r.i.p. mountain dog

Trex, the inimitable and indefatigable Rare West Tibetan Mountain Dog, has made his final summit. His demise, by a condition known as gastric dilatation volvulus, was sudden and unexpected. The happy-go-lucky canine confederate will be missed.

Born on M.L. King Day in 2003, Trex led a storied life that few can imagine. Brought to this country by Tibetan monks traveling abroad on a sand mandala tour, Trex escaped his kennel and sought asylum in the US. Then known as Banjo, he briefly lived an itinerant life, sleeping under the stars and hustling for treats and the affections of passersby until a band of late-nite lesbians found the furry plaything making snow angels in the middle of the street during a Midwest blizzard. Always the ladies man, when the girls invited him into their home, he blindly followed. Banjo soon found the vegan lifestyle perplexing and when opportunity arose, he readily agreed to being traded to an omnivore for a double espresso, a latte 'skinny', and a half pound of freshly roasted Ethopian Yirgacheffe beans. It was then that he changed his name to Trex - rhymes with Rex and short for T-Rex.

Never one to settle for 'house-pet' status, Trex interned for a mascot position with the Department of Interior. Although universally liked by the staff, he was summarily dismissed after 6 weeks by a cat-loving supervisor for being "too much like a dog". Like most everything, Trex took the news in quick stride and left without a whimper but not before leaving a robust shit in The Man's office.

Soon thereafter, Trex settled into his role as guardian of Warrior Ant Press Worldwide Headquarters, a fortuitous position perfectly suited to his demeanor since it had few, if any, responsibilities beyond hanging out and keeping a watchful eye on the nutty owner.


Although he never caught a rabbit, he was a friend of mine. Trex was always ready for anything; the first volunteer for any adventure. When friends and family said to me, "have you lost your freakin' mind?" Trex was there with the take-me, take-me, oh pretty please take-me tail wag. He never said no. Sleep under a bridge? No problem. Crash on a wing dike? OK. Sample a flash flood at midnight? Scramble up this scree deposit? Clean trash from the river. Alright. Impersonate the homeless or a seeing-eye dog? Why not, nothing else goin' on. Crash the Gala Gateway Arch 200th anniversary of Lewis and Clark's return with a band of merry pranksters? Cool. Hike in 100 degree heat and 90 percent humidity? Walk in a blizzard? Do a 340-mile canoe race across Missouri in the middle of August. Go looking for the long lost Ivory-billed Woodpecker in an Arkansas swamp? Dude! He was in.

All he asked for in return was clean water, two squares a day, and the occasional biscuit. Pet his soft head and you were a friend for life.

Trex's mellow and good-hearted nature diffused more than one situation involving law enforcement officials, rednecks, and belligerent drunks. Had he not been there, the outcome for m.o.i. would certainly have been less pleasant.

Trex was a proud puppy with panache. Seemingly without effort he spent the bulk of his life doing the things that most of wish we could do more of: relaxing, playing, ruminating on the larger world, and keeping a watchful eye over those we love, trust, and admire.

Trex was by no means a perfect animal though he certainly had far fewer faults than his principal caretaker. Despite the tone of this remembrance, Trex was, and will continue to be, for me an animal. And in that role, as a trusted and dear friend and companion, this dog, like other animals, frequently reminded of several things that humans oft forget. There is more to life than work. Work is fun, but play is important. And whenever the little, inconsequential things in life would send me into a mindless cussing rant, Trex would come, lie at my feet, and give me a gentle look as if to say, "dude, I don't know what your problem is but you'd be much better off just taking a chill pill. Now. About that walk you promised me an hour ago. Let's go!"

Images, top to bottom.
*Type breed of the Rare West Tibetan Mountain Dog, 2007
*Interning with the Department of Interior, 2003.
*Trex looking somewhat apprehensive, late on day three of the inaugural mr340, 2006.

the town of bald eagle

Most of the bald eagles, as have the people, moved elsewhere but the little town of Lecompton soldiers on, hanging on to a small piece of American history. Here, in the original Capital of the Kansas Territory, the Lecompton Constitution was proposed and had it been ratified, Kansas would have been admitted as a slave state. Rigorous debates followed throughout the country but eventually free-staters rejected the idea and moved the capital to Topeka.

