Stoop and Scoop

Bring Back the Pillory

I was a dog owner, and a pretty responsible one. Whenever I see fellow owners who fail to clean up after their pets, I'm fit to be tied. In my opinion, so are they. There is NO excuse. This makes my blood boil. It also stimulates my creative side - I invent new swear words and punishments.

I have categorized the violators, as follows:

THE MIDNIGHT SKULKER: These people operate under cover of darkness - the most cowardly of them all. They let it fall anywhere - your front lawn, the sidewalk - it matters not. My fondest wish is that two of them pass at night on a walkway, exchange greetings, and then step in each other’s mess before they reach home.

THE MOBILE MARAUDER: This is another cowardly type. They drive to another neighbourhood, (often at night making them MOBILE MIDNIGHT SKULKERS), let their dog out to do its thing, and then speed off upon its return. If they see you they turn out their car lights until they are far enough away that licence numbers can't be seen. My secret desire here is that I could be fast enough to pick up the offending pile on a stick and be able to fling it at the retreating vehicle scoring a direct hit. I envisage it remaining there to be baked by the sun until the next car wash. It would be like The Scarlet Letter - an indication that a true scum is driving the car.

THE MINDLESS MASTER: Mr. or Mrs. Forgetful, when challenged points out that he/she forgot their plastic bag or other form of scooper. I sympathize. It has happened to me. So I carry a spare for these pathetic beings. At that point, they usually mention a bad back. For repeat offenders I’d love to offer them a bag I have already used for my dog. They might continue to forget their own bag but once they put their hand inside they most definitely would remember the experience. 

THE DELIBERATELY FLAGRANT: These people delight in allowing their dog to do it right under the largest and most prominent signs intended to discourage same. If the dog hits the signpost itself I guess they give themselves extra points. Some do it with you and others watching. I am usually speechless when this happens, especially if their dog is bigger than me.

THE SIDEWALK SICKIE: You guessed it - right in the middle of the sidewalk. There is only one worse (see next category). If you are walking with someone else and not watching where you are stepping, your Hush Puppies become Mush Puppies! A person can’t be much more ignorant. One of these times I will quickly clean up their mess myself, and then follow them home. I can’t wait to empty the bag on their stairs - smearing it all over them. An alternative is an old one – light it aflame on their threshold and then ring the bell and run.

THE SCHOOLYARD SCATTERBRAIN: I can not imagine how anyone can be quite so stupid and selfish. To leave a dog's crap in the middle of a schoolyard where children walk and play should be punishable by prison. Time behind bars would be appropriate, but time performing community service would be more useful. I know just the chore - cleaning up after all the other low lives outlined herein.

THE OLDER COUPLE /  MOP DOG DUET: You all know this one - an elderly couple, talking right to you while their yappy little mutt drops one right under your nose. "Oh Cuddles, you BAD thing you". However, that's as far as it goes. Maybe they really DO have difficulty bending over. However there are several devices to spare the stooping and still do the scooping! I could tolerate these if we could eliminate all the rest. I wonder how many seniors are laughing together as they read this, realising that I'm on to them? My mother and father in their more senior years still managed to do the right thing. 

THE PLASTIC FACADE: It is near impossible to catch these types. Carrying plastic bags like me, they actually fill it while in your presence. They might even discuss the overall problem and how disgusting it is to them too. Then on the way home when no-one is watching, they ditch the bag - anywhere. If there is no convenient trash bin the right thing to do is to take it home and deal with it. They will never do this.

Last, but not least:

THE GREAT PRETENDER: Always at a distance, even in the rain, they make an inordinately visible effort to bend over and scoop, bag, brush or whatever. Upon closer inspection, however, you find that they left the poop right where it fell! They deserve Oscars if nothing else. I often think that I should likewise pretend not to notice, pick up the mess when they are not watching, and throw it at them as they walk away. I would steadfastly deny involvement if they pursued me, suggesting instead that a higher power might be punishing them for their crime.

