Generally pissed off

I find I'm incapable of breaking down all the various war-related domestic news and addressing each topic individually these days. In all honestly, I'm disgusted past the point of speech. I just want to spit.

So I'm just going to open CNN in a second window and bitch my way down the page, more or less.

We've got these Pat Tillman/Jessica Lynch hearings going on. Jesus Christ. I am occasionally forced to wonder if the Army can do anything right. I used to not understand the purpose behind the echelons of command that are packed full of field-grade and above officers and senior NCO's making slideshows. Now I do. We have to do something with these people to keep them off the actual battlefield, or all our soldiers would instantly die. If a rifle company commander had his head as far up his ass the people in the decision-making chains on these two incidents...

Seriously - what fucktard thought the appropriate thing to do with the Tillman incident was lie with great creativity? Friendly fire happens, folks. Always has, always will. The appropriate thing to do would have been a release stating simply that Tillman had been killed "during combat operations," then a private meeting with the family to explain that it had been a friendly fire incident. I might not have even gone that far. KIA. One of the honorable fallen. Examine the situation to see what we can do to ensure it doesn't happen again, then keep marching. End of story.

Listen, guys, hint one. Bad shit cannot be made into good shit. The best thing an organization can do with bad shit is make it go away. The best way to do this is with a short, factual press release to defuse the situation. We then take all the details (no, Major, we don't HIDE them), and put them somewhere where they can be found. Ideally, we've already got a policy somewhere (written well in advance) saying that to spare families excessive pain, we do not publicize fratricide, although each and every occurance is reviewed for future improvement.

And Lynch? Good lord. I do not understand the number of people who seem to despise this young lady. Actually, I do - I simply choose to believe they're retarded. Listen - training wasn't up to snuff, NCO supervision was apparently not up to snuff, they were saddled with one of those officers the Army apparently doesn't bother training for a combat environment (because said officer's "branch" is not a combat arm - in the Army, this means these people are immune from hostile action. Betcha didn't know that).

Anyway, she is not the one to blame for this. I've never heard her claim to be anything other than what she was, and I have several times seen/heard her try to deflect any praise to those soldiers she was with who did fight like tigers.

The Army is the most Public Affairs-challenged of the services. Once upon a time I worked in PAO for the Marine Corps, and I am not full of it when I tell you that the Corps has it right, and the Army is eight kinds of fucked-up.

You know, back in PAO school, when we had our separate classes by service, the Marine instructors used to beat into us that our policy was (with the exception of anything that included the word "nuclear") "maximum exposure, minimum delay." The media asked, we answered. They wanted a subject matter expert? We found one. Might be a lance corporal, might be lieutenant colonel. The Marine Corps gambled that the American Public loved its Marines, and would forgive them their errors if we told them the truth. For the most part, that works.

Long ago the Marine Corps admitted that the country doesn't need the Corps, the country wants the Corps. And their entire PAO stance is geared toward that. The Army...discourages its frontline people from talking to the media, makes the embed process painful, and (as it does in oh-so-many ways), adds layer upon layer of useless staff paperwork and obstinate field grades to the process of getting information out. It's infuriating.

Here's the thing that Army PAO officers don't understand, apparently. Nobody on earth likes staff officers. The only thing more stupid and evil than a field-grade in a staff role is the processes that officer creates and the bright ideas he has. Sir (or Ma'am), if every single thing you do is not geared toward getting ground truth (and "ground truth" doesn't come from a brief) to the American People as quickly, painlessly and often as possible, you are wrong. Don't try to spin, you're not good enough. Don't try to get God and everybody to sign off on your new plan so you get "maximum visibility" for your next OER. Just make it your absolute mission every day in the war to get the truth to the people. And yes, you have to use the media to do it.

Soldiers are every bit as fabulous and amazing and brave and goodhearted as Marines. It drives me nuts that the Army PAO machine is so terrified of having a PV2 smoke on camera or say "the wrong thing" that their stories don't get out as well as the stories of their Marine brethren.

Tillman and Lynch - both decent soldiers done wrong by their Army. Do better, Army. We're watching.

OK. Next. Harry Reid.

"I believe ... that this war is lost, and this surge is not accomplishing anything, as is shown by the extreme violence in Iraq this week," Reid told journalists.

I don't even know what to say. We can argue. I can say the surge is pretty definitely accomplishing something, but since it's not even in full swing yet, we don't really know if it's going to do the trick or not. I can say that last I checked, we don't base long-term strategy on a week's headlines from a combat zone.

Or I can say what in the Hell is this asshole talking about?!? Harry Reid is from Nevada. I thought people in Nevada were fairly sane. Can't you recall this guy or something? Jesus H. Christ on a stick. We've got the Speaker of the House meeting with the actual Forces of Goddam Evil, and we've got the Senate Majority Leader randomly declaring defeat because...I don't know. Because the President is a Republican? Because he truly believes he's been elected to orchestrate a defeat? Tell me, tell me please, that one of the most important positions in our government is not held by someone who thinks a particularly bad VBIED is cause for surrender.

Fukkit. Harry's worn out, folks, so let's call it a day. Afghanistan is also hard, so let's throw in the towel there. We've had some folks in the Horn of Africa for a while, and there hasn't been a formal Declaration of Victory there, either. Bring 'em home. We've some Guardsmen on the borders, but we've still got illegal aliens, so the Hell with that. Send them home. Let's dismantle the Border Patrol, too. Poor guys, probably wish they had more time to barbecue with their families. Coast Guard pulled a huge cocaine bust recently, so we're obviously not winning the War on Drugs either. Mothball the cutters and eliminate the DEA.

Aren't you glad this guy didn't have any power when we were fighting the Civil War? Or after Wake Island fell? What would Nancy Pelosi sound like speaking German with an Alabama accent? Harry Reid would've taken one look at the disgraceful lack of mittens at Valley Forge and immediately began holding talks with Cornwallis and Burgoyne

I just do not know, people. Our soldiers and Marines (and sailors and airmen) are amazing. Most of our military leadership is sharp, flexible, clear-eyed and willing to keep adjusting fire to maintain momentum.

But our political leadership is disgraceful. Our Republicans are still on my shit list for the amount of time it took to admit we were on the wrong track. And the Democrats...I just don't get it.

What I heard from the 2006 election was, "do it right. do it better. finish it." I did not hear "let's lose. let's give up. defeat is the goal!"

Maybe I heard the wrong thing. Sometimes I wonder. Maybe I just missed the memo when our country lost its collective mind and gave up.

Oh well. I'm still pissed, so I'm going to go run around the park or walk a dog or something.

Good people...and a Bright Idea

National Amusements is a company doing something good for our servicemembers.

The company, which operates more than 1,500 screens worldwide, said from April 17 through April 30, all active service personnel and their dependents will enjoy free admission and free small popcorn and fountain drinks at all its US theater locations.

This is a nice thing. Hell, I think movies are expensive, and we're two adults. There are junior enlisted guys out there with kids who might get to take the family to see a flick they otherwise couldn't afford to attend.

National Amusements will continue to show a little love even after the big promotion ends. Every little bit is appreciated.

As of May 1, the company will institute an on-going military discount price police for active service personnel, the company said; the special military program pricing will be $7 for general admissions and $5 for matinee and children.

Good stuff.

In related news, I'm still waiting for the retroactive gas-card giveaway to everyone who's served in Operations Iraqi and/or Enduring Freedom, or in support of. Hell, we keep hearing it's a war for oil.

Not to mention that with the rising cost of gas, handing a free-gas card to everyone on active duty (which could include mobilized Guardmen and Reservists) could really help keep us meeting our recruiting goals.

We could even sweeten the deal by extending that free-gas pass after active duty, for a period equivalent to the total number months the servicemember spent in a designated Imminent Danger Pay country.

Not only could we spank the recruiting goals, but Congress could authorize more people in uniform (oh yes - our military is too small, and Congress is entirely to blame for it) and we'd have zero trouble pulling them in. I might be on to something here...

Just an idea, Guys at the Pentagon. But you can use it. I won't even demand credit.

Setting the conditions

So, in my ongoing attempt to let you all know far more than you want about the mundane details of our Bad Dog lives...

We've located a realtor in DFW who's married to one of Mr. Abby's future colleagues. Since I'll be the one headed out there first, and since my cellphone is the only phone number of ours that won't change with the move, I get to communicate with her.

(Keep in mind, of course, that my social skills are so lacking that I normally do not communicate with anyone on behalf of our family. It's better that way)

So I sent her the Exhaustive List of Criteria. We're going to have to locate a house by the first week of June, then arrange for closing so the Man, the Beasts, and the Children will have someplace to live when they show up. The List is...impressive. There are lots of homes for sale in the greater Fort Worth area, we can actually afford quite a few of them, and so we figure offering details about our desires will help us see what we want.

