"Skei" the "Skit" In All Its Stereotypical Figurative Extensions

 

Sam Stone

By John Prine

Sam Stone came home,
To the wife and family
After serving in the conflict overseas.
And the time that he served,
Had shattered all his nerves,
And left a little shrapnel in his knees.
But the morphine eased the pain,
And the grass grew round his brain,
And gave him all the confidence he lacked,
With a purple heart and a monkey on his back.

There's a hole in daddy's arm where all the money goes,
Jesus Christ died for nothin' I suppose.
Little pitchers have big ears,
Don't stop to count the years,
Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios.

Sam Stone's welcome home
Didn't last too long.
He went to work when he'd spent his last dime
And soon he took to stealing
When he got that empty feeling
For a hundred dollar habit without overtime.
And the gold roared through his veins
Like a thousand railroad trains,
And eased his mind in the hours that he chose,
While the kids ran around wearin' other peoples' clothes...

There's a hole in daddy's arm where all the money goes,
Jesus Christ died for nothin I suppose.
Little pitchers have big ears,
Don't stop to count the years,
Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios.

Sam Stone was alone
When he popped his last balloon,
Climbing walls while sitting in a chair.
Well, he played his last request,
While the room smelled just like death,
With an overdose hovering in the air.
But life had lost it's fun,
There was nothing to be done,
But trade his house that he bought on the GI bill,
For a flag-draped casket on a local hero's hill.

But life had lost it's fun,
There was nothing to be done,
But trade his house that he bought on the GI bill,
For a flag-draped casket on a local hero's hill.

There's a hole in daddy's arm where all the money goes,
Jesus Christ died for nothin I suppose.
Little pitchers have big ears,
Don't stop to count the years,
Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios.

My father when angry with my lack of knowledge or skill used to say,"You don't know shit from Shinoa." Although he and I both knew that was idiom popular in the day. However, he was right because I did not have the slightest idea. The phrase took me back the other day as I realize I am 73 years-old and still don't know what Shinola is. So I googled it and found out Shinola was a brand of shoe polish previously manufactured in the USA. The alliteration of the expression 'doesn't know shit from Shinola' partly explains the derivation. Also, without putting too fine a point on it, the two things named in the expression could possibly be confused. However, only one of them would be good to apply to your shoes and only particularly dim people could be expected to muddle them up." Problem solved.

Dad and many others would also say when someone was in a difficult situation that he was "up a creek without a paddle." I understood the person was in a difficult situation without a common means of motivation when this idiom was applied; however, how would the guy have made it "up" that creek without a proper paddle in his possession in the first place.? It would seem that he had left the paddle for some idiotic reason because creeks, at least in my experience flow "downstream," not up.Wouldn't it make more sense to say I was "down a creek without a paddle" in a bad situation? A paddle is a means of resistance serving mainly an up-stream purpose.

And then you have the infamous phrase describing someone who knows nothing or very little about something or someone. That person lacking expertise is told by another, that he "doesn't (don't) know Jack Shit." Is Jack a supposedly well-known person everyone is supposed to immediately identify with, or is the conveyor of the bad claim suggesting the offender knows quite a bit but absolutely nothing in conjunction with "jack," this offensive surname. Again, I confess to not knowing "Jack" about the inference. All I can say is that the saying isn't complimentary.

I'm pretty sure "I don't know shit" is an admittance to complete ignorance about a subject, but oftentimes it is accompanied by the plea of someone saying I have to "know shit" about a truckload of things I believe I fairly do understand (at least in definition). I, at the very least understand "some shit" about the evidently complicated procedures of operation. In fact I know some "shit" very well. I think saying is meant to reduce a human to subhuman abilities to learn anything. So sad.

I personally have never been caught out in a "shitstorm" but if I ever am, you can bet all your "good shit" (best possessions) I would holler "Holy shit!" about the stinky predicament and run inside immediately. But, what if the storm was pelting down "some good shit" like twenty dollar bills or diamonds? I guess I would then risk weathering the shitstorm and collecting my fair share of the bounty because everyone seems to want to add to his "good shit" even if talking about such a situation "scares them shitless."

I would change the saying to "scared to shitting" because, again, a scary situation is apt to leave a little stain in my underwear. For instance encountering a bear on a hike would likely make me "shit my pants," even if the experience tightened my sphincter muscles to the size of a pinprick. And before we leave the "bear" analogy, I know do that bears must "shit mainly in the woods" because I have never encountered bear scat on Main Street. I'm fairly positive they must enjoy the peace and solitude of dropping their loads in more natural settings.

I cannot even imagine a person literally "talking shit," but in a figurative manner I have encountered many a human doing so. Some people become so involved in talking badly or bragging about something or some one ("trash talking" or "talking crap") that you feel as if excrement is foaming from their mouths. Some even "lose their shit" in a rant and become uncontrollable upset. Maybe that mouthful of shit comes more from the gut than from their brains. Research it? It stinks.

So, many bullshitters (Not this entry, there is and entirely different analysis for "bull" etymologists.) "talk shit" when they lie. Then, after hearing the falsehood, the person  tries to deceive those who talk the stupid shit by saying in anger: "Stop shitting me, you bastard." Of course many deceivers develop habits of lying by smoking, swallowing, or ingesting "shit" (illegal drugs) so profusely they act crazier than "bat shit" all the time. Some are even said to develop "shit for brains.) Addiction to heroin, for example, is akin to eating tons of feces to the point of being hooked on its consumption.  Now, that is as crazy as having a "bat in the belfry"-- yes, truly bat shit crazy.

I do not comprehend why someone would compliment any other person by telling him "you’re the shit" and meaning the recipient has deserved high praise. If I am "in shit," I'm in a bad situation. But somehow this idiom implies that the other person is amazing and worthy of being the best. In other words in the same vein, the "shit" is not only acknowledged as being exceptionally intelligent but also one of a kind, a peerless "shit" if you will.

I must confess that "I'm getting my shit together" today to share some fun and a "shit-load" of contemplation. Who really "gives a shit" I am writing this dribble? Probably, no one. However, if "the shit hits the fan" and soils your image, simply stop reading about this defecation. How is this piece being received? "Shit, I don't know." 

But, be aware because everyone knows "shit happens" and we must avoid it and drive on. No two people live with the same "shit" with which to deal. My advice may be incomprehensible to the massed. Yet, maybe ... just maybe ... some of these trite sayings and ornery usages will "loosen up your day" and make it a little more comfortable. 

