Versatile author, Michael
Friedman, writes from the heart about things that matter. In his book, The
Carriage Driver, a collection of stories about the afterlife, he captures the
hearts those who believe as well as those who only hope there is life after
death.
His tales identify possible
choices for each of us as we pass through the veil of darkness and our bodies
outlive their usefulness. He presents options where we pick our new lives as we
move out of this physical realm and into the after world. His tales provide
possible answers to the eternal question: What if?
This gathering of stories
incorporates individuals from all walks of life carrying on their hopes and
dreams and moving them to the next level. Some arrive at The Castle for a
sumptuous dinner; others conduct a symphony, perform an original musical masterpiece,
paint a work of art or ride off into the sunset of our dreams.
As the author
explains in his Preface, “This work presents the instances where a person's
life has led to a promised land.”
This book is one that the
reader will turn to time and again with the passing of time as we long for the
comfort of a future for ourselves and our loved ones. The closer one gets to
our ultimate demise, we ache for a place, as promised in the Christian ministry
and other religions, of "many mansions" where we might choose a
resting place on our continuous journey.
These beautifully written and
uplifting stories provide insight into what might await us as we cross over
into the unknown and pass through eternity. Peppered with wisps of poetry and
driven by our favorite steed, Nuelle, we ride together into the storm as we
face the future.
We
were driving down a familiar road headed home to our cottage in the
country when we saw something brown running alongside of the road. As we passed
by the creature, it fell to the ground and turned over, legs up toward
the sky. We pulled off the road and walked back toward the little thing and it
started wagging its tail.
The
pads of his paws were bloodied by the distance he had traveled on the blistering
hot asphalt. We could tell he was some sort of toy poodle despite the filthy, matted fur that covered his entire body. We scooped him up and headed home.
I
put him in the kitchen sink and ran warm water over his body, soaping him up
with shampoo. He shivered nervously as I clipped the matted clumps from
his frame revealing a soft coat of white fur. His ribs were showing through the short hair when I finished. We
wrapped him in a soft towel and held him until he was dry. I’ll never
forget the look of gratitude in his sweet eyes as he reached up to give me a kiss before falling asleep in my arms.
The
veterinarian told us that he was likely around nine years old, about ten
pounds, suffering a bit of malnutrition and from the normal parasites that go
along with living in the wild. We got him his shots and medication for the flea
bites and abrasions that were present on his feet and body. He went back home
with us, immediately taking charge of my lap like a hood ornament, staring out of the front window of the car.
We
weren’t supposed to have dogs in the small place we were renting,
but we convinced the landlord that he wouldn't be any trouble. With tile
floors, any cleanup would be minimal, we told them, and we would be responsible
for any damage. The little guy never once messed in the house.
Shortly
after that, we relocated to another city where we took him with us into an
apartment in a new complex with lime green shag carpet and Harvest Gold
appliances. We both found new jobs and Leo stayed home during the day. It wasn’t
long before the neighbors stopped us on our way inside.
“Did
you know that your dog howls the entire time you’re at work?” they asked.
“Well,
no.” We had no idea that he was so lonely. “I hope it doesn’t bother you.” No,
they didn’t mind. They also had a dog, a beagle they named Beagle, and he
barked most of the time.
Leo
seemed fine for a time and then he started howling so much he began to wheeze
and cough up foam. We took him to a new veterinarian who x-rayed his throat and
discovered he had a torn esophagus, probably from eating sticks and rocks when
he was out on his own. His jaw was also broken and not repairable, according to
the doctor. We were given little choice other than to put him down.
Still
in my teens as a young wife, it was my first time to make the ominous decision
to end the life of a pet. I could barely live with myself for weeks afterward. The
gaping hole in my heart after he made the trip to Heaven was nearly unbearable.
The only consolation was that his last few months of his life he was happy and
secure and well-loved. I always wondered where he came from, why he was out on
his own, who might be missing this little boy.
