I’m here to help because I’m totally exasperated with the male race who pretend not to know ANYTHING about women. Here’s you a How-To. That’s how to make your woman happy.
#1) Tell her she looks pretty. Because she does.
#2) Tell her her hair looks nice. Because she probably did spend more than thirty seconds on it, like y’all did. We have A LOT MORE HAIR AND IT’S ANNOYING.
#3) Hold her hand and open her doors. Take her coat. Walk closest to traffic. Manners.
#4) Pick the restaurant. For the love of all things Holy, PICK THE RESTAURANT. We will find something to eat, I assure you. We just don’t want to have to make one more decision on this day. And if we’re craving something, rest assured we’ll tell you what it is.
#5) Chick-fil-A is never wrong.
#6) Find out her favorite wine and surprise her with it frequently
#7) Buy her a pony. 😁 You might wanna put this in your back pocket to save for when you’ve screwed up.
#8) Stop by her work. It’s ok to show up empty handed, as long as you’re smiling.
#9) Offer to pick up milk and bread.
#10) Text her regularly. If you think of her, text her. Even if it’s just an emoji. She won’t mind.
#11) Talk about the mundane. Let her be herself. She might want to vent; she’s not always looking for a solution.
#12) Show up. If she has an event, go. Even if you don’t want to. It’s important to her.
I hope this helps. Just take an interest in her life. Still at a loss? Get on her Pinterest. Her true loves are there in abundance.
I like doughnuts, Cupcake brand Moscato d’asti, and lilies, if anybody feels obliged to thank me.
Today was the big day!! Book fair day! This rates right up there with Thanksgiving and my birthday for me. We go to the library, where Rhonda has carefully cultivated a selection of about twenty books for us to choose from. We vote for twelve, and the ones with the highest number of votes go on our list for next year’s book club picks. We’re the Pageturners, so there is always an eclectic mix of current literature, suspense/ thriller, classics, chick lit, fantasy, with maybe a YA or apocalyptic one thrown in. It’s a blast, especially if there’s a tie and the ones who want to read it lobby for more votes. This probably sounds super nerdy to those of you who don’t devour books like the four of us us do, but let me tell you, I look forward to this day all year.
Then, we go to the eatery of choice and have dinner and drinks and discuss the previous month’s selection.
January’s pick was The Night the Lights Went Out by Karen White. Of course I’ve been fiddle farting around for some time now and didn’t get it read. I’m about halfway, but I had it figured out, for the most part. It didn’t matter. I’m there for the food. I mean, companionship. 😂🤣 We had a great time, discussing everything from Nazis to Pentecostals. We called turkeys and laughed and cried and laughed till we cried. We talked about boys and bullies and kidnappings and cats. We analyzed and planned and just had the best time. We named the lobsters in the tank and probably scared off some patrons.
I wouldn’t trade this day for all the tea in Tennessee.
{#777 “I shouldn’t have consumed that water from Saturn”}
My name is Amy Farrah Fowler Cooper. I married the world famous string physicist Sheldon Cooper in a small ceremony five years ago, and to date, this has been my greatest accomplishment. Admittedly, this is a fairly disparaging state of affairs, as I should be as famous as he is for my work in neuro-biology. But I’m not.
So, one day about four years ago, Rajesh came to me bragging about how they were putting a man on Saturn like they had back in the sixties with the moon. Howard was designing a top-secret Rover for it. Howard would not be going, seeing as how the one fiasco in space nearly did him in. Of course, the excitement was palatable among our little group. And now we await the return of our cadet and all the spoils from deep space nine.
Rocks for the geology lab. Some dirt for the ecologists. And data for everyone! Except me. I could study the brains of the astronauts, but I didn’t expect to find anything different than I ever had before. Maybe some endorphins from going where no man had ever gone before, pardon the pun, but no Earth shattering evidence of anything.
I was bemoaning my woes to Sheldon that evening over dinner when he said in that offhand way he has with actual interesting information (instead of his usual tedious fact sharing), “You know, don’t you, they brought back water from Saturn?”
“There’s no water on Saturn,” I quickly replied, cutting my pork chop into more chew-worthy cubes.
“Oh, contraire,” he said in his condescending way. “They have some.” Sheldon, of course, wasn’t eating pork chops, had instead elected to eat pasta noodles. Plain. He toyed with the idea of adding some low salt soy sauce or spicy mustard but refrained. He didn’t want gastronomic distress on a Wednesday night by upsetting his routine.
So the next day I called Howard at the lab to determine if this were true. Not that Sheldon would lie to me, but we all know about his “Bazinga!” tricks he considers wily. Indeed it were true. “Have any effects been tested on an animal post-ingestion?”
“As it were, we haven’t given it to any,” Howard informed me. “We don’t have much, so they’re using it sparingly. Know of a test subject in case we find something in a rat?”
“As a matter of fact….”
