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Donna and the detector dog . . .

Donna and the detector dog . . .

For the last half of my three-year assignment at U.S. Customs Headquarters in Washington DC, I was assigned the responsibilities of Customs’ national program manager of the detector dog program. In the interest of full disclosure, I grudgingly state that while I was charged with all the program’s responsibilities, I was not given the promotion that the position warranted—I had the title, the workload and a half-assed promise of upgrading in the future, but that never materialized, and in that eighteen months my interest in most things federal waned—I became so desperate to get out of Dodge that I requested and received a lateral transfer to Houston, Texas. Click here for a discussion of my not-so-brief six months in Houston—it showcases one of Houston’s most undesirable features. It’s an open letter to a burglar.

Just as an aside, any reader of this posting may feel that perhaps I have ill will towards upper level management in the U. S. Customs hierarchy, and that perhaps that I may hold some sort of grudge. If so, they would be right. I do, and I do. I can sum it up by saying that a beautiful plaque from those worthies, a plaque praising my time in the federal work force, a total of 48 years encompassing 22 years with the military and combat tours in two wars and 26 years as a federal law officer—that plaque was dropped at my door by a UPS driver that rang the doorbell and hastened back to his truck—so much for presentation and pomp, and for circumstance and ceremony!

My duties as a program manager required frequent trips to various international airports, seaports and border crossing points to monitor, evaluate and report detector dog operations to upper levels of management. Click here to read about a trip to California to observe enforcement operations at several Customs locations. Trust me, it’s worth the visit—it involves a goat in my hotel room.

During a memorable visit to Buffalo, New York I heard this claim made by a journeyman detector dog handler. He said that the happiest girl in the whole USA entered the port at Rainbow Bridge, and he was ordered to run his dog on Donna Fargo’s lavished furnished tour bus on her return from performances in Canada.

The detector dog’s search produced negative results, but it generated a classic tale. From that day forward the dog handler claimed, to fellow employees and to the world in general, that he had spent some time in Donna Fargo’s bed—and that he was not alone! The unvarnished truth, of course, is that he stretched out on the singer’s bed and ordered his canine teammate to lie beside him for a brief period, thus the claim that he had spent some time in her bed, and that he was not alone. I suspect that if the dog could talk, he would make the same claim in smoke-filled canine bars and casinos.

So much for a moment of levity in the life of a detector dog handler, a life and an occupation that is sometimes highly rewarding but one that is far too often the subject of many jokes and crass remarks. During my assignment as manager of the national program I made every effort to squelch the oft-quoted definition of a detector dog team as a leash with a problem at both ends—my efforts were unsuccessful.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

Postscript:

This is for the half-dozen or so people in the world’s population of some six and one-half billion that have not heard this one. Have you heard about the atheist that had dyslexia? He didn’t believe in Dog.

 
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Posted by on October 7, 2010 in bridge, Humor, Military, Travel

 

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Reflections of a Chihuahua named Bimbo . . .

Reflections of a Chihuahua . . .

She was a German Shepherd and she was beautiful, so beautiful that I was immediately drawn to her. I was attracted by her looks, but there was also a strong aura about her, a heady odor like fine perfume, an aura to which I was irresistibly drawn—I was incapable of resisting it. However, she took umbrage at my attempt to exercise my right to conduct an olfactory examination of her you-know-what-and-where, a highly sensual and sensitive area that normally would be readily presented to a dashing male such as I, one with a highly sensual, sensitive and inquiring nose.

At the first sniff she spun around and smiled—at least I thought it was a smile, but it was accompanied by a sound remarkably similar to a snarl—in fact she was snarling, and I realized that I had bitten off more than I could chew—so to speak. The lady was taller, longer, stronger, wider and heavier than I, and I realized that my rejection and my defeat were inevitable, so I dropped and rolled over on my back, presenting my soft underbelly, a universal practice among the canine genus. Such a move was a sign of surrender, and any self-respecting canine would acknowledge that action and desist from ripping said underbelly from stem to stern. I was duly rewarded by her response—she stopped snarling and with a slight smile began a non-offensive visual—and olfactory—survey of the area I had presented for the coup de grace.

Please note: That is not me in the picture above—the photographer just used him to stand in for me. I’m brown and white and I’m much—well, I’m much cuter and I’m a lot bigger, if you get my drift! And the picture above him is not the beautiful lady—that’s the Big Guy, the one that did me in.

The object of my affections abruptly began laughing, uncontrollable laughter, actually falling and rolling in the dust, making no attempt to conceal her mirth. At first nonplussed, I came to the realization that I had inadvertently displayed more than my vulnerability. I had also exposed my essentials to her view, hence her dissolution into gales of laughter—no, it was not disillusion rather than dissolution—admittedly a fine distinction but applicable. At this point, I must inform the reader that, for a Chihuahua, I was remarkably well—let’s see, what’s the past tense of the verb to hang? Yeah, that’s it—that’s what I was!

The reason for her laughter was simply the contradiction of my essentials relative to my size. The truth is that when my Maker made me, He made my essentials first and then hung the rest of me on them—got it? I was well-known around the neighborhood, and for good reason!

When the Big Guy, a full-grown male German Shepherd arrived on the scene I immediately sprang to my feet and attacked, realizing that in some battles surprise is tantamount to victory. However, the battle was over in a few seconds—just one giant chomp by the Big Guy and I was soon en route to the vet, in a state of shock but feeling very little pain, and soon after my arrival I was free of pain and in another world, detached from my former world but still aware of it.