At the end of the List, after such important matters as yard requirements, flooring, bedrooms, bathrooms, and such, came the one I knew would be difficult. There will be, Abby declared, absolutely no homeowner's associations or anything of that sort. None.

So, the World's Cheeriest Realtor called me.

"Well, lots of the homes here have HOAs," she explained. "But we should be able to find something. I didn't want one, and managed to find something, so..."

"Good," I said. "I like to grow cherry tomatoes in pots on my front step. And I might want to put out some concrete yard gnomes."

I said it, and I do like to grow cherry tomatoes (even though the last time I did it Casey ate them all off the bush a day or two before I could pick them). But mostly...I just hate the concept.

I grew up in the midwest, where we likes us our property rights. The idea of some group of lawn fascists trotting around bitching about my bird feeders...I think it's best for all involved if we end up with a non-HOA place.

I recently perused HOAs on the internet to get a sense of what sort of "covenants" they had. Ick. Beyond all the shit about the color of your home and seeking permission to plant/prune/cut foliage... One place had a clause, and I didn't bookmark it so I can't route you there...basically, it said you could not have any lawn ornament in your front yard exceeding 12 inches in height (unless, of course, you petitioned the Lords of the Manor). You could, however, have whatever sub-12-inch lawn ornaments you wanted if you had a properly planted flowerbed and the ornaments were confined within it.

That would tempt me mightily to find a souce for 11.875-inch plastic flamingos in a various bright colors and carpet my flowerbed with them.

I don't think I have the appropriate sense of humor for an HOA, so I'm just not going to look at those houses.

By the way - I don't have any lawn ornaments. Nor can I imagine ever putting one in my yard. But you know what? I buy the damn place, I certainly intend to preserve that as an option.

Good news for my boozehounds

Now, if the major media outlets spent more time letting us know about this kind of thing...

Adding ethanol -- the type of alcohol found in rum, vodka, tequila and other spirits -- boosted the antioxidant nutrients in strawberries and blackberries, the researchers found.

Any colored fruit might be made even more healthful with the addition of a splash of alcohol, they report in the Journal of the Science of Food and Agriculture.

Fruity drinks as health food? Out-freaking-standing.

Now, I know you're thinking, Abby, we know you drink beer. And we know you drink wine. And we know that the voices in your head have, on occasion, caused you to drink scotch. But fruity drinks?

Oh, yes. Life is far too short to avoid the yummy, boozy drinks with umbrellas. Now, I rarely have the opportunity to drink umbrella drinks - I do not, much as I'd like to, live in a beachfront tikki bar (although if my entire life doesn't fall into line in short order, that's always on the table).

But when the opportunity arises, I believe firmly in the fruity drink. Now, I'm not into orange juice, and I generally dislike peach schnapps (are you seeing the options narrowing?). Frozen drinks are...well, I find they get tedious. And a little tequila goes a long way.

So where does that leave us? Lots of places, really, but I have an affinity for the Singapore Sling. It's red, and fruity, and because I ran across it somewhere in Asia, I have happy memories associated with it.

Little did I know until I ran the Google search that the correct recipe for said drink is shrouded in confusion and is the topic of discussion among the sort of people who discuss that sort of thing. Check out this lengthy discussion.

Huh. Well, it's been a while since I last ordered one, but as I recall, the good ones are a deep red.

Anyway, go get yourself a fruity drink with an umbrella. They're good for you! If you have suitable companionship available, find a bar that has a patio and some torches and consume your entire RDA of fruits from a large, silly glass.

WLSR - broadcasting in my backyard

That would be "Loser Radio," perhaps better known as my super-creepy across-the-back-fence neighbor.

Dude's probably in his 40s, balding, and apparently unemployed. I haven't had any reason to believe he's done anything gainful in the entire time we've lived here. Nor can I see any evidence of anyone else living there.

Dude drinks a LOT of beer (I run past his trash cans - I know these things), and I wouldn't be entirely surprised if he sells a little pot (traffic patterns lead me to thing drugs, clientele leads me to think marijuana). He's trashy and creepy, but seems friendly enough.

He used to wave and try to strike up conversation. Cheerfully encouraging Casey to do her snarling police dog routine whenever he leaned over the fence put a stop to that, though.

Problem is...the music. Pretty much every evening, it's loud. I mean like all my windows and doors are shut and I can hear it loud. And it's normally 70s-era guitar crap. Once in a while something I recognize, but often just chords. There's a possibility this is a guy with his own guitar who can only play two or three chords. I just don't know.

Friday and Saturday nights it's super-tiresome. The same thing, played again and again, punctuated only by the sound of him dumping another crate of glass empties into the outdoor trash can.

It annoys me, but really, given our neighborhood, it's just one of those things. But occasionally he pulls something a little odd.

I swear he was just broadcasting Alanis Morrisette's "Jagged Little Pill." WTF? It has occured to me that a well-placed round in the electric meter that faces our yard would provide at least temporary relief, and I can't imagine the other neighbors would rat me out. Food for thought.

Recommendations

I read Ambulance Driver from time to time, and always wonder why it isn't more often. I wandering around there this evening and followed a pointer to Babs The Nurse.

She writes some good shit. I have some nurse readers out there - y'all especially should check her out. I came in on this post, but read around - it looks good.

Pure unadulterated irritation

We know that Abby has to use a laundromat to achieve clean clothes. Well, I can (and do) occasionally use a bucket, but for real laundry...it's the laundromat.

I used to use the Outdoor Laundromat, which is kind of exotic and interesting, while at the same time maintaining the tradition of tackiness that's so important to such businesses. However, the combination of biting insects, inefficient dryers and some really creepy clients moved me a couple of miles to City Wide Laundry.

City Wide changed owners last fall. A younger gentleman bought the place, spruced it up and kept it clean and in good order. He appeared to have just one employee, an old fat woman. City Wide takes in laundry as well as offering facilities to do your own, so both Young Guy and Fat Lady were always busy. Normally, they managed to do client laundry and keep the place tidy while staying out of the way of those there to wash clothes. They were chatty - it was a pretty good place to do laundry.

So I started going there. I spend anywhere from $12 (if it's just me here) to $35 (all three kids, towels, beach towels, bedding) per trip.

My last visit was last Friday during the day. It seemed there was a new employee. A younger gal, quite pudgy, rabbit-mouthed, coke-bottle glasses, red hair, perpetually stunned look. She was obviously still figuring out the required rhythm of the place - she had laundry stalled in several stages and was slowing down the whole process.

That was not the problem. Her child was the problem. It took me a few minutes to figure out that the slightly Hispanic-looking small boy (maybe 3?) racing around the building, screaming, touching things, climbing on folding tables, pushing carts and generally being underfoot, belonged to her.

After a while, a Puerto Rican guy showed up (I know he's Puerto Rican because it says so on his tricked-out Honda Civic). Ahhh, I thought, here's Dad to pick the little bugger up! Well, no. Here was Dad, with McDonald's bags. Passing out lunch led to the wee little beastie continuing all his earlier rampaging, but with a fucking hamburger that he seemed to enjoy smearing on every available surface. After lunch, Dad proceeded to hang out with a buddy in the parking lot while El Nino carried on terrorizing the laundromat.

I was pissed. But I wrote it off. I'm like Gandhi that way. You know...easy-going.

But then I returned today. Same setup, minus the hamburger but with more patrons. Well, and add it an elderly couple on bicycles that I can only assume were Mr. Puerto Rico's parents. It was a regular old family get-together at the laundromat. Fuckkit. I'm taking my average of $22 a week and going elsewhere. I don't need that shit.

C'mon, people. I don't like your children. I don't think they're cute, and I don't like to have them pestering around while I'm trying to do something.

I don't bring a 12-pack of beer and carton of cigarettes to Chuck E. Cheese, then sit around cleaning my guns in the middle of the Skee-ball games. Why do you do the reverse?

Seriously. There's a Kid World, and a Grownup World, and an Everybody World. Friendly's, Red Robin, Chuck E. Cheese, Disney World and the like make up Kid World. WalMart, McDonald's, parks, zoos and beaches fall into Everybody World. The rest of the country is Grownup World.

I'm not saying kids shouldn't appear in Grownup World, but it's our world, and they're guests in it. If I see your kid in grownup world, I assume you're socializing him. Which means I am counting on you to snatch that little rugrat up by the collar and square him away if he's racing around in the bank. I expect to see the white-knuckled-forearm-pinch coupled with the Mom Look Of Death when Junior is getting his tantrum on at Jiffy Lube.

I'm going to make this real simple. Kids are fine. They're certainly necessary, since we can't have grownups forever without having some kids around. But childhood is a transitory state. It's a process. The goal is to get them through childhood and into adulthood.

So Kid World needs to stay over there on the other side of the tracks. Grownup World needs to remain just that - a place you take your kids to teach them to be grownups. Workplaces, business and the like are not fucking Gymboree. Stop it.