And that’s how it came to be that I drank the water. Looking back, it wasn’t the most brilliant idea I ever had. Of course, first I tested it on my monkey, Lizzie. She’s game for anything. And what I found….well, what I found was what made me want to drink it in the first place. Lizzie’s brain lit up a like an Edison light bulb. No prior lab work had ever yielded such a profound result. Both right and left hemispheres not only sparked, they glowed. I couldn’t type fast enough to note all the differences. And it appeared that Lizzie desperately wanted to communicate something with me, but her primate brain just couldn’t articulate. So she lapsed into the bit of sign language I had taught her.
“Trapped,” she signed. “Not happy.”
I assumed this must mean when she was in her cage.
“It’s the only way,” I signed back.
“Mean. You try it,” she replied.
“Try being married to Sheldon,” I aid aloud. I wondered if I passed her the keyboard if she would be able to type. But that was a ridiculous notion..and impossible to resist. I slipped it under the lip in the cage, not daring to unlock it. With all her smarts, she might decide to latch onto my face once and for all.
Like a fish to water, she typed furiously. I read, and after I did, I fainted. And when I woke up, I drank the water from Saturn. I should have never consumed it. But it was too late. And now, now I knew things. I knew what it was like to be a test monkey. I knew what was said when my sample of water was collected. I knew what it felt like to be born, and not as a born-again Christian, but really and truly born. I knew who liked me, who didn’t, and who tolerated me. I knew what color car you drove in high school, and how much gas was in the car you are driving today.
And the knowledge would kill me. It was too much. I forced myself to throw up, because I knew, too, that would be the only way I would live to tell about it.
I lay on the cold tile floor of my lab. That’s where they found me that night when I didn’t make it for Taco Night Trivia.
I can only think of one story I want to tell.
There’s this local color here in the mountains. Fly fisherman extraordinaire; he’s been featured on the Heartland Series several times. Everyone knows him for his singin’, and his late daddy for his preachin’. He’s an excavator by trade, but a big cut up at heart. To know him truly is to love him.
So one day, I’m standing at my post behind the counter at the Co-op and he ambles up with his long legged stride. I don’t know how he finds overalls to fit. Toothpick in his mouth, he says to me, “How ya doin’ girl?” Same as always.
I grin. “Just fine, Mr. Ball. And how are you today?”
“Oh, I’m a-gittin’ by. I been at the hospital a-visitin’.”
“Oh no, I hope whoever it is gets well! The hospital is no place to be.”
“You’re tellin’ me!” As always, a smile was playing on his lips and his eyes twinkled. I had no doubt he had brightened the day of whoever it was he went to see, just as he always brightens mine. “I got in the elevator, and it was busy, you know. Lotta people sick this time of year. Anyway, there was seven or eight of us in there, and this lady standin’ next to me, she leaned over and said to me real quiet, ‘Smells like somebody forgot to put their deodorant on this morning!’ And I said, ‘ma’am, it wasn’t me! I don’t wear any!'”
With that, he burst into a full fledged grin as I just died laughing. You never know what you’re gonna get with him. Who knows how much of it, if any, was true. That’s the best part, he probably had been up at the hospital. And he’ll have you in there, hook, line, and sinker before you know it. Someday I’ll tell you about the time he got pulled over. He calls them his “little funnies” but to me, they’re great big funnies.
“Let your smile be an umbrella,” he always says as a way of goodbye. I do love Ray Ball.
{#411 The story you shouldn’t have overheard on the bus}
I was looking at their shoes and thinking they didn’t belong. I admit, I judge people by their footwear. I can’t help it, I profile. Forrest was right, you can tell a lot about people by looking at their shoes. Where they are headed, where they’d been. And these Christian Louboutin’s did NOT belong on a scuzzy old city bus past midnight, or any other time. You’ll find duct taped running shoes on the bus. Or polished-within-an-inch-of-their-life secondhand oxfords. Or sensible thick soled lunchlady shoes. People eking their way through life, working two jobs in order to scrape by. But never Louboutin’s. Maybe some knockoffs on a hooker, some that she’d painted the soles red to fool no one. Because the people who knew what Louboutin’s were knew they weren’t gonna find ’em on a girl painted up like a brazen hussy at two o’clock in the afternoon.
But as I was saying, it wasn’t two o’clock in the afternoon. It was two in the morning and I sat very still in my muddy Redwing work boots, pretending to look at my phone but really watching a guy on the aisle two rows up on the right, silently nodding along to his iPod music. Or maybe he was listening to preaching, I don’t know. I hadn’t gotten far enough along in my investigation to know that much about him.
The heels clicked past me on the dingy scuffed floor. Their owner collapsed on the seat behind me. These shoes had been worn to some snazzy event. I didn’t know where they were going, but headed anywhere on a bus in the middle of the night, can’t be good. She was quickly followed by another lady wearing the same brand who sat down more easily, but with discernible difficulty. They passed in a fog of expensive perfume and some sort of gin, if my nose didn’t deceive me.
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” one said.
“No, you’re fine. Here, drink this.”
I hoped she was producing ice water from the depths of her enormous leather bag, and not more alcohol, as the smell was still wafting around me.
A pause, then the one drinking sputtered, “What is this? It’s wretched!”
