Deliveries

So we all know I sent the Garand order off to the CMP several weeks back, right? And I've been waiting and waiting and waiting and...what did the Big White Truck Of Happiness bring today?



Not that I won't use it, but still...

I did find the whole "spam can" setup pretty neat. Also like the warning to not use the can as a food container. Good to know.

Reason 4,921

to be glad we made it out of Florida alive: Deadly amoeba lurks in Florida lakes

At first people exposed to the amoeba, naegleria fowleri, suffer from flu-like symptoms. Very quickly, in from one to 14 days, the symptoms worsen, Sherin said. "There's a downhill course. Folks lapse into a coma; there are abnormal movements of the eyes and a terrible cascade of events leading to the actual death of parts of the brain."

Lovely. If the sharks and stingrays in the water, coupled with criminals and maniacs on the shore, keep you off the saltwater beaches... And if you aren't eaten by an alligator or bitten by a snake... Florida is still out to kill you.

But one bit in particular caught my eye. Just in case there weren't enough people hanging out in the Emergency Rooms of the Sunshine State, the Folks Who Work Somewhere Else have helpful advice.

[A Health Department official] said anyone who exhibits flu-like symptoms who has been in a lake recently should see a doctor immediately.

"I was recently in a lake and now I believe my brain is rotting," I'd guess, is not going to move you to the front of the line.

Paperwork

makes me vicious. I've been doing battle with a paper dragon of epic proportions recently, but I think I have him on the ropes, which should make me a bit more cheerful and less distracted. I hope to be able to share soon.

No - I am not adopting a Romanian baby.

But if there are any Romanians out there who want a black Lab-and-something puppy, just shoot me an email. I had to go out in the backyard to find socks to wear to work today.

5.11 stock plummets

As Blackwater is tossed out of Iraq.

Iraq's Interior Ministry has revoked the license of Blackwater Security Consulting, an American firm whose contractors are blamed for a Sunday gunbattle in Baghdad that left eight civilians dead.

The firefight took place near Nisoor Square about noon, an Interior Ministry official said Sunday. In addition to the fatalities, 14 people were wounded, most of them civilians, the official said.

Details were sketchy, but the official said witnesses reported that one side of the gunbattle involved Westerners driving sport utility vehicles, which security contractors often use. The state television network al-Iraqiya reported that a Western security company was involved in the shootout, but it did not identify the firm.

Black GMC sport utility vehicles? With a spare tire strapped on top of each one? Full of guys with absurd beards? (Hint - running convoy security in Iraq does not require you to blend in with the locals. This is even more absurd if you're cultivating a look that would blend you in with Afghan locals. Wrong country, nimrod.)

An official with the U.S. Embassy told The Associated Press that a State Department motorcade came under small-arms fire near Nisoor Square, and one of the vehicles was disabled.

My very limited experience with these guys leads me to not be surprised by this. They seemed to be the sort who came under small arms fire all the time. Then again, it's Iraq, and if you're in the habit of considering yourself "under fire" every time you hear a shot somewhere in the middle distance, that happens.

"We have revoked Blackwater's license to operate in Iraq. As of now they are not allowed to operate anywhere in the Republic of Iraq," Interior Ministry spokesman Brig. Gen. Abdul Kareem Khalaf said Monday. "The investigation is ongoing, and all those responsible for Sunday's killing will be referred to Iraqi justice."

It's questionable what, exactly, the Iraqi government can really do about this, but it's pleasing to see them take a stand on something useful.

Listen, I'm sure there are some very sharp guys running around with Blackwater. And I have already issued the disclaimer that my experience with them is limited - they ran security for State and other such things at the second place we worked in Iraq.

However, it doesn't take a whole lot of yahoos to cause serious trouble in a country we're trying to get up and on its feet. The U.S. military operates under monster, ponderous ROE for just that reason. And they do quite well in that difficult situation.

The contractors we employ need to do the same. The job is drive State Department people around, guys. Not live out Soldier of Fortune fantasies.

If you can't tell the difference, get your ass back to the States, or go guard a gate somewhere in Qatar, and leave those shoot-don't-shoot decisions to the kids making $22,597 a year (corporal over 3). They seem to do a better job.

We're not dead...

We're simply involved in home improvement.

I took a good look at the news the past few days, and decided I'd rather blog about the ongoing tiki bar project. Keeps my head from going Pow!.

So. We know there are fully assembled tiki bars available.


Nice, eh? And really, if I had a spare $1,899... But I don't. Between guns, motorcycles, dog toys, and these pesky "mortgage" and "utilities," the Bad Dog Household has more time than money.

Fortunately, one of the gentlemen with whom the Mister works has some training in architecture, and so we got plans. From the plans came the material list, and the cutting began.



Lots of cutting. Then there was assembling. And now we have - basic structure.



Credit where it's due - other than occasional "holding," this was the work of the Mister and his coworker. Now, however, comes the labor of love, which will be my baliwick.

It starts with this:



Then comes "weathering," staining, finishing the bar top and, finally, accessorizing.

In a stroke of good timing, the Mister will shortly be out of town (not in the military sense, but in the Big Motorcycle Road Trip sense), leaving me plenty of time to putz around with all of this.

I think it will require the drinking of much beer in the garage.

Hey!

Getting dressed for work, I put on my favorite black shirt and found five bucks in the front pocket.

That bodes well for the rest of the day, I think. We shall see.

Not to be mean or anything

But...c'mon, people...

Texan: Humberto 'snuck up on us'

"The intensity surprised everybody, especially the amount of rain and wind," [Galveston Deputy] Cavness said.

"It snuck up on us, to be honest with you. It wasn't something we were expecting."

Little note to my new state - if you're dumber than Florida residents, it doesn't say good things about you.

Snuck up on you? For the love of God, people, its' not a volcano, it's a freakin' hurricane. You might not have expected landfall at a particular point, you might not have expected a particular amount of rain, but a miles-wide tropical weather system that's been on the news for days should not come as a surprise to anyone who lives on the Gulf Coast.



That's not exactly something that one can fail to notice if one watches the weather. And I'm not telling anybody what to do, but perhaps, if it's September and you live on the Gulf, watching the weather might not be a bad idea.

Yahoos. Anyway...here's the link to the "current systems" page at the National Hurricane Center. We ridicule, but we educate.

[sigh]

The CMP E-store is down, which means I can't log in and stare longingly at my "pending orders."

That's really too bad, because I am singularly uninspired this evening.

Sorry about that, folks. I will endeavor to strive to do better.

Stealing time from work

My Garand order is processing! I just shrieked like a schoolgirl!

Once upon a time...

I was reading Murphy again, and he spoke, among other things, about a particularly foul cup of coffee in Iraq.

Long ago and far away, I was a young Marine public affairs type stationed on Okinawa. As military "journalists," we drank copious amounts of coffee from sunup until the bars opened.

We had a particularly irritating "shop duty" which required one of us junior pukes to trudge up to our basement Public Affairs Office in the wee dark hours and get things set for the day. We copied and distributed the Early Bird (which came in by fax), turned on lights, did some other random crap, and made the coffee.

