Fire-dog, called such because of his blazing orange color, is a name which just didn’t work for me. Since he looks exactly like Laudie-dog (female name with “-ie”), he’s now officially Laudy-dog (male name with “-y”). Even on his rabies tag.
Before the trip to the vet:
He’s been able to lie down once again without taking hours to do this.
I’ve never seen him sit, but that’s coming I’m sure. The Vet mentioned seeing him sitting.
He’s gone from not eating at all, to eating one hand-fed kibble, to eating without being hand-fed.
He’s happier to go in and out of the house without this being an end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it event.
He has no more nightmares.
When he goes number two, he would scream. That’s going away.
The result from the visit to the Vet is that he has no heart worms, no whip worms, no ring worms, and he’s got all his shots for distemper/etc and rabbies.
The Vet examined the tail-thing that going on, and it seems he might have a dislocated tail, perhaps hit by a car, perhaps, you know… But I’m told that will very likely heal on its own in another week or two. All good.
He’s calming down after whatever trauma he went through, confident now that he’s not going to get hit or kicked or smashed down. He’s learning to assert himself.
Adopting a dog is good. Getting adopted by a dog is really cool.
Background: Laudie-dog died a while back. Shadow-dog saw me bury her.
Yesterday after the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, “Tiny” (he IS Sasquatch) and I had a long discussion about dogs, something like pet dogs, protection dogs, service dogs, bite dogs, drug dogs, IED dogs, cadaver dogs, disease dogs, you know, man’s best friends, you know, Laudie-dog, Shadow-dog…
As we went outside we discovered Laudie-dog apparently redivivus. I’m naming this fiery orange Ridgeback Rhodesian Lion Dog Fire-dog for obvious reasons. Fire-dog was stubbornly lying on a carpet next to the church entrance, directly in front of our vehicles, right in front of the entrance of the social hall, strategically positioned, impossible to miss. This Fire-dog wanted to be noticed, possibly in trouble health wise.
This is the most quiet, most friendly, most humble, most unassuming fire-dog ever. Really sad, that, for the reason that I think this fire-dog was desperate to look cute, to be instant life-long friends with whomever it was that came along. Sorry, but I suspected that there must be some dark history of terrible suffering behind all that.
Tiny provided some treats that he always has on hand in his V.A. provided Jeep, though he has no dog himself, not yet anyway. It didn’t take any coaxing at all to get Fire-dog into the passenger seat of Sassy the Subaru. We went to the Veterinary clinic straightaway. No chips. No tattoos. And no collar, by the way. The one in the picture was picked up at the house, having belonged to Laudie-dog, fitting this Fire-dog perfectly. We then went to the animal shelter to see if they recognized such a creature. Nope. We asked people in town in the know about all the dogs on the streets. No one had seen Fire-dog previously.
The absolute earliest appointment with the vets is March 2nd. I’m thinking Fire-dog might not live until then. And that’s not because Shadow-dog would overpower and kill Fire-dog. No. They were instant lifelong friends. Never seen anything like it. Shadow-dog was entirely calm and respectful of Fire-dog. I think Shadow-dog knew that Fire-dog was terribly sick and that I wanted to do something for this Fire-dog. All good. Stunningly amazing though because of how instantly they were forever friends.
The reason I think Fire-dog may not make it is because of having suffered a possible act of domestic violence or a traffic accident. All the signs are there. Cowering. Nightmares. Timid. Taking, like, over an hour, maybe two hours, to circle about, ad nauseam, before laying down on a carpet for the remainder of the night, after waking up from a nightmare, having awakened by shrieking a shriek to bring down the house. It made Shadow-dog wake up, having him almost go through the ceiling in fright.
Also, this Fire-dog is not eating much. Only a few kibbles that I hand feed one at a time, just to please me. Maybe just shy, maybe sick. But the vets visit is a week out. I remember when Laudie-dog wasn’t eating because of a liver infection that finally took her out.
This was all on Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent, which is to be about friendship with Jesus, spiritual exercises of almsgiving, prayer, fasting, providing for the widow and orphan. Yes. But I also think that being respectful of such creatures as are put in our paths quite literally surely by our guardian angels is consistent with all that which is more exalted, with love of God and neighbor.