She giggled. “Remember PGA punch from Kappa Gamma’s?”
“Unfortunately. Shit! I can’t believe you’d make that stuff!”
“I didn’t,” she informed her seatmate haughtily. “Craig did.”
“Jesus.”
I heard her head hit the back of the her seat. “God, I’m a mess.”
“It’s to be expected.”
“Tell me again why we’re on this bus.”
“Because we have to be invisible when I tell you this.”
I thought, oh boy, here it comes. She’s coming out to her best friend, or she slept with her brother, or maybe she wrecked the other girl’s car. I strained my ears.
“I had him killed, Liddy.”
A strangled laugh.
“I’m serious.”
The tenseness of the moment expanded and there was no air to breathe, even if I hadn’t been holding mine.
“What?” She whispered.
“I couldn’t stand it. And you, left without a dime because you know what your Daddy said all those years ago.”
“He’s nothin’ but trouble, Sugarbutt,” the one named Liddy said through tears I could feel.
I dropped all pretenses of looking at my phone, my current culprit forgotten as I heard this confession unfold two feet behind me.
“So I found this guy, it wasn’t hard, and he said he’d take care of it.”
I had a feeling she wanted a cigarette. I did. And a glass of Jack and Coke.
“But…how…I don’t-…”
“It’s ok. It’s done now. And you got to be the grieving widow, instead of someone to be pitied and ridiculed until you moved off or on, whichever came first.”
The bus sagged as we lurched around a corner of Jackson Square and I pitched to the left in my seat.
Silence from both girls. I heard a compact snap shut. What a time to refresh your lipstick and powder your nose. I tried not to shake my head in disgust. Now what? Was I gonna arrest this girl since I had just heard a confession? We likely wouldn’t get it again. She appeared tough as nails and twice as sharp.
“So when you’re at that graveside tomorrow, don’t tell me you’re sorry. You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for. He had everything, so I just took what I could for you. He deserved everything he got and then some. And you didn’t deserve what he gave you, so I took care of that.”
“It was supposed to be forever,” Liddy whispered.
“And this way, it is,” the other one said, completely reasonable.
A choked sound. Not a sob. The girl was throwing up. The smell reached me and I almost added to the mess on the floor. But then she began to laugh. A high pitched, hysterical laugh that chilled my innards to ice. And then they both joined in and I couldn’t stay on the bus any longer. The driver let me out on Bay Street, way past the best part of downtown, their laughter still ringing in my ears. As I began my slow walk back, it started to rain.
You have to wait 21 years for the privilege of learning about people. You will find no more truthful person above the age of five than you will at the bar. You will find no bigger liar than you will at the bar. You will find love, heartache, loneliness, and elation at the bar. You will find quick tempers, bruised egos, generous and agonized souls at the bar. You will find great senses of humor and know-it-alls and the barely literate at the bar.
You can also find excellent examples of these in almost any church pew, but I’ve found that you get to know them much more quickly over a Miller Light than a hymnal.
Once upon a time, at a bar in Gatlinburg that has been closed for at least ten years, the bartender said something that has stuck with me forevermore. “Don’t ask, just pour.”
I was eating twenty-five cent wings. It was Monday. I had been at work all day. His wisdom was beyond his years. I did want more beer, but I don’t think he was only referring to my empty glass. A good bartender knows to let the patron initiate conversation. I didn’t want to talk about why I was at the bar without my boyfriend. I didn’t want to talk about my crappy day spent waiting on the ungrateful spoiled public. I didn’t want to do anything but sit right there on my barstool and drink till the world got just a little blurry.
Then it would look better.
I’ve sat at many bars over the years. I tend to travel alone by choice, and the bar is a welcoming place. If you don’t want to talk to anyone, sit in the corner. Don’t make eye contact. Pretend you don’t speak English. (Had to do that in Vegas. It was excruciating). You don’t draw as much attention to yourself as you do sitting alone at a table. If you don’t want the pitying looks that one would get on a Saturday night, the bar is your best option.
Recently, I met a bartender with fake eyelashes who played football. She was a she, was a she, was a she. She was from Del Rio, if that explains it. She was going to spend New Year’s watching the ball drop in NYC. Several years ago, moving from my spot next to a touchy guy to one that looked much less invasive, I met a nice guy who’d been to the funeral of his grandmother. He bought all my drinks, and all my friends’ drinks. It was a substantial bill. He didn’t ask for any of our phone numbers. I don’t know what he was looking for, but we drank together and had a nice conversation.
I could write a thousand stories of all the people I’ve met in bars, all the friendships I’ve cultivated over drinks. I don’t have many pictures commemorating these events, because when you’re there, and in it, you’re having too good of a time to worry about pictures.
I hope I’ll never forget all the awesome times I’ve had with all walks of life in a thousand different bars all over this country. And I’ve been there with many of you!
Go out some weeknight….I challenge you to sit at the bar. Maybe you’ll meet someone new who has a good story. Maybe you’ll sit next to me and I can tell you one.
{#112 A man goes to a pawn shop with one single item. What is the item, why is he at the pawn shop?}
Jena chose C, the word prompt is peanuts.