After all, we all do it. We have to drop our loads with great frequency to age in good health. Some evidently consider their vanity more than others. After all, even those who are the "shit" (Donald Trump is said to have a golden throne. I also hear he is a notorious farter.) but that is a subject for another day. May the stink allude you even if you consider yourself to be "the shit." Good luck to all of you favorable folks who just seem to do the "right shit" at the right time. I admire your cleanliness and humbleness if nothing more.

In addition, I hope you all become "hot shits" in your chosen fields. Just keep it real and understand "everybody's shit stinks." Give a shit but don't take shit from those who are nothing but "pieces of shit" themselves. Whatever you do -- don't "eat shit," "shit on others," or "run shit out of luck." It may be a world full of shit out there and difficult to deal with at times, but keep your crocks shit-less. I pray no one must "shit a brick" as I have had that experience before during gut-wrenching episodes on my personal Squatty Potty, which I recommend to problem shitters. For real.

And, remember the great John Prine's lyrical advice: "little pitchers have big ears." I know I have learned something today about how to handle "my shit." Be careful how youth interprets all of the connotations and denotations of today's subject matter. There is a shitload of knowledge to be sorted out, read, and understood in this shitty world. Even the wise old owl largely keeps to himself and is said to understand difficult situations.

"A wise old owl lived in an oak,
The more he saw, the less he spoke
The less he spoke, the more he heard,
Now, wasn't he a wise old bird?"

-- English language nursery rhyme. It has a Roud Folk Song Index  number of 7734 and in The Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes, 2nd Ed. of 1997, as number 394.

I'll end by saying, "the old bird knows his shit." So, seek understanding always, but never forget the importance of experience and rumination. It might just clean up your act. Prine's Sam Stone could not deal with the shit in his brain, and we, somehow, sympathize with his odorous and personal decisions to correct his life. God bless. No shit. (I couldn't resist, sorry.)

 

The "Knowing" of Getting Old

 

Growing Old

What is it to grow old?
Is it to lose the glory of the form,
The lustre of the eye?
Is it for beauty to forgo her wreath?
—Yes, but not this alone.

Is it to feel our strength—
Not our bloom only, but our strength—decay?
Is it to feel each limb
Grow stiffer, every function less exact,
Each nerve more loosely strung?

Yes, this, and more; but not
Ah, ’tis not what in youth we dreamed ’twould be!
’Tis not to have our life
Mellowed and softened as with sunset glow,
A golden day’s decline.

’Tis not to see the world
As from a height, with rapt prophetic eyes,
And heart profoundly stirred;
And weep, and feel the fullness of the past,
The years that are no more.

It is to spend long days
And not once feel that we were ever young;
It is to add, immured
In the hot prison of the present, month
To month with weary pain.

It is to suffer this,
And feel but half, and feebly, what we feel.
Deep in our hidden heart
Festers the dull remembrance of a change,
But no emotion—none.

It is—last stage of all—
When we are frozen up within, and quite
The phantom of ourselves,
To hear the world applaud the hollow ghost
Which blamed the living man.

* There’s even a word for a fear of growing old: "gerascophobia." In one of his less famous poems, the Victorian poet and critic Matthew Arnold  (1822-88) wondered what it means to grow old.

Dealing with changes and pain from aging presents new, unpleasant challenges. We must adjust our lives to survive what we all are going to experience  As age affects our minds and bodies, we take measures to deal with fate. Finally, realizing that we will never recover 100% of our younger selves, we make some pretty drastic adjustments that limit both our activities and our own afflictions. Without hope and faith, learning to live with pain is damn near impossible. Many have never experienced the ravages of old age, and other simply rely on doctors who prescribe loads of medications and medical procedures to help their bodies recover.

These meds and procedures, themselves, take a toll on us. We usually become weaker and more confused with the advent of old age. Adjustment periods of healing and dealing with our aging bodies vary greatly; however, all of us, sooner or later, find our healthy condition compromised by the processes of putting up with pain and permanent changes. From simply using old age devices like canes to going through complicated surgeries like heart and vascular disorders, we must face our challenges with hope and faith in the Almighty. I strongly believe that.

To me, the limitations presented to our mind's numerous strengths are the roughest pains to endure. I'm not denying the tremendous pain some of us go through in surgeries and in diseases, but I'm stressing that dealing with all the mental changes of aging is even harder and thus more permanently painful -- we forget more, we think with less accuracy, we become limited in most actions that control our movement and its relation to our minds. Some say the mind ache of aging is nearly unbearable.

Luckily, a plethora of medical and mental health meds and procedures exist, yet we know we are changing, slowing down, and generally becoming weaker even after taking theses medications and going through the prescribed procedures. It is the knowing that we all soon must face finality that daily relentlessly bruises our minds, bodies, and souls. We begin to slowly accept our limitations and no longer wonder what positive outcomes may occur. Knowing becomes akin to a countdown to the final years filled with added challenges for both our bodies and our minds. 

Sometimes I wish I could simply accept "knowing" the tolls of old age on my being, but fighting negative changes is paramount to any kind of recovery -- be it limited at least or miraculous at best. Still, wrapping my mind around what I can not do now and what I used to be able to do effortlessly hurts badly ... to me, it the ultimate pain of aging. I can deal with the physical discomforts that accompany my age, but dealing with the mental toll ... even the acceptance of limitations such as forgetful thinking and being "out of touch" ... are most unbearable. I find myself making excuses for inaction and the pain of knowing worse days are ahead adds certain fears and trepidation to my mental capacities and load my "old brain" with discomfort.

Advice abounds like "take each day at a time," "slow down and smell the roses," "age is just a number," and "you're only as old as you feel," to me, are bullshit, outworn, and tired cliches that simply make excuses for loss of my normality. Yes, I believe we must have positive attitudes to advance and overcome; still, I think the realities presented by aging hurt the worst. Again, we know the truth. Everything is likely to get tougher and more difficult to accept. The future looms as our present withers.

I know what I've become in the last three or four years of my life, and sometimes, it is deeply depressing. Anticipation spreads its unrelenting dark wings around my once active lives, and it adds to fearing worse and worse changes are to come. Please, don't misunderstand the point of this essay. I will face and "soldier on" through any challenges yet to come. I must. And I hope with the graces of God and my family I have a good life yet to come. Still ... I know my limitations go beyond pain to the point of embarrassment and dreaded mental disabilities. That is it: I know. No more wonder or guessing.

