My bride went to bed feeling bad. Twice during the day she had done something to our Pit Bull Roxy.

The first incident happened when she went outside to pull a few weeds as I slept. Evidently she stepped backwards and stepped on the dogs off-hind paw.

Roxy came racing in on three legs after letting out a loud yelp. The dog was followed by Mary, who had a very concerned look on her face.

The dog was licking her paw and didn’t want me to look at it, however after some coaxing, I found that one of the toes had formed a slight blood blister. At least it wasn’t broke or bleeding between the toes.

The second thing to happen was that the dog went missing for nearly an hour-and-a-half. Mary had been watching television when it occurred to her that the dog was not hanging out in the living room with her or the other three animals.

She went outside and called for Roxy. Nothing.

Next she decided to search the house. That’s when she found the dog, locked in the front bathroom.

The best Mary can figure is that Roxy must have followed her into the head. As for Roxy, she didn’t whimper, bark or otherwise make a sound to let anyone know she was stuck there.

It’s safe to say they both had a bad day. I’m still chuckling.

As I planned for my life outside the military, I decided to learn the insurance business. At the time I was feeling the need for more money and I figured this would be a good way to get more of it , fast.

As a rural salesman, I chanced upon an elderly couple who had nothing more than a bed, dining table, a couple of easy chairs and a portable radio, all centered around a pot-bellied stove. The home was clean, but very plain.

They struck me at that time as being “poor people.”

Now, however, I see how truly rich they really were. They lived a simple, uncluttered life with more time to enjoy being alive and being with each other.

This last week has been an experiment of sorts for me. While at church I was struck by the idea that I have a personality much like Dr. Jeckel and Mr. Hyde, jus’ not as murderous.

What I mean is that I’m a fairly easy-going, laid-back guy with the ability to turn nasty if placed in certain situations. I’m really rabid if someone is picking on a child, the elderly, a woman or a defenseless animal or my friends and family.

So I decided to log some of the words and thoughts coming out of my mouth this week. The outcome left me surprised and a little less than happy with myself.

Jus’ over 84-percent of the time my comments were generally negative. Everything from politics to driving to the weather to the laundry to work caught a dose of my downward opinion.

Worse yet, I ran myself down about 16-percent of the time. Comments about myself were usually self-effacing and meant to be funny, but they were still negative.

In short, I discovered in a short five-day period: I’m a whiner and complainer.

The Corporal who competed issuing me the required gear instructed me that I should jus’ wear my helmet instead of carrying it on my back. He explained that it was less weight in an already heavy sea-bag.

Without giving it much thought I walked across base to the row of quonset huts where I knew my newly assigned unit was housed. I knew I had been had by the Corporal as drew stares, snickers and smart-a$$ed statements nearly every step of the way.

Once at my assigned building, I stepped inside to find neither an NCO or Officer. So I set my sea-bag down and entered the barracks area.

The first statement I hear was: Hey, look at the F-N-G and he’s ready for war.  The comment drew a laugh from the dozen guys in the room.

Without warning I was pushed from behind. The shove was forceful enough to send me chest first into the biggest guy there.

He shoved me away and I struck a post that rose from the floor to the roof. I hit it hard enough to fall to my hands and knees.

That’s when the big guy grabbed me by the back of my trousers and started using me a dust mop. Then he changed directions and started pulling me towards the head.

I had sudden flashbacks of high school and swirlies.

Within seconds I reacted by wedging my feet against the jambs of the head and pushing back against the brute. As he pushed I realized I could “walk up” the door jamb and flip myself over top of him, which I did.

As I landed on the floor behind him I threw 4 hard jabs into his kidneys. But they had no affect.

By this time I felt like my heart was in my throat and choking me. But I quickly realized it was my helmet, which had come off my head and the chin-strap was now pressing against my wind-pipe.

I continued to move as I fought to unbuckle the strap and free myself from my helmet.

Meanwhile the big guy continued to move after me. That’s when I looked down and pointed at his feet, telling him his boot was untied.

When he looked, I let him have it. I smashed my helmet into his face, then I beat him with it few more times.

He refused go down. Instead he stood there looking at me and I concluded that I was about to get murdered.

Then his knees buckled and he fell forward, his body making a slapping sound as he flopped on the hard cement. But as fast as he fell, he sprang back up to his feet. Next he shook his head vigorously, much like a Saint Bernard would shake off bath water.

He stood looking at me, then smiled, saying, “That was outstanding. Welcome aboard!”

