Lucy is as Lucy Does

August 7, 2013August 6, 2013 ~ John W. Howell ~ 23 Comments

I wrote this poem a while ago when we rescued our Boxer named Lucy. She had been run over by a car and needed tender care. Today she is a happy, healthy, joy filled dog. She loves life and humans and I have always wondered why someone would turn her loose. So this poem is my humble way of recognizing the strong heart of this beautiful fur child. There is no special reason to post it now other than I feel very fortunate to have her in my life.

She started her life as a battered child,

Let loose on the streets and hit by a car.

It was not her fault since she knew nothing,

Of what a ton of steel on wheels could do.

She is all white with two brown spots,

And recovered with the best of care.

She is friendly and kind without a single trace,

Of the hatred that she could rightfully show.

Whoever turned her out to live or die on the street,

Is the unfortunate one for not having her love each day.

They are the poorer for having been denied,

The joy, love, happiness and life of Lucy.

Every day she is ready to share in living,

With the innocence born of security and love.

Bored is as Bored Does

March 5, 2013August 1, 2021 ~ John W. Howell ~ 4 Comments

The wind has been whipping the Gulf of Mexico into frenzy. Gusts have been up to sixty miles an hour which will lift the old toupee. (If you have one) Being outside is not the best; with sand and salt coming at you like it was made in a factory. Our little Silky Terrier did a yeoman’s job of staying on the ground but she did resemble the appearance of what you would imagine a Dallas socialite in a wind tunnel to look like. Her hair was everywhere and I could tell she knew it was not right. The boxer did her best to keep her wet nose downwind so to speak. Since the sand was sticking to anything moist she needed to keep pointing to avoid an eventual clog.

The weather is not the best, but it is sure a good time to get some of those writing chores out-of-the-way. I say chore because sometimes working on a novel day in and day out leads one to a case of the shaking bores. I don’t think this is an actual medical term but for me the symptoms are as follows:

I want someone else to do the typing. I already know how the thing is going to come out so the typing part is like changing a flat tire. It is necessary but unless you are a paid Indy 500 pit crew member NO FUN AT ALL.
I have the strong urge to kill and eat every carbohydrate I can lay my hands on. Chips, pasta, Fritos, Cheetos, Kettle corn it doesn’t matter. It does not even need to be thawed or heated. In fact, my neighbors always know I am having trouble. They have told my wife the tell-tale signs are there: crumbs on my mouth, slurred speech, and the ever-present smell of chips on my breath.
I go outside and look at the lawn. I don’t need to cut it this time of year, but I think it has a real need to be checked. Checked for what I have no idea but, when the bores hit checking the lawn seems like a real good idea. It is up there with wash the car….BOOOOWAAAHAHAHAHHHAAAAHHHHHHH (someone please slap me). Wash the car? Who does that anymore? My car is so small (how small is it?) when it gets dirty I put it in the recycle bin. Burrump Bump.
I start trying to think of humorous things to write about for Fiction Favorites. That last point was not a good example. I think more like; who was the first person to actually eat an oyster? Was it a truth or dare kind of event? Did the person actually keep the oyster down? Did all his friends tell everyone at cave school the next day that he ate it? Stuff like that.
I begin to wander. I don’t mean like away from the house or anything, I mean wander away from the work I am supposed to be doing. (or at least what I think I am supposed to be doing) I do e-mails, research the net, surf the net. I write short stories. I go to writer group meetings and read my stories. WAIT A MINUTE HERE. This doesn’t sound like wandering, it sounds like more writing things.

So I guess eventually when I get all the bores out-of-the-way I really do return to writing. This is a very good thing and I’ll bet all of you do the same. Sometimes we need to give ourselves permission to goof off knowing full well that we will return to the thing we love, (Crabmeat..just kidding) WRITING.

So if you must, give yourself a little slack and go kill a frozen pizza. You’ll be better for it.