As with Laudie-dog, Fire-dog is no rescue dog. I didn’t adopt Fire-dog. Fire-dog adopted me. Just like Laudie-dog. They own me, not vice versa. Shadow-dog is a rescue-dog, but that’s also a badge of honor, right? He’s still that Alpha when it comes to protecting me from attacking pit-bulls and such, and rightly so.
The stats point to this correlation of treatment of animals and humans. Abuse of animals indicates that abuse of human beings has already taken place or is about to take place, the stats climbing towards 100%. And while taking that from the other direction, that respect for animals necessarily means respect for human beings isn’t always true, that respect for animals is nevertheless good training for our fallen human nature to respect human beings. Well, that’s true if there’s just one more thing: humble thanksgiving for Jesus for having taken us deadly seriously, we who were such vicious dogs ripping Him to shreds on Calvary by our sin.
“For dogs have compassed me about, the assembly of the wicked have closed me in; they pierced my hands and my feet” (Psalm 22:16).
With Jesus forgiving us, we become instant lifelong, eternal friends with the Son of the Living God. He makes it so. “I call you friends,” He says.
Jesus took us on while we were smacked down by our sins, sick from our sins.
I’ve been spending lots of time with Laudie-dog the last couple of weeks, especially the last number of days. I’m sure there are those who think that pets are a waste of time for a priest.
But she’s been very sick. The last picture above was yesterday morning.
And then, some hours later…
I did everything I could to keep Laudie-dog going, to no avail. She was quite old in dog-years.
She adopted me as a puppy at the hermitage, skeletal thin, a bit mangey, and it seems whoever her owners were dumped her in the forest and shot with bird shot between the shoulder blades, surely to make her run away and never come back. Was it because she was the sweetest dog in the world?
After being nursed up to good health Laudie-dog saved me umpteen times from bears, coyotes, red wolves, a grey wolf, lynx, mountain lions, and, worst of all, a panther, twice. The last incident with the panther was a bit scary. That went on fully forty minutes.
Meanwhile, moving to civilization here in Andrews, she was shot with a hunting pellet on the side of her neck, then later, according to the Vet, again shot with another hunting pellet point-blank in the esophagus. On that latter occasion she was also poisoned, as was Shadow-dog. They were both dead sick for some days.
Meanwhile, Laudie-dog was a good friend, totally the outside dog, but when I would come home, totally the inside dog. She was the best at running a million miles an hour down steep forest ridges, but even better at catching up with some shut-eye inside. From what I’ve seen of how PTSD dogs work, she would have been the best ever.
Meanwhile, did not Charlene send her treats galore. It was the Milk Bone marrow nuggets that kept her going in these last days. Others stopped in personally to give Laudie-dog treats, and then leave the whole bag or container. If she was the sweetest dog, she was also the most spoiled dog.
It’s always good to have such as Laudie-dog ’round about. Did not Don Bosco have Grigio? And how about that dog who fed Saint Roch?
Meanwhile, Shadow-dog is a bit disoriented without someone to play with.
Meanwhile, I thank God for Laudie-dog…
As requested, Laudie-dog smiling, here just having woken up:
Diagnosis from the doctor: Laudie-dog’s sick. Some hope, but… So, she’s got some meds for a while.
Updates: So, I’ve been bedside nursing Laudie-dog at home…
Monday and Tuesday: She wasn’t drinking any water at all. Not a drop. So I was taking an oral syringe marked for 5 milliliters for meds but which can handle 8 milliliters. I was squirting full syringes to the back of her mouth a zillion times. We have a great system for that: I ask my guardian angel for help, and Laudie-dog is totally good with it. Every time. The vet recommended a diet of rice and chicken. Laudie put aside every single grain of rice and ate just a little chicken on Monday night, maybe just a 1/2 ounce. Tuesday she ate a whole chicken breast. I had to carry her back and forth to do her duty outside.
Wednesday: When she stood up she fell over. But then, about half hour later, Laudie started chugalugging water, like four times that I noticed. She ate a whole bowl of rice and one and a quarter chicken breasts, 15 ounces altogether. Three pieces of bread (someone said that wasn’t the best, so, I’ll stop that) and about 1/4 cup of peanut butter.
Thursday, today: She ate about 11 ounces of chicken breast straight away and has chugalugged water already thrice early this morning. She looks brighter eyed, is doing her duty on her own. I still need to help her up the steps back inside. Last night she actually slept throughout the night instead of walking about aimlessly, instead of standing in place like Styrofoam for long periods of time. She’s still unsure on her feet. She’s resting better.