I hurt physically from the effects of aging and living an active life ... broken bones, torn muscles, heart procedures, and diabetes all pain and limit me at times, but the "knowing" is, for me, the roughest part of being a senior with now-limited activities. For example, driving, especially at night, is so challenging even with new prescriptions. Also, walking, for me, has slowed down with arthritis and neuropathy -- both have limited my gait to an snail's pace. My balance is terrible and my equilibrium is not much better. However ... it's the knowing that hurts the most -- just the acceptance of whom I have become. A person must accept knowing and expect its reality.

I am sure my slide will continue, hopefully later rather than sooner. At present, it is not pleasant looking ahead. This sounds like the perfect writing for an invitation to a "pity party." I realize the negative tone, yet I want no such thing. I just want to record my own truths about self-understanding. If you haven't experienced any severity in the hurt of the knowing of aging, be thankful for your golden fate. I just want others to relate to the power of knowing what's to come.

I merely want readers to accept the anticipation that may enter their own lives in order that they may deal with it better if and when the time comes. Hey, I've slowed down, and I'm beginning to accept it better most every day. I guess what I want to say is: "Be ready for changes when old age creeps upon you, and do your best to accept whatever those changes may be." Embrace the "know."

Tom Petty, one of my favorite song writing/performing artists put it like this in his song "The Waiting":

"The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you see one more card
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part"

 

Essential Heartbeats -- Without Rhythm, Where Would I Be?

 

"When I was a child, ladies and gentlemen, I was a dreamer. I read comic books, and I was the hero of the comic book. I saw movies, and I was the hero in the movie. So every dream that I ever dreamed, has come true a hundred times. I learned very early in life that:

"Without a song, the day would never end;

 Without a song, a man ain’t got a friend;

 Without a song, the road would never bend;

Without a song...

 So I keep singing a song.”

  -- Excerpt from Elvis' acceptance speech at the ceremony for the US Jaycees 'Ten Outstanding Young Men' for 1970 

I love this quote from Elvis Presley. The sentiment is exactly what Jim Morrison and the Doors expressed in their song "When the Music's Over." Music is essential to a human being. I can't  imagine living without it. Its universality breaks all barriers to understanding while stirring the emotions.

"Well, the music is your special friend
Dance on fire as it intends
Music is your only friend
Until the end
Until the end
Until the end 

 

"So when the music's over
When the music's over, yeah
When the music's over
Turn out the lights
Turn out the lights"

 Turn out the lights

-- Excerpt from the Door's "When the Music's Over." Strange Days. Jim Morrison - lyrics. Paul A. Rothchild, Producer

Seemingly simple, rhythm is actually one of the most complex musical concepts to define and explain. Its powerful presence in our lives is often misunderstood -- we  listen to music and neglect to consider how rhythm is at its very core: it connects everything. Rhythm, like the heartbeat, is divided into repeated beats of a specific number at a certain speed. In other words, the pattern is the controlled movement of music concerning time that may be defined in pulses, meters, or beats. In all cases, rhythm is how music is divided into regular metric portions. Thus, beat and movement are also the lifeblood that systematically flows through the human body. Rhythm naturally lives in all of us -- as through the heart with automatic, involuntary reflex -- and it compensates our basic need for movement through conscious awareness. 

It’s different from the music’s tempo, which is the speed at which the music plays. Strong and weak pulse patterns combine to make rhythm essential to movement in music. These pulse patterns make us want to follow a song's rhythm, which consists of beats playing for specific time intervals.

Do we crave rhythm for its pulsating purpose? Consider dancing. Think of the typical response of teenagers to Dick Clark's popular old segments of American Bandstand's "Rate a Record." 

Clark: "Why do you like this record so much?

Teens' Reply: "It's the beat. 

We accept rhythm without understanding its long list of complexities as simply the placement of sounds in time. In its most general sense, rhythm (Greek rhythmos, derived from rhein, “to flow”) is an ordered alternation of contrasting elements. The notion of rhythm also occurs in other arts (e.g., poetry and painting) as well as in biological rhythms.

Listening to music, most of us follow a tune's rhythm, which is actually comprised of many complexities such as time signature, meter, and accents. Of course, beats are the primary measurement unit of music while the time signature of any musical piece refers to the number of beats in one full measure and how long the beats last. It’s written as a fraction, such as 4/4, 6/8, 5/4, and so on. The two numbers indicate how you should count the rhythm.

Time signatures that have the number "4" for the bottom mean that the beat corresponds with a quarter note. For example, the time signature 5/4 means that a measure takes five beats to become whole.

Meanwhile, a 4/4 signature means that four beats are needed to make a full measure. It also means that each individual beat is the length of a quarter note.

4/4 is the standard time signature, but signatures go beyond it. ¾ time signatures are meant for waltz music, and 2/4 time signatures are meant for march rhythms.

(Steve, PMH. "What Is Rhythm in Music and Why Is It So Important?" Pro Musician's Hub. https://promusicianhub.com/what-is-rhythm/. May 19, 2021.)

While both rhythm and tempo directly correlate to how fast the music is, each of them contributes individually. The tempo is the speed of the music piece, while the rhythm is how long each note takes. Both depend on time, but in different ways.

 "Rhythm is the foundation upon which music builds its cadence, inviting listeners to move, feel, and connect on a visceral level. It’s the heartbeat of music, dictating its flow and structure." 

-- Nahuel Bronzini, "Understanding the Basics of  Rhythm In Music, Native Instruments

To help us understand further, imagine a car driving down a highway. The vehicle is moving at a specific speed, which refers to the tempo. The rhythm here refers to the distance between the things along the road’s side.

Making it simple -- our bodies are prone to respond in kind to basic rhythms. Think of basic dance moves -- slow and fast rhythms elicit normal, traditional reactions to dance; however, a good rhythm section is surprisingly detailed in how its accents contribute to any solid restriction within a composition's rhythms. 

Rhythmic appeal varies. Strange rhythms do not easily allow our bodies to respond to their offbeat sounds. We normally just say it's a "fast" or "slow" tune. We are so used to 4/4 time (most commonly found in pop, rock, and many modern genres),

Irregular rhythms don't instantly relate to our body's natural tendencies -- blood flow, heartbeat, even brain connections. 

Lyrics add meaning and theme for even greater response to a song. Are the words relatable to our sea of emotions? Some are more than others, but there are no restrictions to addressing the beat with words. Think of song lyrics evoking joy, sadness, reminisce, and any other feeling we have. The beat + the lyrics = what we believe to be a great piece of music.