The
only remedy to the lasting heartache was to bring another dog into our
household, a puppy, whose exuberance and joy was a much needed blessing after
losing our rescued pup.
The book, Plain Speaking, An Oral Biography, is a
collection of observations by Merle Miller who invested hundreds of hours in
one-on-one interviews not only with the former President, but with his staff, family
members, former teachers, and a variety of every-day people who knew him before
1935 when he first went off to Washington. They spoke of his honesty,
integrity, ethics and the kind of man who was held in high esteem.
Former President Harry S. Truman was a
voracious reader.“I always had my nose
stuck in a book,” he said, “a history
book mostly. Of course, the main reason you read a book is to get a better
insight into the people you're talking to. There were about three thousand
books in the library downtown, and I guess I read them all, including the
encyclopedias. I'm embarrassed to say that I remembered what I read, too.”
He was a student of
history, a man with an intense desire to preserve the records of history.
Mr. Truman said, in talking about libraries, “The worst thing in the world
is when records are destroyed. The destruction of the Alexandrian Library and
also the destruction of the great libraries in Rome…Those were terrible things,
and one was done by the Moslems and the other by the Christians, but there’s no
difference between them when they’re working for propaganda purposes.” He
believed “The only thing new in the world is the history you don’t know.”
He also was concerned about the influence of
money and donors. “I was always very
particular about where my money came from. Very few people are going to give
you large sums of money if they don’t expect to get something from it, and you’ve
got to keep that in mind.” He was aware of the power and corruption money brings when he said, “No man can get rich in politics unless he's a crook.”
The 33rd President of the United
States, Harry S. Truman was born on May 8, 1884, and served from April 12, 1945
to January 20, 1953. He was the son of a rural farmer and mule trader in Lamar,
Missouri. He served as Vice President for 82 days before the sudden death of Franklin
Delano Roosevelt catapulted him into the Oval Office at the culmination of the Second
World War.
He was outspoken and downright humorous in his
memoirs of those with whom he came into contact. His forthright nature was
apparent in summary of many in the political limelight, including Adlai
Stevenson of whom he said, “a man who could never make up his mind whether he
had to go to the bathroom or not.” Speaking of Henry Wallace, an opponent when Truman ran for reelection, Truman said, “What he said he wasn’t going to do was
exactly what I knew he was going to do. I don’t know in Henry’s case if you’d
say he was a liar as much as that he didn’t know the difference between the
truth and a lie.” He says that Wallace accused him of trying to get this
country into war with Russia, which he says, “was the opposite of what I was
doing.” Sound familiar?
Despite his share of “frustration, of failure,
of disappointment, of poverty, of mortgage foreclosures, of heartbreak” and
bankruptcy in his haberdashery business, he remained cheerfully optimistic and “never
wore his heart on his sleeve.”
About heritage, he would add, “I wouldn’t think much of a man that tried to deny the people and the
town where he grew up. I’ve told you. You must always keep in mind who you are
and where you came from. A man who can’t do that at all times is in trouble
where I’m concerned. I wouldn’t have anything to do with him.”
His early life reflected the challenges of a
studious and somewhat frail child, who preferred reading and learning to the
outdoor games and activities of his peers.
The book captures the essence of his
personality, philosophy and ethics in his own words. He makes viable
recommendations on books that every citizen should read, he speaks on how to
regard those seeking office and cautions the same. “You see the thing you have
to remember. When you get to be President, there are all those things, the
honors, the twenty-one gun salutes, all those things, you have to remember it
isn’t for you. It’s for the Presidency and you’ve got to keep yourself separate
from that in your mind.”
He believed that you have to appeal to people’s
best instincts rather than their worst which might win you the election, but
will do a lot of harm to the country.
Mr. Truman’s home-spun and self-enlightened
wisdom rings true in today’s world, just as he described the plots and campaigns
of the Roman Empire as no different than the modern strategies. Through his
forthright appeal to the masses telling the truth about what was going on, he
won the bid for reelection, in his own words, “by a statement of fact of what
had happened in the past and what would happen in the future if the fella that
was running against me was elected.”
