I had a name. Sometimes it was on my collar, sometimes embedded in a microchip, but more often than not, any reference to my identity has been removed; not to protect the innocent, but to shield the cowardly guilty. But the fact remains that I did have a name, and an identity, and a place in a social hierarchy before being unceremoniously dumped to fend for myself in a world that I couldn't imagine even…

O430, and all is well... I'm in my preferred spot, the navigator seat in the Minivan Gogh, and we're heading west. Dad is executing his usual duties as pilot, and has his bum stump firmly cocooned in some crazy looking contraption he calls "das boot". If you ask me, it makes him look like an upside down fiddler crab... We're heading back to Colorado on a whirlwind trip to pick up dad's DR650, but we…

Idaho is a loooong state; we started south approximately twenty miles south of the Canadian border with no particular destination in mind but "down". But there is no down in Idaho, just back and forth, bouncing like a pinball between Washington and Montana as we made our way down to the Lolo Highway, the famous site of the motorcyclist's favorite road sign,"curvy road next 99 miles". Idaho is a meteorological phenomena, as the farther south…

Whassup, Ajax? Mom's gone! Alex called, seems to have locked herself out of her apartment getting ready for work, and mom took off over there with her lock-picking skills to save the day! And she took Marco the Narco with her, that yappy little tattletail! That means that dad is alone and particularly vulnerable with that cast on his leg, and more importantly, there are no witnesses! Ajax, you're leaving out two key factors: one…

Anesthesia: the aftermath My Achilles rupture happened just a couple of weeks before bow season opened in Arkansas. Back in those days, I was as fanatical about archery as I am about motorcycles today; I had spent months that summer scouting and preparing a spot in the woods a few miles from the Casa. Then bang, so to speak, the sound of a snapping tendon brought that to an end. Not so fast, weedhopper; what…

I would love to delete the following post and move on, but I although I have the right to be silent, I lack the ability. Here is the unedited content concerning the abandonment of Titus Pillow to the care of the Casa del Whackos : <"Whatever the story of the humans may be, one has to hope that someone cared enough to bring her to you. Shelters are overrun and euthanizing is pricey and difficult.…

I had a name. Sometimes it was on my collar, sometimes embedded in a microchip, but more often than not, any reference to my identity has been removed; not to protect the innocent, but to shield the cowardly guilty. But the fact remains that I did have a name, and an identity, and a place in a social hierarchy before being unceremoniously dumped to fend for myself in a world that I couldn't imagine even…