I could never restrict myself to liking only one genre of music. All -- from rock, pop, country, blues, instrumental, and on and on -- feed my need to live a life full of music. I need to hear music to find what I might call a "personal redemption of being" for my life. I live vicariously in the songs I hear and play. I've grown up with the old Hit Parade songs, progressed to rock, and taken in all other forms with not necessarily equal zeal, but with an intensity present in what is known as a "music lover." Please, don't restrict my ears to one form or one understanding of appeal.

Through experience and longing for music, I recognize almost immediately that which I think is a great song. The variations of form and style I love might surprise you. To me, a good song is both satisfying and timeless. Unlike my response to television or to a movie, I never tire of hearing it play -- hundreds, maybe thousands of times. My tunes are my eternal companions as both Elvis and Morrison wrote: they have unusual, great power over me. I must listen to them again and again. Without music, I have no "light." My heart feels no flow.

Music is made for sharing and for introspection -- a dichotomy I don't really understand. It is just something I respect and for which I long. Sharing great songs with good friends is the best. Add dance and other movements of expression and I am so happy ... even when listening to the saddest songs or an earful of the blues. I feel music is God's gift to us because it gives us pause to contemplate; to think; and, of course, to relate and move.

Today, people spend so much on televisions and home theaters, yet they often decline to spend as much -- or any for that matter -- on the sounds within their own existence. If I had my way, I would have all of my CDs played on the best possible sound system. I could spend all my money on a system that accurately and beautifully produces the original sound of my favorite recordings. 

With my restricted resources, I settle for "good" sound but long for "better." I am a true audiophile junky without the finances to afford systems capable of delivering the ''sweetest" of reproductions. In a perfect world, the sky would be the limit, and authenticity of recording would be paramount. In other words, I thrill to hear the best recordings played on the best systems. I love to meet people who share my passion for music -- they are becoming fewer and farther between instead of more and closer. God, how do people get by without music in their lives? Music is life; life is music. 

"Tower Of Song"

Well my friends are gone and my hair is grey
I ache in the places where I used to play
And I'm crazy for love but I'm not coming on
I'm just paying my rent every day
Oh in the Tower of Song

I said to Hank Williams: how lonely does it get?
Hank Williams hasn't answered yet
But I hear him coughing all night long
A hundred floors above me
In the Tower of Song

I was born like this, I had no choice
I was born with the gift of a golden voice
And twenty-seven angels from the Great Beyond
They tied me to this table right here
In the Tower of Song

So you can stick your little pins in that voodoo doll
I'm very sorry, baby, doesn't look like me at all
I'm standing by the window where the light is strong
Ah they don't let a woman kill you
Not in the Tower of Song

Now you can say that I've grown bitter but of this you may be sure
The rich have got their channels in the bedrooms of the poor
And there's a mighty judgment coming, but I may be wrong
You see, you hear these funny voices
In the Tower of Song

I see you standing on the other side
I don't know how the river got so wide
I loved you baby, way back when
And all the bridges are burning that we might have crossed
But I feel so close to everything that we lost
We'll never, we'll never have to lose it again

Now I bid you farewell, I don't know when I'll be back
They're moving us tomorrow to that tower down the track
But you'll be hearing from me baby, long after I'm gone
I'll be speaking to you sweetly
From a window in the Tower of Song

Yeah my friends are gone and my hair is grey
I ache in the places where I used to play
And I'm crazy for love but I'm not coming on
I'm just paying my rent every day
Oh in the Tower of Song 

 

-- Leonard Cohen, lyrics

* “Tower of Song” is a profound and introspective composition by the legendary singer-songwriter Leonard Cohen. Released in 1988 as part of his album “I’m Your Man,” this captivating song delves into themes of self-reflection, music as a source of solace, and the complexities of the creative process. Cohen’s masterful storytelling and poetic lyricism invite listeners on a journey towards self-discovery and contemplation.

At its core, “Tower of Song” explores the deeply personal nature of artistic expression. Cohen’s lyrics paint a vivid picture of an artist confined within the metaphorical walls of a tower, tirelessly honing his craft. This tower represents the artist’s inner world, their sanctuary where they create and navigate the labyrinthine corridors of their own mind. Through his distinct baritone vocals, Cohen beautifully captures the longing and vulnerability that often accompany the creative process. 

 (Warren Barrett. "The Meaning Behind The Song: Tower of Song by Leonard Cohen." https://oldtimemusic.com/the-meaning-behind-the-song-tower-of-song-by-leonard-cohen/. September 9, 2023.)

 

Are You Calling Someone "Crazy"? You May Need Advice.

 "Mental illnesses are common in the United States. It is estimated that more than one in five U.S. adults live with a mental illness (57.8 million in 2021). Mental illnesses include many different conditions that vary in degree of severity, ranging from mild to moderate to severe."

("Mental Illness." National Institute of Mental Health. https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/statistics/mental-illness. Updated March 2023.)

Dealing with mental illness is far more painful and chronic than most people realize. I  have so many details of the "craziness" I deal with that I keep to myself because others simply don't understand or want to comprehend the crippling effects of my OCD and depression. The stigma itself is permanent, and it affects everything I do -- whether by myself, with my immediate family, or with the public. My brain has learned to accept the permanent effects and side effects; however, few individuals understand that once you were considered "normal," and when a mental illness strikes, that "normality" is forever lost. I consider the misery related to the malady every day in some way ... on a scale of 10+ some days to near 3 (average) on others.

My least distressing days are merely bothersome. I know the difference between physical pain (having had many broken bones, organ, and muscular issues in my life) and mental anguish. Both can be very debilitating, yet mental illness presents issues that often persist without warning or without relief from prior preparations. They gnaw at the gut and all other parts of the body. They can reappear, so my worst days occur and I don't even want to get out of bed. I have learned from experience to address the worst with haste.

The most difficult part of growing old with mental illness is handling -- all or some -- "special" consideration. I relate that word to what we used to call "special education" categories in school. You are in the space of weird and wacky: a place where many treat you as bizarre and much less capable than the norm. Some people whom you have known all of your life, either out of pity or ignorance about your brain afflictions, begin treating you "different" after they discover you have mental illness. You become quickly pigeonholed in the "crazy person" box, and nothing you can do allows you to become normal -- in their eyes -- ever again. 

I say this not for pity or special treatment, but, damn, I wish I could just be my old self without being constantly aware of my conditions, and very often worried, of how others handle our friendships or casual acquaintances. A analogy may be understood by considering how many people always "know" an ex-convict is distrustful and they "mark" him so for life after serving his sentence -- that person has lost the luxury of being judged as a working, proud part of the society, and often he is denied fair consideration because of a mistake he once made instead of whom he has become as a rehabilitated individual. Dealing with people who are aware of his past takes a considerable toll not only on his social status but also on his mental awareness. 