This should truly be a challenge…🙄
**********************************
He was down on his luck. He was down on his knees. He was in a pawnshop two towns over.
“They’re magic beans,” he assured her.
“Man, you crazy!” She replied, flipping a long braid over her left shoulder, popping her grape gum loudly. This was followed by the drumbeat of her outrageously painted nails on the scuffed glass countertop. Girl sure could make a lot of noise.
“I’ll give you a dollar, Jack, and that’s just because I’m kinda hungry and don’t want to eat another candy bar.”
“They’re magic beans,” he insisted.
He was here because these truly priceless magic beans, disguised as lowly legumes, had broken him. They had broken him mentally, physically, and financially. He would have sold his soul to the devil as a young man to get his hands on them…but now…now they only caused him pain and remorse.
“They’ll take you anywhere you wanna go. You just gotta believe.”
“Where I come from, you put ’em in a RC cola and watch ’em fizz,” she said absently.
He shrugged, keeping his eyes steady. “You can do that too, but that would be a waste of power.”
“Old man, here’s five dollars. Get outta my store.”
Five dollars wouldn’t buy him much, but it would buy him the gas out of here. He would never have to look back. He could walk away from the beans that produced a beanstalk, after all. A beanstalk that took him to a whole other dimension. A beanstalk to his past that could have been.
His name wasn’t Jack, but he guessed it should have been. He was old, she had that part right. Five dollars was five dollars, and Lord knew he sure could use it.
She narrowed her eyes at him as he hesitated. “If they’re so powerful, why you standin’ here wastin’ my time? Go back to wherever it was they took you and make you some dough.” She giggled. “You done lost it.”
He had lost it. He had lost everything in his quest to regain his one true love. You can’t change the past. Not with magic beans. He took the five dollars and the bell above the door didn’t jingle as he went out.
The girl looked at the peanuts on the counter.
What if they really were magic? She watched enough TV to know anything was possible. She eyed the top layer of nuts. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try just one, surely? She’d thought about throwing them in the trash; obviously the scruffy old man was one step above homelessness or at least the psych ward. And what if he wasn’t crazy? What did she have to lose, besides a job working in a dead end pawn shop, constantly watching for shoplifters and keeping lecherous men at a distance?
She shut her eyes as her fingers closed around a particularly attractive peanut. Her mind shot back to when she was just a little thing, playing on the floor of the room she and her brother shared. It was one of her happiest memories. Her brother had been dead since she was ten, he died of leukemia. The doctors found it too late.
The shell cracked with a satisfying crunch and she popped the nuts in her mouth.
Before she could chew, there she was, back with Tony, swinging on the playset in the backyard of their apartment building.
She had been transported, and not only was she there presently, she was six years old, and best of all, Tony could see her. She’d gone back in time.
She could save him. But how long did she have here?
{#63 Word count 200. You are on death row. Describe in detail your final meal}
It arrived on a styrofoam plate but even that couldn’t diminish my delight. The bacon wrapped filet, prepared medium rare, was the most perfect piece of bovine excellency I had ever laid eyes on. (It could nearly be cut with my fork, but I had been allowed a plastic knife for the occasion). Paired with a two pound sweet potato, dripping with cinnamon butter and brown sugar, I couldn’t get it in my mouth fast enough. There was spinach maria too, creamy, cheesy, salty, and steaming. I sunk my fork into the shallow dish and watched the cheese stretch. A marvel.
I gulped the sweet tea and reveled in memories of decades ago, on my momma’s porch, before everything went so wrong. Mama tried. Lord, she tried.
The roll I requested was hefty with quality grains and yeast. I slathered it with butter and didn’t look up except to eye the turtle cheesecake patiently waiting for me with a glass of milk.
I took my time, relishing in every bite, savoring the texture and all the flavors.
Bless the hands that prepared it, and the farmers that grew it. Let them never know the evil that I had in me.
You don’t have to crack the spine to read a book. I’d prefer you never crack it at all. If given the opportunity and GIFT of holding a brand new book in your hands, simply open it, fan through the pages a couple of times and gently bend the front and back covers 90°. That’s all that is necessary for breaking in a new book.
Now, once you’ve chosen your new book, or it has chosen you, as is so often the case, you just open it up and get to reading. My preference is to be in a chair I can nest in, with my water and chapstick nearby, under a good light. I plan to stay awhile. I don’t want to be sidetracked, so I don’t have my phone near my person.
I might even bring snacks.
