Bonanza Cariboo Resort, Horse Lake, God’s Country

Another morning wakening in paradise. I’ve just had the taste of childhood summer holidays. That endless time of infinite possibilities.  Then  I’d wake to explore on my bicycle. I’d catch shrimp in ponds for my tropical fish. I’d hike with friends. We skipped so many stones on lakes. I hunted sea shells, identified rocks, and trees and birds. We fished. Mom was always there at noon and night with wholesome food.  She was smiling always except in the rain when I’d be home “underfoot’. I read so many books.  She and my brother and I made weekly excursions to the Fort Garry lending library bringing home a half dozen books each. The Springer Spaniel  was always happy. Dad was working during the week but on weekends we’d go fishing. Then there’d be the annual 2 week road trip.   We travelled once to the Atlantic and with Aunt Sally along once made it to the Pacific.  Lots of song and laughter and night time family conversations around the campfire roasting marshmallows.

Now here I am an adult and it’s just like summer holidays. Laura and I are big kids with a little cockapoo Gilbert.

The weather is perfect. Sunshine with occasional showers. We watch the weather roll in across the lake.  There’s RV’s and campers about but everyone is self contained, non intrusive, respectful. Old people, young people, little children.  I chatted with my neighbour from White Rock yesterday.  His partner looked like Cher.  He liked making fires. I’ve yet to make a fire. Perhaps I’ll get wood today.  

Yesterday I unloaded my KTM 690 and took a scoot about the park. Then I actually addressed the new Colorado XT I’d bought myself as a birthday present early spring. I called it an IKEA inflatable boat. The delightful salesman at the factory said it took about a half hour to assemble.  For me it was more like half a day. 

The first stumbling block was that  I didn’t have the hose for my pump.  So I tried the electric air compressor and that didn’t work after taking every cupboard apart looking for the hose.  I managed to half inflate the pontoons with the pump and a duck tape jury rig. I next encountered problems with which was left and which was right. Then it was which was the front and which was th back. I seem invariably to ‘choose’ the wrong side or direction and had to dissemble parts and reassemble them.  Eventually I got out the Ipad and found the assemble instruction on PDF at the Colorado XT  site.  Things moved along  much better when I had adult supervision.  

Finally I had it all loosely together when I concluded I’d need a new pump or pump hose to inflate the pontoons fully late afternoon.  All I had to do was ride the KTM 690 to the Lone Bute Hunting and Fishing store 9 km away.  But I’d left the keys in the ignition with the light on that morning. The battery was dead.  

For the life of me I couldn’t find how to get the seat off.  I knew there was a pull tab to unlock it. I’d changed the seat a couple of years ago with Mack and Dave as perplexed as me about how to release the seat.  Finally I phoned Holesport in Langley, the KTM dealer, and asked again..He walked me through finding the tab which had retracted and could only be found by feel.  Thanking him again and feeling by his tone of voice I wasn’t the only one who had had difficulties accessing the battery, I set about charging the battery with my truck. Admittedly I felt pretty proud of myself when the bike started. 

I had just enough time to ride at high speed down country roads to the skookum little well outfitted outfitters.  They had a pump. I also bought another reel.  I”m sure I have one but I didn’t want to be ready to fish but unable to find the reel. Besides it was a very pretty shiny one , the young guy said was made from Titanium, which sounded good.  I also bought some ammo for target practice and discussed the Nazi in Ottawa with the politically astute blond and beautiful clerk. These handsome young adults could well have been brother and sister. 

Another great rush of a ride  back to the trailer beating the rain clouds that had begun to sprinkle.  I completed the full inflation of the pontoons and the final assembly of the Colorado XT   Angels sang hosanna. Laura took pictures of the conquering hero. Again I was very pleased. 

Laura, when she wasn’t called upon, to make appropriate remarks of great adulation,   had been reading in the lounger or doing crosswords, when not walking Gilbert.  We all were thoroughly entertained by  a  duck mother and ducklings gathered in front of our camper to eat the green shoots along the lake side. Blind Gilbert leashed to the picnic table watched them all afternoon with his nose and ears.  .

With evening I barbecued tenderloin and boiled potatoes.  With butter and sour cream the tats were delicious. The tenderloin melted in our mouths.  