Good lord. I'd go to the Green Iguana and have a drink, but I'm concerned it might be "cartoon and balloon day."

Lazy Saturday Evening

Yep. Life is rough here at Bad Dog Central. Observe your author in her natural environment.



Please do not laugh at my running shoes and red socks. They're running socks, and that's what I was doing right before Mr. Abby and I headed to the range.

You can see Casey's ears in the background here - she obviously chose to avoid an encounter with the scary digital camera.

And now, as evidenced by the charcoal in the above image, it's time to grill steaks.

Awkward moments

with Mr. Abby. Including when he says, "we're not buying any more guns until after we move, RIGHT?"

I pause. Blink. He reads the blog. How can he have missed this?

"Well, actually, I'm going to order one of the CMP carbines at the end of the month."

He looked at me. I look at him.

"Can't we wait?"

"I don't think so, honey. I mean, if you want, we can wait until Fall, and then I can drop like $1,200 on a rarer manufacturer. But really, I'm good with the $495 Inland."

"Well, I guess that's better to afford now than to afford later."

Yesss...my precious. We will afford the Inland now, and then we will be amazed by our ability to afford the Saginaw S'G' this fall...we will be amazed because we will not notice our wife has delayed the electric and gas bills...

Odd.

I get such a kick out of the sitemeter. I get lots of folks like this:

Referring URL http://www.google.co... of the night yorkie
Search Engine google.com
Search Words random barking in the middle of the night yorkie

And I get some unfortunate, desperate souls for whom things seem to have gotten a bit further out of hand...

Referring URL http://www.google.co...ously bad dogs&meta=
Search Engine google.co.uk
Search Words training for seriously bad dogs

But the one totally random post on which I still get folks wandering in is one in which I mentioned by name a certain male enhancement product advertised on late night TV. I'm not sure what share of those hits are sleazebags who want to see the sleazy commercials again (ick), and what share are the unfortunate souls who think they might need said product.

It makes it kinda tempting to just post random word strings and see what happens. Let's try!

Ahem...
Weasels wearing diapers
Hot wet rawhide chewtoy
Monkey with wineglass
Paperback shotgun marathon

There. I'll let y'all know how that turns out for me.

I live in the dumbest place on earth

I hate to keep hitting y'all with these local news roundups, but the madness just never ends here.

Let's start off by revisiting the whole shooting-range hostage thing from a little while back. Remember that? It seems that one of the hostages, who was on TV chattering cheerfully away about his "ordeal" almost immediately afterward, was on felony probation. And now he's back in jail. (moral of the story - no matter how shiny and exciting the TV camera is, if you're on probation, and you're not supposed to handle firearms, don't go on TV so your image is broadcast all over the state.)

Then we have Man In Miniskirt Exposed Self To Cop, Police Say. This really requires no further statement.

I just don't get this place.

Slightly odd

Apparently, my puppy has no bones.

Jack is forever just collapsing. He just slid off the big chair on which he was dozing and landed in a heap, apparently without even waking up.

This is turning into an amusing regularity. Rub his ears, and his legs go out from under him, then he's on the floor. The gals at the vet stroked him, and he just flopped down. He was sitting on my lap earlier, nodded off, and slipped to the floor.

Is this a lab thing? Will he grow bones as he gets older, or am I doomed to have a collapsing dog for the next ten or 12 years?

NOTE: It's not a submissive thing, it's some sort of...laziness/mellow thing.

For the record...

I've about had it with the overuse of the word "kid" when the talking heads are going on about the Virginia Tech shooting.

The evil cowardly sniveling whiny wannabe shit who did this...let's please not soften the vileness of his acts by referring to him a "disturbed kid," or a "kid who needed help."

He was 23. He was a grown man.

23 and in college does no confer upon one some sort of "errant child" status. 23 is five years past the age of majority.

I find this whole trend offensive. Hanging out in college is not, it is generally accepted, a sign of emotional, intellectual or social retardation. So why is this little fucker getting off with the label "kid?"

Why does infantilizing some guy in his early 20s piss Abby off? Well, folks, because it infantilizes all the guys in their early 20s. We should not allow that.

It pissed me off, when I heard either Glen Beck or his guest use the term for the shooter. For some reason, it made me think of another guy in his early 20s. A year younger than Cho, in fact.

Cpl. Jason L. Dunham was 22 when he died.

These two young men should not be mentioned in the same breath, unless we're discussing the very finest and the very worst that we produce here in America. But it remains useful when we need reminding that childhood does not extend into one's 20s. It simply does not. To do so is to try to put off accepting responsibility for one's actions. When we allow this sort of "cute term" to be applied to GROWN MEN, we increase even further that ever-growing goddam group of people who we don't simply expect to able to pull their weight.

A 23 year-old man is fully responsible for the things he does. Beyond just Cpl. Dunham - an exceptional example, one of the finest men of his generation - hundreds of thousands of 23-year-olds in this country are adult, productive members of society. Fathers, mothers, guys with five years' seniority on the assembly line, nurses with degrees and couple of years of experience. Teachers.

It is possible that Cho should have been more forcefully handled by the University. It is possible that someone, somewhere along the way could have done something to prevent this specific event.

But he alone is responsible. He was a disturbed, pissy, whiny, sulking little beast. He wallowed in his own perceived little world of drama and torment. He was smart enough to be a student at Virginia Tech - this is not East Podunk Junior College - he was a functioning adult who conciously made bad, evil, murderous decisions.

Just because we don't like what he did doesn't mean we get to pretend he's a dumb little kid. He was a bad man.

Ahh...resolution

Sorry about the light posting. It's been a tiresome couple of days. I'm going to summarize.

It's hard to write when there's only one real-world story going on. The position I take, and the position pretty much everyone I'm interested in takes, is, "Jesus. What an awful shame. Too bad somebody didn't shoot that bastard before he killed all those fine people." Once everybody's said that, and agreed on that, everything else is...unnecessary.

Jack's vet appointment was great. He was a good boy. No microchip showed up when they scanned him (but he's got one now), so he'll be staying. He's got The Appointment next Friday. Vet says he's probably almost full grown. He weighs 43 pounds now, she said he'll probably get an inch taller and end up at 55 or 60 pounds. Cool. I've had much bigger dogs, but that's a handy size.

I have a job, and a start date (end of next month). That's nice, because it enables us to move forward in our dialog with a realtor and start some concrete planning. It's also going to enable me to buy tickets to my buddy's wedding, since now I know where I'll be flying out of.

I'm not going to be specific about who I'll be working for, but that's more to protect my privacy than anything else. Suffice it to say it's the first private-sector job I'll have held since 1996. Even my rent-a-cop time was as a federal contractor. I'm not sure how I feel about that, since a highlight of the public stuff was always feeling as though I was providing a service to people. We'll see.

The highly entertaining part of all of this, and the part which you all will be invited to ride along and laugh at me during, is going to be June. I'll be heading to DFW at the end of May, and until Mr. Abby and the Pack show up and we close on a house, I will be seeking one of those homeless-people-type "weekly rate" motels to live in. And I'm poor. And cheap.

So, although we'll suffer a shortage of dog pics in June, you all will be privvy to Exclusive Updates from Skid Row. An adventure! I can't wait.

Fiddling around...

..trying to get this job issue in Texas sewed up. Hopefully I'll have that all clear by this evening.

Then Mr. Abby and I can start the specific date planning for the madness that will be the next couple of months. Too much fun.

In other news, I'm taking off in a few minutes for Jack's first vet appointment. He obviously has no clue. He tried to climb in the shower with me earlier (No! Bad Dog! There's not enough warm water for me, and there's not enough for you!). He also crossed a serious bad dog line when I had to retrieve my Detroit Tigers cap from the yard. You can steal my shoes, dog, but keep your nasty teeth off my Tigers hat.

Tampa News Roundup

A yorkshire terrier puppy stolen from a local pet store has been returned. Moral of the story? Yorkies seem like a really good idea, but once you have one, the horrible truth emerges very quickly. They're evil little beasts. An aside - we disapprove of pet stores that sell pets. This puppy was stolen from a glass-fronted kennel in the middle of the night. What a sad place for a puppy to be.

Moving right along...
A local man doing 83 in a 65 zone got pulled over and was busted with half a kilo of cocaine. Moral of this one? If you're driving around with a fairly large quantity of cocaine, significantly exceeding the speed limit is probably not the best idea.

A father shot and killed his son in an argument over money. This happened in Gibsonton, a community that's traditionally...a little weird. It's where the carnies and circus freaks winter, which probably explains the somewhat odd names of the men involved.

OK, folks, that's it for now.

Hoarding

Jack is settling in nicely. We continue to work on what is and what is not a toy. We're getting there.

In good news, he's not chewing on prohibited items. He likes to pick them up and move them around. This can get a little irritating. Please observe.