How can we deter these lowlife creatures? What are appropriate and effective punishments for offenders? One idea has already been mentioned, and that is to have the person(s) do community service cleaning up doggy poop locally. They should also be made to wear a suitable form of identification while performing just like the chain gangs in the southern states. A sweat shirt with a big “I’M A POOP” on it front and back would be good. Repeat offenders could be tattooed in such a manner.

The publication of the names of prostitutes’ "Johns" has already been tried with some degree of success. This would be very effective in local newspapers. Compulsory “I’m a POOP” bumper-stickers are another possibility.

A final thought for the Sidewalk Sickie or the Schoolyard Scatterbrain - bring back the pillory. It is extreme but apparently necessary since signs and common sense are not working. Instead of tomatoes and the like however, guess what the general public would throw at them! An ample supply of ammunition would come from the other offenders, having completed their public clean-up service. Newspaper photos would provide a crowning touch.

If any of you have ever had the misfortune of stepping unknowingly into Pluto's plop, there are few experiences more disgusting. Well, maybe one. It happened to me as a child. I was barefooted and the dog was a cow.

Bring back the Pillory!

The Brewster

Marijuana and Driving

MARIJUANA / CANNABIS and Driving

It is shocking whenever we read about how many innocent people are seriously injured or killed by another drunk driver. Often the penalties imposed - especially for repeat offenders -are seriously slack. We don’t yet know whether the same scenarios will be repeated for drivers who are high on pot. “Don’t smoke and drive” should be the rule just as much as “Don’t drink and drive”. I will have a drink but I don't happen to smoke.

Recent DUI charges for alcohol are reasonable as long as no other party is injured as a result – loss of driving privileges short term or long being common. For death or injury caused by someone under the influence, penalties are much more severe and so they should be. Shouldn't the same apply to pot?

If legislation and penalties are to be reasonable however, the consumer should be also. If you are stopped for running a red light or a faulty brake light, an officer should have every right while addressing you to test you if he or she suspects you are under ANY influence that might endanger others. It shouldn’t matter whether they suspected you in advance or not.

If in the process the officer sees a person tied and bound in your back seat and it proves to be a kidnapping, do you go free because there was no prior reason to believe you were a kidnapper? I hope the answer is a unanimous NO.

I can recall scenes in which my friends were higher than a kite on pot and they did some crazy and very irresponsible things which they would never have done otherwise. That was with older and less potent grass. There is no way I would have climbed into a car with them driving.

Just as with booze, there should be no allowance for one person’s self-perceived tolerance over another’s. Set limits – one for all - and apply them to everyone.

Something else to remember: People should do a little surfing to see how lucky we are. You are executed in some places for DUI offences. I imagine the same will apply to smoking up and driving.

Don’t want to take a roadside test for pot? Don’t smoke and drive. Get used to it.

The Brewster

President TRUMP Election November 8th, 2016 (Verse)

ELECTION 2016

When some things occur, we know where we were.

And even the time of the day.

I’ll always remember that day in November.

Somebody shot JFK.

Who didn’t fear or shed a tear,

For Jaqueline and Nellie too.

Some evil plot saw two good men shot,

By the twisted minds of a few.

John said soon, they would land on the moon.

And they did while I was in France.

In a little campsite, on a radio that night,

Three men held the world in a trance.

Fast forward my friends through the milestones and trends

To November in twenty sixteen.

Clinton and Trump had been on the stump,

What a year - like none we have seen.

How could he intrude - this blowhard so rude?

He has to be soundly rejected!

But soon we would see in The Land of the Free

The Boor of the Year was elected.

Americans all, how far must you fall

In the eyes of your allies and friends?

Perhaps you don’t care or you just aren’t aware

For some things you can’t make amends.

Who will be next? We're really perplexed.

Rocky Balboa or Spock?

What about Kramer? Someone even lamer?

Might we suggest a Pet Rock?

Stop the free fall. Please heed our call

And give your heads a good shake.

Your man  with the frown is such a let down

It's time to right your mistake.

The Brewster

World Peace - and Skunks!

