Cops and Car Tags!

What is it with these people in blue? You drive a car without insurance the police can't detect that. You drive a car without owning it - they never know, but drive a car with an expired tag and they're all over you! I was clever though - you know I was. I took MY tag off of MY car and put my son's tag on it - - for about a minute. Then that CHRISTIAN thing sets in, and I think to myself "I can't do this! I'll get caught for sure." Probably not, but you know - even if the men in blue don't get me I still have to answer to Jesus. He's got that omnipresent thing going on.

So, I inch my way to the city of Edmond from my house and go pull up in the parking lot of the post office really hoping my post office box is full of money. I do that, I hope a lot. Most of the time I'm hoping - most of the time I'm left standing there with magazines, bills, letters from fans of my dog - no money. Today I had money! YEA! First things first, get to the bank - get the car insurance updated (expired the 31st and this is the 1st) - get the tag (you can't get the tag without the insurance, lovely catch 22) - get the great feeling you get for being completely legal and in compliance with the law. That didn't happen.

Outside the post office was a uniformed police officer waiting for the owner of the little silver Ford Focus wagon parked in the post office parking lot without an updated tag. Can you believe it? I couldn't. I didn't even have the advance of knowing this one - Caity hadn't met him yet under duress. Usually I can spot a cop, wave, apologize for the kid and move on. Not this time. Hello Dear Sir, I began my conversation. "I swear to you, to the Lord, and both of our mothers that I am literally ON MY WAY to the bank to deposit this" and I held out the check "So that I can go to the insurance company and get my new card, and then to the tag agency to get the new sticker - would you like to follow me?" No. He said. You can't drive the car without insurance, and you can't drive the car without a tag. OK....OK....OK....no problem. The bank is about 2 miles from the post office, the insurance office another 2 from the bank. The tag agency is just around the corner from the post office, and after a little rainy trek - that took 3 hours....I'm in compliance.

No, the cop was NOT there when I got back. Yes, I could have awoken my brats to get on their moped and do the three errands for me, but what's a little calorie burning? I needed the walk - gave me time to think about why I'm such an idiot in the first place. I guarantee you, if I had waited the guy out - he would have left in 10-12 minutes. You just never know. But, at least I do KNOW that I didn't get a ticket. He couldn't cite me because I didn't actually own up to owning the car. I told him I was driving it. He asked me who owned it. I told him I was an American, and I was pleading the 5th. He even asked me what the 5th was - and the teacher came out in me for about another minute. It felt good.

Real American Beauty! Love for Lindsay!

Like a rose, Lindsay Lohan has been grown, groomed to near perfection, cut from her life stem to be seen, used, and now apparently stared at by the world - supposedly, HER public.

An American Beauty is indeed an amazing flower - just being able to successfully grow the plant takes professionalism, years of experience, and a prominent reputation among the flower community - not just ANY rose gets into the mix, not just ANY American Beauty gets chosen. Do you see the comparison I'm trying to make? America's endless desire to see gorgeous women bloom and blossom before our eyes from the beginning has led us to the seemingly tragic story of yet another fading flower - America's film industry found her, watered and fed her, groomed her, cut her from her family to bring her out into the light (so to speak) and without any concern whatsoever to her real personal needs that same industry thrusts her into PR situations creating a dying effect, openly exposing not only her natural thorns, but pointing out what invariably will happen - death.

WAKE UP Hollywood! This isn't a flower you're holding. Lindsay is a real person. She's not even legally an adult - how can she be shuttled back and forth by adults, manufactured into a glossy prototype of so many other would be starlets that came before her, told to drink, told to go to the very places that denied her presence once she stumbled - forced to be seen, to be fed the lie that if she's NOT seen she'll become a nothing, a no-body, a has-been - lied to, and suddenly found wanting in the streets after being set free without guardianship, without real guidance? We can't expect her to behave perfectly - she's a kid! She's a human kid! She's been made into a product- WHO out there, besides me, loves this girl? Her own parents have used her for years to gain popularity, money, status, dreams - she's been abandoned, but held up for the world to admire just as long as she's beautiful - as long as she behaves - as long as she does what you say!