Other quotes from the former President of the United States: On the differences between mules and machines –
“There’s some danger that you may get kicked in the head by a mule and end up
believing everything you read in the papers.”
“Sometimes I was advised to hold my fire on this and that because
they said telling the truth would offend people. But whenever I took such
advice I never thought much of myself. If you keep your mouth shut about things
you think are important, hell, I don’t see how you can expect the democratic system
to work at all.”
Entertaining, funny, witty, and filled with insight about the nature of men and politics, this book is highly
recommended as demonstrating that history repeats
itself whether it’s dirty campaign tactics or political game playing in
Congress.
"The management of the disk duplication company where I worked was doing their best to make me quit," he paused for a moment of reflection as he told the story. "All the signs were crystal clear with their cruel tactics of isolation and denigration, but their latest effort was the one that nearly got me killed." He scratched his head and continued.
"Things at work seemed like an ongoing battle between the old school faction and the young entrepreneurs who owned the business. They wanted us to believe that they knew it all. You couldn't tell them anything. That was just they way it was where I worked. That's just the way it is...
"Of course, these guys probably never tested a component to the board level in their lives. It all came to a head that day I repaired their outdated duplication equipment which served to add fuel to the growing animosity. The owners had apparently told everyone the machine was beyond repair, which naturally, put them in a bad light when I got it running better than before.
Rather than being pleased with my innovative solution that cost them pennies, my repair didn't set well with either partner.
Old SEAC Computer, Wikimedia Images, Public Domain
Sure, I was probably as arrogant as either of these dudes that seemed dead set on running the company into the ground. They were quick to mock those of us with a few years of experience under our belt, calling us geezers and the like. The way I saw it, they couldn't diagnose their way out of a paper bag.
Their vendetta began almost immediately after my repair job and escalated from there.
To begin with, they removed me from all tasks having to do with technical or computer related equipment. Instead, they put me on a special project assembling wood cabinets in the blistering hot warehouse. The task was easy but I certainly wasn't putting my years of computer experience to use.
That wasn't important. I'd taken this entry level job out of desperation following a layoff at the computer company where I'd been working for twelve years. I had started working there right out of tech school, after graduating at the top of my class. I never had to look for a job - they had recruited me. Still, I was grateful that this new job provided enough money to pay the basic household bills, although my confidence and my ego suffered a bit during the transition.
Vintage Disk Duplication Equipment
Isolating me from the other workers by putting me in the warehouse apparently wasn't enough to suit them. When that wasn't enough to make me quit, they decided to up the ante and have me report in to work at four in the morning. The normal first shift clocked in at seven am.
I was headed to the warehouse to work my new schedule when I stopped by a Seven-Eleven to pick up some coffee and a snack. The store was quiet, empty at that time of the morning. It was still dark outside, so that came as no surprise. I helped myself to a large regular coffee in a Styrofoam cup and went up to the register to pay, but there was no cashier around. While I was looking at my watch and growing impatient, I heard a noise coming from behind the counter. Someone was moaning.
"Help me," the nearly inaudible voice whispered.
Now, that is definitely a sound that will get the heart pumping and the blood flowing. Then, I noticed the telephone was off the hook, its cord dangling to the floor. My eyes followed the twisted wire downward where I saw the receiver lying next to a body. He'd been shot.
Frantically, I looked around the store seeking who knows what - a doctor, an ambulance, better yet, some indication that I was still sleeping quietly in my nice warm bed at home. Instead, my eyes rested on an array of automatic weapons pointed in my direction.
The entire parking lot was jammed with patrol cars, their flashing lights sending eerie rays of red and blue strobes into the darkness of the early morning sky. Officers held their positions behind the cover of their vehicles. They had arrived on the scene silently with sirens turned off.
"Put your hands on top of your head and don't move!" the officer closest to the door shouted.