How SKUNKS could lead to Word Peace

One of the most vivid childhood memories I have involves skunks. Come to think of it, several of the most vivid and emotional adult memories I have involve the same thing, but the two-legged variety. Am  I alone?   

There was a valley in our neighborhood - a ravine - through which we walked to school. Dead-end streets existed on either side which were eventually joined. For many years however, the path which lead through it was simply known as the "gully". As with most gullies, there was a creek in the bottom and a swamp where it widened. We skated there. The ravine itself was lush with bushes - great for playing, hiding, exploring and that sort of thing. Nightfall was a different matter. 

  

Because it was isolated, and because like many kids I was afraid of the dark, it was not a place to be caught after the sun went down. I remember having to walk through it on occasion at dusk and once or twice in total darkness. I waited for all sorts of bogeymen to jump out of the bushes to get me. But foremost on my mind was skunks. The mere thought of one of these little creatures made me run for my life. They were a real live representation of all that was to be feared at night.

 
There were times of course after seeing a horror movie when thoughts of werewolves, Frankenstein, robbers and murderers  also made me run at the slightest sound. Skunks however were the only real nocturnal creatures I would occasionally see. In such a case I was upon them or vice versa before realizing it due to their dark color. Most parents train their kids to run like hell at the sight of a skunk. More power to them, since I have had to bathe my dog more than once after such an encounter. I wish I had been able to train her in a similar manner.

Now to the CREATION part. I am a believer in Darwin, Natural Selection etc. Let us assume however that there is a supreme creator. Of all the creatures on earth, what in heavens name - if that is where such a creator resides - could have possibly incented the inclusion of this little four-legged animal which lifts its tail to fend off attackers by emitting a pungent odour? This reminds me of the squid which emits black ink to hide itself. Naturally I’ve never encountered that. Why ink anyway? What is a squid going to do if attacked - write about it?
  

Creatures have built-in armor, strength, speed, camouflage, poison, or just plain ugliness to defend themselves. Skunks take the cake. Much as I love cake, if one of the little darlings ever made off with mine, I'd be the first to say "let it eat cake" and find another desert. I couldn't have dreamt up this animal if I were on drugs!  

I read once that only one part of this chemical in several million parts is all it takes to be detectable by a human being. Now you know why it is so tough to wash away - it lingers in and on anything it touches. For your information, there are shampoos now which can be used to clean pets that get sprayed. I am happy to say they work. I kept a bottle on hand (about $8.00) when I had a dog and had occasion to use it.    

The white stripes are a touch of class. If it were totally black, more people would probably get skunked. As it is, there is kind of a visual warning. Nature is like that. Think about it. Rattlesnakes, bees, dogs, cats, scorpions, ground hogs (they click their teeth), even human beings usually give warning before an attack. It's a kind of "Back off or else". The baboon family - closely related to humans - use their behind as an insult. Human beings often do the same thing. We call it "mooning". We consider the terms "asshole" and "horse's ass" to be insulting.

Now to World Peace.  

How did the creator miss the mark? All the great wars of history could have been avoided if human beings had tails and stripes. Instead of shooting, stabbing, slashing, and exploding each other to bits, the armies of the world could simply have faced off. The only ammunition required would be the last couple of meals. On the count of three or whatever, troops would simply turn around, lift their tails, show their stripes, and let fly. The most offensive collective odor would win the day. The military cooks would be the heroes. No-one would be killed. They would just blow each other away. Turning tail would be the norm, not a cowardly act. Perhaps this is why Scottish soldiers wear kilts?. Maybe Mel Gibson in Brave Hearts knew more than he was letting on. 

  

Right about now you are probably thinking that this is one columnist who has inhaled a touch too much skunk odor. You could be right for here is another thought. I happen to believe that when war is declared we should send entirely female armies. They could simply talk non-stop until one side surrendered. No killing would be necessary here either. On the other hand they might never make it to the front. After all, on each side,  the entire army would be wearing the same outfit! YIKES. I shudder at the thought. They would kill their own peers. Maybe not such a good idea. 