Didn't anyone see the Letterman interview? She was scared, nervous, hurt, and needing more than a gesture of sideline parenting. Yes, it may be too late in some respect - but it is NEVER too late to love her, or to pray for her, or to offer real help - real solutions, not another "I'll-help-you-and-you-help-me-get-rich-off-your-name" scheme that seems to be prevalent today on television and in the tabloids - everyone is so fast to jump on Lindsay's every mistake. Has ANYONE tried to find her glory? Has ANYONE mentioned her abilities to write, to love, to think, to cry, to want to be something more? Maybe it's just me, but I see a little girl - wanting to grow up, yes, wanting to be led, wanting to be shown a better, more fulfilling solution. DAMN IT can't anyone around her - anyone - love her without expectation?

No flower, having been cut from the stem will live long - but how we love to show them off in their bright colorful vases; ribbons, and glitter - how pathetic are those who show them off. Let them live. I love Lindsay from my heart - yes, probably because she has for years reminded me of my own daughter Laura, but nevertheless - that is ONLY the way I found out about her. Over the years I have learned to see her for herself. And I have cried right along with her on many occasions - I hope she is able to not only heal her condition, but her soul as well. Love to you, our American Beauty!

Starbucks and MY Troops!

Can you imagine the FEAR, the utter FEAR that ran through my blood when my friend, who happens to be 100% military, told me that Coffee Moguls at Starbucks were going to launch an anti-administration or anti-war campaign! I all but fell off my chair! NO, I screamed! I can't do this! That would mean giving up my addiction!

Luckily for me, an internet idiot is behind the rumor, and there is absolutely NO TRUTH to the rumor whatsoever. I spend on the average about $6.00 a day drinking coffee at Starbucks. I've often said out loud that it's cheaper than cocaine, has the same effect, but you don't have to deal with the police! It's an accurate statement. There's another comparison too: Starbucks may be more expensive than say Dunkin Doughnuts or Caribou Coffee, but it doesn't have to be. People don't have to get the cappuccinos. They can do Americanas, straight coffee drinks, simple espressos - no one puts a gun to my head and forces me to dress my drink up. I do it because (and whenever) I want to. It's a great perk - I'm an American! (and I have a job)

So...with big, fat, wet, tears rolling in my eyes I called the headquarters of my beloved Starbucks. I was transferred and transferred, and then I was actually hung up on, but I called back. I had to know. There was NO WAY I was going to take the manager's word for it at the store I usually buy my coffee from. She's awesome, but like me, she's 100% pro-trooper! She's going to tell me what I want to hear, and that's not what I needed. I wanted, yes, I wanted, but not what I had to possibly face. The call finally went through. I was sitting, literally on the edge of my rolling chair awaiting the answer. It was good.

Starbucks has so many stores with so many mangers, district manager, regional managers, and investors that somewhere along the line one or two of them discussed asking Starbucks to make a stand. How can a company that serves everyone from every walk do that? It would be corporate suicide! They aren't stupid! The coffee company itself isn't Starbucks, there are growers, distributors, customers, clients - we're all in this. I'm sure there are a dozen customers at any one time in any one store on any one corner: and that's just in Manhattan with their 100+ stores, that is going to be able to have a varied thought or two on the outcome, or even the onset of the war - OK...that's cool, but my goodness - to say that the STARBUCKS name is involved in something as terrible as NOT supporting MY troops, my son, my flesh - it isn't true. Thank God, it isn't true.

My store's manager (Rebecca) and my other store's manager (Betty) have teamed up with me to get a petition going to ask Starbucks to do the world a favor - or in the case of the troops, a flavor. We'd like to see a certain select or blend be dedicated to the troops - their memory, their support, their efforts - even a way of funding them, or thanking them. Every cup sold would generate money for patriotic causes here and overseas. It's a beginning - something we discussed over a good hot cup of coffee today!

Weekend at the Weasleys!

This is JUST my opinion, I have absolutely no way of knowing exactly what will happen - EVEN if I do have some sketchy sort of insider connection to the lot in Harry Potter's world.

I think the big thrill, the finish, the death, the tragedy will be none other than RON WEASLEY - why do I think this? Well, for one he's expendable. He's been very good thus far, he's been both informative and entertaining, but he's never been the star, he's never been the show-stopper. He's been a slight hero from time to time, he's had good timing, good connection, great skills at nearly everything that Harry is good at, but that's not enough. I think the boy DIES.