I’ve gotten quite a number of hints that I haven’t been posting enough about Laudie-dog and Shadow-dog. Today’s the day.
Laudie-dog, the fiery-orange dog as the fire-dog was captured in the picture above was last evening. For about the last six months she’s become quite a bit more frail in her old age of eleven to twelve years. She gets super-pampered, of course. She’s the princess! Treats have recently been hand-delivered by a guy who, in his 28 year military intel career, once was in the habit of messing around with DISA across from the NSA. Laudie-dog very much likes both the shish kabob and the bacon treats, as does Shadow-dog.
Meanwhile, Shadow-dog is forever the dance-of-death-dog, as was captured in the picture below early this morning. His shadow seems to be more solid than himself as he dances the death of the rope he’s ripping to shreds. The rope, mind you, is 1.5 inches in diameter, and three feet long but with five huge knots, bringing the real length to six feet and weighing in at just over two pounds, the average weight of a full grown Timber Rattler or Crotalus horridus horridus. The rope itself, being ripped about like this at lightning speed, can just about break your leg if it hits you as you walk by. I know. And Shadow knows this as well. He’s proud to report his advances as a martial artist with his arsenal of weaponry.
Shadow is at the perfect age, at the top of his defense game over against the constant flow of druggies around the house, but is also the perfect gentle-dog with me. He’s now inside with me at night, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t perfectly aware of what’s going on outside. The other night, for the first time, he went ballistic at the front door and then came running through my little rectory to get me, insisting that I follow him as he barked at the front door. That scared off whoever was there. Now they know not to mess with this house at night.
Maybe. In Kansas the other day, a cop was at home for a quick nap, cruiser in the driveway. Someone, awaiting the opportunity for terroristic threat logistics, grabbed the cop’s puppy silently, perhaps a baseball bat to the head to keep it quiet, removed the dog to another location, beheaded the puppy, brought the body back (not the head), smashed the house open to dump the dog inside (blood everywhere, of course), then fled, knowing the cop was inside and would come to that door but would be stopped.
Stats are that anyone who does that to an animal will do that, will already have done that to human beings. Here’s the puppy, just before all that, alive, just like a little Shadow-dog:
It’s not always the case, but the other night Laudie-dog and Shadow-dog were both inside with me. But then, at zero-dark-thirty (as always), one of the local thugs knocked quietly on the outer walls of the rectory, surely not to get my attention, but to see if he could get the attention of the dogs. I’m sure the dogs would have been shot yet again with a pellet gun had they been outside. Shadow-dog has now been shot some eight times plus a 9mm to his dog house since he adopted me by way of the Police Department, while Laudie-dog has been shot twice since I’ve had her and once more before she adopted me.
Laudie-dog is a Rhodesian Ridge Back Lion Dog, but Shadow-dog is so huge that he can hardly use Laudie-dog as a pillow just below my bed. So sweet!
Anyway, something must have spooked the thug, maybe someone driving by out front, and he ran in the direction of the drug-house through the creek-side of the back yard of the rectory. Of course, maybe he was smacked by a feather of my guardian angel to get him running full speed. :-)
On the creek-side of the back perimeter of the property there’s four-foot high goat-wire fence, plain as day for all to see, even at night if my flood-lights are on; the lights are about as bright as the sun as pretty much everyone in town informs me. This guy seems to have run full speed right into the goat wire. I’m not sure what that makes him… The neighbor pointed out the destruction to me the next day, calling me up all upset. Together we noted the dynamics of how the fence was violently stretched out of shape blown out from the rectory side of the fencing. The goat wire is attached to the chain-link fence on the one side, but just stands loose and is lightly wrapped around a tree on the far side by the creek (not attached at all).
I can only imagine the scene of this guy running into that fence, flipping him head over heels, having him hit his head hard on the cement driveway of the neighbor. Ouch! Karma? Not so sure about that. How about irony. No, there’s got to be something more personal. Let’s see… my Guardian Angel! Yes, I think that’s it.
I immediately smashed into the ground a couple of what we Minnesotans call snow-fence posts along the fence line as a temporary measure. These were from the once-upon-a-time hermitage, after which I gave them to yet another neighbor. He’s re-envisioned his garden for next Summer and just gave them back to me.