Since we were stationed on Okinawa, periodically one of our Marines would get to travel to Iwo Jima. Veteran's groups, VIPs, and the occasionally over-motivated wing unit would go to the island for various reasons, and they all wanted official photos taken.

Now, we are all aware that in the all the grand mythology of the Marine Corps, there is no more hallowed battle than the one for Iwo Jima. Blood and death and sacrifice and valor and victory and the ghosts of long-gone heroes...it was a religous pilgrammage to make, and any small souvenier was treated like a sliver of the One True Cross.

One dark morning, a young corporal had Office Duty. He trudged up the hill, copied the Early Bird, and took a copy to each appointed desk. He turned on lights and then went to the main office to start the coffee. The big can, he noted, was empty.

So the corporal went to the supply closet, where there was a big red Folgers can, partially full. He set the coffee, then went out for a morning smoke and prepared to start his duty day.

The rest of the office rolled in. As was normal, the old gruff master sergeant was the first at the coffee pot. He stopped, peered at it, and hollered for the corporal.

"Yes, Top," the young man joined the master sergeant.

"Why is the coffee clear? Or cloudy? But not black?" The Top was perplexed, as was the corporal. The young man immediately opened the top of the coffeemaker to ensure he'd put the grounds in. Yep - wet and black. He looked at the Top, and the Top looked at him.

"What 'coffee' did you use?"

"We were out, so I used the half-can in the supply closet."

A sigh. A long, drawn-out, master sergeant sigh.

"Son, you made coffee with the sands of Iwo Jima."



Anybody could have made the mistake, I suppose.


Note - picture above swiped from a gentleman named, I believe, Joe Richard, who has a very nice page dedicated to those who served with such courage at the gates of Hell. Their valor allowed us to monkey around on a Japanese island 53 years later.

I am such a good shopper

So Dad needed a gun. For primarily decorative purposes. Please don't ask - he's getting stranger as he ages.

This could not, of course, be a simple gun. Oh no - it had to be a cowboy gun. It also had to be something in a slightly uncommon caliber, with which he can (in theory) hunt deer in Michigan brush, and for which he can eventually buy an equally cowboy-looking companion revolver in the same caliber.

Got that? And nothing too expensive.

Did I mention that Dad stopped interacting with technology in 1969? The last mouse he dealt with was scurrying around his woodpile. He stomped on it, and that was the end of that.

So during his recent visit I sat him down and we took a brief spin across the gun-nut section of this magnificent internet. We looked at guns by Marlin (just not cowboy enough), Henry (ahhh...a little expensive and really shiny and not quite right), and Cimarron (holy MSRP, Batman!). To say nothing of Uberti, Navy Arms, and all the rest.

Then we stumbled across the Puma. It's an Italian Brazilian (thanks, Drew! I knew that!) gun, made by Rossi, and imported. They make a lever rifle in .45 Long Colt with a 20-inch barrel and case-hardened color on the receiver.



Kinda pretty, if you're into that sort of thing. And affordable.

So Dad went home with an item number written down, and the gun dealer he prefers to use (just down the road from the hollow stump in the northern forest where I grew up) said, "Sorry, can't find one."

I searched the 'net. Gunbroker.com, which is becoming more and more simply a place where retailers list things at mediocre prices, was coming in just under MSRP. With shipping and transfer fees (which were abnormally high at Tree Stump Guns, by the way - I called), we were not looking at a good deal.

I found that Gander Mountain is a vendor for the Puma importer, so I called the one up North. They could get one, the man said, for $60 over MSRP.

That, I figured, was a load of Puma poo. Just after I resigned myself to lurking on Gunbroker and getting Dad on the hook to pay retail (ick!), I thought to myself, "self, you haven't looked to see if Bud's has one in stock."

Why, yes. Yes, they did. At about $130 under MSRP, and with free shipping to boot.

I've heard mixed reviews about Bud's, but it seems a reasonably functional group of people. I'll be interested to see how long it takes, as Dad will be mailing his payment to them. I shall keep y'all posted.

I'm so proud of myself. Saving that much money makes me want to go out and blow the "savings" on ammo and toys. But, alas, if it's not my money I saved, I don't think I get to do that.

The Report

It's raining here, which means my satellite TV is being less than useful. So I have CSpan.com up - is this technology stuff great or what?

I'm not going to do anything so ambitious as try to "liveblog" the Petraeus testimony, but until I get fed up, I'll watch and maybe comment.

The CSpan guys are chattering now, and I picked up one bit of info. They expect the general to testify from roughly 1230 Eastern until 1830. With two breaks. In front of a joint committee.

Does that sound worse than having bamboo jammed under your fingernails or what? I can imagine a lot of unhappy things, but six hours of nonstop grilling by a politicians primarily interested in posturing...that's torture, dammit. Amnesty Internation ought to come to the rescue of Gen. Petaeus around 1600, if the world were fair.

OK. I"m going to have a smoke and wait for this testimony to begin. We'll do further commentary below.

Intros and Opening Statements

Alright. CSpan.org suddenly became less-than-reliable, but the rain let up enough that I think I’ve got MSNBC coming in Lima Charlie.

We shall see.

This whole thing is starting out with…a heckler? There’s a voice hollering and…Ike Skelton (D-Mo) bounces ‘em. “Out they go!” Long pause…. “are they gone?”

Breaks at 1425 and 1625? For five minutes?

“What may be the most important hearing of the year.” Well, Ike’s got the picture.

Insert here long, drawn-out rambling by Ike Skelton. As soon as he referenced the 1921 testimony of Gen. Leonard Wood regarding the Spanish American War, I decided it was a good time to cook lunch.

Ike says, and I paraphrase, that Petraeus is the right man, but two years and 250,000 troops too late. I don't quite understand that statement. Time is an artificial constraint in this situation, and numbers of troops...well, that's a variable entirely within the control of gentlemen like Skelton.

Note - Petraeus has odd hair. As does Ambassador Crocker. Can't someone help these gentlemen out?

Rep. Tom Lantos is a very scary man. The accent does not help (accent explained here). "Every single one of us wants you to succeed in your efforts to the greatest possible extent." Forgive me my doubts, but I wonder about that.

Huh? Lantos says, "our witnesses have been sent here this morning to restore credibility to a discredited policy." I thought they were there by Congressional order to deliver a mandated progress report.

Now Duncan Hunter is talking. When the TV guys introduced this, I thought there'd be a little chatter before the witnesses spoke. Apparently, I was wrong. We all love Duncan Hunter, but there's nothing particularly surprising to be found here.

I'm going to go cook my pasta, as I think the water is boiling. I shall return.

Is anyone going to let the General speak?

No - apparently not.

Hey - here's a powerful member of the ruling elite whose son and daughter-in-law are both Marine captains. They've both done time in Iraq, and the daughter-in-law is apparently currently in Afghanistan.

That would be Rep. Ileana Ros-Lehtinen (R-FL).

I like this woman. She's called out Moveon.org and Neville Chamberlain, as well as Congressional surrender weasels. All within a couple of minutes. More posturing, of course, but she's doing it well. Heck - she just quoted the most recent NIE on Iraq.

Holy crap! They're letting Petraeus talk! Or trying to - the microphone appears to have been installed by three hungover specialists....