I also think that Neville Longbottom was suppose to be the wizard that survived Voldemort's wrath the night he permanently marked Harry and killed his parents. That's another one of my insane beliefs, or rather what I would have done if I had written the plots myself. We all know I didn't have a thing to do with any of the stories, developments or productions - other than the time(s) the company personnel approached me about my dog being in the 4th movie, the Goblet of Fire. Thing is, if Ron dies in Book 7 will they continue to make the last two movies? I think yes. I think they will, and I think they should. Afterall - people die - life goes on at Hogwarts. More books are sold, more tickets sold, more licensures for products ranging from toothbrushes to backpacks, clothing, toys, and other memorabilia...it makes a great splash when a headliner dies - sort of makes you want to run out and buy all the things with his image plastered on it so that you were the really true and devoted fan.

Yes, I think a WEASLEY bites it this time. I thought about Mom, and I thought about Dad. Too obvious and not that much of an impact. The twins could bring in a few tears, Ginny too - she'd be missed - but RON, there's the ticket! Spectacular death too, please! Let's see him crash from 1000 feet in the air on a Quiddach broom - or better, falling from the Bell Tower trying to reach out and grab his owl before it has a chance to alert Voldemort of Harry's plan! YES! that would do. Maybe he could somehow land in the pond and be swallowed up whole by the Merpeople - they could make him one of them, and he wouldn't have to completely die -just you know...go away.

Oh, but Laura! Poor POOOR Laura - she cried the second I suggested it. This is exactly why it would make great sense to oust the boy. Laura has been in love with Rupert Michael Grint since the very moment his little red tuffed head showed up on screen. The years have passed with her fantasies involving little Grints following she and Rupert through Piccadilly Square on their way to take in a museum, a concert, or simply walking back home from a wonderful day on picnic with her man! Rupert, her star is just about to rise, you may think about it buddy! You could die in Book 7, relax - take off 6-7 years and watch Laura's singing career skyrocket! Good plan - well, we'll have to see what Rowling has planned won't we?

July 21, midnight - the dog will be on the road with Laura and Ozzfest but I will be at Barnes and Noble buying the book. I know, I'm a dork - but dorks have more fun. We live longer, and we smile when no one else has a reason to. DORKS unite! Fly Harry!!

Speaking of Speaking!

You know, I would rather talk than do just about anything else - except maybe writing. I have to write, I don't have any options. You know they say a painter paints, and a thinker thinks. Well, writers write, and there's no escaping it. Talkers talk, and I suppose that's the reason for the millions of blogs - readers read! We talkers thank you, we really do. Thank you, thank you, and if you didn't hear me the first time - THANK YOU for reading.

I wrote a poem once, and even published it in a book, wherein I mention the fact that a writer's pen is cursed. We have to write. We have to express, we don't get out of it. When we dream we dream in fluid blue or black inkened stains: rubbing and scratching words into thin air, we sometimes see words forming out of clouds on a stormy gray overcast sky, and often we see words being created through the movement of waterworks in our dreams...fascinating!

I didn't have a thing to do today and my maternal parental unit asked me what I was going to do with myself, having the entire day without a single obligation -- this doesn't happen often, and it scared me just a bit that she somehow knew of my schedule...but she is my mother. I answered that I would be at the university, in my office (commons area of the library, 4th floor) working on working. What that really means is: I would be searching the internet for places to submit my resume, my DVD of me speaking recently at a Victim's Rights Week seminar, and I would be applying for visiting professorships throughout the WORLD - lovely isn't it? I can actually go all over the world now, not just stay in my own backyard - gotta love education!

If speaking publicly is what I have been doing through amateur mic night, sales or teaching, then I have over 25 years experience. I can stand in front of thousands of faces without fear because I ATE MY FEAR in the 80's when I was forced to do improvisational comedy at various clubs in Hollywood to pay for rent! I was always behind in my debts, always spending too much, and since singing for my dinner was out of the question, I simply smiled, added a pause, a little timing to a joke, and I was hot! They kept asking me to come back, and I did. This led to that, and here I am, over 25 years later standing (sometimes sitting) and speaking and making a living all over the world - hopefully! If England answers my call, my plead, my beg - PLEASE!!

Most of the time I am asked to speak to groups of people who need inspiration, encouragement, uplifting. I have spoken at hospitals, military bases, schools, and in public forums such as stadiums full of women who have been victims of domestic abuse. But, to tell you the truth, it would be my honor and privilege to teach through the power of positive speaking on topics of furthering one's education. If we're going to change the world through our immigration policies, or foreign market policies, and our short or long term goals of reaching each and every kid through public education - we need to be educated about the very system we are working with and through at this time. There are reasons roadblocks and impasses occur! In a word: Budget.