That’s just temporary. The goat wire will be tied up much more sturdily, and I’ll be adding some more lengths of goat wire fencing on the creek side with the help of yet more posts. Meanwhile, the back yard neighbor – really nice guy – gave me quite a lot of barbed wire to add to the top. Heheheh. Of course, any good thievery tools will be able to cut down all the fencing within seconds. I don’t put my trust in fences. I just want to do what I can to protect the dogs. This is also to protect the neighbor at the back. The creek is a kind of highway for the druggies and home-invaders. My neighbors, especially those with little kids, don’t like all the heroin needles and ruffians around the back doors of their homes. The little goat-wire fence helps to dissuade the dark side from making this their avoid-the-police path.
Meanwhile, a funny story about fences and priests:
Some tough church ladies told me a funny story down in Australia as I was installed as the new pastor in that outback parish. I was in Australia to teach in the new country seminary, and the bishop had me doubling up the work by having me do up some trouble-shooting, having me also follow an all-too-weak priest who was doing way too much fence sitting. His fence sitting upset the tough church ladies, and so they hauled him aside and told him the truth of the matter in no uncertain terms, no fence sitters they:
“You can’t be sitting on the fence these days, Father, because these days we make fences out of razer-wire.”
Perfect. I love that. Church ladies are always tough.
Charlene is one of the toughest people I know. She has all sort of things going on – including having a fall the other day – and yet she finds time to send treats to Laudie-dog and Shadow-dog, for which they dance for joy. It’s really something to see. This time there was something also for me in the Amazon box in the carport. It’s what’s in the purple tie-bag in the picture. I’m thinking that it’s a Christmas Rum Cake. Mmmm Mmmm. Thank you, Dearest Charlene. Merry Christmas to you. Blessings upon you. And thanks for remembering this donkey-priest. You are very kind. And for your health: Hail Mary…
And I had better give an update on Laudie-dog. She finishes her antibiotic meds at 4:00 PM this afternoon. It’s been every eight hours for seven days. But the wound is all healed up and even a bit of hair is growing back. The main thing is that she’s a very happy puppy. Charlene has made sure of that. I’m so happy she has.
Above, a while back, Laudie-dog wakes up safe and secure, happy as ever. But recently that wasn’t the case, with both she and Shadow-dog having been poisoned. But as I now find out, that wasn’t the worst of it.
Laudie-dog has been having problems with a wound on her neck where she had been shot with a pellet gun quite a while back, but the vet recognized that although there might surely be a bit of shrapnel there, causing occasional minor eruptions, that wound was good to go as is. You gotta know, thugs and buffoons shoot dogs in WNC not infrequently. Vets see some of the worst humanity has to offer and know what really needs to be treated or not, or at least not yet. Being a vet might be about animals, but it’s the behavior of human beings that veterinarians all get to know all too well, with which they are burdened. They have to deal with the injuries of illegally placed bear traps, shootings, poisonings, dog-fighting, neglect…
Meanwhile, I inquired about a very recent skin-event on Laudie-dog’s neck, a pyoderma bacterial infection that is most often occasioned by, that is, secondary to local trauma. Looking at the unrepeatable circumstances of what was happening, the doctor said that it’s her best hypothesis that Laudie-dog was shot with a pellet gun yet again. Because of the location this would likely have had to have been point-blank, centered perfectly on the esophagus under her chin. Sweet Laudie-dog, the friendliest dog in the world. Why? That’s the point. She’s defenseless, and the cowardly thugs and buffoons take advantage of her sweetness. For this pyoderma to develop as it has, the timeline is that this would have been triggered, so to speak, when she and Shadow-dog were also poisoned.
For all of my bluster about the tender snowflake bullies, with all their gang safety, their bowie knives and machetes and lead pipes and chains and pistols and rifles and baseball bats and threats to beat the brains of the dogs in the neighborhood, and for all of my complaints about Laudie-dog and Shadow-dog getting shot with pellet guns previously (and Shadow-dog’s dog-house with a 9mm), this most recent violence against Laudie-dog still surprised me, as I guess I just didn’t want to go there.
I’m all the more streetwise, and Laudie-dog is now taking the usual course of 500mg of good ol’ generic Cephalexin every 8 hours for seven days. And she’s as happy as ever. BUT… warned the good doctor, if there is anything weird that develops with that wound, I’m to bring Laudie-dog straight back for a check-up on her progress or lack thereof. I’m keeping close watch. GOOOOD DAAAWG!