I was too tired to go fishing. I walked Gilbert.  Read.  I’m enjoying this exciting science fiction thriller.  Going to sleep in the fresh country air was tremendous. Laura had gone to bed early and warmed it up.  Comfort. 

When I took Gilbert out late at night to pee I stood for a while looking at the stars remembering times my father and brother and I had identified constellations. I only saw the Big Dipper last night.  Gilbert was tugging on the leash. The sky was beautiful. There was still some campfire fragrance in the air.  All was well. God is great all of the time.

Now I’m up and ready for my second coffee with a whole blank day to paint with color and joy.  Hallelujah. Thank you Jesus.   

Now a new day has dawned. Laura told me it’s Father’s Day and I’m Gilbert’s daddy. 

Horse Lake, Interlake, BC

Mist is rising from the surface of the lake. It’s quiet.  Rain through the night has cleansed the air.  Breathing is rewarding. Deep breathes.  When I woke Gilbert was at the end of bed waiting to be lifted up to be reunited with his first love. “My fur baby!” She says taking him onto her magnificent chest. It’s been all night for the little guy. Now he is content. Mother and child reunion.

I’ve moved along to coffee. A saint would have lingered at the breathing and blessing of the vision of the lake. A poet would have compared the morning to a true love. The dog in the story would be frisky and young. He might bounced around the master or stood steadfast by his side. My old blind cockapoo is in the throes of love having his back scratched by his goddess.. He’s coughing like the old man he is. His congestive heart failure making his breathing sound like a lifetime of cheap cigars.  She massages his back. They are happy. That makes me happy. 

My neighbour is loading up his gear. I’m in the Cariboo Bonanza , a trailer park resort on the side of Horse Lake.I’ve a skookum Adventurer Camper on the back of my Ford F-350 Lariat.  My KTM 690 Motorcycle is mounted on the front of the truck. I know when I drive into a place of men I bring looks of approval. I may wear earrings and a skirt but my rig speaks competence.  The guys on either side of me are old like me and it’s apparent they’ve spent years of honing the skills of caravan.  

Out the window I can see these considered mixes of Camper, RV, Buses, Truck and Boats.  Keystones, Jayco’s, Topaz,  Rams, Fords, Chevy’s.  Canoes, aluminum Fishing boats, gas outboards, electric outboards, quads, electric bicycles, mountain bicycles. The trick is the right combination. The neighbour tows a sweet little trailer but his truck is the deal. On the back of his Ram 250, he has an aluminum rack that takes his aluminum fishing boat. He tows a sweet little trailer he and his dark haired partner share. He’s outfitted the truck bed with special gear box. The outboard just fits in place .  “Nice rig,” I’d say if I was outside .  That’s high complement here, among men.  

Even as I sit here sipping my glorious Ethiopian stove top espresso coffee with honey and cream, the children are beginning to spill out of the trailers. I think of Kevin and Anna with their 4 little ones.  A little tow haired boy across the way has  mounted his little bright orange  bicycle  and taken off unsteadily to circle this enclave where dogs and toddlers are safe. It’s early. I notice half the boats from the dock are absent.  Keen fishermen.  I’m thinking of another cup of coffee.  

I’ve interrupted Gilbert’s massage and managed to feed  his 4 different pills in slices of roast beef.  He does not like the capsule. Three times he spit it out before with I thought he’d swallowed it with third piece of roast beef wrap .  Laura found it spit out on the bed.  I wonder if he does that for more roast beef.  

I dreamed of a goddess last night. Aphrodite. Some wondrous heavenly mix of present and past lovers. She was fair and gentle with soft wisdom in her voice and we talked of marriage and love as if we spoke of reincarnations and ages. I was on that special island peninsula by the harbour I so often dream of, usually with my sailing boat with me.  This time we in the spacious apartments overlooking the bay admiring the  rich colours and lovely surrounding..  Mediterranean might describe it or Spanish. Canadian.  Something futuristic and ancient. I was wondering why love came and went and we were talking of hide and seek with God. She was a divine mother and might well have been Hera or Mother Mary. In that place all is possible. The place of dreams and mystery. I woke to find a real life goddess in bed beside me, the fragrance of my dream mixing with the lovely scent of her. Then the dog was pleading to be let up on the bed to be with her.  I had to pee. Then the coffee called. 