It is my goal to teach at Hogwarts, and if I cannot do this, I wish to speak publicly on the topic of education at Oxford. WOW - lofty doesn't quite cut it at this point, that's a damn good goal to have, and one that may well be within my reach THANK YOU Jesus! I can actually say that this particular goal just might happen. A little time, a little pause, a little prayer, a little application - and a lot of patience waiting on the right person to phone or e-mail me to ask me to do what I love to do - talk.

What a rush!

Rejection! I Can Take it!

I used to write to movie studios with ideas I had for features and I'd get dozens of rejection letters in the mail - I expected it. They came, and I just filed them away. I didn't throw them away, oh no, I still have my 1978 rejection letter from Warner Bros. telling me that my idea about the 7th Seal in Revelations being too religious in content - hello, they filmed it anyway. Not my idea, of course, but the movie. So, I look at my stack of no-go letters from time to time and remember the ideas that survived even if the studios thought my concepts were trash at the time.

Books. I have dozens of rejection letters and e-mails now, having the capability to thwart one's ideas and dreams through a new medium - I read them from time to time and I thank God for them actually. The rejections drive me to the point that I don't stop asking. Someone will be the one, someday will be the day, somewhere will be the right place, and when it happens - peace! Well, not for me. I don't stop working. I think I will - I always say I will, then I look for a college that will hire me for a semester as a visting professor and I write, teach, laugh, and travel just to have something to do, and someone to do it with. When you're the teacher the students all but have to follow you around the campus if you ask them to. I've made students explain art to me, take me through builidings they like on their campus. I've even had them vie for a position of who gets to buy me coffee at the university's closest Starbucks....that one's my favorite.

Rejection is something I saw a great deal of in the business world too. I sold insurance. Still do. Damn, I do a lot of stuff don't I? I teach, I write, I speak, I sell - something tells me I need to take a break - not today, maybe Monday! In the insurance business, or probably most sales positions, the rejection is more or less an objection. If I had the right come back, or the perfect follow up that may explain a benefit, or clarify a cloudy image for a client - BAM! Sales Heaven! That's when you get the referrals too. Same thing goes for the student/teacher rejection. We both do it. I tell kids all the time to do their work over again, not realizing they may take it as a rejection. Actually, I've not had many examples of actually rejecting a kid - just a re-do. I have t say re-do's are the best thing in the world. You're not saying yes, but you're not saying no. Just do it again, this time with a bit more focus or giddyup to it!

Can a rejection be the end? Sure. People can totally freak when they get turned down or turned away. Maybe it took everything they had in the first place to drum up the courage to ask a question, or to show their work to someone - only to be hit in the heart, the soul with a big, fat, ugly "I don't like it", or "That's stupid". Wouldn't it be hilarious if the business world did that to us too? I write in a proposal for a film and the director's assistant tells me exactly what he/she thinks - I could counter with "You know what? You suck!" But that only makes me feel better, it doesn't heal the hurt.

Rejection doesn't have to be the end-all, it can be the beginning. It can be the middle. It can be the upside-down-seeing-it-from-another-angle kind of thought too. It happens all the time, my books get turned down, but my readers love it. What's up with that. I'm praised constantly by my students, but the Dean bitches? I don't get it. So, I've decided - rejection is a creation or a manifestation of the other-guy's point of view, not mine. My (or your's if you're following my thought process) idea is awesome. I wouldn't have offered it up for review if it wasn't...the only thing I need to do now, since the other guy thought otherwise - is to re-do. Mix it up. Keep going...push, pull, plug, and plunk it down again.

Wow - there really isn't anything new under the Sun is there? I've just asked you to be persistant next time. Don't take no. MAKE the yes!

I May Be Scotish, But I Do Not Golf.

Until I saw this picture I did not know the difference between a hook and a slice. I sort of had the straight shot figured out in my head, but getting it done on the green is a completely different story.

No, if I had a man (just go with me on this one) that wanted to go out and golf - he could SOOO do so. He wouldn't have to worry about me tagging long. He wouldn't have to worry about me asking questions about the game, or how he did, or what he spent at the 19th hole - I just don't golf. On the flip side of that, I don't have a man - so, he can STILL go golf and not expect me to tag along, or to ask him (them) how the game went, or what they drank, smoked, or ate along the way. Not going to happen.