As he offered me his hand to shake, I thought, “Nuh-uh, fool me once…”

There is nothing like being completely broke to make one appreciate the things in a person’s life. I found this out after I was fired from a job and was waiting for my paperwork from the Marine Corps to come through.

It was about three-months between the two and by that time I was down to pennies in an old Kerr jar. I eventually established a daily routine.

Each morning I would make myself two-pieces of toast and a cup of unsweetened hot-tea for breakfast. I would repeat this senerio twice more during the day. 

Living on six slices of unbuttered toast and three cups of tea takes some discipline, but I was able to do it. By the time my paperwork was approved and I was on a southbound bus heading for San Diego, I weighed about 135 pounds.

I have never complained about anything served to me since.

It was a pretty close call, but I thwarted the urge before I let it get hold of me and cause me to break my promise. I nearly blogged political, something I swore off last month.

For the last several years, I think starting in 2003, I have been writing opinion and commentary on most things political. But in mid-June, I decided it was time to point my nose and mind in another direction.

To that end, I’ve been blogging about random memories and thoughts. I’ve been tossing in a few photographs to sweeten the content too.

Changing mid-stream like I have hasn’t been easy, but I sure it’ll get easier as I progress. I’m jus’ glad I remembered I wasn’t going to post anymore political opinions or stories before I pressed the “publish,” button.

Like it would have killed me — besides I know where the “delete” button is too.

It was a nice day, neither to hot nor too cold, so I decided to go out and sit at our picnic table and read from my bible. Three of the five dogs followed me outside.

They were excitedly racing around me much like Indian’s would circle a group of wagons in an old black and white movie. One of them caught the heel of my right foot and it hooked the back of my left foot.

As I fell forward, I let go of my bible. I hit the ground and rolled trying not to screw up my back any more than it already is.

The bible landed in one of the five-gallon water buckets we have set up for the doors when they’re locked outside and sank to the bottom of the bucket. When I retrieved it, the entire book was soaked.

This isn’t the first bible I’ve had that’s been destroyed by one of the dogs. In the last couple of years three of my bibles have been chewed up by one of the dogs and it’s doubtful it will be the last.

I’m still shaking my head.

All this week, I’m playing bachelor — sort of.  My bride is in the San Diego area visiting family so I’m kind of on my own.

Kind of? Sort of?

Our housemate Kay is here and she’s making sure I don’t starve to death or forget to finish up the few chores I’ve been given to complete by next Friday. That means she’s bossing me around too, an act I’ve grown accustom to as a married man.

I’m also working overnight and sleeping during the day.

It’s getting enough sleep while Kay is home that has become the real struggle for me. I’m certain that you have either heard a bunch of horses racing from one place to the other, either in a movie or TV show or in real life to know what that sounds like.

However, in the case of Kay — it’s more like a herd of turtles. Not a whole lot of noise, but jus’ enough to keep you aware she’s around.

Yesterday, as I tried to sleep, I’d hear her drop something on the floor, or close the cupboard harder than she meant too or go out in the backyard to yell at a dog. These noises draw me out of my deep sleep, but they don’t fully wake me up either.

Thus, Kay is like a herd of turtles, bless her heart.

I was out with my son’s high school cross country team as they practiced in the hills in and around Pyramid Highway. It was a pleasant day to be out in the high desert.

One of the members was in an area where the terrain was extremely rugged and sloped, having a hard time getting down the hill side. Add to it that the area is full of loose rocks and sand. Seeing this, I decided I’d go up and cheer him on.

After getting up next to this runner, I slipped and started to go down the slope at a quick step. I ended up running, which I am not supposed to do because of my busted back.

Somewhere in the last 20 or 30 feet I found a large rock to trip over. Next thing I know I was flying through the air.

I hit another rock, tearing up my right arm and my right knee. As I bounced for the third and final time, I sucked in a huge mouthful of dirt, rocks and sand. I suddenly found myself unable to take a breath as I also knocked the wind out of myself.

It took me half an hour to recover from this incident. Unfortunately I have yet to recover from wounding my pride.

The runner I went up the hill to help made it down without a scratch.

A few days ago my son noticed I don’t carry a note pad with me everywhere I go like I used too. He wanted to know why?

I didn’t have an answer for him at the time.

However it has occurred to me that I do know the answer and I’ve known it all along. It’s rather simple and has been staring me in the face for the last 11 or 12 years.

I have the Internet and blogging, so who needs a note pad all the time?