A few antebellum structures remain in the town, one of them the farmhouse pictured above. What's interesting about this house, besides the fact that the transition to large, round hay bales means the the house no longer serves as a home or a barn, are the carved sandstone columns, each carved from a single slab of stone, that hold up the porch.

one still works

Why talk to the press when you can tweet them? Lance Armstrong provides his own picture of his latest progeny. Imagine. Now we can be the paparazzi of ourselves.






Photo: Max Armstrong by Lance Armstrong via Yfrog

one we get the right dosage down, everything will fall into place

OK. It came to me today. How to stop this crazy shit that nutty far-right wingers do in the name of Beezlebum or whomever jacked up God these folks must be praying to. And believe it or not, it comes back to universal health care. That's right. We force the Republicans to take their meds. And with universal health care they'll be able to afford them!

not religious enough

That seems to be the problem. No one meets anyone else's expectations. For the conservative part of the Republican Party, you are not sufficiently pious enough if you are pro-choice. Even Sam Brownback, who's about as conservative as it gets, was recently taken to task for voting to approve Katherine Sebilius as the new Health and Human Services. It's not enough that Brownback is from the same state as Sebilius and as a likely gubernatorial candidate in 2010, he just might need the votes of a few moderates to get elected. No. According to the far right rodeo clowns, because Sebilius was pro-choice and Brownback voted for her, he must have sold out his principles. The 'yur either 'wid me or 'agin me approach to the world. I've never been a fan of Brownback, but I don't see how it is possible to be pro-life for fetuses and pro-death for everyone else out of the womb. Abortion? NO! Death penalty? OK! Torture? OK! Saturation bombing? You bet. Napalm? Sometimes. If you're a Republican.

On the other hand. The Democrats often show similar wishy-washy religious views. When Bush was in office, his brand of religion was labelled as scary by the left. (I'm not saying it wasn't) but Bill Clinton's brand of religion was upheld as being well "full of grace". Until that we found out he wasted and then he was just a hypocrite like the rest of us.

Same for Barack Obama. He's either a pious compassionate Christian or a devout Muslin depending upon your point of view. People love big hats. But what they love even more are Big Hats in Church. That is until they don't. Or until the Rev. Jeremiah Wright is unearthed God-damming America in front of - God forbid! BLACK PEOPLE IN BIG HATS WHO VOTE-and then everyone was down on the big hats AND the Sunday-go-to-meeting brand of churcy black folk that suggests that some forms of social injustice should not be tolerated in the present day America-Land of the Free, Home of the Brave. That must mean they're a Muslim or they like big hats.

All said though, you do not have permission to shoot people--no matter your religion! Hats you can wear.


Note: I wrote most of this post over a month ago and then set it aside for other interests. It seemed appropos to revisit it again, especially in light of Sunday's shooting of one man in church by another man who felt the first man wasn't churchy enough. Now before you go saying, "hey wait a minute, that fellow was crazy!, you should realize that both sides have been using this same rhetoric to describe the other.

take my backyard. PLEASE!

My friend Evan, who lives in DC and is hipper than most of us, turned me on to this group, Sharing Backyards, that helps link urban dwellers with too much backyard to those that don't have enough. They encourage the use of organic gardening practices. Sounds like a way I might be able to stay on top of the section of my gardening that seems to be slowly turning into a seed bank--for weeds.

Right now the program is largely in Cananda but the program has begun to expand into the US including Washington, DC, Portland, OR, and Boise, ID.

both sides now

We're guessing that the shooting of Dr. George Tiller will do little to bring activists, many polarized by 30 plus years of intolerance, to the table in order to respectively dialogue on abortion issues - but you never know. The alleged shooter, a wacko, felon from Merriam, Kansas fits the profile of an anti-abortion zealot with end-of-the-world leanings. You know the type, believing that if they shoot someone then the world's salvation will arise; funny how infrequently they think to shoot themselves first. Oh, if only that were part of the indoctrination! How easy life would be.

Republican rodeo clowns, right after they say prayers for the families and shed a few fake tears, will likely use any reaction by the left to drive a wedge through the easily fractured Democrats. Obama should quickly address the nation about the need to have conversations designed to bring solutions to the table rather than loaded weapons.