger with red-eyed intent. I thought that was the coolest thing--a dog dining out with its master. And now, twelve years later, a Doggie Diner law.

This may go down as the best thing Jeb Bush has done in his governorship.

Prison ministry banned

A new AP article states an Iowa judge banned a prison-based ministry from going into the prisons. Americans United for Separation of Church and State apparently sued to abolish the prison program. Its executive director said, according to the article, "This calls into question the funding for so many programs. Anyone who doesn't stop it is putting a giant 'sue me' sign on top of their building."

Ah, our lovely legal beagles whine again. I imagine that AA and NA programs may be scrutinized given this mandate, since our programs refer to God and a Higher Power. While an appeal is planned, the group has 60 days to terminate the program.

This ruling comes at a time when I had a very trying time of service last night, trying to spearhead some much-needed interior building repairs at my home group. One woman became very upset with me and I admit, I was upset right back. I didn't sleep well last night and I clearly recall why, at seven years clean, I vowed to refrain from general service and serve only minimally at the group level. But I'll talk to others today and try to put perspective on why this is bothering me. I do know that the only place in service where I haven't gotten heartburn is when I've served on the local H&I (Hospitals & Institutions) committee where I live.

My service pedigree includes several H&I stints including beginning the first jail meeting in the Phoenix area for women inmates and helping on a several federal prison meetings. I love going into the prisons and jails because I know that there are women, incarcerated, who feel that they are hopeless, the same way I felt when I came into the rooms. H&I carries the message to those who so badly need it, the incarcerated.

I'll do more research on this ruling and follow it, as well as check with our Fellowships to see what the H&I committees will do in response to this. But today, I'll try to remember that service, although not always pleasant, helps me stay clean another day. See, it is all about me after all, as I was told last night.

You go, girl!

Idaho Woman Breaks Into Dog Pound

From Associated PressMay 31, 2006 8:43 PM EDT

COEUR D'ALENE, Idaho - A northern Idaho woman spent Memorial Day in jail, booked for investigation of burglary and malicious injury to property after police say she forced her way into the local dog pound to free her incarcerated canine.

Coreen Rae Culbreth, 42, was arrested Monday after she was reportedly caught on a security video taking her black Labrador from the Coeur d'Alene Animal Shelter a day earlier, when the facility had been closed.

Culbreth claimed she found an open door, entered and left with her dog - rather than waiting to pay the $40 fine, police said. Police say employees of the shelter told them the door was pried open.

"She said it was a foolish thing to do," Police Officer Mark Knapp said, following Culbreth's arrest. "She knew she would have to pay a fine."

The dog had been taken to the shelter hours before Culbreth retrieved it Sunday, police said. The dog remained at Culbreth's home after she was arrested and taken to the Kootenai County Jail.

A 1st District Court judge in Coeur d'Alene released Culbreth Tuesday on her own recognizance. A hearing is set for mid-June.

****

Okay, I know, I shouldn't advocate canine anarchy. I realize this is probably just some low life that didn't want to pay the $40 fine. But little pisses pooch owners off more profoundly than someone messing with their canines. I know.
.

In February, my boyfriend was visiting from Missouri. We were out working in the yard when the dogs decided to tussle over a piece of coated wire. We got in the middle, a stupid thing to do, and both of us got bitten. At my boyfriend's insistence, because this ain't my first rodeo and clorox works great, we went into the doctor and almost as soon as we arrived, so did the canine police.
.

They were great, actually, and because I was able to ferret out current rabies shots on both the terrorists, I was able to impound them at home. They even let me send Oz, who admittedly didn't start the fight, to Pat's house to stay so they could both cool off.
.

But I was royally p.o.ed, at the county's intrusion into what was clearly a dog bite from a dog I owned. I was also disgusted that the doctor's office staff didn't tell me when I called to make the appointment that they'd have to call the police.
.

The officer told me that it was owners breaking up fights that was the case with most of the bites he saw. But in the county's ultimate wisdom, they rushed right out to set the matter right, dog against man.
.

If they had impounded the dogs I would have been heartbroken and I was pretty upset as it was. I don't know that I wouldn't have done what this woman did, because for me the fear of jail (been there, done that) keeps me walking a pretty straight line. (Incidentally, that's what law was originally intended to do, I think, keep people in line so that we could all live in happy little bunches. See how well it's working?)
.

