Okay people, time to show a little support for our boys in the military. You don’t even have to lick a stamp, just send ’em an e-mail to let them know the folks back home are supporting their efforts. Colonel Simcock tells us his marines would appreciate the moral support. Even marines need love!
Drop an e-mail to RCT-6lettersfromh@gcemnf-wiraq.usmc.mil and let them know you’re thinking of ’em. And spread the word around the blogosphere. Let’s have us a big ol’ dot-mil e-mail love-in.
I’m taking some online classes over the summer term. I have learned two things:
a + b = yikes!
I decided to drop the XML class. One of these days I’d like to learn XML, just because it’s really cool and interesting, but for the moment Managerial Accounting is kicking my ass and I need to devote more time to the courses that are actually required for my major.
Meanwhile, my eldest son is attending his favorite camp again. Last week we sat down together and looked at his summer schedule; he’s only got three weeks when he hasn’t got something planned. At one point my mom remarked how busy his summer is this year; he answered, “It will be even busier next year.”
“What’s next year?”
“Summer job.”
It’s amazing how kids can grow in completely unexpected ways. When they were small, we expected the eldest would prefer staying home in familiar surroundings—it’s just what you’d expect from the typical autist. Instead, he wants to go out every day, explore new places, try new things. His little brother, the social butterfly, is the one who’s just as happy to stay home and read a book or program on the computer. Go figure.
ScaryBaldGuy posted this news story about a neglected dog that was dumped off and left to die. While horrible, this sort of thing is sadly quite common.
It made me think of an afternoon drive I took with my youngest, when he was still a wee toddler. We were bored and exploring some roads we’d never been down, and discovered an animal shelter tucked back among some farms.
Further along the road, we saw a smallish white dog by the side of the road. He was watching all the cars as they approached, following them a little way, then turning hopefully to the next one. A couple of vehicles had to slow down and swerve into the other lane to avoid hitting him.
I pulled my car off the road, got out, and tried to coax the dog to come to me. I couldn’t keep him, but I could at least take him down to the shelter where he would be safe and cared for. But he wanted nothing to do with me. I wasn’t his people. He checked me out from a distance and then returned to his inspection of the passing cars. One of them had to be his people coming back for him.
Shortly after I pulled off, an animal control truck pulled in behind me. The man got out, carrying a catch pole. “Somebody drop him off?” He sounded mildly disgusted. I nodded. He approached the dog calmly, deftly snared him before he could sidle out of reach, and put him into a cage in the back of the truck. He drove off without another word.
At the time I worried that he must think I had tried to dump the dog. Later I realized that his disgust was not aimed at me. He’d probably seen this scene a hundred times, and already knew what eventually occurred to me—if I’d dumped the dog off, I wouldn’t have been there trying to get him out of the road. He was disgusted at the person who had gotten the dog all the way down to the shelter, and then just dropped him off in the vicinity rather than take him in safely.
I guess that dog was lucky. At least he was left near the shelter, in reasonably good shape. Other dogs, like the one in the article, get used up and dumped for dead like garbage.