I managed to raise my hands above my head when the lead officer told me to sit down. There were cases of canned Coke stacked behind where I stood. Legs trembling, I took a seat on the display. In one hand, I still held the steaming cup of coffee whose purchase had taken me on this detour. Hot liquid dribbled down my arm from my shaking hand. Beads of perspiration covered my face. I felt like I might faint.
"It took little time for the officers to secure the building and confirm that the robbery suspect was not on the premises. They wrote down my personal information, asked me a few questions and told me I could leave. I was shaking so badly all I could do was sit in the car for a few minutes, saying a prayer of thanks to God.
"When I finally calmed down enough to drive, I headed to my workplace, arriving about the same time as one of the partners who was there to see if I showed up on time. He entered the building and stomped across the wooden floor with his muddy boots.
"You're late," he yelled, inches from my face.
"Yes, boss, I sure am." Before I had a chance to explain the reason for my delayed arrival, he screamed.
"You're fired!"
" 'Thank you,' I said, and I genuinely meant that. It was all I could do to leave the warehouse without hugging him. My mantra of Thank you, Jesus carried me all the way home where I counted my blessings and smiled at the brand new day ahead."
1Old Computer equipment that used punch cards, By Tshrinivasan (Own work) [CC BY-SA 4.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
2 By National Institute of Standards and Technology (National Institute of Standards and Technology) [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Toward the end of June, as our scheduled vacation grows closer, phone calls between me and my life long friend revolve around our week when she invites me to spend time with her.
Since 1988, we've enjoyed relaxing together in the sun, swimming in the Jacuzzi, and catching up with each other's lives during a care-free seven days on the beach. Over the years, much in our lives has changed, but that time remains consistent.
The routine is the same year after year. I fly in from Dallas and she picks me up at the airport. We drive to her house to get the dogs ready for the kennel then we wait for Saturday afternoon when we can check in at the resort. She wisely invested in a one-bedroom timeshare years ago, and every year, come rain or shine, she has something to look forward to. What I've learned about vacations from her is that if you don't plan one, it won't happen.
Howard Frankland Bridge by By Miscelena 1
We drive across the Howard Frankland Bridge connecting Tampa Bay mainland to the west coast, stopping at Publix to pick up a supply of groceries for the week: steaks, baking potatoes, lettuce, tomatoes, hot dogs, and hamburger, veggies and an assortment of bread, cereal, milk, sodas, chips and snacks.
We travel light, our suitcases filled with shorts, tank tops, swim suits, flip flops and a good hat to protect our skin from the blazing sun. No fancy attire is required even when we eat out at beach side restaurants. Casual attire is king in Florida.
Next, we detour to the package store to pick up a gallon of burgundy and brandy for an endless pitcher of home made Sangria to share with our neighbors. Once we settle in to our room we visit the nearby shops to stock up on sunscreen and touristy things like T-shirts emblazoned with palm trees, sea oats and pelicans.
We're assigned the same room year after year, so we know exactly what to expect when we arrive. Each year, when we pick up the keys to her balcony apartment overlooking the sparkling pool and check in, it's like a step back into time.
The keys are attached to green plastic tags with the room number.
The kitchen has a full-size refrigerator, a range and oven, microwave, coffee pot and even a dishwasher. The unit is equipped with pots and pans, real dishes and silverware.
The kitchen is small but equipped with everything we need.
There's cable TV, although it holds less interest than usual for the week while we bask under umbrellas reading our paperback novels.
The couch makes into a hide-a-bed, and there's a queen sized-bed, comfortably allowing for four guests in this unit.
Our days are spent swimming in the pool, soaking in the Jacuzzi spa, grilling out on gas barbecue grills, and searching for shells. We alternate between dips in the pool and the Gulf listening to the squawk of seagulls scrabbling over scraps of food.
Rhythmic waves pound against the glistening beach shore providing a relaxing and soothing reassurance that the ocean is eternal. We doze off in our lounge chairs, heads nodding while the warmth of the sun performs its magic, baking away our cares as we sit in the shade of the umbrellas and watch the waves roll out. (Sitting on the Dock of the Bay - Otis Redding)
Over the years improvements have been made at the resort. The balcony railings, formerly made of dark stained wood, have been replaced with practical white plastic rails.
