Teaching Old Dogs…

You know what they say about one way of maintaining a long marriage is for the two of you to never go to bed mad? Well, there’s a sort-of corollary to that rule that applies to maintaining your good relationships in blogging: never hit that send key while you’re still mad. Unfortunately, I have made the mistake of not heeding that latter warning far too often. Like last night.

I’m reminded of Chico, the first cat my wife and I ever owned. He would slip out of the yard, cross the street and duck down behind the opposite curb fronting our cross-street neighbor’s yard where those folks had a small dog they’d let out on the porch, but with strong warnings against leaving the front yard, especially as to getting in the street, a huge no-no. Chico would huddle behind the curb, his entire body quivering, then suddenly pop up catching the little dog’s attention. Fido would at first run to the center of the yard barking but when Chico ducked down, the dog would return to his porch post. Each time Chico popped up, the dog would run a few feet closer to the curb before returning to the porch. Finally, usually on the dog’s fourth or fifth run and his closest approach to the curb, Chico would bolt across the street into our yard as if running for his life, and the furious little dog would come tearing right behind in full pursuit, barking his silly head off. Which, of course, brought his angry, yelling owner out with a rolled up newspaper with which she smacked the fooled Fido several times before putting him back on the porch with another stern warning.

I watched that cat sucker that pooch off that porch five or six times in an hour, with the dog getting his butt whacked a bit harder each time, before the owner would finally take her poor, frustrated, little mutt inside. I swear Chico would sit in our front yard while the dog was getting smacked, with his little kitty ribs heaving with cat laughter. And this went on for months. That dog never learned and Chico never gave him a break.
So why that story? Well, I’m kind of like that dog. Despite knowing I shouldn’t, I still get suckered off the porch of reasoned discourse and run headlong into the risky street of angry diatribe, barking my fool head off. And then, while still all lathered up with righteous indignation, I do the really stupid thing: I hit that damned send key.

And that is exactly why I had that jaws-quivering, rabidly righteous piece about John Kerry and John Edwards up yesterday. While the premise of the piece is valid: both are true lowlifes and the Democrats do seem to have a penchant for electing such people to the highest offices in the land, it is usually sufficient to fire off epithets like scumbag, slime ball, sleazebag, etc. sparingly in such a short submission. I’m afraid I had my keyboard selector switch set to full auto for that piece.

When I was writing for Old War Dogs, webmaster and editor, Bill Faith, R.I.P., used to keep me on the porch, well, at least in the yard, for the most part, occasionally smacking me with a rolled-up email while whistling me back out of the street. I’ll bet when I hit that send key last night, Ol’ Bill was up there somewhere looking down over my shoulder and shaking his head that another of his old dogs had gone tearing off out into the street again, barking my fool head off, ignoring the lesson of not hitting that damned send key while my muzzle was still lathered. But it’s so doggoned hard to just sit on the porch and growl when one of those Demo Cats pops up over the curb like Edwards did yesterday, blaming his wife for his own bad behavior. OK, I know, I’m a baad doggie.

Mea culpa, Bill, but you know what they say about teaching us old dogs…

Category: Geezer Alert!