I seemed to be hovering above the doctor and the man and the young girl that took me there, the same folks that I had lived with since my birth some seven years earlier, except for several months that I lived with another family after I climbed our backyard fence and went exploring. I had a good life with my family—they even took me with them on vacations—none of that vet boarding for me! Click here to read about a memorable vacation I took with my family—it’s well worth the visit and the read! It’s all about Chihuahuas, ham hocks and butter beans.

I followed Mike and Kelley to their car and stayed with them while they took a long drive through the countryside, moving at a slow speed, neither of them speaking and both crying. My tears also flowed freely—at least I felt like I was crying, but I was not sad—I could see the beautiful place that lay ahead in my future and I looked forward to being there—no more standing at the patio doors pretending to be freezing on the hottest day of the year, hoping I would be allowed to come in so I could pee on the living room carpet. I learned early that the shivering act would bring almost immediate relief from the Texas heat.

Listen up, everybody! There is a place called Rainbow Bridge. You can Google it if you don’t believe me, but for those that may not have a computer and those that are too busy to bother Googling, I’ll furnish a precise description of Rainbow Bridge below. I’m there now and I’m happy, but always on the lookout for certain people—they know who they are, and I know we will be together again—they have to come through here—it’s a requirement for entry into their ultimate destination. And they need to know that I’m here with Sambo, Hammer Head, Phu, Tuffie, Yuki, Mikki, Dumas Walker, Annie, Callie, Tee, Shiloh, Heidi and Buster and several others—their names escape me for the moment—we’re all here waiting, and in the meantime we’re having a ball!

That’s my story, Reflections of a Chihuahua named Bimbo, and I’m sticking to it!

Signed: Bimbo, the well “- – – -” Chihuahua

Rainbow Bridge

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.

There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together . . .

 
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Posted by on August 8, 2010 in death, pets, religion

 

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Annabelle died on Monday . . .

AnnieBelleMy best friend died on Monday, the nineteenth of January 2009, at exactly 3:33 p.m. while I was rushing her to the doctor. She was born with an enlarged heart, a heart which abruptly failed after serving her well for more than 12 years. The friend that died was Annie, a beautiful long-haired calico cat, and a loved and loving member of our family for more than 10 years.

Sue, a dear friend who lives in Alabama, learned of our loss and sent a beautiful sympathy card and a touching consolation e-mail. After reading my response, she sent the following e-mail:

“My heart continues to go out to you and Janie—it truly does take time for a broken heart to heal. Thank you for the touching e-mail and for sharing your heart with me. What a blessing you, Janie and Annie all were to one another—truly one of life’s most precious gifts. I look forward to seeing you both again sometime this year. Meanwhile, keep in mind when you see Annie again, you’ll be seeing Cindy and me also—we’re a package deal.

“With so much heartfelt love, Sue.”

This e-mail was my belated response to Sue’s initial card and e-mail:

“Sue, please forgive us for not responding sooner to your heartfelt e-mail and your beautiful card. Janie and I have had a difficult time dealing with Annie’s death. We have just now been able to discuss her without both of us breaking down. We see her in every room and in every position, and hear sounds, especially during the night, which remind us of her and, for an ever-so-brief moment, bring her back to us. We have had other pets and loved them all, but before Annie we never knew that a creature’s love could be so deep and strong and forgiving, and that such love could be demonstrated in so many ways.

“Annie and I were a couple for ten years, and we remain a couple. Since her death I have come to realize that she and I were, and still are, soul mates, and I believe that our separation is temporary. Yes, I believe that animals have souls, and it appears that Pope John Paul II agreed with me. That can be confirmed at this web site:

http://www.dreamshore.net/rococo/pope.html

“I’ve spent a lot of time online recently. I found a poem, one so sad that it broke my heart, but it is so uplifting that at the same time my heart was breaking, my spirit soared. The poem can be found, with numerous variations, on many web sites by googling “rainbow bridge poem.”

Annie & DadHere is the poem in its entirety:

“Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

“When a pet that has been especially close to someone here dies, that beloved pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals that were ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those that were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one thing; they each miss someone very special to them who was left behind.

annie at comp 2“They all run and play together, but the day will come when a special one—the most special among the special—will suddenly stop and look into the distance. Her bright eyes are intent. Her eager body quivers. Suddenly she leaves the group and begins to run, flying over the green grass, her legs carrying her faster and faster.

“Annie has spotted me, and when we meet we will cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. Her happy kisses will rain upon me; my hands will again caress her, and I will look again into the trusting eyes of my Annie, so long gone from my life but never absent from my heart.

“Then we’ll cross Rainbow Bridge together. . .”

Annie2I took the liberty of changing the poem to make it personal—it wasn’t easy—making the changes was difficult and the tears flowed freely, but the physical catharsis provided some psychological relief—albeit temporary.

Thank you, Sue, for the sympathy and understanding expressed in your e-mail, and thanks for the beautiful card. You’re one of a select group of people, quite rare, who can convey their most profound feelings to others—willingly, unsolicited and without hesitation. Janie and I are proud of your friendship for us and for Cindy (our favorite daughter, but don’t tell the other two!).

May God bless you and keep you—you’re always welcome in our home.

We’ll leave the light on for you.

 
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Posted by on May 29, 2009 in death, Family, friends, pets

 

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