Meanwhile, I should examine my own behavior to see if I’m the one bringing this on in some manner, you know, the ol’ if something goes wrong I should blame myself thing: It’s the victim’s fault! That must be it! Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!
I bet if I cave and take down my thin blue line flag, it’ll all be better. Yes, I’ll do that, take down the thin blue line flag… NOT!
On second thought, maybe such violence is taking place because of the angels and manger scene, because of Mary and Anthony of Padua. Maybe such a presentation is a microaggression worthy of being punished by way of the dogs…
No, no. I bet it’s the combination of all these things. THAT’s it! I’ll go take it all down right now!
Marcus is the Lone Survivor Navy SEAL guy, married, with kids, your normal Texan. Back Stateside, provided a service dog, he named the dog after his team: D.A.S.Y. That is:
Danny = Daniel Phillip Dietz Jr: Navy Cross, Purple Heart – 25 years old (RIP)
Alexson = Matthew Gene “Axe” Axelson: Navy Cross, Purple Heart – 24 years old (RIP) – [Note that one of Marcus’ kids is named Axe, after Matt Axelson. That should tell you something]
Southern Boy = Marcus Luttrell: Navy Cross, Purple Heart – Lone Survivor
Yankee = Michael Patrick “Murph” Murphy: Medal of Honor, Purple Heart, Silver Star – 24 years old (RIP)
It’s not just that the dog murderers shot DASY. No, no. They also beat DASY’s brains out with a baseball bat. Stats are that anyone who can randomly do that to a dog is also doing that human beings, usually a defenseless partner, usually children, only those who are much weaker than they are, you know, because, as always, guys like these are total cowards. They hit DASY in the middle of the night. In the 911 call played out above we find out that they have also called 911 on themselves so as to be saved from the guy whose dog they murdered. Meanwhile, Marcus, gentleman that he is, had already called 911 so that Law Enforcement and the American justice system would be put into action properly. As Marcus says of himself, he’s no murderer, but rather someone who supports Law Enforcement and the American justice system. That’s why he served in the Military. Yes.
Meanwhile, John Wick’s dog, called Daisy, is an obvious reference to Marcus Luttrell’s DASY, as there are another dozen parallels as to how this film series is all about an alternative ending to the dog-murdering, surely to point out how, instead, Marcus is above the fray of mere vengeance. And that makes Marcus a hero to me, that is, not someone to render hero-worship (that being a sickness), but rather someone whose example I try to follow in my own life.
Meanwhile, my own Shadow-dog and Laudie-dog were both poisoned the other week. They survived, but only because, as I found out later, the perp was interrupted by my good neighbor just before I got home. Continuing to inquire about what the poison could have been, the substance has been narrowed down to that which has a lot more lethality to it than what I originally thought it might be. In this case, as far as the dogs’ owner goes, myself, I’m guessing that the perp knows well that I myself am a relatively easy target, so very much unlike our run of the mill citizen of Texas, the great Marcus Luttrell, and the later fictional John Wick. That I was considered to be an easy target was the opinion of an Army sniper here in town, the one who now owns Jenny the Jeep. We all know how lethal a Navy SEAL can be, but what about John Wick? Take a look at this short analysis of the skills of John Wick and his director at just a 1/4 speed (stunning attention to detail):
Anyway, yours truly, obviously a “weak target”, who’s never pulled a trigger on anyone for any reason, is given over to being at the ready to defend those who are successfully being unjustly aggressed in a deadly manner right in front of me, say, during a mass shooting in my church, but that defense is not comprehensive of Shadow-dog nor Laudie-dog. Sorry for you who are just as much dog-lovers as me. They have many times put themselves on the line for me, but still… Mind you, murdering my dogs right in front of me is going to raise some intensified situational awareness by way of the all focusing adrenaline. I’ll be 360ﾟat the ready to send off – if need be in unrepeatable circumstances – two to the spinal column and one to the brain box into any number of targets, you know, if I’m fired upon and am actively being hit, set on fire with my lungs being singed, stabbed repeatedly to bleed-out parts of the body, you know the drill. I have done up a bit of scenario drills. The aim, so to speak, would be merely to neutralize not any aggressor(s), but any ultra deadly threat actively being delivered by any aggressor(s). You take out such a threat, not necessarily any aggressor(s) bearing any such threat. Just to be clear. The relatively speaking freakoid record for yours truly which I’ll never repeat again (no target ammo in these USA to keep up the skills…) from a locked holster at a randomly set Competition Electronics’ Pocket Pro II shot timer is – for the two plus one drill – 1.01 seconds. Slow for those mentioned above, of course. And now I’m much, much slower than that.