(banter during the technical difficulty tells us the Rep. Lantos, who we talked about earlier, is the only Holocaust survivor serving in Congress. Huh - don't I feel like a jerk for making fun of his accent.)

Ike is throwing out more shouting people. And another of the committee members is blustering about how much more effectively he could throw hecklers out of the room.

Duncan Hunter, it appears, is suggesting he be allowed to punch hecklers.

I'm going to go have another cigarette.

Now I'm back and apparently, this audio problem is not resolving itself. Chris Matthews is talking, which is always a downer.

Oooh! We've got audio.

Quick political test - do you think the audio issue was a secret Bush plot to keep the people from hearing the truth, do you think it was sabotage by pinko-lefties designed to silence pro-Bush military leadership, or do you think it was a SNAFU?

"I believe that we will be able to reduce our forces to the pre-surge level of brigade combat teams by next summer" without giving up the progress made thus far, says the general. Throws a bone to that certain crowd that cares about being done more than about victory or defeat.

He's doing a splendid job of pointing out that his plan, what we call the surge, has only really been in motion since mid-June.

These charts are...charts. They follow a big old disseration on the validity of the numbers coming out of MNFI, and the solid methodlogy by which those numbers are produced.

Ruh-roh...here we are saying the quiet part loud, as Petraeus starts drawing the clear lines linking Iranian Revolutionary Forces and Hezbollah and the EFP attacks and assasinations across Iraq....

Whew...fortunately, some brave Voices of Dissent from one of the anti-war groups were there to stand up and begin shouting down the Man. Ike calls a halt and has the bums tossed out. Go, Ike!

Time for another smoke, and I need to rotate laundry. I may return if anything exciting happens.

Leavin'...on a jet plane...

Petraeus now talking about the point at which he feels we can start to draw down, saying it would be premature to make predictions about the pace of drawdowns past next summer. And token reductions this winter - the MEU (Marine Expeditionary Unit) that's there will leave soon, he says.

Well, yes. MEUs take six-month cruises. He also refers to a BCT (brigade combat team) departing around the new year without replacement. Beyond that, he's not committing to anything, which is without a doubt a good idea.

He just handled the whole "change the mission strictly to training" issue - that is, if we made our mission one strictly of training Iraqi Security Forces, rather than one of providing security and killin' terrorists, we'd lose fewer people and could reduce our forces.

Petraeus pointed out handily that we've seen before what happens when we hand off tasks to the Iraqi Security Forces before they're ready - really bad stuff.

We seem to be closing out the general's portion of all this madness. He concludes and there's....more heckling!!! By women in pink outfits, weating foam rubber tiaras and buttons with slogans on them?!?!

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Loyal Opposition. [spit]

About that "Loyal Opposition"

Do they even call themselves that anymore?

I've been trying to find a pic of the yahoos that Ike "The Doorman" Skelton threw out of the hearing earlier, with no luck.

But a little sleuthing around revealed that these were probably members of Code Pink. I'm taking that primarily from the fact that they were wearing pink outfits. So I could be totally wrong, and it could just be one of those awkward coincidences of fashion.

But I did manage to find a pic of a fellow protestor on the front steps of the Capitol earlier today.



Well, that just screams credibility, doesn't it? When I sitting in the dirt outside of Baghdad, this is the sort of person I wanted influencing those who owned my ass. The same and other angles are available here.

[spit]

I'm getting the urge to start drinking, which tells me maybe I need to turn off the TV and clean up the kitchen.

Gettin' whatcha pay for

I have said before, and I will maintain, that if you are buying common handgun practice ammo, WalMart cannot be beat. I restocked the .45 the other day with 50-round boxes of Blazer Brass at $9.97.

A household shortage of cottage cheese and limeade required another Wally World run yesterday, so I figured I'd rememdy a little 9mm shortage I'd noticed while pawing around the Bad Dog ASP.

The Sporting Goods dude double bagged my Winchester White Box, and I didn't think another thing of it. Until, as I was crossing the parking lot, I heard an odd "tink." Followed, a second later, by another "tink."

When I'm in the WalMart parking lot, I'm normally not watching my groceries. Making it across that parking lot is like crossing between trenches in WWI, and requires all my attention. But I finally looked down.

I was drizzling cartridges.

Note to self: WWB 9mm is packed loose in 100-round boxes. When sloppily bagged, these boxes can turn over. This can lead to me walking back across the scorching Parking Lot O' Death, plucking shiny rounds off the asphalt.

I will admit, I was a little surprised nobody was out there snatching them up. I followed the trail back to its beginning, picking up 15-20 rounds. Fortunately, I'd made it well out of the store before the leakage began.

Cheap ammo, but also, cheap packaging.



Additional note to self: My husband is not stupid, and does not believe me when I tell him WalMart was offering three free Value Packs of Winchester 9mm with the purchase of Borden's cottage cheese.

About the kitchen...

Apparently I'm not the only one out there who thinks these colors can look a little different from the sample once they're on the wall.



That's quite orange. Note the accessory in this next shot. Not a whole lot of difference, is there?



Jack says, "I'm colorblind, but man, that's orange!"

Mr. Abby said, "My kitchen looks like a Mexican restuarant." Oddly, he seemed bummed about that.

I'm going to finish it, do the touchups, and then we'll see if it grows on us.

Huh.

I think I just painted my kitchen orange.

I don't mean kinda-orange. I mean orange.

Not sure what I think about that. My high school colors were black and orange (go Trojans!), and after four years of perpetual Halloween, I've been fairly burned out on the color ever since.

This kitchen is going to take some thinking about. Either it's going to grow on me, or it's going to be gone.

Catching up

Just a short collection of snaps from the past few days, for those who might be interested. Wild and crazy night of priming the kitchen. Fortunately, the primer looks like ass, so we'll probably move on to actual paint at a slightly less glacial pace than the one we've taken so far on this project.

First off, a picture of my grandmother, with her favorite Bad Dog.



She took Sparky in when I was downrange and Mr. Abby was out of pocket for a few months. I seriously wondered if we'd get him back. He was in her lap her entire visit. We've lost his airplane carrier, which is probably good, since I think she may have made off with him if it were around.

The downside of Sparky, of course, is his stench. It's a Yorkie thing, I think. So sometimes, he requires bathing. I know we've mentioned this before, but I think this time I got a shot that truly captures how he feels about the bath process.



Isn't that pathetic? You'd think we beat him, and not that moments later, after a brisk towel treatment, he was curled up under the blanket on the bed. In my spot, of course.

And finally, a Bad Dog Product Test that didn't ever really come to fruition.



I've been using MagPul PMags lately - and they are a great piece of gear. I just ordered some more, and was feeling a little envious of all the gun people who were running over them with pickups, dropping them from skyscrapers, etc. So I thought I'd stage a little test of my own called Can A PMag Survive Being a Chew Toy?

Well, to know that, I'd have had to let the dog keep it more than 30 minutes. But the sound of a magazine being dropped on a tile floor roughly every 15 seconds cut that experiment off at the knees.

More tomorrow, perhaps even with some discussion of Osama Bin Laden's entry into the Commemorative Video bidness.