The uneven concrete walkway has been upgraded with beautiful patio stones that surround the pool and travel along the path leading to the outdoor shower. A locking storage unit has replaced the open lean-to which once housed the bright blue lounge chair mats.
Beach loungers are available at the resort
A crew of young college students perform routine maintenance vacuuming the sparkling pool and cleaning the swim spa jacuzzi. It always looks fresh and inviting for our week of vacation.
Perhaps the best part of the week is the quiet appreciation of nature in the evenings. The residents tend to gather under the umbrellas near time for sundown each night to enjoy that gift of serenity and beauty, a momentary splash of every color imaginable before the sun dunks into the ocean one more time.
As evening draws near, a contingent of beach goers gather at the shoreline in anticipation of the evening's spectacular view. Taking photos at sunset is a standard part of the week's ritual. And once that lightning fast week is over, sharing the photos brings back the joy of the week for years to come.
1 Photo of Howard Frankland Bridge, By Miscelena (http://www.flickr.com/photos/miscelena/403636460/) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
The unlikely three companions who set out on a
journey down the mountain have no idea of the dangers which await them on the
road. Cyrus, a wizened woodsman and elder who tends the orchard, and Angel, who
gathers and sows her colorful seeds, start off together on their quest in
pursuit of the thief who has removed a tree from the orchard. Loss of the tree
prevents a young girl from crossing over from this side of the realm to the
next life. Her future remains in jeopardy without the guardian who resides
within the tree. When they stop for rest and refreshment at a way station for
boys, Carpenter, a young man captivated by Angel’s violet eyes, joins them from
The Swing Zone where a lively game of baseball is in play.
Along their journey down the mountain, the trio encounters
strange and deadly beasts, language barriers, an old world silk production enterprise, strong
river currents, hunger, fatigue and determination. Spreading their talents and
treasures with those along the trail, the trip requires ingenuity and
perseverance on the part of all three who seek this missing tree.
The thief, a wily peddler named Seede, is
ruthless in his treatment of those along his path, leaving behind, a trail of anguish,
deception and loss. His eventual destination, to the Castel Mansion, is littered
with remorseless acts for which he is well-known. His solicitor, Captain Castel,
is willing to go to any means to cure his terminally ill daughter, including
that of employing a hardened criminal to bring him what is required.
The story, an allegory of life, with its perils
and pitfalls, moves along with a descriptive charm likened to fairy tales of
old. There are strange inventions, tree houses, antique carvings, and games for
children who await their final destination across the river on the other side.
I'm surprised, elated, fearful, proud, disoriented, and delighted to see my book finally made it to the printed form. To hold it in my hand and feel it as a real object is inexplicably gratifying.
As many writers can tell you, the worst is over when the editing, formatting, updating, file changes downloading, reviewing and waiting for proofs is done.
There to guide me throughout the tedious parts of the publishing process, Michael Friedman of Mockingbird Books and Publishing added all the right touches to get this project completed. Mike also designed a book cover and back page blurb that captured elements from the story into the design. He was there to encourage, uplift and assist during the entire process.
Friends took their valuable time to read the manuscript, add thoughts, suggestions, corrections and feedback for the final version. I'm indebted to my brother who read this manuscript multiple times and whose comments helped me fix some inconsistencies. I left in a few, but who's checking? Also, proud to say that Maria Jordan wrote a beautiful foreword for the front pages and served as an editor as well. Thank you!
Maria's kind review of The Pub is located within her blog: Marcoujor's Musings.
The printed book is available only in paperback from Amazon. I can provide autographed copies if you wish. I hope to release an eBook version in the near future as well.
Thank you, Mike, for this kind book review published in HubPages.
The Pub is about an impressionable young woman who takes a new job that will sweep her away from the dull and mundane world of finance into a world rampant with graft, theft, lechery, revenge and even murder.