Maybe there's a group out there--the Canine Liberation Front. Or maybe there should be. I'm back on my former soapbox, though. Doesn't the state, defenders of our freedom, er, supposedly, have better things to do than incarcerate recalcitrant canines? I guess not.
.

So until tomorrow, it's one paw clenched in canine solidarity.

Romy raids refrig redux

Life in Missouri is slow, so it's time for the now frequent Romy raid update. Last night I went to my home group and forgot to hook the bungie cord on the refrigerator door. I came home to one very illin' dog who had cleaned out two small strip steaks and a few mini chocolate eclairs, or so I thought. All night, although she normally sleeps at the foot of my bed, she lay in the bathroom on the tile, huffing. I got up periodically to check for symptoms of bloat, but this morning she was, although still about as fat as a pot-belly pig, looking for more food.

I saw her looking in bed, in fact, and found a half-eaten slab of cheese stuffed between the mattress and the headboard. That seems to be where she stashes what she can't accommodate on her binges. Thank God, with the hardwoods refinished, she didn't purge, as well. Oh, the small things to be grateful for.

It rained like heck last night and today dawned gloomy, gray. The air is damp but the squirrels are out raiding the feeder and when I walked Ms. Romy this morning, they ran overhead on the phone lines as if taunting her.

Today I woke up thinking about a good friend I had who is no longer attending meetings. We had a rocky start to our friendship but eventually we became inseparable. For a variety of reasons, she's no longer in my life. But from time to time, I miss her and today I came across this that I'd written about her when I was doing an open poetry reading in Phoenix.

If Clinton has a Sexual Addiction . . .

then my friend Anne must have a food addiction. I first noticed it when she told me she had 14 Tollhouse cookies in her cupboard. "14?" I asked. "Sure" she replied. "I always know exactly how many cookies I have left."

Then she said she often drives to Arizona Mills mall, about a 30-mile round trip, for carmel apples. Once, in Prescott, my home, I learned she was more familiar than me with the sweets Prescott offered. Then, I myself was almost seduced when she introduced me to her favorite chocolate chip cookie dough.

But this story she told me clinched it. She needs help. She went to Karsh's bakery because she likes their frosting. None of the eight-inch round cakes had the frosting she liked. They did, she learned after interrogating Karsh's staff (and she's just the woman to do it), have a full sheet cake with fudge icing. "I'll take it," she'd said. Just so they didn't suspect it was for her, she had them write "Happy Birthday" on it.

I know the story's true, because Anne gave me a pair of coveralls she'd outgrown and in the right front pocket I found a receipt. It was from Karsh's and it said "sheet cake" right on it.

Anne is no longer in the rooms, choosing self medication over recovery. I've talked to her several times over the past few years after we drifted apart, and her wall of denial is as thick as adobe.

And she is not the only friend I've lost back to addiction. It is a cunning adversary. Over the years, when my friends have died from overdoses or suicides, I take my phone book and a red pen and write "deceased" through their names so that I never forget that is the fate I await if I make the decision to use.

Last night was birthday night at my favorite meeting and two people took cakes with 27 and 30 years. It was inspiring to hear them talk about the simple things in life that they today have so much gratitude for--rebuilt families, the ability to hold a job, the lack of resentment toward former situations and people. As always when I attend a meeting, I hear exactly what I need to hear.

I miss my beautiful friend Anne, and I grieve for my family member who still rails through the world in his battle with the bottle. I've learned, although we are very close, I can't help him into the rooms. I can't nag him, suggest he go to meetings, nothing. I can only listen and say, from time to time, "I love you."

I recently watched my best friend since 8th grade come back from a nasty relapse. Thank God, he didn't have to lose everything again as he did when he hit bottom the first time. I know he's grateful, but I worry that he won't go back to meetings, which are our insurance against relapse. We learn, as the years go by and we see the members fall away, that we can't do it alone. Ours is a disease that tells us we don't have a disease. We need others to remind us.

These relapses are our "yets." It hasn't happened to us "yet." But our literature reminds us, and we must never forget, that it is only a daily reprieve we have from our natural state, which is altered. I heard in a meeting the other night and it hit home--it's no surprise when someone uses, it's a surprise when they stay clean.

Today, I thank God for my daily surprise.