And then I’m whisked away, often to the Lowcountry, but sometimes my Book Club forces me out of my comfort zone and I have to read about the poor women in Kabul, or tribes in Africa two hundred years ago. Sometimes I don’t read about people at all. The best part about reading is there are no rules. Whenever I meet someone who says they don’t like to read, after I swallow my disdain and overall nausea, I quickly ask them about their interests. And guess what? People always enjoy reading something, whether it be local interest stories in the newspaper, or articles about celebrities in People. Magazines are for readers, too! Lots of men like to read manuals. Not everybody is into Dickens and Shakespeare and Tolstoy. Read what you like! I wish that high schools and colleges would require some casual reading as well as the required literature so students wouldn’t be left with such a bad taste in their mouth. Like coffee. I didn’t think I liked coffee, but I’d only had it the one way: black. And it turns out, if you put enough sugar and hazelnut flavored creamer in it, it is actually quite delicious! So now I can be one of those fanatics that drink coffee. You just have to find a flavor you like. Same with books. It’s important to find authors and genres you like. I enjoy WWII fiction and non-fiction, both, but I also have to have some chick lit and fantasy to set it off. And I will never be too old for animal stories. I came upon the greatest little book one time for only a dollar at the Dollar General.
https://amzn.to/2RLIXF2 <<<that’s the Amazon link to buy your own. If WordPress wasn’t such a pain in my ass, it would let me show you a picture, but clearly that is too much to ask of a blog that costs me several hundred dollars a year.
Anyway.
This is why I read, because you can’t put me out in social situations without things grating on my nerves and I have to tell everybody all about it. I’m better off being left to my own devices. This was discovered at an early age.
Here’s a link to some, but by no means ALL, my favorite books. https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/33427814-amy?shelf=my-very-most-favorites
You probably have to be a member of Goodreads to see them. And you SHOULD be on there, Goodreads is like Facebook without the drama and garbage! I highly recommend it! I only wish I had found it sooner. I’m such a nerd that for years I had a three ring binder with a list and short review for every book I’d read. Now I don’t have to keep up with that and I can go back and edit what I’ve written without it looking all messy.
So. Back to my favorite subject, books. I can’t get enough. I beg you to read. It’s a wonderful way to relax and pass the time. You can read ANYWHERE and it won’t be frowned upon. Except maybe funerals. However, I encourage you to read at mine, if you’d like. I approve. Just leave your dern phone in the truck. And even if you’re reading crap fiction, you’re learning something. You’re reading about a character who lives somewhere you’ve never been and has different interests than you. As I always say, in every bit of fiction, there is always some truth. And best of all, books are FREE. Oh yes. You didn’t think I could talk about books without reminding you of the castle in every town, the crown jewel of all government funded services, the LIBRARY. ***My heart, my heart, my heart***
Go now, dear reader, crack a book and drift away.
I was born with eight brothers and sisters. One of my sisters didn’t make it. I was the runt, but you can’t tell it now, can you? My mother was fawn colored, with little patience for us and our needle teeth. She tolerated us until she didn’t have to anymore. Her relief was visible.
I only knew my father from a distance. He was massive, and kept behind chain link on concrete. His ears were docked, and he was the color of a ten-year old nickel that had been carried in many pockets. I thought he was magnificent.
One day, the man who feeds us brought another man and I was picked straightaway. I was happy to be held, and my ears rubbed. Nobody had ever given me singular attention before. He put me in a box on the seat of his pickup, and I promptly jumped out. He let me ride on his lap to my new home.
It was so exciting to be somewhere new! All the smells! All the sounds!! All the people!! I was loved for a time, and then the family all left. I was put in a black cage. It was lonesome. I missed my brothers and sisters who were always climbing all over me. There were two other dogs there, but neither were extra friendly. One was downright hateful, and I think the one who was grey like the fog was not hitting on all four cylinders, if you catch my drift. But then the humans came back! They didn’t have any of my siblings, as I had hoped, but they had a collar for me! They let me out! I was so happy I dribbled a little bit. I was scolded, which made me pee a little more. I couldn’t help it. I put my tail between my legs and crept back to my kennel and tried to be as small and quiet as possible. I had felt so grown up for just a minute. Why did I have to go and screw it up?
It was awhile before anyone came to me. It was only to stroke my head for a minute and give me some fresh water and a bit of kibble. I tried to convey that I was sorry, but he was so busy with the two big dogs I don’t think he thought much of me.
After a few days of having the full run of the living room and this great big cushy couch, I was put outside for a time. Before, I had been pulled along by a bit of string attached to a necklace I wore that was almost uncomfortably tight. I still wore the necklace, but now I had the string that I could run along between two trees. It wasn’t so bad. New things to smell, and lots of comings and goings to watch. I could run as fast as I could for a ways before I was abruptly stopped. Then I could turn around and run back. No, this wasn’t so bad. I ate a bumblebee, which I learned quickly was a colossal mistake. I had to take a pill. My mouth felt funny for awhile, but then I got to sleep on the cushy couch on the lap of the man who fed me.
The next day I was deemed responsible enough to be left outside for a time. The people all left. The big dogs remained in the house and taunted me through the window. I didn’t mind. Outside was okay, I much preferred it over the small cage inside. It was only big enough to get turned around in, and the floor was cold. Out here, I was free to dig in the dirt to my heart’s content.
I saw a butterfly but didn’t eat it. My mouth still felt funny. I watched some squirrels, who were way too cocky for their own good. They knew I couldn’t get them….today.