Yes. To the right of the stuffed camel, and above the grill brush, that would be my shoe.I'm glad he's not eating my sandals, but it's a little annoying to want to put them on and to have to venture out in the yard to find one.

The grill brush, apparently, just rocks. I hung it back on the grill, but while I was collecting up toys to bring them back inside, he got it again. I am a little curious about what all I might find if I were to really dig through his favorite clump of grass by the fence.

Small victories

The yard has been de-pooped. It needed it - badly.

Man, I can't wait until the kids are around for the summer. One of my favorite things to be able to say is, "Five bucks to whoever de-poops the yard." Yes, it adds up, but scooping dog shit out of the yard is one of those things I'm happy to pay for.

Thinkin' about a project

a Gun Project, that is.

I've got a new rear sight on my old Ballester Molina, but the front sight issue is requiring serious contemplation. The one I got won't work - at least not with the tools and workspace I currently have - and I may need to order another. So that's on hold.

But...

we know I intend to pick up an Inland M1 carbine via CMP (go there now so you can get one too!) very soon.

My trusty old Plainfield, with which I can shoot 25 yard groups and cover them with a thumbnail all day long, is begging to become...some sort of exercise in sly humor. As we know from this image:

I already slapped a RamLine black composite stock on it, just for shits and giggles.

Now, you people know I love my M1 carbine, and I think all of you need one, and I think every child between 8 and 12 needs one, and every adult who's never fired a rifle needs one...

Then I found THIS.



Well, huh. That's a damn accessory rail for an M1 carbine.

Now, I ain't never had me no "accessories." When I went Iraq, they gave us M4 carbines, and that was it. No AimPoints, no ACOGS, no EOTechs, no lights, no vertical forward grips. Nada. And you know what? The M4 works just fine without those things. Not saying that some folks (especially those who routinely operate in darkness) don't find them useful, but suffice it to say - I needed my M4, I used my M4, and it worked just fine with iron sights.

So, I'm not doing anything to my AR at this point. I can work that iron sight system with all of Hell falling down around me (let's hear a big "thank you, US Marine Corps!"). I'll take some convincing to switch to anything else.

But I'm willing to learn....

So, I'm thinking, since I'll soon have a real GI carbine to shoot and teach on and hang on the wall, I may as well really screw with the Plainfield. The Ultimak rail system (about which I've heard good things, and which is pictured above) can be had for under a hundred bucks.

Now...about the optic to put on it. I really really like the EOtech concept. I think it's a great system for the application - that is, getting rounds on target real fast, real close. But man, even the cheap one is 300 bucks. I might be able to buy used for a little less...

But geez...I paid $175 for the carbine (and put another $150 in Abby-hours into it).

I'd love a cheap ripoff to decide if I like the concept enough to try the real deal on my AR. But it's hard to pick one. Any of y'all got any ideas? Something similar in ergonomics and function (I know the quality won't be the same) so I can see if it's a concept I want to drop money on?

Plus, then I'd have an uber-tactical M1 carbine. And that, in and of itself, strikes me as cool in an amusing sort of way. Kinda like a 90-year-old woman who's good with a switchblade. Yeah, it's funny. But do you really want to try to mug her?

Last word...

from me on this Virginia Tech situation. I say again, Bad Dog hearts go out to victims, families and those in pain tonight.

We do not yet know, and will not know for several days, at the least, exactly how this unfolded. We know there was a single gunman. We know he shot people in the dorms, then crossed campus and shot roughly 40 more.

We know this unfolded over a couple of hours, although it doesn't seem clear exactly how long the shooter was "active" at the second location. We do know he moved among a few different locations within Norris Hall.

There will be much speculation about the gunman's motivation - what drove him to such violence, what could have been done to "help him" before he committed the crimes. There will be discussions about more "programs" to "support" troubled students.

This is all fine and good, but it isn't the angle of this tragedy on which I feel qualified to speak.

Once upon a time, I was on a small Forward Operating Base, and there was a shooting. As often happens in such situations, very little was immediately clear. There was a gravely injured soldier, and with no other information to go on, word was rapidly spread that all soldiers must immediately load a personal weapon, confine themselves to their tent areas, and be prepared to defend themselves.

I feel qualified to speak to this: there is evil in the world. There are people who are evil, and there are people who are not, but who nonetheless commit evil acts. Once this begins, the only option is to limit the damage.

Focusing soley on the prevention of horror denies human experience. No matter what we do, bad things will happen.

LawDog has written very well today on the mindset required to counter evil and horror. He also points out that Virginia is a state that allows individuals licensed to carry firearms to do so on college and university property - Virginia Tech as an institution decided this would not be allowed. The Virginia legislature opted not to force universities to allow the carry of firearms by licensed individuals.

What are the chances that, had it not been forbidden, an armed student or staff member would have been in a place and time and tactical situation that would have permitted them to intervene? We'll never know. What are the chances that a student with a firearm in a dorm room could have stopped this horror after two deaths? We'll never know.

If any of those dead or wounded were my friends, my family, I would like to have had the chance to find out. I would like for someone, anyone - the janitor, a GI Bill student, a professor, anyone - to have been able to fight back. If it had been one gutsy, stupid soul three rooms away, who'd arrived only in time to shoot it out and save one student - that would have been a better outcome.

Listen, guns aren't the answer to every question, the solution to every problem. But - in a world where evil happens, and 32 people die at the hands of one sick bastard, it sickens me that the university administration clearly and consciously, with eyes wide open, decided to remove the ability of those in their care to fight back.

I cannot imagine many situations which would tear me up more than this: I imagine sitting in a classroom in the morning, listening to a lecture, backpack by my feet, coffee on my desk. I imagine hearing shots - knowing instantly, viscerally, what they are - hearing screams. I imagine my old instincts to run to the sound of the guns - I have felt it before. I imagine looking down at my backpack, in which any of my service pistols could ride comfy and concealed and realizing that, because I am a rule-following student, I have a graphing calculator. I imagine the horror of realizing that although I have the training, the mindset, and the ability to save lives, I do not have the tool. It would break my heart.

Food for thought

There's a lot of talk about cellphone notification and text messages and emails as it becomes very apparent that Virginia Tech fucked up big time this morning.

Just for the record, in case anyone in a position to think about these things reads here...sometimes low-tech isn't bad.

Sirens work.

Campus-wide sirens, with two or three different tones, coded "fire," "tornado," "shelter in place," provide a notice to people walking around, joggers, students and faculty in parking lots. Sirens wake up sleeping students and, if they're good, loud sirens, can be heard over an ipod.

We're going to wait for things to become a little clearer before we talk about the very obvious, legal-in-Virgina, option that may not have saved every life, but could well have saved 30 of them.

Bad Dog Cage Match

So...when the 45-pound puppy decides to beat up the nine-pound yorkie and steal his food, once the snarling melee is broken up, which dog is bleeding?

That would be the 45-pound puppy.

Once again proving that size is no match for "getting aggresive enough fast enough," Sparky is getting some much-deserved adoration from Mr. Abby while Jack lets the bite wound on his chin clot.

It's a learning process.

Virginia Tech madness

Well, this sounds pretty freakin' awful: Chief: At least 20 dead in campus shootings

I dislike talking out my ass, so I'll refrain from any commentary until we have a better idea of exactly what went down.

Bad Dog hearts go out to those affected.

UPDATE: Now we're looking at around 30 killed, and 20-some wounded. In two locations. Over the course of several hours. Something, I think, may have gone terribly wrong.

Argh...puppy-focus

OK, so now that's TWO nice long posts that are still in draft form because I'm spending a lot of time explaining what is an "unacceptable toy."

Puppies. Gotta love 'em. 'Cause they're too cute to shoot.

Anyway, "unacceptable toys" so designated within the last 36 hours include (but are not limited to):
inkpens
grill brushes
mops
Sharpies
cranberry-orange lip balm
Gold Bond Foot Powder
hankerchiefs
baseball caps
tupperware dishes
gatorade bottles
water bottles
Advil bottles
Cinnabon lip balm
Pentagonlights
brooms
leashes
styrofoam packing peanuts
paper towel rolls

Of course, this has all been in addition to his obsession with "acceptable" toys, including (but not limited to): Nylabones, beef bones, tennis balls, Bad Cuz, the Tire Bite, five different plush squeaker toys, and a stuffed camel.

He's a good boy, but every time I take one "unacceptable" toy away (No! Bad Dog!) and replace it with, say, the Tire Bite (Now THAT's a GOOD BOY!), he's cool for about five minutes, then comes wandering in with something NEW and unacceptable.

We also discovered he's not afraid of the shower. We discovered that when he leaped in the shower to stay close to Mr. Abby.

Seriously - I'm about to return to being more than a one-subject blogger. I swear.

BAG Day

Yes, folks, it is that fine day widely recognized in the gun nut blogosphere as "Buy A Gun Day."