So, when I become most sick with recurrences of my mental illness, it often justifies to others that "he is just crazy" and sends warning signals to others to be careful around him; he may act out of character with strange with his weird, preposterous attitude. 

Look, I embrace my mental problems, but I positively hate when others take me out of their perspective of being right in the head and now suffering in insanity. To them, I run through the scale of life on measures ranging from implausibility to outlandishly foolish. That price I pay inhibits my best, true character and partially disables my credibility. 

How do I know this? People love to speak of other's maladies in terms of general, often misunderstood labels. Anyone who has brain problems is stereotyped as wildly "off the wall." I admit to my pitfalls when I suffer my illness the most, but I cannot explain some of these actions, and people usually react to them as fanciful acts of a fool. If I would (and do) have problems with other organs -- the heart, for example --  at least people show genuine sympathy: not so with brain illnesses. They may feel sorry for the afflicted person, but often believe either think "it's all in his head"; he has  falsely invented problems; or he is incurably insane.

How then do I believe you should treat those struggling -- often chronically -- with mental illness? I say: "Treat them as suffering from a misunderstood common malady and with all your patience for their full recovery." Treat them as normal humans suffering from little-known causes and tremendous consequences. Never believe they are "just plain way-out, wacky screwballs." Beg them to seek psychiatric help and treat them just as you would a person dealing with any debilitating illness.

Medications may falter, moods may swing, sadly uncomfortable feelings may emerge, but be hopeful that a patient -- with professional help --  will be back to his "old self" soon. Psychiatrists cure just like doctors do. Right now their best weapon is a variety of medications, often given in good faith and through trial and error. I hope someday soon that corrective surgeries may stop further progression of any mental disease. What professionals know about the complexities of the brain today is minuscule compared with their knowledge about other vital organs like the heart, lungs, or kidneys.  

For God's sake, don't make them "feel different." Talking around a mental patient (like he can't understand), making frequent excuses to others for his weird behaviors, or just simply putting him in that "isolated pigeonhole" defeats all progress. I can attest that suffering from mental illness can be unpredictable and real. 

If you want to believe he is faking, you also need to educate yourself on his conditions. I can testify that mental anguish and pain is so much more hurtful than most people believe. Also, you just can't "crawl out of your own hole" and unlike as many think -- "just do something to cheer yourself up." On first indication of leaning on the edge, encourage mental patients to find professional, qualified assistance. I have seen so psychiatrists, it would make me dizzy to count, and I know some are much better than others in treating my two disorders: obsession and depression. Encourage a person to try several doctors if need be. 

One last caution for me to others: religion cannot "cure" mental illness unless one receives a miracle from the Almighty. I believe in God; I daily walk down His path seeking his help. I still need professional medical help to improve. Prayer and meditation may help ease suffering, yet I believe they do not usually work miracles for mental patients without trained practitioners. 

Before you dismiss my claim, consider my past experience and my use of counseling and faith. Both counseling and faith lead to help; however, medical doctors offer much-needed relief that is more reliable than talk and reading. True, God is in control. Through Him all things are possible. However, he works hand-in-hand with psychiatrists and psychologists. If you begin to suffer, don't wait too long to seek out pros in this field of medicine. Your fear of being known as "another crazy person seeing a shrink" is unfounded, believe me. I have dealt with them since 1984.

To summarize, I hate the unpredictable appearance of mental illness, but I also detest those who believe it can't be treated. The long list of doctors and meds I have used (still use) to control my chronic brain problems seem never-ending, and perhaps they are. Call it addiction; I know how necessary for me they are.

Most importantly, I hope you know "I am still me," the same old person you have known although now susceptible to suffering with mental problems. I want you to know I love you even if you feel I am "off the rails." (Wow, am I using tons of cliches today.) I need you now more than ever, and maybe ... just maybe ... you need me too. Feel free to speak with me about your own mental illnesses, and we might work well together to be sounding boards of truth and solid understanding. 

Thanks for treating me as a person, not as a sick pup with incurable problems. My advice is strictly my own, not meant to represent the voice of anyone else. Yet, I can still think as a responsible member of society, and I believe strongly you are one too. Maybe we, together, can be of great assistance to ourselves and to others. I pray others do not suffer the effects of my two afflictions, and I feel at best when others understand me, not distrust or disbelieve me. Ignoring any problem is troublesome and even fatal. 

I live with and within my boundaries of any so-called expertise. I just would love to be the old, whatever I used to be, person. I apologize if I periodically fall short. I make no excuses for my own blunders. I bet we are much more alike than many would give us credit for being. My head is my best and worst enemy, and I know I will medicate my afflictions for the rest of my life. But hey, I still love pizza, beer, and baseball, so I must be "OK" for others who know me still well enough to treat me well. I'd love to send these miserable conditions that crop up in my head to hell. And, I still believe it is possible. I have been walking a long, long road already, but I never intend to stop shuffling towards better health.  

 “It's my experience that people are a lot more sympathetic if they can see you hurting, and for the millionth time in my life I wish for measles or smallpox or some other easily understood disease just to make it easier on me and also on them.”

 -- Jennifer Niven, All the Bright Places

"Frankly, My Dear, I Don' Give a Damn": It's Gone With the Wind

 

I hate to say it, but most people, sooner or later, reach a point of "I Don't Give a Damn." It may take a while to find that sweet point where you feel redemption in voicing damnation, yet it's never going to pack up and leave your soul. It's always within, slowly growing and sticking straight in your craw, aging until perfection. Then one day -- Wham! -- out of the blue with completely no set context, it spills out of your gut into your throat and you spew it out until you think your body could not possibly take even one more ounce of the torment. "You" like me, don't give a damn, do you?

When that realization attacks, it hits you with a vision clearer than the brightest blue sky.You realize you suddenly that you are experiencing the lasting symptoms of "I Don't Give a Damn." All has finally come to fruition.

You try to rationalize its presence, but invariably give in to its gush of emotional and physical power. You can't stop it, ignore it, or wish it away, no matter how hard you try. The damned thing covers you and soils everything and everybody else nearby, and you can make no excuse for its eruption ... sometimes such a violent explosion that your head feels separated from the rest of your body because of the blunt force you just experienced. You see, you acknowledged your own lack of "giving a damn" in your enormous eruption.