The game to me seems pointless - but I know it takes an extraordinary amount of skill, talent, and patience - maybe that has something to do with it. I can hit things with clubs - don't get me wrong - I can truly wield the thing properly; even scary, but if I were to try and aim the end of it at the little white ball expecting it to take flight - not so much. My son combines his golfing game with a bout of baseball - throwing the ball into the air and then hitting it with the golf club as it descends - that takes an eye! I can't do that either. Come to think of it, Reuben plays full contact basketball too - for the church! I do occasionally watch that. I get that.

Golf is neither interesting on the field or watching it on television - and if I can't jump up and scream at the opponent for foul play, what good is it? Golfers don't have teams with mascots, they don't have playbooks, protective gear, they don't even have cheerleaders, marching bands, or fans wearing THEIR colors, because they don't have official colors. I guess what I'm saying is that since I can't possibly be good at this particular sport I'm not really interested in watching it or being around it - but I will say this...some of the men I've seen playing the game are hot. I could sit on the sidelines and watch them for a while - pass a little time .....no, too quiet. The game is too freakin' quiet.....no one's tackling another player, no one's slapping each other on the butt, no one's pounding their chest in pride and leaping into the audience - not yet, just give a few more generations...someday even golf will become a contact sport worthy of watching.

But I still won't play.

Reality Hits Hard!

I was actually looking at a Sunday paper insert in 2004, noticing the fact that the highschool football schedules were printed in full for the entire state of Oklahoma, when I glanced at the front page picture one more time. There were about 30 boys in dirty gray t-shirts, white practice pads, white helmets, all standing in such a way that there were no faces turned to the camera. They were rallied around the 50 yard line of their field, and they all had their arms up in the air giving each other their contribution to the ultimate high-five! 30 boys with their backs turned, obscured by all the others, and yet - there was one boy with a curve, a certain ever-so-slight curve to the tricep of his left arm - it belonged to my son.

I had NO idea that the picture in the state's largest paper was a picture of the Putnam City Pirates. Being in their practice clothes, there were no mascot logos, no symbols of the school, and even though each helmet had the players' individual numbers, it would have been impossible for me to have read the number 63 on the helmet without using a magnifying glass - but I did catch something very familiar in the turn, the curve of the arm of the boy whose helmet I did examine closer, and found the helmet to bear the number 63. This was my son's arm. I felt odd about it.

I tell you that to tell you this. Yesterday, May 23, 2007, I walked into Starbucks at Danforth and Sante Fe in Edmond, Oklahoma - MY Starbucks, if you will. There on the stand where they sell the various newspapers for the day was a stack of New York Times - with a photo of a group of boys all wearing virtually the same thing - Army fatigues. There in the crowd of men, all hunkering down to avoid a sand storm, and to assist an injured Iraqi soldier, I saw the bend, the bow, the squat, the form - of what could have been my baby boy. It wasn't of course. My son is in Alaska, driving tanks and preparing to defend us when the time comes - but an overwhelming feeling hit me about this ONE soldier. He wasn't my Reuben, but he was someone's son. The others didn't affect me, just the one that so closely resembled my son - it was over a minute before the manager came up to me, wrapped her arm around me and took the paper from my hands - tears were falling all over Page One from my nearly-always-nonmascaraed eyes.

"Jude, he's OK. He's in Alaska. That's not him." She tried to console me, and usually I don't get that emotional over a picture of a group of men who just happen to be in the Army, or in this case, in war. The thought of my son's curve, his arm, his union in that collective high-five flooded over me - this boy, this baby boy belonging to another mother out there, somewhere - deserved a tear, he deserved a prayer, they all did. He just happened to be the one whose butt, back and thighs looked like my own son's when he was so often positioned on the gridiron about ready to strike the quarterback for the opposing team.

My hero is in the field today. He could be a she. She could be a he. They are one. Defending me.

Chicago! Chicago!

Well, the move is looking good - plans are being made - kids are being kicked out. First and foremost, my 18 year old brat Laura thinks she's going to be living with me until she's 35...wrong! I explained to her this morning that I would no longer be loading her Starbucks card with cash and that she would have to do this herself from now on. Adults have responsibilities - she stared at me. I thought for a second she was going to cry. "Cash?" she asked, "You have to add money to the card? How do you do that?" Clearly this is a child living in another world - a spoiled world. Why do we do that to our kids? Sometimes life just smacks you squarely in the face now, doesn't it? I think she has $17.49 remaining on the card, that'll last for a week - she'll be OK.