I've wandered my favorite blogs and made a note of all the fine toys folks are picking up.

[sigh]

I feel as though I'm not pulling my weight, but I just can't pull it off this year. Money is tight. I've picked up several new firearms this year, and I'm still focused on that CMP Inland carbine at the end of the month.

So, alas, no new armament today at BDC.

You all enjoy your new toys. I'll pick up the slack in the next few months, I promise. If you've got the means, please compensate for the damage I've done to the average and buy yourself TWO guns today.

The days of poverty are rapidly coming to an end, though. The first gun-related object that will come with my pending employment and our move is a safe. The 10-gun glass-front cabinet just ain't cutting it anymore.

After that...a nice .270 or .308 for open-country hunting, and I really really need a mid-size .357 to round out the collection, and then I need to start trying to find a decent Garand, and I'd like a .410 or .28ga autoloader, and...well, suffice it to say I'm certainly not going to leave the American firearms industry high and dry.

Heh. I love this hobby.

You's talk funny

I thought this was highly interesting. It's a survey of regional dialect patterns.

Mostly, it looks to me like a lot of regional peculularities have become widespread - not surprising considering the increased mobility of Americans.

I've been accused of talking like a northerner. I've also been accused picking up strange southern phrases. I'm sure a lot of that is the military - that's a culture that, beyond its own weird turns of a phrase, blends a lot of different regionalisms. I've heard it said that "everyone in the Army sounds like they're from Georgia," which is, to my observation, largely true.

Although we mostly recongize that there is a "correct" way to speak, there ARE acceptable variations in both phrasing and pronounciation. I've always found that interesting.

Anyway. Thought y'all might get a kick out of the survey, hey? Enjoy.

Thinking...

I'm working on something about this stupid "draft" conversation I've been hearing on the news all day.

But I'm having a rough time staying reasonably focused, so I'm hoping to have that cleaned up this evening.

As for now, I think I'm going to escape this kennel and go run around the park. It's hot and humid, so if I never post again, it means I heatstroked out and am lying bloated next to the Little League baseball field...

Naming...

So, we scrolled through the comments, and mulled this over. We asked the Senior Dogs.

Casey suggested, "Stupid Puppy in Need of Corrective Nips." Sparky suggested, "Fucking Puppy I Hate."

Ahem...he is named "BlackJack." To be shortened to "Jack."

Which also fits in nicely with "Jacked-up."

He seems to be a good boy, but he is a little...energetic. Yes, it has been a long time since I've had a puppy, can you tell?

Casey is taking her Senior Dog responsibilities very seriously. She's had him down on his back four or five times already. I encourage this - I think it leads to good pack dynamics. Sparky is having a rough time, but he's already bitten Jack's nose a couple of times, so I think things are becoming clear to the little guy.

OK. I've got several things I'd like to talk with y'all about, but we'll see if I can find a chance in between chasing this guy around.

They're here!

Late last night, the Gentlemen of Color arrived here in Tampa. The little guy seems amazed at the number of things we have strictly to amuse dogs. Yeah, so am I.

So here's a pic. We're going to paw through the name suggestions and I'll be back to you shortly.

Here's something you don't hear every day

This went down at the range I normally shoot at - Shooting Sports Inc: Hostage Situation Ends; Gunman Dead

The good news is, apparently SSI did not feel inclined to sell the guy a gun when he walked in to buy one.

Dudney, who had been arrested just a few weeks ago by Tampa Police on attempted murder charges, entered Shooting Sports Inc, 7811 N. Dale Mabry, to obtain a gun so he could run from those charges, Gee said. Dudney, he said, was “irrational.”

The bad news, of course, is that this didn't seem to go over well with Mr. Lunatic.

Now, folks I gotta wonder, because other than hearing about this on the radio this news articles is all I have to go on...how in the hell do you have a ten-hour hostage situation at a gun range?

SSI is not an open-carry firearms facility - that is, you do not see the employees with guns. I'm not saying they're not wearing them (at least some of the employees), but I don't know that they all are.

Still. There were customers shooting.

I can see someone going nuts at a range, but I always figured that sort of thing would lead to a eight-second hail of hysterical fire. I can't say I figure the results would be pretty, but I would expect things to come to a head.

I dunno, folks. We're going to have to wait to hear more about this. I'm pretty confused.

Also, this is the range I normally shoot at. It's not fancy, and in fact it's a little rough, but it's close and I have a membership. I wonder how long it'll take before the place is back up and running.

Auntie Abby always says...make sure you hold back on magazine's worth of ammo when you finish on the range. Because you never know what's going to happen on the way to your car.

UPDATED - Hmm. Looks as though he didn't try to buy a gun - he tried to rent a gun. Or did rent a gun. This still seems quite odd, but there aren't enough details for me to armchair quarterback the situation.

Sorry, gang

But I got nuthin'. Long day on the road. One near-miss with a rented motor home that some middle-aged jackass was driving like...well, as though he were trying to live out trucker fantasies, but without trucker skills.

Lonestar beer - Story Time!

At my last Marine Corps duty station, we served under Major General Evil. This particular general officer was the tool of Satan. He was simpering, political, pandered to any and all media outlets, and often stuck his head in our office to bitch at our officers for imaginary slights.

He once delivered a group ass-chewing to the lieutenant in my office, our senior NCO and me. Why? I'd been promoted and since we worked in a wing of his building, we should have told him. Rather, I'd asked the lieutenant (a fabulous officer) to do it, specifically to avoid having Evil General put my sergeant's stripes on (and the LT had done it, specifically to avoid having to listen to the general ramble on in our office). It wouldn't have been a big deal, but he seemed seriously offended that any Marine in his "orbit" would rather be promoted by a butter bar.

He also ordered the base NCO club to stock orange soda (his preferred beverage), so he could enjoy one when he'd drop in and annoy the NCOs who were trying to hide from officers and drink in the dark. This, it seemed to him, was camraderie.

Jackass.

Time passed, and the day came when General Evil was to leave us. He was to be replaced a one-star. I was tasked to narrate the change of command ceremony.

I narrated a lot of these, having been gifted with the (rare in the Marine Corps) ability to read aloud in a non-stilted manner. We rehearsed the parade for several days.

One day during rehearsal, I was standing behind the podium and smoking a cigarette while the base sergeant major chased field grade officers around the parade deck, trying to explain the proper manner in which to march the staff forward. A shadow approached from my right. I glanced over, caught shiny stars out of the corner of my eye. I dropped my cigarette, assumed the postion of attention, rendered a sharp salute, and greeted the general.

"Jesus Christ, sergeant," he growled. "Pick up that cigarette. Those things are expensive these days."

It was the new Commanding General, and he chatted with me a couple minutes while I smoked (nervously).

The change of command went off without a hitch. I resisted the urge to say, "Hurry up! Faster!" when the sergeant major passed the colors to the new commander.

The new general's remarks, in which he introduced himself, included mention of how happy he was that the local cops had never "caught up to him" when he was a young officer at our base.

Within a week, he'd had the orange soda in the NCO club replaced with Lonestar beer. That was his beverage of choice, and he'd often drop in and have a beer with his corporals and sergeants. Unlike when Evil General would visit, we looked forward to seeing the new CG. Yes, he was a general, but you could shoot the breeze with him.

Evil General retired as a two-star. Awesome General is still out there in the Marine Corps. And tonight when I saw Lonestar at the gas station, I thought of him and bought a six-pack.

So, LtGen. Weber, this one is for you.

Job Interviews

And in highlights from today, we have Abby's favorite question, asked by a gentleman peering at my resume.

"So, between this outreach work, and this Army stuff, which of your last couple of jobs have you liked best?"

[blink blink]

"You know," says Abby, trying to organize her thoughts and not say that's a dumbass question, "although I really enjoyed working at [the outreach agency], and I love the mission and the people, there's a certain job satisfaction that comes with bringing people home alive that was a real highlight on the last one."

C'mon.

Did you prefer a job where you ran a pretty good chance of dying, or a job where that really wasn't on the table?

I like to not die.

Did you prefer knowing you'd ensured adherence to Government Printing Office regulations at end of the day, or was it slightly more satisfying for all of your Soldiers to have all of their limbs?

Gotta go with the limbs on that one, Jim.

Anyway...it wasn't bad. Although one group did have me take some 100-question automated personality test that I'd be willing to bet came out "cranky."

About "Spook" - Story Time!

I've been getting some great ideas for a name for Black Dog. LabRat recently suggested "Spook."

Well...now I gotta tell you a story. Two, in fact,

First one, made very short: when I was a kid, my Dad had a yellow lab crossbreed named Spook as a hunting dog. Good dog. One day, he was gone. Swiped. I think my Dad is still bummed out about the loss of Spook.