What age do people IDGAD? It varies with their degree of patience, understanding, and honesty ... an honesty measuring your own toleration, or more clearly, your lack of control over your virtues. You just don't give a damn anymore, do you? You can't hold back and you realize goodness because now you have entered the black hole of IDGAD, like it or not. So, now you spiral out of existence and perceive others are just as living undead as you. That is "I Don't Give a Damn" in retaliation and in mutual feelings. Relation, lovers, friends -- all enter the frame of mind out of your actions.

Take me, for instance, I was making some good progress with my IDGAD until suddenly and seemingly without warning, foundations of my existence were not only shaken but completely obliterated. I pushed too hard and caused my old self to lay in pieces all around me. Like Humpty Dumpty, no one could put me back together again. This IDGAD is your new state fashioned by your past. Only you can deal with the aftermath. I can't help anyhow. I already "don't give a damn."

You will know when it's your time for the change. It's not just a sense of carelessness or a shortcoming of the spirit. The golden rule hits rock bottom, and its suddenly the time when you look around with a dazed mind only to discover a newfound, strange confidence that suddenly shows new vision. Clear or cloudy,you just don't care anymore about what you now see, and you step squarely in the middle of that black hole of IDGAD, never to be spit out into a sensible, kind transition. Age itself prevents such a comeback.

Don't worry. None of your preparation for prevention would have worked to prevent your fall. You have had this affliction as an involuntary reflex -- a necessary movement in which you must relieve yourself  like dumping an unwelcome, huge load of waste. I don't care how you handle it. Once it begins -- and it will begin -- I guarantee it -- it will appear because you are a genuine human being enslaved in your own trappings. You already "got yours" as they say, and that is all that counts in this greedy world.

Your physical strength or your mental toughness won't stop the paroxysm either. It just happens -- hopefully in private, but most often unfortunately it occurs in public among many others. No warning, a gush of IDGAD bursts unannounced and there you have it -- a complete, utter mess. And, don't expect a friend, spouse, or caretaker to help clean it up -- without exception, your IDGAD is yours alone. Others don't give a damn because they have their own little lives to worry about.Thus, IDGAD universalizes the planet on which we survive.

And certainly don't expect me to care or help you because I have already experienced "I Don't Give a Damn." So, I don't try to make anyone better. It belongs to you in its entirety and has finally flared up in its own slow, careless making. The entity is new to you. Just deal with it. IDGAD. Period. Run up your IDGAD flag so everyone will not expect you to lift a finger (outside of your self-interests, of course).

When it happened to me, I was full of stress and dread, yet strangely aware that I had tested my own limits and that I had somehow had failed. The agony and extent of the explosion to others around me will forever remain unknown+, so don't expect anyone to ever discuss such an indifferent topic with you or expect anyone else to attempt to relieve you of any part of your suddenly newfound, hardened self. All of the shock and awe -- you own it, brother or sister. It grew and had to relieve itself most likely in an unlikely, enigmatic display of your immediate sick intentions. It now is just a hackneyed "it is what it is."

IDGAD has no time for reflection or change. It so occupies the fibers of your present being, and it will most likely linger like a chronic disease the rest of your life. You see, IDGAD justifies itself. It doesn't need its host after its arrival. Excuses make no sense while apologies for its destruction and mayhem are seldom welcomed. Why? You guessed it. They -- those you conceived loved you -- have experienced the malady, too; it's too late for personal redemption or damage control.

Let me share how I later found some telltale symptoms of "I Don't Give a Damn" before my sudden and permanent transformation:

1. Silence and lack of communication on any level.

2. Lack of interests and social connections,

3. Complete loss of dependence,

4. Total unconcern for others with similar or worse plights,

5. Gut-wrenching loneliness sans concern for each other,

6. Deliberate noncompliance and revenge,

7. Constant disagreement about the smallest of topics, 

8. "Same old, same old" feelings about responsibilities,

9. Lack of sincerity -- lie after lie -- often with hidden expenses, and ignoring detail, and finally 

10. Discovery of hidden, hateful emotions for others disguised as simple disagreement.

These were all signs of "I Don't Give a Damn" that I later tried to blame for its eruption. At the time, many seemed trivial; however, many did permanent, lasting damage that built in intensity to a final crescendo over time. I allowed it to happen.

I felt bad about changing my ways and started seeing external excuses. What a waste of time. IDGAD is all about you, no others. It would never appear because of anything someone else said or did. You, like me, are your own worst enemy -- at least now I have learned to be silent and take responsibility whenever I can. But I know I'm still in the clutches of IDGAD. It reappears in various forms of my life ... often with inconsistencies and total ignorance.

After all, I have free will and old habits worsen as they dwell in the heart of the human beast ... with the exceptions of a few public niceties -- done for show, for appreciation of past care, for what some kind souls call "common courtesies." Sincere replies for appreciation are few and far between -- very few know even how to compose a kind expression as life-changing IDGAD has also consumed their hearts and minds. 

IDGAD must be expected from other busy, forgetful souls, yet its effects so weaken our world. I-phones, lack of truth, boring television, condoned violence and hatred, lack of care for any but one's own opinion, and placing our fast-paced lives over empathy -- I've never seen the absence of interest so low in my 73 years. 

I admit this mayhem all happened under my watch and care, so I take blame for my own IDGAD syndrome. You handle yours, and I'll run out of breath handling mine. I regret my present state, but it is reality. I am so unversed in fantasy, modern culture, and staying abreast of the new "ways" that I can assure you "I Don't Give a Damn" about 99% of what keeps the present afloat. If you will, IDGAD has damned my soul.

In closing, I'll ask, "Do you really give a damn about me ... anything?" No, that even sounds selfish to me. How about, "Do you really give a damn that, as I see it, a dark and fucked up future awaits because too many enter IDGAD too soon. I know you've already said it -- "Well, I don't give a damn" -- and I also know you experience many of the symptoms I cite to date, so be honest with yourself and with others before falling into that permanent IDGAD abyss and tumbling head over heals to your newer, more careless condition. It's not very pleasant at all. Lonely as hell.

Most of the time I blame myself for "I Don't Give a Damn" because I evidently used my imagination, hope, and charity with expectations of no return. I let my greatest opportunities go to hell and merely expected someone else to restore sanity. I take full responsibility for my own fall. No response or indifference feeds and breeds contempt. Blame immaturity, ignorance, scapegoats, stereotypes but it is I ... and I suspect a little of you ... who helped ban imagination and thus minded to our own selfish, thoughtless business. Greed? Disinterest? Lack of care? Face it -- I and you created this stinking, backwards looking mess. So hey, "I Don't Give a Damn." Do you? I thought not.