My painstaking plans to find the right condo include interviewing my poor realtor who you know, if you've been reading my blogs, is not legally allowed to give me information regarding demographics of certain neighborhoods in the areas that I will be investigating. Not that it would cut out so much of my search and put me that much closer to knowing where I want to live, but she's sticking to her guns and not giving me much information. Some would ask me why I don't just find another agent - simple - I like her. She's honest, and she's trustworthy. If she would compromise for me, she would compromise for the seller too - I'll just find a way to verbally dance around my question. If me being an English professor can't use words to my advantage - I must have wasted that money educating myself.

Sheridan! River North! Good strong words? I just ask that question. Hey, what do you think about the River North district? She's all "Oh, that's a lovely area to think about. It's safe, it has great shopping, close to cabs, buses, the El, and you know, it has a Starbucks just around the corner from the SIXTY-THIRTY building." That's it...see, I managed to get the information drug out of her without having to say "Is the 6030 building safe and free of violent crimes?" It has a STARBUCKS around the corner. Being the dutiful Starbucks customer that I am, I can now call the manager of the store and ask her/him about the builiding and it's occupants! SEE! I knew it wouldn't be that difficult.

The word "Quiet" comes to mind too, when I think about buying my own condo in Chicago. I'm not into quiet - I prefer traffic, people, sirens, hustle, and movement down below me. I want a feeling of being somewhere where the air is full of sound and smells that capture my attention and hold me in its arms at night, rocking me to sleep with the very music, the soul of the city. I'd much rather live in New York City but need to be centrally located for my work - all of my work. I have 10 jobs I think. At least 4.

What is it now that I do? Oh, I sell insurance, I write books, I teach online, and I work up ideas for non-profits that will benefit other non-profits. I have to do something when I'm not thinking of things to do - did I tell you I was an overachiever? Cursed really - but it's a way of life for me. Gotta move, gotta think, gotta work, gotta live. Oh, and I'm learning how to play the guitar too, something to stir the passions in my heart as well as my body.

Nothing quiet about me really. There will be plenty of time for quiet when I'm in Heaven - except I'll be chasing Maurice Gibb around for the first 100 years or so....smiling the entire time.

Three 2-legged Dogs for Adoption

Have you seen them? There are three (3) 2-legged (all front legs missing) Chihuahuas which have been rescued and are now up for adoption in Port Washington, NY. You can bet I've been told about them. More than 100 people have called me, e-mailed me, and/or have texted me about these precious dogs. It's funny - you own a two-legged dog and the world alerts you to the other bipedal, or would-be bipedal dogs out there. I wish I could adopt them all.

Looks like there are 2 girls and 1 boy. They're named: Pablo, Carmen, and Venus. No doubt my girls would change their names if we did end up adopting them. Wouldn't that just be a kick in the pants to own more than one 2-legged dog? Can you see us walking our dogs? We'd be fun to watch - waddling and skipping down the street or at the park. If the babies were anything like Faith, and I think they are I've seen video, they'd be running and jumping in no time. Faith only took 2-3 months to learn what it took to stand upright all the time. Being Chihuahas these dogs would have such a greater advantage! Faster, lighter, they'd be able to run and play upright in no time. BREAKING hearts and melting souls wherever they went.

Laura's begging me to write to the organization to see if we can adopt them. OK, OK, I'll write. I'll see if the NSAL is crazy enough to let me have them. We'd surely give them a beautiful and full life, that's for sure. The poor things would probably be put in purses and carted around most of the time. Laura and Caity have been fostering Chihuahuas for a couple of years and everytime we get a new one they baby the poor thing to the point of spoiling it so badly no one wants it - that's probably their evil and deceitful plan.....to collect Chihuahuas! They could be worse, they could be peddling or doing drugs - I'll take little varments over cocaine.

There's just something about a Chihuahua in the first place that captures you - the face, the bark, the way they nuzzle you one second and bite your toes the next - something odd about that breed - and now the brats (my girls) want me to KEEP three of them, without front legs. When they play boardgames they try to one-up their brother too; this would be a show-stopper! "What cute puppies you have - OH MY GOSH, they don't have front legs!" Well, we're used to that sort of thing I guess - what's another 3 mouths to feed, backs to pet, bodies to bathe, and collars to buy - since we're with Dublin Dog the collar issue would be the least of our worries.

OK Laura, I asked! It's up to God now. (Please God, find another sucker - I've met my quota!) Smiles - knowing she'd be the first to say yes if given the opportunity!