The Brewster

Alzheimers - While Shepherds Watched Our Flocks.

Christmas – a time which stimulates a very personal memory. It is time to share it. Think about this. Please.

In 1996 I sat with my mother and father and another couple at a simple table, in a simple dining area, eating a simple Christmas meal in advance of the big date itself. There were some old decorations - artificial, and - simple. Dad was tucking into his turkey. Mom was smiling. So was the other lady. Neither husband seemed to share the richness of the moment.

 

As I looked around, similar scenes unfolded with many faces - some smiling; some sad; some blank. I remembered former family feasts with toddlers in highchairs being spoon-fed by a parent. Parents struggled to direct one utensil to the child’s mouth and another to their own before the meal became cold. Sometimes kids enjoyed every morsel as seen by their smiling faces, giggles, and flailing arms. Other times they resisted every spoonful. Food was dropping everywhere. That was long ago.

This time the difference was stark. Here, there was little resistance and no giggling. There were some highchairs. Food was dropping. Some spouses were struggling to enjoy their own food and feed their dependent. However these dependents were not toddlers but seniors with Alzheimer’s. The lady at our table was feeding her husband. At others men fed their wives, or volunteers fed a stranger without any relatives who bothered to visit. Soon thereafter, we would have to feed Dad.

There are other memories. I remember the first time we had to leave Dad in the “lock-up” facility - him following us to the door; the guilt on our faces; the look on his. “The Doctor said you have to stay for a while” was our explanation. Dad was either so ill that he had no ability to argue, or he was just being himself and was accepting the inevitable peacefully for our sake. We will never know.

I remember entering the combination the nurse gave us to open the door while hiding it from the more clever residents. For them this was entertainment. Some managed to exit but were always returned. The combination would be changed. The game would start over.

I remember when Dad stopped addressing me by name and the first time we saw him walking up and down the hall hand-in-hand with a little lady who resembled his wife.  Mom smiled and thought it was cute - or so she said. One stark image was that of Dad standing in the corridor chatting to another older man who responded in kind. It was total gibberish - baby talk. But they seemed to be communicating!

 

I remember Dad’s future roommate - the same man. He was alone - first in a corner chair; later in his bed. His brother never came. The man wasted away. Then he died.

After dinner we gathered in a room to sing carols. A volunteer played the piano. Most people sang including the patients. Mom sat and joined in - her voice an unmistakable soprano. The pianist remarked after the first tune that she could hear one clear voice hitting the high notes - Mom’s. Dad also sat and sang - something. I held the song sheet for a man standing on the sidelines with me. He held it with me but was obviously singing from a failing memory.

Mostly I remember thinking as the food was served, that on December 25th the same caregiving staff would be here once again, not at home with their families. I shuddered to think of the consequences if too many of them took a “sick” day on Christmas, or any other time. It would be Bedlam - literally.

I hereby gratefully thank every Caregiver to the chronically ill in every facility everywhere. So should you. Some day you might need them. Know someone with this disease? Visit them - often. The staff will know you care even if the patient doesn’t. That alone will sometimes make a difference in the care which they receive. It shouldn’t but we have all heard of a very few places where patients were not only ignored but abused when there were no outside eyes keeping a vigil.

I remember Dad’s final moments.

God - whoever and wherever you are, and anyone else so inclined  - bless Caregivers. Please keep up the good fight.
There are many great blogs devoted to this disease. Here is an earl for a partial list:

List of Alzheimer Blogs

The Brewster

Mother Goose - The Sequel

Canada Goose

Firstly, for the uninformed, the CANADA GOOSE is NOT an indigenous form of sexual grabbing in the land of the Mounted Police. No, the Canada Goose is a bird - a very large one. It is, however, not unique to Canada although I'm sure many nations wish that were the case.

There was a time when Canada geese spent the summer in Canada but come winter, they would migrate south to warm climates just like many other Canadians. Then however, I believe they learned how to work the system, also like other Canadians. They return once per year for a minimum stay to secure free medical treatment of broken wings, acute sunburn, annual checkups etc. Obviously no birth control pills. I understand that various provincial and federal governments are working independently (of course) on closing this flagrant rip-off of public funds. So far they appear to be failing. They are up against formidable competition – superior bird-brains.