Joe Mitchell, The Pub's bookkeeper, encounters a cast of characters whose shadows grow longer as the night deepens. She's swimming in the shark tank surrounded with people who toss her an anchor. In a world of drifters, life changes and financial woes, the climate is hazardous at The Pub where they're serving up more than just good food.
I invite you to read this novel and share the adventure with Joe as she maneuvers her way through a crowd of characters into clouds of change.
Once you taste the home made richness of this chocolate cream pie you'll never go back to instant pudding again. It's easy to make and well worth the time it takes.
Holidays were special times when our clan of cousins, aunts, uncles, siblings and parents gathered for a meal as a family. Preparations started before daylight for a full morning of cooking turkeys and baking cakes and pies.
When it grew close to the lunch hour, we would gather around in the Florida room, lured in by the delicious aromas which wafted into the back yard where we were playing. The festive table was set with platters of every sort of food imaginable from roasted turkey and gravy, mashed potatoes, fresh green beans, salads, cranberry sauce, casserole dishes, and of course, an entire table dedicated to dessert.
There was a variety of cakes and pies including mincemeat pie, pecan and strawberry, but the chocolate cream pie was always my favorite and usually the first one to disappear. Thoughts of those times bring fond memories of those pies made from scratch by someone we love.
It's not hard to duplicate this homemade pie, whether using a store-bought crust or making your own. Cooking the filling takes about twenty-five minutes, during which you can bake the single pie crust and let it cool. Here's how to do it:
Pie Crust Dough Recipe for a One Crust Pie
1 cup sifted all-purpose flour; 1/3 cup of solid vegetable shortening (like Crisco) or butter; 1/4 teaspoon salt and 2-3 tablespoons of cold water.
Sift the flour and salt together into a mixing bowl. Using two knives (in crisscross fashion) or a pastry cutter, cut in the shortening until the mixture looks like cornmeal. Slowly add the cold water, a little at a time, until the dough sticks together in a ball but is not sticky. More water or flour may be needed if the mix is too dry (add drops of water) or too sticky (add a little flour).
If you have time, refrigerate the dough for about an hour. This is usually not needed if the room temp is cool.
Transfer the dough ball to a lightly floured surface and roll it into a circle one inch larger than the pan to allow for a fluted edge. I made a video for Instructions on forming the pie crust:
Place the prepared dough into a deep-dish, 9 inch pie pan.
Trim and fold under the excess edges of the dough as you work your way around the rim.
Shape the edges into scallops by pressing the dough between two fingers and forming an indentation between them with the thumb of the other hand.
Make sure there are no cracks or tears in the uncooked crust. If repair is needed, a drop of water or milk will help mending the cracks.
Since the pie crust must be baked before adding the pudding, use a fork to prick tiny holes all around the edges and bottom of the crust. This allows steam to escape when baking.
Bake the crust at 450 degrees for 10 minutes or until golden brown. Cool completely on a wire rack before filling.
Ingredients and Instructions for the Chocolate Cream Pudding filling:
Ingredients: 2 cups of milk (regular or two percent), 1/4 cup of Corn Syrup, 4 Tablespoons of Corn Starch, 1/2 cup granulated sugar, 2 egg yolks, 4 Tablespoons Hershey's powdered cocoa, 1 Tablespoon butter, 1 teaspoon Vanilla extract.
Mix together about a half cup of the milk, all the sugar, corn syrup, cornstarch and cocoa in a medium sized, heavy-duty saucepan.
Separate the egg yolks from the egg whites and add the yolks to the mixture and stir thoroughly with a whisk.
Add the rest of the milk and heat the mixture slowly over low to medium heat stirring constantly so it doesn't scorch. It may take between 11 and 15 minutes to reach a boil.
When the mixture comes to a boil and starts to thicken, immediately remove it from the heat and add the butter and vanilla extract stirring until the butter melts.
Let the mixture cool before spooning it into the cooled, baked pie crust.