Words of wisdom

We've got CNN on this morning, and as they talked about the latest Mattel toy lead paint fiasco, my grandmother came up with an idea we should probably all consider.

"I think, if I had a child that age around," she said, "I'd say, just play with the dog - at least we know where he came from."

She might be onto something with that.

Oh, Larry...

We're not going to dwell on Senator Larry Craig and his...issue. We here at BDC support everyone's right to be just as gay as they might want to be. It's a big lonely world and if you find something to get you through it...who are we to judge?

But if you're one of those "traditional values" Republicans and you get busted looking for love in a public men's room....

Well, then we feel okay about making fun of you.

But Senator Craig announced that he would resign, which is really the only thing to do under the circumstances. Heterosexual rent-a-friends (ala Sen. Vitter)can be overcome. The gay kind on the other hand...not so easy to move past for a Republican politician.

Then he hired Michael Vick's lawyer, which, if you asked us, is...a move that certainly indicates something, even if we're not sure what that something is. We'd tend to consider it the move of a shifty weasel, not an utterly innocent man.

Then again, I wouldn't think an utterly innocent professional lawmaker would think that pleading guilty to this particular charge would not "suppress a story."

So now the good Senator is apparently hedging? Perhaps, his people say, he may not resign after all.

Please, Larry. A bit of advice - go away. There is a time when the best thing to do is exit stage left. This, Senator, is one of those times. Take what little dignity you have left and hit the road.

These weekends...

have been mildly busy. My grandmother is here - which is groovy. I have one of the world's coolest grandmothers - if it weren't for her I'd have never seen Madagascar, or the Galapagos, or wandered around northern England one Sping Break. That's just the direct stuff - her influence is probably responsible for a significant amount of my wanderlust.

So, she's here and hanging out with her is A Good Thing. I'll get some pictures up, and will get back to y'all in a couple of days.

It's always something...

T’was a beautiful morning at Bad Dog Central. I was sitting out on the back porch, enjoying a smoke and some coffee before work. Casey was stretched out beside me, Jack lounged in a lounge chair by the pool (yes – he does that). And Sparky was at the far end of the pool enclosure, barking hysterically at some doves on the power line behind the house.

Not all bad, I thought. Friday morning, not much to do at work, should be a pretty painless –

SPLASH!

I jumped up. I was looking directly at Jack, who is the only Bad Dog who should be splashing anywhere. Raced up onto the pool deck, spotted Sparky dogpaddling furiously to stay afloat in the not-by-the-steps end. He’s not much of a swimmer, so he was paddling his tiny paws off to keep his head above water. And he’s not big enough to crawl out over the edge.

So, down on my belly I went. In my work clothes (which are pretty casual, but still). On the wet and dirty pooldeck. Plucked the little guy out and set him down on dry land. He yakked and gakked and spit water out for a moment.

I returned to my chair and my smoke and my coffee. In seconds I had a small wet dog on my lap (with dirty paws. On my work clothes). In Sparky’s world, he’d been plucked out of water that may has well have been 400 feet deep, and he was going to stay on my lap as long as I’d let him.

And that’s how I ended up at work in slightly damp clothes that have muddy dogprints on them, and why I walked in smelling just a little like a wet terrier.

That’s also why Home Despot made more money off us, as the Mister has already procured gate-making materials to keep the Little Guy from having any other unfortunate pool incidents.

[sigh] It’s not easy being the Alpha Female around here, I tell you what.

Quick update

BDC is, perhaps, what we could call "pre-tizzy" this morning. In a day or so, I think we'll be all in a tizzy.

The last remaining family members who have NOT been down here yet pulled into a neighboring town late last night. They're here for an event, but we shall have company at some point. I should probably mop or something.

Casey is acting suspicious about her back again - I'm wondering if we need a more extended course of antibiotics and steriods to whip her itchy spots.

I'm engaged in some paperwork goatropery (details of which I will share at an appropriate time) which is turning out to yet again be a goatrope involving paperwork. Since I'll be having company, I'd like to get the mounds of paperwork stowed away where they belong, but it doesn't look like that's going to happen.

[sigh]

Blogging will probably yet again become furtive and incoherent for a few days. Sorry 'bout that.

Over the edge

of madness...I think this must be the final step. I came home to this:



Which, after much hanging and drilling and cursing, looked like this:



Yes. Those are two glowing puppy eyes outside, trying to figure out exactly how this contraption works. That was finaly resolved - kind of.



Except it really doesn't work for simultaneous two-way traffic, but they've got it pretty much figured out.

Kudos to Mr. Abby. The big question tomorrow will be: how much of our stuff will Jack the Puppy drag outside while we're at work?

We're #1! We're #1

In per capita civilian firearms ownership, that is. According to this Reuters story, the United States is "the most heavily armed society in the world."

U.S. citizens own 270 million of the world's 875 million known firearms, according to the Small Arms Survey 2007 by the Geneva-based Graduate Institute of International Studies.

About 4.5 million of the 8 million new guns manufactured worldwide each year are purchased in the United States, it said.

"There is roughly one firearm for every seven people worldwide. Without the United States, though, this drops to about one firearm per 10 people," it said.

That's right - U.S. firearms owners do more to combat worldwide poverty among small arms manufacturers than any other citizenry on earth.

On a per-capita basis, Yemen had the second most heavily armed citizenry behind the United States, with 61 guns per 100 people, followed by Finland with 56, Switzerland with 46, Iraq with 39 and Serbia with 38.

And we totally smoked Yemen. They should keep that in mind the next time one of our naval vessels makes a port call in Aden.

France, Canada, Sweden, Austria and Germany were next, each with about 30 guns per 100 people, while many poorer countries often associated with violence ranked much lower. Nigeria, for instance, had just one gun per 100 people.

The wording there makes me think France may be more heavily armed than Canada, which would be surprising. Then again...

Only about 12 percent of civilian weapons are thought to be registered with authorities.

And all those who opted not to participate in Canada's famously stupid and ineffective registration may have been a little hesitant to check the yes box on this particular survery.

Intriguing little read, and you all know I love to share news that points out what a wonderful country we live in.

'Cause I promised

my Mom, here's some imagery from the latest round of Dog Power Games. Casey eats vegetables. Loves 'em. Jack eats most everything. Casey is Senior, and Jack wishes he was.

So when a green onion was somehow knocked off the counter yesterday evening, although neither of them really wanted it, nor did they want the other to have it.

Jack got there first, and it led to a 20-minute slow-motion chase around the house and he carried it reluctantly around, with Casey in equally-reluctant pursuit.



In the end, the onion was ground into the carpet by the back door and forgotten in a frenzy of barking related to some stupid sound from behind the house.

Really, upon further reflection, the whole thing could have been sort of a canine interpretive theater piece on the workings of Congress. Stupid, petty, ultimately smelly and, in the end, the briefly enthralling subject was abandoned in favor of trying to track down what smelled like skunk.

Socially unacceptable

It's getting so I can't be trusted to talk to anyone.

Last weekend, we had some of the Mister's coworkers over for drinks and charred meat. I managed to execute a flawless foot-in-mouth by making a rude remark about our...enthusiasticaly religious neighbors and their ongoing efforts to recruit us into their flock.

