Update

Blogging’s been sparse around these parts, and in my fantasy life a lot of people want to know why. It’s not because I’m lazy. It’s because I’ve been very busy. Let’s see – what have I been up to? Oh yes. I took on a part-time job that requires my getting up at 5 in the morning. Since that used to be my bedtime, it doesn’t jive too well with my blogging habits. (This illiterate Microsoft Word program just put a squiggly red line under ‘blogging’ (there! It did it again!) because it doesn’t recognize the word.) So I’m tired all the time. I do the yard work, but that makes me even tireder. So I spend a lot of time napping, and when you do that, there goes the blogging. (Squiggly line. I’m afraid if I keep using the word this program will freeze up on me.) Anyway, while on this new job (it’s actually an old new job; I keep re-enlisting every few years) I did get to see something interesting. While driving past the ninth tee the other day (yeah, a golf course) I saw one of those long-legged, high-stepping water birds with a long tubular neck and a beak like a dagger pecking at something in the ground. Then he tosses it in the air and I see it’s a snake. He tosses and catches, tosses and catches, and finally works it into position to slide it down his throat. A few more head jerks and the snake disappears. Except for the tail. That wraps around the bird’s beak just beneath his eyes. A few more twitches and the tail disappears. The snake was alive going down. I’ve always wondered what it’s like to be digested alive. Actually I haven’t, but I do now. You could see the bird’s throat convulse every now and then as the snake thrashed around. What if it was a water moccasin, which isn’t unlikely? Is the bird immune to the venom? He didn’t seem worried about it. I had stopped the machine I was riding to watch. After swallowing, if that’s what you can call it, the bird gave me a look that was hard to read. It wasn’t fear, I can tell you that. Another thing I saw was a guy walking his golden retriever in the early morning hours. He was carrying a golf club and the dog trotted beside him with a golf ball in his mouth. The dog would drop the ball, the guy would hit it, and the dog went after it. I love dogs.

In spite of the weariness I have been keeping up with things at my usual minimal level. For example, I noticed that the U.S. Senate failed to abolish the death tax. That means that when mom and dad leave you their stuff, which is what’s left over after everything else they earned has already been taxed, they’re going to tax you again. They’re going to profit off your grief. They’d tax your passage to purgatory if they could. As the famous poem goes: You can’t take it with you/ in a coffin lined with lead,/ So tax’em while they’re living/ And tax’em when they’re dead. Did you know that Mexico has no death tax? No wonder those illegals send so much of it home. I got this fact from Larry Kudlow at Townhall. He thinks those of us who want the illegals to obey the law are xenophobes. I’d supply the link, but it requires opening another window and I just woke up from a nap.

I also noticed that the U.S. Senate failed to vote in favor of the Federal Marriage Amendment. It was actually a vote on a constitutional amendment requiring a two-thirds majority, so the simple majority amounted to a loss. They didn’t pass it because – even though to a man and woman they all believe in the sanctity of the union of one man and one woman – they think this issue ought to be left to the states. (I wonder if they think that way about abortion.) So I guess that means that when enough state supreme courts, like Masschussettses’ (try those syllables on for size), impose gay marriage upon their non-constituents, or when the U.S. Supremo Commandantes do the same thing, all those senators will change their minds.

I also noticed Al-Zarqawi’s mug on the TV. He didn’t look well, ashen, to say the least. I didn’t pray for him. It’s not that I tried and couldn’t think of anything to say. I made a conscious decision not to. Bad Christian me. It was more fun trying to imagine what the afterlife must be like for him. I figured I’d let Nick Berg pray for him, across the great abyss.

Bern and Cedar are coming to town for the Women’s Open qualifier. (Bern will try to qualify, not the dog.) I bought him a new treat called T-bones in hopes that he will like it. I can’t wait to see him. I mean them. Bern text-messaged the other day:
    ”Can I borrow 1200 dollars?”
    ”Why?”
    ”First say yes or no.”
    ”No.”
    ”Please?”
    ”For what?”
    ”I want 2 buy a dog.”
    ”You’re joking, right?”
    ”Sort of.”
    ”Call me.”
Phone rings. I chastise her for complaining about not having enough money to go to tournaments and now she wants another dog.
    ”But he’s so cute.”
    ”Where are you?” I hear a cacophony of sounds in the background, some human, some not.
    ”Somewhere.”
    ”You’re in a pet store, aren’t you?”
    ”Yeah.”
    ”Why aren’t you on the course, practicing?”
    ”I already did that.”
    ”What kind of dog is it?”
    ”A miniature pinscher.”
I told her to forget it, reminding her of the time a pinscher I’d thought a friend bit me, and ever since I’d just as soon put a bullet in their brains as look at them. Besides, it would end up eating Cedar.
    ”No, no. It’s miniature. It stays that way.”
    ”Yeah, a miniature murderer.”
    ”Oh, he’s sooo cute.”
    ”They’re always cute when they’re puppies.”
    ”But cedar needs a playmate.”
    ”Yeah, but not an executioner.”
    ”Well then can I get this little hamster? It’s sooo cute…”
    ”So you want to get something even Cedar can eat. Trust me, a hamster and a dog will never be playmates.”

And on it went a while. I convinced her to wait until the season was over, so she would have sufficient time to give to a new puppy. But I can assure you that Cedar will have his playmate.