OK. Story #2. We're going back to 1997, and Abby is a young Marine in the Basic Journalist Course out at Ft. Meade. It's an all-services course, and PFC Abby's primary instuctor is SFC Reed, a black Army NCO. He's very smart.

We're getting toward the end of the class and we're writing "features." These are different from "news," "sports," or "commentary." They're human interest. I opted to do one of mine on the museum the National Security Agency had recently opened at Ft. Meade (yeah - just for a minute, imagine the DoD training all its photojournalists on the same base as the NSA - where you can't take pictures of anything - that was an adventure).

Anyway, I went out and I did the story. The NSA museum is highly cool, by the way. You should go see it if you ever have the opportunity. They have pieces of the U2 that Francis Gary Powers was shot down in.

I wrote the story and handed it it. Of course, being "journalist" trainees, we had to write a headline. I used something along the lines of, "Terrorists, Spies and Spooks - Oh My!"

Yes - I know. Very gay. But that's why God made editors.

The day after we handed our features in, SFC Reed called me aside.

"[Abby], that was a great feature," he said. "But the headline's no good."

I was confused. Disoriented. "Why not, sergeant first class?" (The Marines always used the full rank and it drove the Army instructors nuts)

"Do you know what 'spook' means?"

"Yeah. A spy. Or a ghost."

SFC Reed sighed. The poor man. "Or nigger. It's a term a lot like 'nigger' in the south."

I was mortified. I did not know this. We didn't have any black people where I came from, and I just had no idea. It was embarassing. He didn't mark me down, and I never used 'spook' again.

So...I dunno about that for a dog name. I'd be all about it, but I don't want to be rude. Rude is bad. Since I discovered that people have alternate meanings for the word "coon," I've been very careful to not refer to "shooting coons in the barn when I was a kid," and I don't think I should backslide on this one.

I dunno. It's a shame the term has racist connotations, because I like it.

X,Y,Z

That is, in the positional sense. Yes - I made Fort Worth. I found a hotel, reconned my route to the first interview tomorrow. Then I found a bar.

The Fox and Hound - in some strip mall off of 820. Just a question - what was up with the music?

It was as though they had a Top 20 of all genres - with videos - and kept playing them loudly. Sorry, folks, but the good beer selection couldn't make up for the lack of theme. Country? R&B? Hard rock? Easy listening? I don't know.

And the lack of fish and chips? For God's sake - you call yourselves an English Pub and Grill! If I patronize your establishment and end up ordering a chicken ceaser salad - you're wrong.

Bedded down

for the night in a Cheap Motel between Mobile, AL and the Mississippi state line. My goal today was a minimum of 400 miles - I did 535, so I should be in good shape to make DFW tomorrow with enough time to hunt down some pantyhose (have I mentioned how much I hate occasions that call for the wear of heels and pantyhose?).

This particular Cheap Motel advertises free high speed wireless, and apparently it exists, but it was impossible to get a connection - so I'm "borrowing" the network from the Cheap Motel next door.

Appreciate all the input on a name for Black Dog. Keep 'em coming. I've got Mr. Abby over the idea of naming him "Gunny," so let's see what we can come up with. Right now we're stalled at "Junior" ('cause then he could be JR From Dallas here in a few months), but I'm keeping track of the suggestions. Once we meet the little guy and get a read on his personality, we'll see what fits best.

OK. 765 miles to drive tomorrow, so I'm off to bed.

Funny

I laughed and beer came out my nose. Ouch.

(just skip this if you're not one of my gun nuts)

I missed the reference when Xavier posted some of this guy's stuff, but I ran across a thread at 1911forum that took me to the site.

They are very reliable and I really enjoy the trigger on Glock Pistols. They are good triggers once you get the hang of them. I would recommend having a smith work on them. The 1911 triggers are amazing but they require the use of a safety. I don't like safeties on my guns because when you're at the Starbucks and some democrat thug walks in waving a Lorcin you just might forget to turn the safety off of your nice shiny 1911. (It happened and America lost a great CCWer that day.) Then where will you be? You will be holding a gun that isn't going bang all the while getting shot by someone who voted for Clinton. How does that help the community?

I swear, if you can't laugh at yourself, your comrades, and some of the wingnuts your hobby puts you in contact with...

Satire, people. Satire.

I knew one of these guys. I'll do a Story Time about him soon.

At last!

He finally sent a picture!

Ladies and Gentlemen, let me introduce you to the newest member of the Bad Dog Pack...[Name To Be Determined]!



He looks neither two months old, nor entirely like a lab (looks a little skinny for a pure lab - maybe some hound in there?). However, he is black and has four legs, so Mr. Abby's description wasn't totally worthless.

Arming the neighbor kids - or not

I just off the phone with Randy. Randy is my older male cousin, and he lives up in Michigan. He's actually Cousin R's older brother, but I figured I'd give him his own name to keep things less confusing.

Randy is in the process of turning into a bit of an old bachelor (at 30). He works a ton, saves his money, lives alone in his own home and accumulates firearms.

At some point, he's going to meet the right gal and she's going to shut that down, so I encourage him.

Anyway. As some old bachelors are, Randy is fond of children. He is also fond of some fruit trees in his yard. He is, however, not fond of the rabbits that wreck havoc on his fruit trees.

This is the story he told me on the phone.

"So I had a family move in by me, and they had some boys. So I went over to the Dad and told him, 'Hey, I want to buy each of your kids a BB gun and BBs and let 'em shoot my rabbits.'"

I blinked into the phone. I love my cousin, but he's a straightforward guy, and I imagine he just walked up to this Dad who'd just relocated his family "to the country" and made this offer, with no more subtilty or fanfare.

"How'd that go for you, Randy?"

"Well, one of the boys was standing right there, and his eyes lit up. But the Dad was like, 'No, they're just 8 and 10 and I don't think that would be safe.' I told him, 'hey, when I was 10 I had a .410 and nobody worried about me!' But he still said no, even when I said I had 300 bucks in my pocket and I'd take 'em all down to the store right then."

"Well, I guess it ain't 20 years ago anymore, is it?"

"Nope."

Now, I can understand how having the goofy bachelor up the road wander over and offer to arm your children would be a little odd. But, c'mon! I know mothers can be a little flaky, but what Dad in his right mind would pass on that deal?

It's too bad, and I hope that the neighbors reconsider when they've lived there a while and realize that Randy's just...Randy. Not creepy, just the guy without a lot of social polish who thinks that boys should whack nuisance rabbits.

Because, c'mon - if you were a kid, what on earth would be more fun than having a neighbor set you up with a nice BB gun and asking you to declare open season on yard pests? I bet if those kids worked it right, they could even talk him into paying a bounty.

Gettin' Stuff Done

Slept a little this morning, then made up and to the bank, then to Jiffy Lube. Loves me that Jiffy Lube. Yes - I know I could learn to change my oil. But I don't want to screw around with it.

Then...the V-E-T. Of course, at first, Casey thought she was lucky. Hey - a car ride without the other dog! Score! Check out her Jeep-riding setup.



She's got a harness that buckles into the seat belt end. I only use it when the top is down or the windows are out, but it works. Way better than having her lunge out at a stoplight to chase some minority child.

She did well at the vet, and the vet did well off us (to the tune of $300-plus), but I got six months of flea and heartworm stuff.

On the ride home, Casey thought for a moment she was maybe going to score a treat.



Ahh...no. Even good dogs don't get designer wedding cakes. Sorry, girl.

And the trip's final highlight - a bus ad. Now, I'm really not into personal injury lawsuits to start with, but I don't think I'd be calling "Koby" on the basis of this ad. Then again, I suspect I am not the target demographic.

Eek! Visitors!

All these people are coming over and the house is a mess!

A big "thank you" to Tamara for throwing some traffic our way. Welcome to Bad Dog Central. Go ahead and grab something out of the fridge while I clear the dog toys off the sofa...

You'll find some handy links over on the left that will help you wade through the crap here. Whether the gun stuff, the war stuff, the dog stuff or something else is your thing, feel free to sniff around and see if you can find an old buried bone you like.

Ridiculous

This is absurd. Apparently, the prospect of a road trip and job interviews has me so geeked that I am incapable of sleep.

I'm normally pretty much nocturnal, but I tend to be knocked out by 0300. I just tried for the second time tonight to fall asleep. Nada. When I caught myself doing pushups in bed (too see how that felt with my feet tucked over the mattress), I figured I may as well give up.

I've tried everything. James Patterson paperback? No luck. Two hours of reading flashlight reviews online? Buddy, if that doesn't work - nothing will.

So I'm going to go get some breakfast.

Seeing as I was busy today (yesterday? Thursday) and really was tired earlier tonight (last night?), I assume this will all lead to me falling asleep around 1030 and running late to the vet.

Cue the Willie Nelson

'Cause we're about to be on the road again.

Well, I am. The Bad Dogs have a little getaway with Crazy Uncle Buddy, and I have a job interview in Texas next week. Two, actually, but one is far closer to being a "real job" than the other.