Did anyone warn Abby that the Mister's boss and his wife were devoutly religious folks? Oh, noo...

I apologized, and felt like an ass. Bad manners in the extreme, but hey - it happens.

Yesterday evening, we were standing in the cereal aisle at the local grocery-store-that-sucks-compared-to-Publix. My better half was blocking the aisle, and a couple of people a shade over four feet tall needed to pass.

"Gangway, honey," I said. "Short people to your rear."

Short people being a term I use for children.

Or, in this case, as I realized the second the words left my mouth, a for real dwarf/midget/little person and a child.

If they heard me, they were easygoing enough to not take offense.

I normally don't worry a whole lot about what I say to folks. As Popeye would say, I yam what I yam. But I do try not to say hurtful or rude things to nice people and stangers.

I'm on a roll, though, and am a little hesitant to speak in public right now. It is, it seems, one of those weeks when I would somehow manage to tell a group of schoolchildren they'd really "taken one up the ass" by missing the ice cream truck.

Why is it

that one never has guests when the house is clean?

A big howdy to those dropping by from LawDog's place - welcome!

Someday, when I get thrown a link, I'm going to be in the midst of a period of high-quality blogging. Someday.

Until then, pay no attention to the dog hair on the floor, and just scoot the toys off the couch. Please feel free to wander around and see if there's anything fresh or an old buried bone that smells good to you.

The Vick Thing

So we come at last to discussing Michael Vick.

I think we probably already know the Official Bad Dog Position on whole thing, right? Vick oughta be shot. No kidding. I'll do it - if you're a federal prosecutor with the power to set that up, the email link is on the left side of the page.

So the disgust is a given. But some folks seemed a little perplexed - why are so many people so hung up on this vileness?

Well, here you go.

We are people who believe in mercy. Our culture (is it American culture? Western Anglo culture? Midwestern culture? Military culture?) believe that is is not merely wrong to harm those weaker than us, but that it is a sign of moral bankruptcy to do so.

We are men who do not abuse women, we are women who do not harm children and old folks. We do our best to raise children who do not throw rocks at kittens.

There is a basic concept of decency in this culture we have been raised in that tells us it is our duty to not harm those weaker than us - although we may well be able to do so with few or no repercussions.

We can simply think of it as Spiderman Morality. Remember the line? With great power comes great responsibility.

We can take the word "great" out and the line makes even more sense for day-to-day living. With power comes responsibility.

Thus our varying levels of disgust when we find people betraying this gentleman's understanding of how our society should run. A man abuses his wife? That is reprehensible - but on some level, we understand she is a grown woman, with the physical ability to leave. An adult abuses a child? That is more reprehensible - children cannot really leave. They cannot drive, they cannot have jobs. They are entirely dependent, and have no recourse other than to muster the understanding and bravery to ask for help.

And animals. Why the obsession with animals? We know that animals are less than humans, on whatever grand cosmic measuring scheme tracks such things. But there is an implied trust in our relationship with our pet animals that many of us take quite seriously. We have created the domestic dog and cat, and they cannot survive on their own. We, as humans, have arranged things so that these are beasts that exist in our homes and lives with no avenue of escape, entirely dependent on our goodwill for their quality of life.

And there it is. The dog in your house cannot leave, and he will not grow up and move out and take charge of his own life. From puppy to being planted in the flower bed out back, his quality of life is entirely dependent on the kindness of his master.

That's something many "critter people" enjoy. Each of my dogs was plucked from some unhappy situation, and it makes me happy that they will live out their lives with decent veterinary care, regular feedings and soft places to sleep. I could shoot them or starve them, but I know that would be wrong. And so I treat them well, and it makes me feel as if I am doing right.

Which bring us to Vick. Vick is a grown man, with money and power, and had some dogs. Not only did he allow terrible things to happen to them, he did terrible things to them. Worse yet, he did not do these terrible things "accidentally." He did not fail to feed his dogs because he had no money, nor did he beat his dogs with a stick in a fit of rage.

No - he did worse. He subjected a totaly powerless yet sentient being to pain and suffering, repeatedly - habitually - for his own amusement.

That's worse. Allowing or causing pain or damage to those below us on the power/dependence scale is vile. Doing so for our own amusement is utterly repulsive.

That's the difference between thumping your kid a little too hard for talking back, and burning her with cigarettes and giggling when she cries.

It demonstrates a horrifying lack of empathy. A horrifying lack of humanity. A horrifying lack of mercy.

Mercy, ladies and gentlemen, is what separates us from the savages. The concept of a merciful society is what keeps our Army on its posts, drinking in bars and getting tattoos rather than looting and pillaging. Mercy is what keeps our young men working rather than raping and robbing. Mercy keeps us putting up with our Grandfather's chatter at the Thanksgiving table rather than leaving him out to freeze in the backyard when he's no longer useful.

Mercy, coupled with eternal vigilance, is what allows us to live free of fear and desperation.

A society without mercy looks like the dark corners of the New Orleans Kingdome during Hurricane Katrina. It looks like a Central American banana republic where people "disappear" at the hands of gangs and death squads. A society utterly without mercy looks like Rwanda, or the Sudan.

We look at someone like this shitbag football hero, and we see someone drunk on his position in the world, and utterly without regard for anything living that he might consider "below" him. We look at that smirk when confronted with the details of brutal killings of pet animals, and we wonder how such a man might be with his women (because we know the women in his life were always "his"). We wonder how he would be with the elderly, the young.

And on some level, we know. We see that cruel smirk at the idea of strangling a dog, and we have a pretty good idea about Vick at home. About Vick in bed, Vick with elderly relatives and about Vick with children.

Cruelty is evil, and that's all there is to it. There is no cultural excuse for cruelty - this sort of behavior is uncivilized, and I think it's the fact that everyone knows it that makes folks uncomfortable.

Cruelty is uncivilized, and any defense of cruelty is a defense of savagery. Any culture which condones or enjoys cruelty for amusement is a savage culture. And there is no room left for those cultures.

That's why people are high and to the right about this. We see defenses of Vick's behavior, and we know the truth. Those defending Vick, or making light of his acts, are simply defending savagery, and there is no excuse for that.

Bath Time!

Our lives are not always a giant festival of excitement. That's usually the case, but even swingin' wild folk like the Mister and I occasionally have a quiet night in. Nights like that are when we start to notice that we may have...canine stench issues.

I'm talking about the Little Guy. The big dogs shed, and so they smell pretty okay most of the time. Sparky, on the other hand... Once in a while he'll jump up in my lap and my eyes will water.

That, folks, means it's time for a bath. Once in a while he gets washed in the sink, and occasionally we just dunk him in the pool and swish him around a little. But more often he just ends up in the shower with one of us.

This does not make Sparky happy.



It seems he works long and hard to develop a good stench, and when we try to take it away, he's less-than-thrilled. But he weighs nine pounds and there's not much he can do about it.

Some members of the household wonder why they do not get to take showers.



Someday I shall tell the story of the World's Least Relaxing Bath, wherein I was trying to relax and read a magazine while keeping Jack from launching himself into the tub with me.

Once the Evil Horrible Torture Bath has ended, a towel is applied. Sparky then races through the house, rolling on each dog bed and entry rug in an attempt to regain at least a little stench. Because that's important.