Refrigerate the pie for at least an hour before serving.
Tips
Be sure to watch the milk mixture carefully as it comes up to temperature and stir continuously.
Resist the temptation to raise the heat too high. Medium heat is best to avoid scorching the milk and sugar.
When the hot mixture starts bubbling up unexpectedly, take the pan off the heat.
Allow the pudding to cool completely before pouring it into the crust. This helps keep the crust from getting soggy.
If the pastry puffs up in places when baking, use a fork to prick the bubble and release the steam or the crust will bake in the raised shape.
Making homemade whipped cream is quick, easy and delicious. Or, if you like, you can use a prepared topping like Cool Whip or Ready Whip Whipped Cream.
This family recipe is one of my husband's all-time, most requested desserts.
Driving past the rest area, I spotted two dogs playing next to the highway. Without a thought, I veered into the picnic area to draw them away from the seventy mile-per-hour traffic.
Both dogs followed the truck as I pulled in and grabbed the packet of dry dog food from beneath the driver's seat.They scarfed up the kibble in seconds prompting me to search for more food in the truck.
When I turned around, the Doberman was gone. The one that looked like a wolf remained close, watching my every move. His hair was matted and dirty; his ribs visible through the thick fur. He sat quietly by the open door of the truck waiting for the question that would change both our lives:
"Do you want to go home with me, boy?"
He raised his right paw as an answer.
The first night Buddy was with us, I put him in the fenced pen that once housed our emus. He had food and water, yet he lacked the companionship he so desperately craved.
In the morning, I took his breakfast out there and found he had dug his way out from under the chain link fence. I cried all the way to work, believing him to be lost once again.
Once I arrived at work I retrieved my voice mail messages. Buddy found his way home and into the heart of my hubby who said, "This little buddy is a keeper." And so he got his name and became part of our family, joining our twelve year old Retriever, Slick, and his new Chow companion, three year old Dolly Joe.
One Christmas, I wrote a poem when Buddy Lee displayed interest in one ornament on our tree.
Ode to a Klingon by Peg Cole
The tinny voice of Mr. Worf Grown silent now at last. Has echoed from the Christmas tree Of many seasons past. The shuttle craft has lost its voice The micro chip is quiet. And yet I do not toss it out I dare not start a riot.
Each morning when the lights went on The Klingon's voice would call And Buddy Lee would tilt his head In wonderment and awe..
Not that one...the Runabout, please, push the button.
The micro chip inside the ship Spoke deeply from the boughs And Buddy Lee would come and look To find the source of prose. His head pressed firmly on his paws He guards the silent tree "Where is the Klingon warrior's voice? That used to speak to me?"
We laughed at Buddy's interest When turning on the tree He'd always come and take a look The curious Buddy Lee.
The Warrior's voice is silent now Its magic has been spent Though Buddy Lee still stalks the tree Amid the limbs he's bent.
The thoughts inside my canine's head
Remain a mystery
The strange attraction Buddy has
Is plain for all to see.
And now to find another craft On eBay do I search The plastic shuttle Rio Grande Not from the planet Earth.
Bud looks at us with pleading eyes.
His Klingon mentor lacking.
Quick, purchase from the on-line store
With automated tracking.
Bizarre and disconnected from
The day of Jesus' birth.
Yet still I long for Deep Space Nine,
To celebrate with mirth.
I'll hope that it arrives in time, Without delay or reasons. And pray each day that Buddy stays To celebrate more seasons.
Buddy Lee at Twelve
For he's grown old my Buddy Lee His bright eyes now grown dim. And Christmas wouldn't be the same An empty day without him.
So hasten to me UPS
Your brown truck at my door.
And let me see Bud's eyes light up,
When Worf will speak once more.
Buddy Lee was with us for twelve wonderful years during which he was a valued member of our family.
There is a street near our house named Dog Drop Road. Some people take it as an invitation to leave their unwanted pets wandering about lost, wondering what they did to deserve being abandoned.