So I got my Mapquest, and I got my state maps. Tomorrow is a trip to the bank, then a trip to Jiffy Lube so my beloved Jeep is healthy for the trip, then a trip to the vet because someone (Casey) needs a bordatella booster. Then a fun-filled Saturday of making sure my grownup clothes are in order (heels - ick), and then I am outta here.

I love a good road trip. This one won't be leisurely - in fact, it'll be a Road Warrior Pedal to the Metal type of trip, but that's okay. Mostly, I just love having something to do, other than sit around here grumbling and talking to the dogs.

And c'mon - it's 1200 miles of smoking cigarettes (yeah, that quitting thing is not working out for me) and listening to old country music. You can't beat that.

Big Brown Truck of...Irritation?

I just intercepted the UPS man as he approached the door. He looked a little frightened to see me come hurtling out at him until I explained, "didn't want you to knock - makes the dogs crazy."

Of course, as I knew, it was the ammo, not the shirts.



And now you can really see why I wasn't all excited. 6.5 Carcano and an extra hundred of off-brand .30 carbine. Yeah - like I was waiting with bated breath for that.

I do have a Carcano - a bastardized sporterized cut-down of a rifle (the M91, I belive) that wasn't much to speak of originally. But - it was like $35 bucks on gunbroker.com, and after a little work and a little sanding, I took it to the range and found...it worked. You line up the sights and you hit what you're shooting at (if it's not more than 100 yards away).

But it's a little, tiny thing. So y'all know what that means...it's a kid rifle. One of the Bad Pups (my stepkids, for the new folks here) has adopted it. He can hit what he shoots at and it's his huntin' rifle, entirely ready for the day when either of the boys can sit quiety enough for more than 45 seconds and some deaf hog or whitetail wanders into range.

It's a good kid rifle. Simple iron sights, not punishing, etc. But ammo's a bitch. So when I found soft-point at 9.95/20, I jumped. Perhaps I'll take it to the range and ensure the ammo works.

Here's a pic of said Italian bastard rifle, pictured with my 336CS for reference.

UPDATE: It occurred to me that someone else might want softpoint 6.5 Carcano at 9.95/box. Here's where I got mine.

Sweet Ol' Uncle Mahmoud...

What a nice man! He let the British sailors and Marines go home. Group hugs for Uncle Mahmoud!

You know, anybody who tells you that how the release happened doesn't matter - it's the fact that the Brits are home which counts - they're wrong.

It's the difference between your dog pissing on the rug and stopping because he doesn't have to piss anymore (for a while), and stopping because you caught him, hollered at him, and tossed him outside to piss.

One course of action taught your dog a valuable lesson that, if repeated as necessary, will lead to a good dog, piss-free rugs and general peace and harmony. The other course of action will lead to damp, pee-smelling rugs for the life of the dog.

Or until you decide to live without rugs.

I lack the energy to go on about this today, but people - the Iranians learned a lesson from this, and it's not a good one.

To return to the dog analogy...when I was a kid, we'd put our pets through an obediance class taught by a very smart lady who always opened each session by reminding us that "you can't teach nothing."

That's true - your actions or lack thereof always carry a message and provide guidance to your pet. You have to be aware of this, and remain mindful to send only the messages you want received.

The rhetorical, diplomatic and military actions of a nation or group of nations also are always communicating something. I do not care for what we are teaching Iran and its filthy little co-conspirators these days.

Quality time

Had to make an emergency Publix run earlier to pick up salad. I also got a little container of "sweet grape tomatoes."

Which were very yummy.

I just shared the end of the container with Casey (one for her, one for me).

Allie is still on strike about our fruit and veggie snacking.

It's okay girl, Cousin R will be back to get you and take you away from the Produce Eating Shepherd tomorrow.

Not the sharpest tool in the shed

Being an idiot, I just took all three dogs to the park. They were getting a little wound up and I figured it would be more effective than just walking them around a couple of blocks.

I was right. They're exhausted. But so am I.

First, I loaded them up. Which takes a little effort, because the instant I start collecting leashes, they get hysterical.



At this point, all I had to do was get Casey in the back, put Sparky's collar on, drive four blocks to the park (the sidewalk is too scary to walk all of them there), get the out of the Jeep, get leashes on, and get them into the park.

Jesus. We walked around the lake and over to the DOG PARK on the other side. Oh boy! DOG PARK DOG PARK DOG PARK. Of course, I had to take the leashes off, operate the park gates and then keep track of them. But they had fun.



That, people, is a fast-moving chocolate lab.



And that is Casey, Queen of the Dog Park, and She Who Herds Boxers.

We finally left the dogs park (collect dogs, attach leashes, untangle leashes, operate gates, drag dogs out). As we walked back around the lake, the gang pointed out that they were hot. Okay.



Everbody likes the lake. Some of us just like it more than others.



So then I loaded three wet dogs in the Jeep and drove home. Now I have wet, filthy dogs sleeping all over. As long as they stay asleep, it will have been worth it.



The top is going to have to stay down a couple more days to get that smell out...

Why I love country music

Because, in part, of stuff like this.

Country singer wanted in shooting incident

Bily Joe Shaver wrote and sang, "Georgia on a fast train," which is one of my favorites. And, apparently, he shot a man outside a bar in some small Texas down a couple of days ago.

After Shaver left a bar in Lorena on Saturday night, a drunk, aggressive stranger with a knife followed him into the parking lot, said attorney Joseph A. Turner of Austin. Shaver shot him in self-defense, he said.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I'll share some lyrics, but you should go buy one of his albums. Hell, it looks like he might need the money for a good attorney.

On a rainy Wednesday morning that's the way that I was born in
That old sharecropper's one room country shack
They said my mommie left me the day before she had me
Said she hit the road and never once looked back
And I just like to mention my grandma's old age pension
Is the reason why I'm standing here today
I got all my country learning a milking and a churning
Picking cotton raisin' hell and baling hay
I been to Georgia on a fast train honey I wouldn't born no yesterday
I got a good Christian raisin' and an eight grade education
Ain't no need in y'all a treatin' me this way

WTF?

So I picked up the phone and dialed a number. And got that weird, disconnected busy signal. I tried again a couple minutes later. Same thing. Tried a local number. Same thing.

Huh.

Grabbed my cell. It can't complete any outbound call.

Emailed a buddy. She can't get a call through on either phone.

What the Hell?

My phone runs on the same FIOS lines as my internet access (which, we can see, works). My cell is an entirely different company.

I can only think of one thing that would cause this, and it doesn't make any sense, because I can't imagine why anyone would be running high-powered frequency jamming equipment here.

Well, I can, actually, but I don't think the couple of entities on the base that would have that shit would switch it on during a workday.

This is annoying.

Picture?

One of the gangs points out it would be easier to make dog name suggestions if I posted a picture of the Pending Bad Dog.

Well, yes, it would. Wouldn't it?

But I don't have a picture. In fact, when I asked Mr. Abby yesterday if the little guy has any white marks, he replied, "I dunno."

[insert sound of head pounding against wall]

Jesus Christ, darling, did you notice if he has all four legs???

Poor Allie

So I was sitting on the couch last night, crunching happily through a bag of baby carrots. Casey is way into veggies, so I was tossing her one for every two or three I ate. She ALSO crunches through them with great zeal.

(Heck, even Sparky got in on the act and had one)

So Allie was staring at me. She obviously wanted a treat. Now, we know she's on a special diet, but I figured - hey, it's carrots.

I handed her one. She took it. And then just looked at me. It was as if I could read her mind.

I have absolutely no idea, she said with those big brown eyes, what the Hell is up with you people. This is not a snack.
Sorry, girl. The no-cheeseburgers rule remains in place.

Confused

So I ordered a couple of shirts online. One for me, and one for Mr. Abby. I also ordered (from a different company), some ammunition.

One of those two orders has shipped, and I have no idea which. It hasn't registered with UPS to the degree that it's telling me where it's come from, so I'm totally confused.

The automated notice says the package weighs six pounds. That sounds like a lot for the shirt, but probably not enough for the ammo.

I hope it's the shirts.

UPDATE: Nope. It's the ammo. How annoying.

More Ammo Adventures at Wally World

Stopped at WalMart enroute to the range.

Yea! Plenty of Blazer Brass in my calibers! [insert happy dance here]

Had the usual experience of having to walk the gal behind the counter to the right stuff ("no...up one...to the left...yeah. Two of those...")

Ended up with 4 boxes of .45 and 2 of 9mm. Of course, the gal behind the counter wasn't empowered to use the register by the ammo, so she summoned a lackey to carry my ammo to the garden center register.

The lackey was a young guy (maybe 20, 21?).

"Wow," he said. "Gonna shoot somebody?"