In the end, proper bath recovery requires burrowing in somewhere warm until he's dry. This is most entertaining when he burrows into the bed, because there's nothing like snuggling up to your pillow late at night and discovering it's damp and smells of wet dog.



Worse yet, of course, is snuggling up to your pillowing and realizing it is a small damp dog.

So there's your weekend helping of cute dog pics.

Things I learned in the production of this post - The Mister freaks out just a little bit if he's in the shower and I suddenly begin snapping pictures. And that's kinda funny.

I am that person

Shortly after moving in, we either bought an object or subscribed to a service that offered a rebate in the form of a couple of Visa gift cards. Since the Mister reaped the benefits of the last gift card, these were mine.

Of course, one of them was immediately sacrificed on the ammo altar. The other, though...

Well, I can't help myself. I'm a sucker for big brown eyes.



That's right - the Dog Toy Fairy will be coming to visit. Got some Bad Cuz toys, and some Kongs.



Photos and Toy Fairy by PetSmart.

Fraud, waste and abuse

A better employee than me would never think of blogging from work. However, it's Saturday and there's really no good reason for me to be here.

Well, actually, there is. Someone has to talk to the lunatics.

Thus far I have had:
A - A team of yahoos up in New York City so lost it took two of them, in ongoing conversation with one another, to place a phone order for a single object. This is why I avoid taking calls, and why I love be a non-commissioned employee.

B - A man in California who is convinced that Federal Express is out to get him, and that the whole "came out to meet the driver while carrying a rifle" issue was one big misunderstanding. I earned my meager pay talking to this one.

C - A doctor in Florida whose expensive Box-o-Stuff is missing somewhere, and was upset because his other doctor buddy in Florida was driving up from a different city to share in the Crate-o-Goodness. He had no way to contact his buddy and tell him the box wasn't there, because apparently doctors in Florida do not have cellphones.

D - A vigorous discussion among my coworkers on whether or not selling a man a crate of soft point ammo when he'd asked for lead round nose was a Bad Thing. This discussion would have been over much more quickly if anyone working today except me knew the difference. And although my employer Shall Not Be Named On The Blog, trust me - people working here should know the difference.

Lot of crazy people out there. And lots of confused ones, too. And the most entertaining thing is - I have no clue. You call me, you can tell me anything. Chances are, I'll believe you.

Once in a while, when I get off the phone with someone, I ask myself, "was that guy totally full of it, and did I just get bent over?"

Sometimes, I'm sure the answer is yes. Sometimes even a resounding yes. But I do get the occasional call from someone, usually when I've replaced an item lost-in-shipping, to tell the original has showed up and they now have two items, but only paid for one. These folks invariably want to either send one back or pay me, which is display of integrity that often catches me off guard but is still always pleasing.

That'll do for now. If I do more posting on my employer's dime, I'll try to NOT have it be about my tiresome day.

We can learn a lot...

...from the mistakes of others. So let's go right and do that, shall we?

From Arizona, we have this gem: Police: Woman Stabs Husband During Sex

This is immediately interesting, is it not? Tragic accident while gettin' their monkey on in the Bayonet Room? Nekkid Teppanyaki gone horribly awry? Or something darker, perhaps.

Well, yes. And it wasn't simply a case of...consumer dissatisfaction with the product, so to speak.

[Mrs.] Gonzales told officers [Mr.] Gonzales had left the home one month ago and ended their marriage.

Okaaay...but why is he then at said house, having sex with her?

Police said she received a telephone call from Gonzales on Tuesday morning requesting she meet him at their home to have the home appraised.

So that's why he was at the house, although it really doesn't answer the second part of the question. Let's read on, shall we?

Falon said she began to cry and Gonzales consoled her, officers said. They began kissing and she later suggested they enter the master bedroom bathroom to have sexual intercourse, according to her account.

My men are out there saying, "there's your proof that women trot out tears unfairly to trick men!" My ladies, however, are saying, "there's your proof that men are idiots when confronted with any opportunity to get some."

It goes downhill from there.

During sex, Falon reached into the duffle bag, removed the knife and stabbed him in the chest, officers said.

But now - ladies especially, pay attention!

[Mr.] Gonzales was able to flee the home.

[Mrs.] Gonzales was arrested on charges of attempted homicide. A preliminary hearing has been set for Sept. 4. She is on supervised release under an electronic monitoring program.

Do not count on killing your estranged husband with a single knife-poke while having sex in the bathroom! Effectively killing someone with a knife is harder than it seems. Either practice, or run him down with a pickup.

Less-than-positive indicators

I went to bed early last night so I could wake up at an ungodly hour and drive 38 miles for an appointment that, as it turned out, didn't happen.

Drove back like a bat out of Hell (insert appropriate Meatloaf track here) to let dogs out and avoid house pees. Good thing I came back, because the Mister and I had managed to somehow lock Jack outside this morning when we left.

[sound of head slapping into open palm]

Now I must go to the gas station (the morning's jaunt has me sucking fumes) and head to work.

This is going to be a truly outstanding day. I can tell already.

Not a good start

to the day this morning. Blogger was being posessed, so I went out in the yard for a smoke. I'd just finished running, and was wearing a tank top. As I stood there, a honeybee landed in my armpit. I tried to brush it off, and was stung in an act of wholly uncalled for bee aggression.

So I left for work. Some mornings, one should not strive to accomplish much.

Something for everyone...

Today I got a package of stuff I'd ordered. In the package was the usual assortment of flyers and ads and all that good stuff. Including one for a particularly sacchrine plate featuring a big-eyed Maltese puppy. Another insert advertised an odd bust of bulldog/man with a Marine Corps theme.

That's right, gang. I got the Bradford Exchange flyers.

Let me tell you...no matter what floats your boat, these folks have some sort of odd knicknack to fit.

Into unicorns? The Bradford Exchange people got your back.

Follow a vision to the fairy realm, to a magical place of wonder. Here a beautiful princess, along with a trio of sprites and a mystical unicorn, suddenly appear under a trail of glistening stardust. This Bradford Exchange collector plate is a dream come true.

But what if your thing isn't unicorns? What if you're more like me, and you're into...I dunno...real critters? Gotcha covered there, too. Let's see...we have a Yorkie, and we're mildly fond of him. What do we have in Yorkie Paraphenelia?



It's the World's Ugliest Clock! With a Yorkie! Or, to hear the Bradford Exchange folks tell it...

Yorkies are an adorable breed! With their sweet personalities, long hair, black button nose and dark, inquisitive eyes, they quickly melt your heart and become your best friend for life. Now, you can be reminded of your forever love for the special Yorkie in your life with a stunning collectible Yorkie mantel clock, set in a porcelain sculpted case and adorned with adorable Yorkie portraiture by acclaimed canine artist Michael Vistia.

It occurs to me that Michael Vistia probably did this particular object de art and then quietly went out in the yard and shot himself.

But what if you're not into unicorns or dogs, but are instead a more patriotic sort? Well, that's when the really odd stuff comes out. We got this option:



It's described as, "a patriotic tour de force." Well, that's sure one way of looking at it. Listen, I love the Marine Corps like only a true convert can, but this thing? Not in my house.

