Saying Goodbye

Wolfgang

2001 - 2011

Sorry for the absence.  Things have been out of kilter in the bat cave recently.  I came down with a wicked case of the shingles, which took the wind out of my sails for the better part of three weeks.  Thank you, skydaddy, for visiting such an affliction upon me.  You've reaffirmed my belief that you're a dogshit.  Yeah, I know.  There is no skydaddy and the shingles is a left-over from chicken pox that rears its ugly head when we're adults.  I just wanted to take a gratitutious dig at xtians who view illness as a blessing from skydaddy.  Masochists.

I mentioned in my last post that our Akita had cancer.  Yesterday, we let him go.  I had said that as long as he was enjoying his life, I would do whatever it took to allow him to have that enjoyment; and that he would tell me when he was ready to go.  He had a cancerous tumor on the left side of his face, in the jaw area.  As it grew, he scratched at it until the skin tore.  From that point on, we had to keep his head bandaged.  He enjoyed his treats, time with his humans, taunting Henry and lounging with his harem.  Of course, the tumor grew as tumors will do.  There was also bleeding because it was a fungating wound.  Keeping it wrapped and bandaged controlled the bleeding and kept the would from getting infected, but cancer is cancer. 

Wednesday evening, he was happy.  He enjoyed his liver sausage.  He enjoyed his petting.  He enjoyed his harem.  Sometime during the night, however, the tumor almost doubled in size.  He got the bandage off and bled pretty heavily.  Thursday morning, he was ready.  We knew.  We decided then to do it Saturday.  We had to make it through the work week.  We switched his pain meds from Novox to Tramadol (the vet had prescribed the narcotic for such a situation).  Yesterday morning, we let him go.  It was peaceful.  He's not hurting anymore. 

At times like this, I wish the whole heaven thing was real.  Maybe not the whole thing.  I can do without skydaddy and his crew; but I wish there was some place on the other side of this existence where everyone is healthy and in their prime, we're with all of our loved ones, nobody ever hurts or dies, and everyone is always happy.  Utopia.  At times like this, I do allow myself the indulgence of thinking that maybe there is such a place on the other side of our existence.  I know it's not there, but every now and then I wish it was.  I wish the Rainbow Bridge was real.

Wolfgang working to get Henry to the fence.  We had to keep them in separte kennels because male Akitas don't get along with other male dogs.  Every morning, Wolfgang would work to get Henry to come to the fence.  As soon as Henry would get there, Wolfgang would hike his leg and pee at him.

The Wolfman with his haren - Hattie is the red one, Duchess is the black one with the greying muzzle, and Oreo is in the front, black with white on the tip of her snout.  You'll have to look closely because Duchess and Oreo blend together.  On the left, the patch of black is Henry.  Wolfgang and the harem are talking a load of smack to Henry.

My apologies for the fact that the fence gets in the way of the picture.  Sometimes the only way I can get  pic of the dogs is to put them in the kennel.  If I try to take pics of them otherwise, as soon as they see the camera they want to jump up and put their snout square in the lense.

Save Your Confederate Bills - Part Deux

Just another example of redneck fashion essentials.

Ok, Moonbats.  I know I'm a few days late on this, but I've been dealing with an Akita with cancer.  In between trips back and forth to the vet, trying to figure out how to keep a bandage on his head when the conehead collar wouldn't work and contemplating prostitution to finance the vet care, I haven't had a chance to do much barking.  Add to this equasion the fact that the topic can be somewhat painful, as I'm forced to recall being on the receiving end of a whole lot of that southern hospitality and christian love.  Yeah. 

For those of you just joining us, the last bark was a southerner's view of southern lunacy.  This was in response to a northerner's question about the gross stupidity in the southern United States.  That wasn't quite how he phrased it, but it boils down to that.  I had to come up for air at some point and decided that this requires two barks.

As many outsiders have observed and I have discussed, religion reigns supreme in the southern US.  Christianity, to be precise.  Anything that isn't christian is suspect.  Judaism is tolerated because most southern christians believe the bible directs them to tolerate Jews.  That doesn't mean be friends with them or anything like that.  Just support Israel over Palestine and you've fulfilled skydaddy's requirements.  If you are neither xtian nor Jewish, you might as well be an axe murderer.  Much of this comes down to the fact that southerners are very insecure.  Southerners, as a general rule, don't have the spine to march to their own drum, particularly if nobody else is marching to that cadence.  They need affirmation.  If you do as I do, behave as I behave, believe as I believe, then that means I'm right.  If you don't, I might be wrong.  I can't be wrong, so I'm going to bully you into falling in line with me as proof that I'm right. 