Eventually the people came back and I was let back in. I was so excited I had another accident. I was just so glad to see them! And there was a new person who wanted to rub my fur. It was all too much!! I couldn’t help it, and then I couldn’t stop. The man yelled at me and back outside I went. This time it was to a kennel further away from the house. I couldn’t run as far, but I was no longer tethered. The white dog next to me looked so sad when the man barely looked at him before turning away. I asked him his name, but I don’t think he could hear me through his sadness. On the other side were some wrinkly dogs who were just plain hateful. I kept my back to them while they made fun of my tail. Many days passed in this manner. It was a desolate time. When anyone bothered to talk to me, they called me Lightning. I understood this was my name, but if no one is calling you, there is no reason to answer. I had so much energy and love to give, but no one to give it to. I wanted to run on the couch again and sleep on the soft pillows, but my home had shavings that pricked my nose and no sweet smelling grass. The butterfly did not visit me here.
After many months, and much shouting, I was taken by the man who had once spoken so gently to me to a man much bigger than him that had a gruff voice. I had grown, too. I thought I was quite handsome, not too big, and not too small, with a tail that was just right. But I was still scared. Nothing was familiar. At last I got to stay inside again, and it wasn’t hot, and it wasn’t cold, but it sure did smell terrible. And I’m a dog. I wanted to be let outside to smell fresh air, but it was forbidden. I had to do my business on a pad in the corner, which was humiliating! Why couldn’t I cover it up? I tried to do everything to not bother the man, but he would sometimes just reach out and swat me for next to nothing. I might be running in the house, which he didn’t like. Or I might get too excited when he gave me bologna or potato chips and weewee someplace not on my pad. I tried SO HARD to be a good dog. But it was impossible. When he wasn’t asleep, he was just mad at the world.
One day, a lady came, and there was more shouting and harsh words. She kept pointing at me and saying I wasn’t supposed to be there. I moved to where the food was, but I wasn’t supposed to be there, either. I went to the door, and that was better, but I wasn’t supposed to be there, either. I peed because they were making me nervous with all the yelling and that’s when things really went downhill. I recognized “OUT” but they wouldn’t let me out. I got as low to the floor as I could, and when she came over to me with a mean expression, I may have growled. Which caused more screaming.
It was a long night. The next day, the man who had brought me to this place showed up. I thought, “good, the kennel is better than this place” but he didn’t take me back to the kennel.
Instead he took me to another man’s house. Where the last man had been mean, this guy was crazy. I was inside sometimes, but I preferred outside. The dog there was as crazy as his master. It always smelled like chemicals and rot and everything was lumpy. They loved on me one minute and beat me the next. I tried to stay out of the way, but it was small and I couldn’t. One day, for no apparent reason, I was banished outside. I wore a thick, heavy necklace with a thick, heavy chain that I had to drag with every step I took. And I could only take twelve steps in two directions. I was chained to a house on the side of a muddy bank. Sometimes I had water, I almost never had food. When I did, it was rancid or something I couldn’t eat, anyway. This was misery.
I was three years old.
One night, I thought I heard a familiar voice. It was so quick, I couldn’t be sure, but I thought it may be the man who I had began to think of as my driver. I wasn’t sure how I felt about this, every time I saw him my life got a little bit worse. I wasn’t sure what could possibly happen next to be worse, and I didn’t really want to find out. He came to me. He rubbed my ears. I looked at him longingly. He seemed to understand. He attached a leash to the collar and unclipped the heavy chain. Oh, happy day. I licked his hands. We walked away from my house on the hill.
A girl stood by a truck, looking at me warily. She said I had gotten bigger since she had seen me last. I felt tiny and insignificant. I was glad she could see me at all. No one else seemed to. I was loaded into the back of the truck into a cage that was bigger than where I had spent my youth. It smelled clean. I was glad. I was so dirty.
All of a sudden, the men started yelling. I think the driver man thought things had been different for me. We started moving. I just wanted out of there. The girl looked scared, I could smell her fear now, and it wasn’t about me. Something hit the truck and we gained speed. Soon, the wind whipped all around me and I just laid down and closed my eyes, resigned to whatever fate would befall me.
It was late when we got to the next place. I sensed that it was open, but I couldn’t see much. The man got me out of my cage and put me on the ground. Grass! I promptly peed.
“Good boy,” he said. Those were the first kind words I had heard in ages.
I didn’t see the lady anymore, but in my new place I could hear her. I could feel her tension. I was in a cellar of sorts, but it was warm, and dry, and didn’t smell bad. There were lots of things to look at, and a see-through door. And one of the dogs was there from before! The stupid one, but that’s better than the violent one. I had been so very lonely. The man rubbed my ears again before shutting my door and a whimper escaped. I froze, I didn’t want him to think it was a growl. I saw his eyes soften at me, and I saw regret. I laid my head on my paws and closed my eyes. I felt safe for the first time in a long time. I slept.
The next day, there was much activity. I was brought outside and once again put on the zipline. I’m not ashamed to say, I faintly frolicked. I hadn’t stretched my legs in forever! I got a vigorous soapy bath from the hose and I felt like a new canine. I got some good food and crunched happily. The water the man brought me tasted better than before. I was determined to be the best dog ever. I never wanted to leave. This was paradise. I even had a leaf pile to wallow in to my heart’s desire.