But if that's a little too serious for you...



Oh, Cousin R! Is that a Christmas gift waiting to happen or what? Ahem...

Set sail on the open road with this handsome U.S. Navy collectible teddy bear figurine! He's lookin' cool in his casual yet crisp white t-shirt, sailor's cap and blue jeans - check out those shades! And every biker bear knows there's no better way to see the country he serves than from the seat of a tricked out motorcycle - this one is loaded with "chrome" trim, cool anchor-motif wheels, and a dashing anchor emblem on the gas tank!

Most horrifying is that I think there's one for each service.

But, of course, there is always one object that even the most ornery of us would buy. In my case?



'Cause shepherds rock.

Like roaches

My sincere apologies to any readers who may have been looking for links to slot machines, free discount viagra, or anything of the sort.

While I've been drinking beer and talking fishing with Dad, apparently the Random Letter Login Spammers dropped by. That's irritating, and so I whacked them.

More later, when there's no beer to drink and we've told all the Fish Stories.

One more thing...

I just ordered some of that Georgia Arms .30 carbine soft point. I've heard good things about it. Price isn't bad, since the cheap soft point is just stupid, when it can even be found.

These ammo prices, and solid word of more pending increases, have me laying the stuff in like it's going out of style. I think it's entirely possible that over the course of the last ten years, ammo (particularly good .223) may very well have held its own with gold as an investment.

I'm not even preparing for the end of the world, I'd just like to continue to be able to make range trips (and more frequently as life falls back into line) and not go broke doing it. Which has lead to some weirdness.

When the kids were here, I moved the ammo (in cans) out to the garage. Not underfoot that way, you see. The Mister looked the other day and remarked that the cooler temps in the house would probably be better.

Boy howdy, would they! Thought he'd never bring that up!

So we trooped the cans into the closet in Girl Child's room.

Before they left, they were speculating on what we'd do with all the space when they were gone (they've reached the age where it occurs to them they do take up space). They may have had some ideas, but I don't think they figured we'd turn their rooms into an ASP.

Heh.

So there we were

the Mister was "texturing." I hate to say it, but he may have found his calling (by the by - the creepy look last night was just the drying pattern - this seems to be working pretty well).

I thought I'd give Dad a call and see how he was progressing. Around 8.

"I'm just outside of Memphis," he said. "I'm letting the dog drive so I'm making good time. I should probably be there to have coffee with you tomorrow morning."

Thankfully, father visits do not excite the same cleaning hysteria and feeling of domestic inadequecy as mother visits. I shoved an armload of bedding into the washer, took out all the truly egregious garbage, and ran the vacuum.

That ought to do. But I am going to turn in a little early, because the kitchen (newly textured) could use a wee bit more tidying in the morning.

Passing the buck

I rolled out of bed this morning. Yes, I was going to run. Put on my PT clothes, stumbled out into the kitchen...noticed a mile-high stack of dishes and realized I needed laundry.

[sigh]

Thought it would rude of me to leave the dishes for the Mister (he gets home first), so I scrapped my run and did 'em. Oh, the sacrifices I make...

Now, if I shower quickly, I should be left with sufficient time to find a notary this morning. There's some new paperwork that must get on its way to Anniston, Alabama...

Good times

Spent the evening making the kitchen (former home of the Ugliest Wallpaper in Texas) into a kitchen with textured walls. It's a work in progress.

I'm about to go to bed, and the walls we completed...man...I hope I'm seeing a drying issue and they'll look normal in the morning.

We're trying applying a layer of joint compound, then texturing with a damp sponge. I'll get back to y'all on how that all works out...

Note to self: Do not ask the people who sit by me at work if they know where the illegal Mexican day laborers hang out. Apparently, this is a social error in Texas. And no matter how many times you say, "hey - I'm just askin'!" nobody will believe you.

I think we've been here before...

as some yahoo bleats the term "draft!" with much concern and a scholarly note of resignation.

Firt, LTG Douglas Lute, who really must have pissed someone off to get stuck with this whole "war czar" billet, made the godawful media error of saying that a draft could and should be considered as a viable option when making military plans.

Full response during the NPR interview:

I think it makes sense to certainly consider it, and I can tell you, this has always been an option on the table, but ultimately, this is a policy matter between meeting the demands for the nation's security by one means or another. Today, the current means of the all-volunteer force is serving us exceptionally well. It would be a major policy shift — not actually a military, but a political policy shift to move to some other course.

Methinks the general may have found a way out of the world's most awkward job.

It is worth noting that if we examine the general's bio, we find a good amount of staff work. Specifically, planning work. Quick note - hearing an experienced planning officer say something needs to be kept in mind is not cause to stop the presses. These guys do what the term implies - they plan. Somewhere out there in a drawer in the Pentagon or at NorthComm, there are plans for invading Nova Scotia, I'm sure. I'm equally sure there are different options to that plan, based off of whether we're running a conscript or volunteer military when the fateful days comes.

Military planners are the sorts of people who have, in the backs of their minds, a plan to nuke their mothers' 75th birhday parties parties. Not because they want to, you see, but because wouldn't you feel like an ass if you had to nuke her birthday party and hadn't bothered to plan for it?

Of course a draft is on the table. We have the system in place, and it's an option. As long as it doesn't involve unicorns or the sword of Godric Gryffindor, it's probably "on the table" for planners.

Good lord, people.

Last resorts

We were talking about Garands. And about smacking folks with 'em. Rabbit used one of my favorite verbs - "buttstroke." That, for my non-military folks, would be the fine art of smacking an adversary with the butt end of a shotgun, rifle or carbine. You've got your horizontal buttstroke, and your vertical buttstoke.

What? Oh, okay. Let's have some chapter, and some verse. First, let's look at the horizontal option.



Kinda catchy, ain't it? Admit it - even now you're thinking of someone in your life who could use a good buttstroke. But it gets better. I've always found the vertical buttstroke a little more appealing.



Yeah...I know you dig it.

Only the Marine Corps would use low-resolution photos of a black man, wearing a black T-shirt, with a black rifle, in a reasonably dark forest, in a black and white publication. Love my Corps... Other topics addressed in the same section include Tent Pegs and Sharpened Stick - Almost as Useful as a Grenade! and Throwing Rocks at Bad Guys - We're Pretending This is a Viable Option.

Anyway. Never let it be said you waste your time here at Bad Dog Central. We try to provide valuable education on a daily basis.

(note to the curious - all materials shamelessly scanned from my old 1993 Marine Battle Skills Training Handbook, Individual Combat Tasks for the Private-Lance Corporal)

Morning update

Sparky is fine. He appears to have suffered no ill effects from his toad encounter, although it's hard to tell, since he's always been inclined to hop in small circles and bark at nothing.

I think I annoyed him to the point of thinking about biting me last night - one more pulse check while he was trying to sleep and I may have lost a finger.

The party, my friends, just never ends here.

Swear to God...

If they're not losing their hair in patches, puking on the one piece of carpet in the entire house or devouring my ammo, they're still up to something.

Tonight? Tonight Sparky licked a freakin' toad.