My neighbors and I have noted how the local cowardly thugs and buffoons carry bowie knives, machetes, baseball bats, lead pipes, heavy chains, pistols, shotguns, (sniper) rifles. Whatever. They look tough, well, laughably, but all that “toughness” only means that they are cowards, always in packs, always almost incapable of even standing up without falling over. The local thugs and buffoons have expressed disdain for dogs to me and have three times stated that they will kill the neighbor’s sweet dog by coming back with a baseball bat to beat that that puppy’s brains out (witnessed). Yep. But, I know, the last thing a thug and buffoon will carry with them is any violence or threats of violence they have ever done or made. Thier own evil is not on their own radar. So, no real ongoing threat. Not in the least.
Having said that, I should add that Laudie-dog was shot in the neck with a pellet gun just under her left ear the other year, and that wound is still festering enough for Shadow-dog to tenderly offer some dog-medic treatment for quite a few minutes even now, with Laudie-dog very appreciative with all that tender care:
The Vet didn’t want to do anything with that ongoing wound just yet. Meanwhile, as I have sometimes said, Shadow-dog is himself well aware of the hurt coming from pellet guns, having been the victim already four times. We’re all happy that, as a wolf-dog, he has fully three coats of fur, all the more thick and heavy around the neck. A bit more worrisome, however, is that his doghouse – next to the house – was hit by a 9mm bullet. I changed out the doghouse so as to confuse the idiot perps a bit. Confusing idiot perps is easy, unless they are not on drugs, unless they are determined just to be evil outside of any evil wrought merely for political correctness with thug peers. Some of the druggies are not druggies at all, but deal only with money and suppliers, keeping track of suppliers, enforcing debt collection. They are likely to be just a bit more dangerous, though I doubt that even they know how to work any safeties on guns, or how to load up a magazine and lock it in, or even whether or not there are any bullets in whatever gun. However, if you yourself get shot in a totally unprovoked attack, you can judge in that very nanosecond that a deadly threat is presently being delivered and if this is in turn judged not to be an accidental discharge but someone continuing to fire at you, the self-defense you render over against such an unprovoked attack is not only justified, but is certainly a contribution to the exercise of the virtue of justice.
The 911 call at the top of this post is after the initial nanosecond of the actual murder of DASY, and Marcus himself was not shot at or attacked with any baseball bat: the perps, the cowards, ran away. The way Marcus brought DASY’s attackers to justice honors those after whom DASY had been named.
May Danny, Axe and Yankee rest in peace. Amen.
And thanks, Marcus, for setting a standard to strive after.
BTW, the comments section after that YouTube 911 call are some of the best on the internet, not because of the hilarious ones (there are a lot) but because the occasional one which is in obvious solidarity with Marcus in a way that could only be done by someone who likewise has suffered for all that is good, who has likewise seen his close friends taken out in front of him. Quite sobering, really. And we need that in these crazy anti-American times we now live in here in these United States of America.
And, yes, it is in God that we trust. Always. Everywhere. In every situation. Amen.
Shadow-dog is not barfing up that rope-toy. Pictures are tricky that way. Both Shadow-dog and Laudie-dog are in great health once again, and are celebrating with super special treats from dearest Charlene.
Shadow-dog was eager and happy to have a taste of these, but sweetest Laudie-dog was over the moon, dancing, happy, bright eyed, smiling. I think Laudie-dog will get the lion’s share, as it were, because, you know, she’s a Rhodesian Ridge Back Lion Dog.
If you can spot the note on top of the treats in the picture farther above, it is only Shadow-dog and Laudie-dog who get a Happy Thanksgiving. Yours truly is, however, tacked on to the thanksgiving to God, after Shadow-dog and Laudie-dog!
Dearest Charlene, we also thank God for you and the service you’ve done right around the world at the Department of State and now for many years for Father Gordon and so many others. Blessings upon you. God reward you.
ARISE! LET US BE GOING! 