Citizen Writers Fighting Censorship by Helping Americans Understand Issues Affecting the Republic.
When Trump 45 left office the poverty rate was an historic low of 10.5%. When Biden left office it was 13.1%, rivalling Obama’s 15.1%. Trump 47’s current poverty rate is 10.2%, another historic low under President Trump’s economic policies and leadership.
I took my dogs for a walk. It was sunny. High 80s. The blossoming trees made Crestwood smell like heaven.
The first person I met was an old man, sitting in his yard. He was beneath a massive oak. He ate from a hospital tray, sipped tea from a straw. He wore a Gilligan hat. His nurse was seated with him.
I was walking past his house and he spoke to me because everyone talks to you when you have dogs. It is a universal truth, unrefuted by science.
The old dog was found walking on the highway. She had no name. No home. Nobody.
The guy who found her was a guy we’ll call Peter. I call him this because this is his name.
I used to write about her all the time. She was just so easy to write about.
From the first moment I met Thelma Lou, when she was an itty-bitty puppy, I knew I had found a literary muse. Then, she bit my ear with her puppy teeth. Crimson blood poured down my cheek. I held the puppy in the air and announced, “This is the one.”
Dogs know stuff. Yes, I know they’re just animals. I know their brains are only about the size of tangerines. But I’m telling you.
I used to volunteer at an animal shelter. I loved it. My favorite place in the shelter was called the “Introduction Room.” This was the room where people went to meet the dogs that were up for adoption.
She was walking her hound. It was a young beagle. Loose skin. Smooshy face. Uncoordinated feet the size of Lodge skillets. I was in Forsyth Park, in the heart of Savannah. It was overcast and gray. There were various soccer teams on the field, doing drills. And I was mesmerized by the animal.
My truck cab was filled with three barking dogs and one idiot. The dogs were in the backseat. The idiot was behind the wheel.
“Sit down!” the idiot kept saying.
Her name is Marigold. And while I’m sad the last face she ever saw was his. I’m thrilled the first face her little eyes will ever see will be God’s.
Dennis had a LOT of personality. He was fearless, as it turned out. It wasn’t long before he was charging into new environments, bumping around until he learned the layout of each room. Dennis loved to play. Also, he learned to walk, which was something he could barely do before.
My blind coonhound sits before our fireplace. Staring into nothingness. Caught in the darkness of her own visionless world. “Marigold,” I call to her.
Rico was going to be euthanized in a few days. He was in his kennel. Unmoving. He wasn’t making a fuss the way hopeful dogs do when visitors come. It was almost like he knew. He was not long for this world. That’s when Rachel happened.
I am staunchly pro-life, yet I chose to end the life of our beloved dog. I found myself nagged by the question: Was I doing the right thing?
We did not choose Otis. We let our oldest dog, Thelma Lou pick him out. She was just a puppy. We felt strongly that Thelma deserved to choose her own brother since, after all, she would be the one stuck sniffing his butt for the next 12 years.
The news reporter said the dog was from Rustburg, Virginia. The dog is named Sweet Sienna. She has become a celebrity in this state. It all happened a few days ago in Campbell County.