We were standing out back, enjoying a smoke and noting that perhaps we should do something about mowing the back yard. Out of nowhere, Sparky comes racing into the light, shaking his head and snorting. Closer inspection revealed mouth foamage, so he went in the house for an intensive mouth wash (and fur-around-mouth wash with soap).

[sigh]

He seems to be fine, although I believe I should be monitoring his little pulse.

Once we washed his little mouth out, I trudged out with the flashlight and camera, in case we find outselves in doggy ER at 0330 trying to figure out the appropriate antivenin.

This is the Evil Toad.



I think what we have is a Woodhouse's Toad - Bufo woodhousii. It's too small and out of range to be a cane toad, and the most striking marking was the stripe on its back.

In good news, it appears that if the toad was going to be the death of the Yorkie, he'd be convulsing or panting by now. In bad news, I can assume I'm going to spend half the night checking his heartrate...

About the Garands

...and the carbines. How did that happen, that your humble author came to crave these military rifles that predated her in service by a couple of wars and several decades?

Well, therein lies a bit of a story, and, of course, an Old Marine.

Charley is an older gentleman who probably (and don't kill me if I'm wrong here, Charley!) just barely missed Korea, but was off the table for Vietnam. His time in the Marine Corps was a single term in his youth, but it defined him (and well) as it has so many other men.

We first found Charley when he volunteered to construct pullup bars for the Marine Corps recruiting district in the wake of Sept. 11, as his contribution to the cause. He struck up a friendship with the Mister out of that undertaking, and things went downhill from there.

He took us hunting up in Deer Creek, Minnesota. Here's a hint - despite the name, there are no deer in Deer Creek. There was one and Charley shot him 15 years ago. But it's a fine place for drinks and sea stories.

He took us shooting at Oakdale Gun Club, where he discovered that the true hoplophile in the family was not the active Marine. The downhill progress picked up speed (with the added influence of John With The Thompson and Mike The Other Instructor). Within months, he had me joining the club, helping to instruct the Firearms Safety course, and shooting the (monthly? twice monthly?) military semi-auto 100 yard match with one of his M1 Carbines.

I got a lot smarter in a hurry. I'd always been a military history buff, but until Charley and his collection, I had no concept of how large a Garand is, or what it does to those with slow thumbs. Nor would I have realized what a revolution the M16 platform and the 5.56mm round are - if you haven't handled the old gear, you have no idea what it weighs, or how serious and solid it is (that is, of course, a good thing and a bad thing. I wouldn't want to hump one across Europe, but if I was out of ammo and had to go upside someone's head, I'd take the 43 inches of walnut and steel that comprise the old beast over an M4 carbine in a heartbeat).

My love affair with the 1911 is probably also somehow his fault.

But - I digress.

Charley was the consumate instructor, passing on something useful at almost every encounter, yet never making one feel like an idiot. We were guests at his table several evenings, where his wife made even us nomads feel at home.

Leaving Charley and his wife was as bad as leaving the good job and the nice house in Minnesota. Good friends are like that.

And I think of Charley every time I seal up a CMP envelope (I didn't even know the organization existed before he pointed it out to me). I'm sure Mr. Abby thinks of him as well. However, I know my thoughts are fond ones. Heh.

Charley's a machinist, so you need any precise machining done and you're in that area, shoot an email and I'll put you in touch. I highly recommend you avoid him for your gunsmithing work, however. I left an old .38 with him once and now it has a trigger that falls when mosquitoes fly nearby.

Cool site

I saw a spot of Fox News the other day, and found the good people of Dogs Deserve Better.

It's an organization dedicated to trying to decrease the practice of chaining dogs. You know what I mean - the neighbor's hysterical wolf-looking beast that barks all night and looks as though it wants to eat you?

Anyway. Good site, good cause. I bought a coffee mug.


I have noted, in my time with dogs, that they do not like to be separated from stimulus. I've seen lots of them, mine included, go absolutely batshit when someone is on the other side of a fence, or just out of sniffing reach when they're on their leashes.

Casey, for instance, is a perfectly cheerfuly beast. But if she can't get up close and smell something...well, then the police dog routine is in full effect. Really, the only way dogs have of perceiving and understanding people is to get right up close and get a good sniff.

Chains are worse than fences and leashes for all the obvious reasons. In addition to putting a dog at a tactical disadvantgae, which makes them defensive, chaining sucks. Really - would you like it?

Now, I know there are some of us out there who kinda look out the side of our eyes at the idea of passing laws about such things. It's my dog, we think, who's to say what I can do with it?

Well, I kinda sorta agree. Now, personally, I wouldn't mind if we added an Amendment to the Constitution mandating being nice to dogs. However...that's not how it's supposed to work. I'm not even sure what that's really the province of States. But towns/villages/cities/townships? Hells yeah. I'd be proud to live in a town like Maumelle, Arkansas:

any person owning animals whether vaccinated or unvaccinated, licensed or unlicensed, shall confine such animal within an adequate fence or enclosure, or within a house, garage or other building in conformance with Maumelle Bill of Assurance or its successor. Animals shall not be tied or chained to dog houses, or other stationary objects, but must be in an approved enclosure

I like city ordinances, in theory. They're an opportunity for a community to express its values. And, in an official Bad Dog Opinion - "No Dog Chains" is a Good Community Value.

(So, add the Bad Dogs, is Free Bacon on Tuesdays)

These requests

I talked to Cousin R today. She just finished her Navy Reserve Yeoman's course - bravo to her!

(Cousin R is a teacher and has a life, but thought maybe she should put on a uniform, just in case her country needed her, before she got too old. How cool is that???)

Anyway, after the usual gossip about the hometown and all that, she pointed out that I have been posting an insufficient number of pictures here.

[sigh]

Ok, Cousin R - this weird collage is for you. If I don't get a comment, I'm driving to Georgia and shaving your chocolate lab.



That's an M1 carbine bolt tool, bolt inserted, as I'm swapping out a sheared extractor. Perfect tool for the job - doing this with bare hands takes hours. With the proper tool, about ten minutes.

What - I can hear Cousin R from here - that sucks. I shall try something much more cute.



Sparky occasionally likes to try on one of the Big Dog beds. For some reason, as soon as Girl Child left, they kidnapped this sweatshirt she'd been wearing. Like sleeping with her, I suppose.

The other two?



Ensuring our dishes are properly pre-rinsed. Yep. They are on the team. And finally, in anticipation of this week's excitement...my Dad is coming to town!



I assume, since it's August, he will not have a beard anymore, not will he be wearing Carhartt. At least not the overalls. I might have to remind him about that - I'm pretty tolerant, but I'm not taking him out in public if he wears the Carhartt overalls.

Hey, Cousin R - check your Yahoo mail!

More blog maintenance

I so totally suck at keeping up with the blogroll. I'm the last person in the world to update to Squeaky Wheel's new site, but I finally got it done.

It only took me three or four months of enjoying "Murphy's" comments to realize that, of course, he's that Murphy. Cut me a little slack - occasionally we all get to part of the "10 percent."

And Ambulance Driver is just fabulous - with the occasional ER nurse of the North dropping by, how can I not have a link to him?

Please bear with me, gang. Life got a little out of hand in the past few months, but I think I'm slipping back into the groove. We shall see.