 "Once They Banned Imagine"

By Drive-By Truckers

We had our heart strings dangling ripe for the yanking
And lot of reasons grabby was good
Poor huddled masses singing boots up their asses
Giving grabby what he needed to pull
All the way back to where ghosts from the past were still
Fighting their wars from the grave
Complete with record burning and threatening and spurning
The crime of getting blood on the page

Since the big one ended we'd been mostly pretending
We'd have had the same gumption and grit
As the greatest among us when harm came upon us
We wouldn't hesitate to defend
But with or against something's been out to get us
And it looked like something finally did
No nobler cause in our lifetime for setting our sails to the wind

But once they banned Imagine it became the same old war its always been
Once they banned Imagine it became the war it was when we were kids

Are you now or have you ever been in cahoots with the notion that people can change
When history happens again if you do or you did you'll be blamed
From baseless inquiry
To no knocking entry
Becoming the law of the land
To half cocked excuses for bullet abuse regarding anything browner than tan

Cause once they banned Imagine it became the same old war its always been
Once they banned Imagine it became the war it was when we were kids

* The lyrics reflect the political climate and the challenges faced by artists in expressing their views freely. “Once They Banned Imagine” by Drive-By Truckers serves as a powerful reminder of the importance of artistic expression and the constant struggle against censorship. It highlights how power structures manipulate events to control and silence voices that dare to raise questions or offer alternative perspectives. (Imagine the fates of John and Bobby Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Jr, and John Lennon to get even more perspective. And, of course, now many of us don't give a damn -- the same old internal war.)

Drinking At Public Events -- True Confessions of a Confused Nuisance

I believe I am old enough to express an opinion in a mannerly fashion. I feel I have worked enough with groups and individuals I know very well that, even if they disagree with my ideas, I can offer my simple view, supported with what I consider evidence, and then discuss the idea with whomever is involved. I admit I may be wrong in my decisions, but when I talk "against the grain" and get blamed for being an ass or a troublemaker for my own personal, deep beliefs, I don't appreciate it. It hurts.

Recently, I took some considerable criticism from those who disagreed with my view about an event. I felt belittled but not extremely upset because (1) I had served the organization for many years, and (2) in my view, my work for them allowed me a dissenting voice but still a needed understanding in the group. I thought about our argument, and I soon felt somewhat caught in my own dilemma of feeling right and the group's alternate decision that I had been headstrong and wrong.

Lack of communication can often discombobulate the actual reality of such a situation; however, a lack of communication can also hinder group members' beliefs that the situation is fair or just. I believe strongly in a lot of talk and consideration before rendering a decision involving a group of people and free speech that allows all views to surface before a controversial decision is made. How can you do that with adequate approval? I don't know -- solicitation from majority membership?

With no good pro-arguments, I admit all vices are horrid. I stand on shaky ground standing up for them. However, toleration of some vices is not unusual nor is it sinful (in my book). For example, drinking and smoking are not good for health or necessarily for happiness, yet I believe in certain circumstances that toleration of such behavior ... complete with a long history of both ... deserves a voice in the planning of a group event. 

We could get into a long harangue about social lubricates and guarded freedoms, but that would not help to solve what I consider to be the problem in this essay. I guess I upset some people with challenging a majority. Gosh, I'm sorry ... maybe.

We could speak of safeguards and avenues for toleration for both drinking and smoking. We could consider safety in both. We could even change venues, and find one that does not prohibit theses vices altogether. Our long history of meetings in a drinking establishment offered allowances for both, and no one was ever harmed. But, the counter argument is, of course, they could and should not be tolerated in the first place. And, I admit it has irrefutable grounds.

An Event of Celebration Banning Drinking

Drinking has become a problem for many people. For some, it is a way to numb the pain of life. For others, it is a way to celebrate. But what happens when things go wrong? Drinking becomes a way to forget. And when things start going good, drinking can also become a way to excess. This is the problem with drinking: it can have negative consequences that we try to forget or avoid. It is commonplace but despised by many -- from appearing at pro ballgames to having a little wine at a wedding. 

I do not, however, belief drinking in moderation is voluntary madness and a problem for the majority. In fact, after a beer or two, I generally agree with Ernest Hemingway: “I drink to make other people more interesting.” And, in fact Hemingway also said: “Always do sober what you said you'd do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut.” Funny? Often sadly true, I'm afraid. 

I also do not belief social drinking is necessarily "an escape." I believe it is an added attraction under strict conditions. Why? I was raised to believe alcohol in moderation was perfectly acceptable.

F Scott Fitzgerald described its effect: “Here's to alcohol, the rose colored glasses of life.” Friedrich Nietzsche even said:“For art to exist, for any sort of aesthetic activity or perception to exist, a certain physiological precondition is indispensable: intoxication.”

And, humorously, Stephen King once answered the question: “Do you drink?"
His response was, "Of course,I just said I was a writer.” Yes, I am guilty of greatly enjoying a drink once and awhile.

Deciding to meet and greet old friends is often painful for me without sharing drinks. I feel uptight, guarded, and less joyful without a beer or two among friends. I don't care if my friends do not drink. It's just that I find myself opening up more, sharing antidotes, and stories, and simply being happier as I finish my second beer. Talk flows with the liquor as do associations with past good times spent together. Yet, Oscar Wilde in warning claims, “Alcohol, taken in sufficient quantities, may produce all the effects of drunkenness.” Accurately funny as hell. What effects? He did not elaborate.

I want my close friends to accept my intricacies more readily, so I enjoy drinking with them. The reduction of formal friction is something I truly enjoy -- not slowing stooping into disgusting drunkenness, but having a great time sharing and engaging each other's company. Men like me, for example, would never consider fast-dancing until they've had a couple of drinks. Free expression and thoughtless reactions to the rhythm suddenly become acceptable then ... it destroys my tendency to be embarrassed and builds my joy level even with my quirky, jerky movements. Dick Clark rates those reactions to "the beat" as the power of the rhythm.

Pulling back into the theme of this essay, I wonder if those who opposer alcohol either (1) fear drunkenness, or (2) see it as a sin. I get it. I don't agree, but I accept the concessions to the argument of allowing drink. I sin, yet we all sin in some fashion. I don't have time to judge people, let alone my friends.

One can always cheat with flasks or frequent trips to the car during "drinkless occasions," but those people will counter their integrity with such hypocritical behavior at a party "necessary" and "perfectly sly with a purpose." I'm much too old for such shit I did with regularity in high school. In simple terms, "I don't want to lie to my own beliefs and natural tendencies." I gave up being sneaky and deceitful quite a long time ago. No drinking rules must be obeyed in my mind. I won't attend, and that's just fine.