There was an old dog there, who had lots of fur. He raised his eyebrows when he got a load of me and all my energy, but he left me to my own devices. It seemed that he was free to roam at will. What a life!! I stayed out under the stars that night, but I didn’t mind. I heard lots of sounds, but it wasn’t worrisome. I slept well.
The next day, the driver left (I wanted to think of him as Dad, but I didn’t want to get attached). The lady stayed home. She was standing on the porch looking at me. She was talking to somebody I couldn’t see.
“No, just three days….oh, somebody is gonna get him, I forget who. It doesn’t matter….Well, I’m a little scared of him….no, but who knows what he’s been through? I’m not getting around him.”
I wagged my tail to show how friendly I was.
“He’s wagging his tail. He probably wants me to come down there so he can eat my face off….Oh, you know, pits…”
I wanted to lick her face off for the mashed potatoes and gravy I’d eaten the night before, that was all. She scratched the old dog’s head, who closed his eyes in contentment. I was so jealous, I could’t hardly stand it. I sighed and laid back down in my leaf pile. No ear rubs from the lady, then. I would do the best I could. Three days….three days was all I had in this haven. I slept on my leaves as the dappled sunshine passed over my brindle markings. “Please let me stay, please let me stay forever,” I prayed to the Doggie Divine.
Three days passed. Then four. Then more, I quit counting. The big stupid dog hung around some. She wasn’t as stupid as she let on, come to find out. But she WAS lazy. I was occasionally permitted off the zipline to run around the yard. It. Was. AWESOME. There was a fence (not too tall, I could jump it, no problem. IF I wanted to. But why would I want to? I had everything right here.) There seemed to be some discussion about me, when was I leaving, things like that. My manhood was also the subject once or twice. I didn’t WANT to leave, and the other…well, the big dumb dog was kinda pretty…
The lady would tolerate me. She patted me delicately on the head. I knew she didn’t trust me. I posed for a picture one afternoon. “He was only supposed to be here THREE DAYS. It’s been three weeks already!” 
Dad’s argument: “Well, you see what he came from. I don’t want that to happen again.” I could see her resolve weaken. The girl had a soft heart. I saw it in the way she rubbed her old dog and he tottered behind her on arthritic legs, everywhere she went. A girl and her dog. I longed to be her dog.
“There will be somebody,” she said, and tapped into the thing in her hand.
I sat down and tried to look sad. It wasn’t hard, if I thought about leaving this Utopia, the best place I’d ever been. The big grey dog winked at me. She thought I was cute. I wagged my tail and slobbered.
One day, we were all loose in the yard and the temptation was too great. We made a way. Then we got caught. Mom was home and I thought she was going to kill us both. Her old dog slept through it all. I felt terrible. She chained me back to the zipline and Sugar (cause she’s so SWEET) was put back downstairs. Punishment. I was ashamed. I had jeopardized the best life I’d ever had. Just for a little tail. It wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t worth it at all. I howled in misery. My life was over.
Dad got home and gave me one of the man-to-man looks. He kept assuring Mom it wasn’t possible, but I knew it was. And 65 days later, I became a father, welcoming eleven squirming offspring into the world! They were no bigger than my paw, and all colors. Mom had two favorites, that she named Slug and Sloth because they were big ol’ rolly polly things. But I’ll tell you a secret. They were all my favorite. I couldn’t have been prouder. Even Papaw Crockett seemed amused by their antics.
So when the man came to the gate who carried the stick and had the binoculars, I may have gotten a little excited. My sons and daughters needed protection! I barked to raise the dead. I definitely raised mom, who looked like she had been asleep. She started with “hush” but I had to keep barking. Raise the alert, you see! Doggie snatcher! She gained intensity with “No!” and “Come HERE” but by then, I was frantic and my brain couldn’t turn off and “bark-bark-bark-bark-bark!!!!” I was FEROCIOUS. I was KING of the CASTLE. I was-owwww!!! I was being drug across the yard by the hair of my neck by mom, who was a LOT stronger than I had given her credit for. I heard Dad tell her I would “eat her up” and she needed to turn loose of me, but she was listening to him about as much as I been listening to her a minute ago.
She had my attention now, though, I’ll tell you that much.
The man at the gate had his mouth open and it wouldn’t shut. Mom snapped the line on my collar and stomped into the house. Dad shrugged and followed her.
I never disobeyed her again.
When I would occasionally get reprimanded for some petty crime, Dad was usually the one dishing it out. I would duck behind Mom and they would laugh but try to hide it from me. I was her protector, and she was mine.
It was during this time that I noticed I rarely spent time on the line anymore. I had a choice of staying outside, or I could hang out in my house downstairs. My choice. At night, I slept in my house on a squashy pillow. Old man Crockett guarded us through the twilight. I was dayshift. There had been nothing said in ages about me leaving. I had almost forgotten. The next morning Dad woke us early, but not before the sun came up, as was his custom. We were encouraged to go potty, but this time I was loaded into my house in the back of the truck again. I was so scared. I had been so happy. I had seen all my children placed in happy homes. I had dined on some right fine cuisine. And now it was all over. I whined and lay down.