I blinked. "I sure hope not." That's a pretty stupid question. But, although I'm not a crazed firearms evangelist, I do try to fight the ignorance.

He continued walking. "Going hunting?

Talkative little bastard. "Nope. Just going to the range. It's a hobby. But the same box would cost me 16 bucks there, so I stock up here."

"Huh." He was quiet until we got in line. He then opened one of the boxes of .45 and peered in. "Wow. That's a big bullet."

Jesus H. Christ. Now, some of my fellow gun nuts would kidnap the kid and take him to a Second Amendment Re-education camp, and some would shriek at him and call him a "sheeple" while berating him about his inability to protect himself and his loved ones. I mostly just wanted to not have a conversation with him.

"Well, on the outside chance it ever comes to that, I prefer a big bullet to a small one."

He looked at me. I looked at him. I thought about saying, "that's why I have eight of them in a suitable pistol on my hip right now. Which also makes me curious about why you have to carry my ammo to the register." But I left that part out.

All in all, a mildly annoying experience. The ladies at the checkout, however, were a hoot, pointing out that they were double-bagging my purchase to save me from having to gather several hundred spilled rounds from under cars in the parking lot.

Moving right along...Looking for some help

OK. We got a little carried away with the last post, but I'll leave it in its stream-of-conciousness, I'd-like-to-kick-Nancy-Pelosi's ass entirety.

I would like to solicit input. As I earlier announced, we will have a young male black lab coming to live with us.

Mr. Abby wants to name him "Gunny" (after the rank). I think that's kinda dweeby, and counteroffered "Guns" (a much more familiar term for the same rank).

However, I was thinking aloud that I was inclined to like "Satchel" (the ball player).

And let's be honest - the fact that he's a black lab opens the door to lots of options.

LeeAnn has suggested "Little Black Sambo." I could definitely work with "Sambo."

How about some more suggestions? It's gotta be manly, but other than that, let's see if we can come up with something better than naming the poor little guy "Guns."

Highly uncool - Surrender monkeys run amok

You know, I've made serious efforts to remain bipartisan about this whole "War on Terror" thing. I try to be middle of the road. The President's plan in Iraq has long needed some...refinement. I've admitted that there have been alternatives and better ways to do things.

I've been waiting for someone out there, on either side of the aisle, to come up a better way to fix the Islamic terror problems (I say problems because we have distinct issues with Sunni terror and Shiite terror - they're different but equally troublesome beasts).

I've been troubled that, Joe Lieberman aside, I'm not getting anything from the Democrats.

Maybe I need to make my entire position clear. Ahem:

There are people in the Muslim world who have killed Americans, both military and civilian, with relative impunity for more than 25 years. These attacks have been committed by both Sunni extremists (Al Qaeda) and Shiite extremists (Hezbollah). The will to continue this sort of attack is still very much alive.

It is better to prevent these attacks than to let them occur. It is our duty as Americans to protect ourselves and our countrymen. It is impossible to build a giant wall around our nation and retreat within our borders, so we must take the fight to the enemy. This includes murderous regimes that blame America and the West for their shortcomings and misery. Current Middle Eastern governments keep substantial numbers of their people in misery in subjugation, then redirect their powerlessness and rage toward the West. Any offensive strategy in the Middle East requires a comittment to build functioning representative processes to replace dictatorships, which is difficult since the region doesn't have a tradition of such processes.

This is where I'm working from. I cannot imagine any of our national leadership who thinks the best way to counter what happened in New York, Washington D.C. and Pennsylvania is to give up.

We've discussed before that I was lukewarm on Iraq as a target. Oh - we needed a target, but if Abby were Queen, it probably would have been a different country in the region.

But now we're there. And man, did we every goatfuck that place. The invasion worked, the immediate aftermath didn't, and we wasted several years while the Administration refused to admit the initial plan wasn't perfect.

Changes have finally been made. We've got a helluva commander on the ground in Baghdad in General Petraeus. You ask me, I'd tell you we still don't have enough guys on the ground, but we're doing better than we were. We've reversed that awful trend leading up to the 2006 elections in which we pulled our people onto the big bases to try to keep them safer.

And now we've got the fucking Democrats in Congress whining for a pullout date. My question - are they stupid, or are they craven weasels more concerned with political success than the long term security of our nation?

'Cause folks, it's one or the other.

A pullout date is nothing. It's meaningless. Spring of '08? What the hell significance does that have? Did I miss the release of the Deomcratic Party Timeline for Success, which outlined the steps and dates for finishing the training of the Iraqi Security Forces (including a robust and functioning border guard), ensuring the Iraqi government is stable enough to run and hold elections on its own (without interference from the Bad Neighbors), and specific benchmarks for establishing enough local security for the defunct factories and oil facilities of Iraq to get fully back on line and offer employment opportunities? Did I goddam miss the part where they explained how we are going to achieve success (that is, VICTORY) by Spring of '08?

No - I don't think I did. Because for some reason, these cringing weasels apparently think we can't win there. We can't do the things in the paragraph above.

Ladies and gentlemen, that is a load of bullshit.

What we may not be able to do is have our cake and eat it too. We may not be able to have our uniformed folks at war while, as the pictures suggested, the rest of America is at the mall.

Only recently did the US Army and Marine Corps get authorized end-strength increases. We've heard the defeatists whimper about how over-tasked our military is for several years now, and only JUST NOW are we getting around to, you know, fixing that. (We're not going to be rude and talk about how our forces were gutted during the 90s - apparently someone thought we'd seen an end to war)

And that's just the beginning. We're currently handling our Reserve and National Guard forces under a "partial mobilization." There are two more steps beyond that. There may be some very hard choices to make if we don't want to lose.

We have options. And we have obligations. There are good men and women in Iraq who will die at the hands of terrorists and criminals if we pull out and abandon them.

There is a large and evil country directly next to Iraq that has watched our wobbling, our lack of resolve, our cringing and which has decided it can get away not only with defying the UN in regards to production of nuclear materials, but has also felt bold enough to kidnap and hold British servicemembers.

Iraq is not just about Iraq. Iraq is also about Iran. There are moral reasons we must not leave Iraq, promises we have made to the people of that country, and upon which they've bet their lives. There are also very serious reasons that we cannot demonstrate to Iran that we have no resolve.

Iran has a puppet state, you know. That's Syria. Syria is, of course, where Hezbollah gets to live and get money and equipment (since they've been largely pushed out of Lebanon).

Guess who's visiting Syria?

Nancy, I got 241 dead American warriors who'd like to have a little talk with you about sitting down with those savages...

Folks, this is all tied together. The term "rat's nest" doesn't even begin to describe this region. We jumped the berm into Iraq and waded ass-deep into the mess that is the modern Middle East. It isn't easy, it isn't simple. It isn't always clear, and it sure isn't made to fit neatly into soundbites.

But there is one country in the world that's a prime target for the rage that brews over there, and that is the U.S. And there is only one entity on the planet with the money, resources, brains and capability to even begin trying to unfuck the region. Fortunately, that is also the U.S.

This is not a short war. This is, as the wise men have said, The Long War. Cutting and running from Iraq misses the point. We need to figure out how to win there, because we're going to need to do it again in the same region before all too long. Whether it's at a time and place of our choosing or theirs, our work in the Middle East is far from over. Iraq is where it's started, and where we can either learn how to win, or begin learning how to lose.

Any politician who favors the later can go straight to Hell.

It's always gotta be complex...

The Bad Dogs eat the same thing. A Purina "healthy system" dry food made largely of salmon (and it stinks), with a small can of Pedigree wet food divided between them. Casey eats quite a bit, Sparky eats much less, and often they switch back forth between each other's bowls. Both are healthy weights, so I don't worry much about the details.

This has gotten a little complicated with Allie here. Like many labs, Allie is...big boned. Know what I mean? So she eats special food.

Now, although Allie hangs out with Cousin R, she really belongs to Cousin R's gentleman friend, Mr. Really Great.

Mr. Really Great is a very nice guy, but he loves his dog and could totally kick my ass. So since he takes her special diet Very Seriously (as he should), I do too.

What this means, of course, is that Dog Supper (and since Allie used to eating twice daily, Dog Breakfast), require a little adult supervision. Normally I kick the dogs out, fill their bowls, let them back in and ignore them.

Now I kick them out, fill the bowls (with crunchies - nobody gets wet food if everybody doesn't), let them in, steer them to the right bowl, steer them back to the right bowl, and stand in the middle of the kitchen until everyone is chowing down on the appropriate substance.

The Bad Dogs, of course, are now asking, "where's our people food?" since they normally get meat leftovers and big beef bones and occasionally eggs and/or soup.

And Allie occasionally tries to pull one over on me, by resting her head on my knee as I'm eating cheese or something else I'm normally inclined to share.

Sorry, Allie. Your Dad would strangle me if I fed you bacon cheeseburgers, so it's not gonna happen.