Theme? I merely want the chance to express an opposing view as "nonsense." Does this make me an alcoholic or an evildoer? I'm not advocating for mass protest or for any one other individual to follow my lead or my thinking. I just don't want to be known as the "bad guy" trying to wreck an event. I fear I am now. I politely decline to go, and I wish the best for the sober crowd. Please, laugh, talk, and make all kinds of merriment sans alcohol. I pray that the attendance is at an all-time high and that everyone leaves satisfied as a bee in a honey jar.  

I never saw this coming. I just was not willing to give up my annual night of revelry under the belief of my own accord. I'm sure I'll miss tremendously certain aspects of the gathering. I just am a little "spoiled brat" as my unloving, disagreeable spouse says. Then, of course, the coup de grâce follows: "All of this is your own fault, you old motherfucker."

"Disagreeable motherfucker" -- I believe I've found my modus operandi at last. After ten prior events like this that I have helped organized, I am finally revealed. Damn the luck. (Merle Haggard singing, "I think I'll just stay here and drink" in the background.) Better make the next one a double. 

* P.S. I was under the incorrect assumption that all alumni of school were part of the official Alumni. Now I understand I was wrong. The group has a sole purpose of scholarship. Any real affiliation with school? Good question for which I have no answer. I know of no dues for inclusion. I remain confused and mildly interested. There's a tent -- but whose structure does it fall under?

Animals in Peril Must Be Available For Adoption

 

In 2023, 690,000 dogs and cats were euthanized in shelters across the US. For many members of the public, this calls to mind healthy, adoptable animals euthanized for space in open admission (so-called “kill”) shelters – those required to accept all animals, even if there’s no room. But shelters also have to cope with owner-requested euthanasias, behavioral problems and animals who are so sick or injured that a gentle death is the most positive outcome.

The issue shelters are facing is this: after a record low of  5.5 million in 2020, animal intakes are slowly increasing, and they aren’t leaving – in 2023, 6.5 million animals entered, and only a little over 6 million left. Animals are lingering for weeks, months and sometimes years in shelters. Between 2022 and 2023, the number of animals waiting to get out of shelters increased by 177,000.

Some animal care and control agencies tell people to leave found animals alone because they don't have the capacity to handle them.Those people turn to a foster-based rescue that is similarly inundated. As closed admission shelters, They can decide to turn animals away if they lack space, even though they strive to prevent it, knowing what may happen to those they do not accept.

The list of people waiting to surrender animals is always growing. Yet getting people to understand that crisis sometimes feels impossible. Most members of the public are only interested in one thing: euthanasia.

(S.E. Smith. "America’s animal shelters are overwhelmed. Pets – and staff – are at breaking point." The Guardian. April  17, 2024.These lives do not blur together. We remember all of them

While the media popularized the idea of the “pandemic puppy”, dogs adopted by white-collar workers trapped at home only to be discarded as soon as the world reopened, the truth of what’s happening in animal welfare is more complicated. It’s gotten harder to access and afford vet care, while emergency extensions of the social safety net, including increased Snap benefits, expansions to Medicaid, childcare assistance, the student loan pause, the child tax credit, and generous unemployment insurance benefits  have come to an end, leaving people in financial likelihood that hurts pets too. Far from a world where people treat animals as disposable, we are surrounded by people who love and desperately want to keep their pets, but can’t. 

Animal care workers confront a form of moral injury, in which they may struggle with being asked to do things that go against their consciences, or circumstances expose them to feelings of helplessness or betrayal. Many are dedicated volunteers working only for the love of animals. 

In open admission shelters, some employees are coping with the caring-killing paradox, described in 2005  in a study exploring the heavy impact of euthanasia on shelter workers, who may play with a dog in the morning and euthanize it in the afternoon. Both phenomena are associated with issues such as anxiety, suicidal ideation and substance use disorder as people struggle to process traumatic events.

Addressing the Issue

Animal control shelters and their workers are facing increasingly dire consequences. Consider how the population of unwanted animals increases -- especially detrimental to bigger, adult dogs. No one wants to adopt them. They are left to languish and to eventual being euthanized. Pounds and shelters make possible adoption or sponsorship as best they can. However, rising prices for these adoptions -- often astronomical for the more popular and smaller breeds is hitting a serious high. Many poorer people just can't afford the price required. Cost factors must be reconsidered because paying hundreds, thousands, for such animals is impossible in so many cases.

I blame careless breeders, lack of spaying and neutering, and just plain indifference for much of the crisis. Owning and raising a pet is serious business, and the public must realize taking severe actions against puppy mills and while neglectful pet owners must face stiff, swift, and fair prosecution and costs themselves. How can one measure the life of a domesticated animal? Leaving them living in squalid unhealthy conditions is criminal. I say make such breeders must pay stiffly for their neglect of these beautiful animals.

One last gripe -- due to crooks who want to profit from adoption -- sales to the public suffer. I get it. I understand the need to stop unlawful treatment of animals; however, adoption is often very complicated, slowing down the process of saving pets' lives while the real perpetrators of the crimes often get off scot free. Both potential owners and shelters find this reduction in turnover impossible to comprehend. In the meantime, dogs and cats die due to lack of funds and full shelters. How "cruel and unusual" can you get? Officials must help end this slaughter immediately with more money and time given to the proper agencies of enforcement to end the abuse.

Let's face it -- pet shelters are also poor places for pets. Lacking enough room and proper attention, workers are pitiful stand-ins for responsible owners. I feel most animals spend the majority of their days in cages with lack of needful attention. The workers do the best they can, but the pets need families to recover from trauma and to thrive. Saving a pet is gratifying: the love offered by the adopter does not match the rewards these animals offer. Devoted adoption is so more rewarding and healthful than anything these animals have ever experiences. They are forever thankful for their adoption Make them cheaper and even  more available, please. Lives are in the balance. Most of us can't afford the large amounts of money asked for their sweet lives.

Pet users; abusers; uninformed, spiteful owners; and profit mongers, stay away! Prosecute the guilty abusers and make them pay dearly for each day they must be kenneled. The loving, general public does take on these financial responsibilities when traveling or needing serious pet attention. Now, make the original human birth parents responsible too. I very much want them to hurt -- in their pocketbooks and behind bars.  

Make local dogs more affordable! Prices required for adoption are soaring. I understand the tremendous costs incurred by shelters, but hundreds (thousands?) of dollars for adoption is just too much. Save the life of the pet! No one can put an adequate dollar amount on this chance for survival anyhow. 

 

 

 

 

 

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