Mom is a wonderful cook, and a fine ear rubber, but driver she is not. I thought we were gonna die before we ever got to my new home. When we got there, everybody knew me. Nobody wanted to pet me, but they all wanted to see me. I was put in a big cold room with lots of boxes and a strong odor. Mom put a sign on the door and told me to behave. In a few minutes the door opened, and there was Dad. What’s that in your hand? He put it around my mouth. I felt like I was suffocating. What fresh hell was this? I got low and stayed there as he led me through a big place with more people. What was going on? Next thing I know, I’ve been dumped off on some people in a tiny place with more dogs and cats than I could shake a stick at. And I LOVE to shake sticks. It’s like, my third favorite thing ever. I despise cats, have I told you? Dad held me, there was a sting, and all of a sudden I was sooooooo sleepy. But that didn’t make sense. I could just stay awake long enough to—
When I woke up, my legs hurt something fierce. No, that wasn’t quite right. It was my tail. Nooooooooooo…I can’t tell you what it was but I had a very bad feeling that I wasn’t half the dog I used to be. It wasn’t long before Dad showed up and picked me up.
The world tilted, but he smelled familiar, so I wagged my tail-just a little, it hurt so much- and allowed myself to be placed on a pile of blankets.
He took me home.
I recovered in the basement, on a steady diet of love and hugs and treats. I really contemplated not getting better just to see how long they would keep it up. Plus, as an added bonus, Sugar was jealous. She was always Dad’s favorite. It wasn’t long before I started packing on the pounds. I’m still pretty handsome, there’s just more of me now. It was around this time that I discovered something better than the water hose. I know, what could POSSIBLY be better than a waterhose? I’ll tell you: a whole entire river of cold water!!! I pranced and barked and dug and chased and swam and barked some more. What a glorious day!!! 
The only problem was I didn’t get to enough. It was like a special occasion. But one night, I slipped off. Sugar came with me. I might’ve gotten away with it, but I didn’t want to go back home and I was barking and having a good ol’ time and next thing I know, there’s Dad. Evidently I had interrupted some football watching. He was not pleased. My secret escape place in the fence was mended the very next day. No more escapades. But I had lots of good times inside the fence. Lots of action. One day I helped clean up a tree that fell! That was great fun. Lots of sticks to choose from. 
One day, Dad dug a hole. I got too close because I’m nosy. 
Mom likes playing tug of war. Sometimes I let her pretend she can win. 
One day, I started coughing. It started slowing me down. I’m pretty high energy, but I’d have to stop what I was doing to cough. It got really bad. Dad took me to the doctor. I had worms. Not the kind you poop, the kind that makes holes in your heart. In my heart. I was really sick then. I had to stay at the vet a few times. Never overnight, nobody thought that was a good idea. They put me on doggie Prozac, but it didn’t do much good. I’ve learned that most other dogs get on my nerves. And people aren’t to be trusted. So, in turn, I’ve been labeled a grouch.
With my sickness came weakness. Mom fixed me my favorite dishes: gravy, spaghetti, chicken. Peanut butter cookies. One night, dad was camping and I felt especially bad. Mom came down to sit with me. I started coughing and couldn’t stop and there was blood everywhere. Mom just knew I was dying. She called everybody then just sat and held me for a long, long time. It felt warm and safe. So I slept.
I woke up to the relieved expression on Mom’s face. I guess I would live another day. And I was glad. I was really having a good time. I even got well. They ran a whole bunch of tests at the doctor’s but all those little parasites died in the first round of treatment and I was released to a more sedate lifestyle. Fine by me. I could still do things, but not as long or at the same pace. I am told repeatedly to slow down. I still have to take a heart pill every day, but it’s ok. Mom takes hers, then she gives me mine. With peanut butter.
A few months ago, my roommate and best friend, Sugar, passed away. It was a depressing time. I never realized how much I depended on her. She was a good listener. And she appreciated food more than anybody I ever met. 
I miss her every day. It was right after that that I started coming upstairs more. 
And then I was sleeping up here. I have to take inside baths now, which are mildly terrifying, but it’s worth it. I got a new bed this week. And I currently have four tennis balls in my possession. I had biscuits and gravy for dinner. 
I’m getting a little grey, and my leg is a little gimpy from where I get too excited and fall off the porch sometimes (hello?? Aren’t they supposed to have a railing, anyway???) But I’m still a good dog with a lot of good years left. So don’t judge a pit bull by his demeanor. He likely can’t help it. He’ll return love when he knows it’s here to stay. Mom trusts me so much now, when we Facetimed Lisa the other night she tried to get me to take a peanut butter cookie out of her mouth to show off. I got camera shy and chewed on a tennis ball instead. She gave me the cookie anyway. My mom loves me, and I love her, and this is where my story ends.
~Lightning Bug Doodleloo Johnson, written by my mom. 