Rescue is as Rescue Does

February 12, 2013August 1, 2021 ~ John W. Howell

Today’s post is a little different in that I normally write about authors and fiction, but am creating a little scenario that I wish could happen. As background; my wife volunteers for the San Antonio Chapter of Austin Boxer Rescue. This organization rescues unwanted and usually abused Boxers from being euthanized and finds them new homes. Sometimes the dogs are in such bad shape they do not survive, in spite of, massive efforts by veterinarians, care givers and foster parents. Yesterday, a rescue named Jackpot succumbed to the neglect of his owners before he could be permanently placed. The two letters that follow are fiction, but represent what I wish could take place. If you want to find out more about ABR here is a link to the website: www.austinbokerrescue.com and Facebook: www.facebook,com/AustinBoxerRescue?fref=ts

San Antonio SAMS ministry Shelter

February 1, 2013

Dear Jackpot,

I am having the nice case worker here write this letter since you probably don’t know I can’t read or write. She is also helping with some of the words so if this doesn’t sound like me you will understand.

Your mom and I finally found a place to live in San Antonio. We were sorry that the authorities decided that we were no longer fit to keep you, and took you from us. I know it must be hard living with others, but I hope you know that if it was our decision, you would be still with us. It was a terrible thing to have people come into our home and rip you away, but I understand your foster home is pretty nice and the people seemed real dedicated to your welfare. Anyway, this is just a temporary setback and we will get together again I am sure.

This place is real nice. The people are kind and at least we are warm and have something to eat. Speaking of that, you sure looked a little thin the last time I saw you. Are you getting something to eat there? I know mom and I sometimes forgot to give you food, but since you are pretty young, I don’t think it will matter. Do you have a yard to play in? Ours was so small we had to keep you on a chain and I am sorry about not letting you in the house. Mom couldn’t stand the smell that dogs have so I know you will understand. Do they let you come in there?

Let us know how you are.

Poppy and Mommy

Austin Boxer Rescue San Antonio

February 10, 2013

Dear Poppy and Mommy,

I also have someone writing this letter to you. She is my foster mom and if I don’t sound like myself it is because I am not.

I wanted to send you a note immediately when I got yours, but I have been having a little difficulty keeping my thoughts together. I think I can now respond to your letter and to the life I had while I was with you. It has taken the kind of care that I have received since I arrived here, to make me realize that I was not responsible for how you and mommy treated me.

My foster mom actually touches me in a loving way. I was scared at first because when she reached for me I thought she was going to hit me like I have become accustomed to with you. I jerked away from her. She did not choke me with a chain or wire, and tie me on the tree in the backyard. She calmly talked to me and then gave me a bath. She started crying when she saw the extent of my neglect and the love for her swelled within me. It was the same kind of love I had for you when I first came to be with you.

I have been given food and medical treatment and a place to sleep on a soft cushion in the master’s bedroom. I never realized that food is something that needs to be eaten every day. The pain in my stomach has finally gone away and I can eat without getting sick. I don’t know why I thought you and Mommy cared for me and why I continued to care for you. Besides the chain and lack of food, you never played ball or catch and we never laughed and jumped. I wish right now I could do more, but I am still too sick to really play with my new family although they ask me.

As far as coming back to you; my foster mom tells me that will never happen. I am now being prepared to be adopted into my forever home and as soon as I am healthy enough I will go there. I can’t help but feel relief that I won’t have to face the pain again.

I am glad you and mom have food and a warm place. This is the first time I can say the same about me. I need to go now as there are some more tests that need to be done and my foster mom needs to take me to the vet. I cannot ever remember going to the vet with you. Maybe my memory is fading.

Goodbye,

Jackpot

This is Jackpot’s foster mom:

Jackpot’s troubles are over. Tonight he went over the rainbow bridge after suffering cardiac arrest. His heart muscle was weakened by starvation and neglect. He was surrounded by loving and caring people who were saddened by his passing. The one good aspect; Jackpot’s last days were spent experiencing love, comfort and caring. It is too bad that they were so few. You should be forgiven for treating Jackpot as poorly as you did, but this is why I am not a god. I don’t have the heart to do so. I can hope you never are blessed with another dog. You have abused the privilege.