The aforementioned insecurity comes through in our men in the form of beligerence.  Their pugnacity is the bastard child of thier insecurity.  So much boils down to fighting.  If a guy wants to impress a girl, he brags about how good he can fight.  He might even pick a fight or two when she's around just to show her.  Get a group of rednecks together and they'll find the weakest fellow they can find and then gang up on him.  As Ron White says, these are the people who jack off to Road House.  I've never been able to figure out what makes a pack of over-muscled knuckle-draggers think that 5 of them picking on a dude that weighs a buck-twenty-five makes them manly.  When approached by such baboons and their bravado, I have a nasty tendency to openly show my disdain, disgust, and outright scorn.  The baboons usually call me a bitch, tell me that I think I'm better than everyone else (southerners have a real hang up with this), and then start talking about how many women they've hit.  They can't understand why this doesn't cause me to grovel at their feet.  The good news is that this doesn't seem to inflitrate our educated men.  I would like to say that it has been educated out of them, but that's not so.  These baboons have no desire to get an education because...that's right...educated people think they're better than everyone else.  No, Billyjackjimbobbubbaray, I don't THINK I'm better than you.  I KNOW it for a proven fact.  I've evolved.  You are the primoridal ooze. 

Billyjackjimbob and Bubba Ray prepare for the skins vs. shirts Pabst Blue Ribbon chugging and possum eating contest.

The issue of "old times there are not forgotten" is always lurking in the shadows, as well.  Old times can sometimes be a good thing.  I have fond memories of my grandfather's farm - the garden in the summer, making homemade ice cream on the front porch, helping take care of the cows.  I try to do things that will bring fond memories of good times to my family, both the ancestors and the progeny.  Those are not the "old times" that are not forgotten in the south, though.  The old times not forgotten here would be pre-1957.  One could argue that it would be prior to Brown v. Board of Education, 349 U.S. 294 (1955); but the forced integration of Little Rock Central High in 1957 cast the die for Jim Crow's demise.  I say Jim Crow's demise - I and everyone else in the south knows Jim Crow isn't dead and unfortunately, is coming out of that coma.  The election of a black man to the White House has caused a whole lot of southerners who long for the "old times" to lose their goddamned minds.  I married a black man long before it was a cool thing to do and I've never seen this kind of racism.  Sometimes I think the racists fear being on the receiving end of what they've done unto others; but at other times, I think they fear someone of another race being proven to be better than them.  

There's that business about thinking someone is better than someone else, again.  That's a carry-over from the plantation days.  At the bottom of the white people food chain were the sharecroppers.  They had a little shack on land owned by the plantation owner and gave him a percentage of their yearly crop as rent.  They got to keep just enough to survive, but nothing more.  The plantation owner didn't allow his kids to play with the sharecroppers' kids.  In the middle was the overseer.  He was the fellow who oversaw the day-to-day operations of the plantation, and in particular, the slaves.  He made sure the slaves did everything demanded of them, didn't break any rules, didn't run away, and depending on his demeanor, could make their lives a worse hell than it already was.  He also oversaw the sharecroppers to make sure they weren't holding out on the crop division.  He had a little bit of power because of his position.  He also had a little jingle in his pocket - not much, just enough to buy a small patch of land with a house a shade better than a shack, and maybe buy his wife something nice once a year.  His kids occasionally interacted with the plantation owner's kids, but they weren't friends or playmates.  Many overseers and their families did indeed look down their noses at the sharecroppers and certainly the slaves.  Then we have the plantation owner.  The big dog daddy, the head motherfucker in charge.  Everyone is beholden unto him:  the slaves, the sharecroppers, the overseers, everyone.  He and the other plantation owners are the masters of the southern universe, answerable to nobody but the lady of the manor.  The whole world is answerable to her and woe unto anyone who doesn't say "how high, ma'am" when she says jump.  Sharecroppers are thrown out of their shacks, overseers are fired and slaves are beaten.  I'm sad to say, but this mindset is still alive and well in the southern United States to this day. 

I unearthed this jewel when searching for some nifty pix to illustrate today's bark.  Dig this:  http://www.topix.com/forum/city/richmond-ky/TAK2ND318FV2EBLK8  The "outlawwomen" person makes me want to beat my head against a brick wall.  She's PROUD to be a dumbfuck.  Sigh.

WTF???

I've asked myself and have been asked why I don't unload this den of dumbfuckery and head north.  The answer is as complex as the southern way of life.  Mainly, my family is here.  Looking at some of my relatives, that could be taken as another reason to head north.  There are some good things to be said for the southern way of life.  The north is the great unknown.  I don't know if I could get a good job.  Jeff Foxworthy once pointed out that it's hard to sound intelligent with a southern drawl, and dog help me, mine is thick enough you need a chain saw to cut through it.  And, all in all, while I'm surrounded by nitwits, there is a lot to be said for living in a less-populated area.   

Hopefully, I've given you a better understanding of how the southern mind sputters and spews.  I'm working on having a guest writer on this topic.  I've asked Papa Moonbat to write a guest column on being black in the southern US.  Until then...bark, bark!

HEY!  Y'ALL!  WATCH THIS!!!

OMFG!  I want one of those torches.  I can't help it.  I'm a product of my raisin'.