Typically the white bibbed birds fly in a distinctive "V" formation in the sky. I used to think that this behaviour proved the intelligence of the bird - very strategic. Now however, I realise that Canada Geese should be flying in "C" formation. They are not after all Venezuelan Geese. Besides, if they were so smart they would just stay south where it remains warm thus obviating the weary flights. Then the Medicare would not be needed. Now it appears that most of them stay all winter as well.

It seems that there is a population explosion every year. Given their current numbers I suspect that all they ever do is … well … goose each other. There are MILLIONS of them. They put the rabbit to shame.  A goose has up to a dozen or more offspring. I have never actually seen two of them performing the act. It makes me wonder then – why is their population so immense?

My own theory is that the "act" takes place on water right before our eyes while they appear to be just floating. It certainly gives a new meaning to synchronised swimming! That would mean that the males are very skilled and very well endowed. At any given time several are constantly "honking" - a distinctive, horrible sound. I can't distinguish the male honk from the female one. Could it be that this is climactic delight - you know, the big “O”? Are they declaring that the lake moved?  I believe that when they are honking on land, what they are really saying is "How about a quick swim - a little dip in the pond if you know what I mean - nudge, nudge, wink, wink, honk, honk?

Many consider them to be magnificent at least in the sky - “C”, “V” or whatever. In fact, all aspects of their flight are fascinating - especially the take-off and landing and there are several documentaries on the subject. The distances they cover are truly amazing. In my opinion the magnificence ends there.

Like most birds and some humans, it appears that they never received toilet training. The characteristic green droppings are everywhere. I once spent just over 2 1/2 years in London England in the early 1970’s, and there were even large numbers of them in Hyde Park at that time. I was taken back when I detected a tone of annoyance in the normal English politeness, as I brought up the subject of my fellow flying Canadians in the famous park. Quite simply, they made a horrible mess. It was as though I was being blamed. I wondered if they thought that I might recklessly squat and attend to business on the grass myself. Bloody Colonials!

Geese are attracted to golf courses – lots of grass. Golfers hate them. Spectators hate them. Greenkeepers hate them. No doubt the feeling is mutual. Although I am sure it is good for the grass, green goose poop is not good for the golf shoes. Greens have become a little too green. Golfers have developed their own "goose step" as though the green were a mine field. Removing such obstructions before a putt is not a pleasant task.

Do geese live forever? I never see any dead ones - dead seagulls and other birds, but no dead geese. I suppose this is a good thing - I would not want to have one drop out of the sky and onto my head. They bring down airplanes. A long life expectancy would explain the numbers. One of the coldest winters I recall was 1993-1994. The geese were still here. How do they eat under such conditions? The grass is under several inches of snow and ice. The ponds and most rivers are frozen. Once again we see their intellect.

These Mother Geese have learned that in winter Canadians see them as homeless fellow citizens. We feed them. I suspect the birds also know about “landed immigrant status.” In their case however they can just land anywhere without the need for airports or immigration. Mark my words: it is only a matter of time before publicly funded goose housing projects are under construction. They will get the vote at this rate.

I have a suggestion. The next time there is an emergency call for food in some part of the world, try this. There was a Canadian with a lightweight aircraft who trained his geese to follow him. Unfortunately he has passed. But perhaps someone else could copy the idea and lead the damn things straight to the stricken area. Call it “Smart-Aid” - they will actually fly themselves to those in need and their plates. Heck, the recipients could collect the goose down and sell it back to us for winter clothing thus helping both economies. We get most of our goods from abroad now anyway. I do believe my own bird brain is on to something here.

There you have it - a full circle. My mother used to read Mother Goose tales to us. Now I am writing my own. The only thing missing is the "And they lived happily ever after.” That does seem to apply to Canadian Geese – not so much to the rest of us.

The Brewster