I’m enjoying looking out my window at the profusion of colours.  The great green forest with the humans swaths of reds, and orange and yellows, between it and me. If I turn I can look at the lake. The mist is gone and a slight breeze is rippling the water.

There are clouds in the sky but the sun is breaking through here and there.  My plan is to walk the dog.  Then I might get the motorcycle down off the rack.  I have a pontoon boat to assemble. I ordered it online, and it arrived, too heavy and bulky for my liking. Dave said when I shared that with him,” What did you expect. You got the top of the line with all the bells and whistles. You should have got the simplest one. It was half the price and would have done what you wanted.”  Dave’s got his life settled into an orderly trailer with well chosen Harley and good old truck. He lives at the cabin in the summer doing various projects taking pictures of birds and bears.  We all have motorcycles.  Or hot cars.  

George called to say his wife was doing well in the hospital.  ‘Couldn’t wait to get back to her girlfriends.’ He said. He’s pleased. “As long as she’s well cared for, I’m happy.” He’s sold the house and his daughter helped him with her mother.  Now George has moved further out in the valley and dreams of driving his new old muscle car down Route 66.  “I’m hoping the border opens so I can get on with my trip.’  Covid 19 threw a wrench in the works.

Each of us having worked a life time and served in our various roles, husbands, fathers, soldiers, businessman, doctors, accountants, welders, we are now at the time of summer vacation. The school year is done. We passed with flying colours, outperformed whatever standards the elite and dynastic posted. We survived at very least. Now we’re pawns in this bigger political picture between disease and economic threat and rumours of war.  Yet here we are hoping and having faith and working towards the last hoorah.

We are in a crowd heading towards Jerusalem looking at each other’s donkeys and knowing no ones waving palms.  It’s long past that phase.  The laughter and bitterness are all together in the soup of creation that fill out hearts  when we stop the business of existence to wonder.

It’s another day. Walking the dog is next. Here, Gilbert, come on.  He’s happy.  Blind, he hears his name and prepares to sniff and piss away another day.  

Faith

I prayed this morning for protection.  I expressed my anxiety and asked for help.  I shared my wealth of worries with the Lord and asked that he show me the way. I asked that I be safe from attack. I sounded to myself like David or like St. Patrick.                   

I experience life these days as war.  Everyone seems ready to take offence. Their personalities and attitudes are like quick draw guns and swords. I feel like I’m walking in a 17th century town with countless soldiers looking for a reason to run me through. 

I’m politically incorrect. I don’t share your urgency about this, that or the other flavour of the week rallying cry for action against the government and demand for more largesse.  I hear Buffalo Springfield, Kent State, People carrying signs. Mostly say, hooray for our side!”

I’m tired. I”m admittedly old. I never thought I’d live half this long. I have had adventures, fought and loved and climbed mountains and sailed seas. I’ve looked in pond water with a child’s microscope and at the stars with the great telescopes of our time. I’ve gone to NASA and Bethlehem. 

I’ve survived. I’ve had countless days and weeks and months of okay times and really great time. I’ve been blessed beyond my wildest dreams. I’ve learned that mostly I’m constricted by my own perceptions. 

I’ve been mauled by the language police, thought police and emotion police. These government bodies have ripped into my joy and peace and imposed their own limited realities, their paranoid delusional states on my freedom and love. They have whipped me emotionally and financially. They have justified being bullies because they are kiss ass and fearing those above them and comfortable in their luxurious surroundings and pampered lives , they have licked the ass above as they shit on those below them.  They are Nuremberg, They have a despicable stench of mediocrity. They reek of the ‘banality of evil’ yet pride themselves with their service and fat pensions. 

I have struggled to forgive and forget them. Especially the greedy lying rapacious soulless women. They have had no concern but for  their own selves and their immediate biology while using language of community and philosophy developed by men centuries before. They have no conscience.  They never have enough and goad the lowest forms of men to take, and steal and rape. They are Eva Brawn. 

I have always known women who loved. I have always know women who knew God.  I have been loved and loved them surrendering to the sweet fragrance of their souls, the innocence of their earthy love.

The world is divided around me as it is within me. I have striven to see the whole. I have longed to live in harmony but today the government demands conformity.  I see myself in the mirror marching, goose stepping to the tunes each week, resisting this flavour of fear, this dooms day prediction, only to be side lined by the next. Billions of dollars goes to the ‘world’s going to end because of climate change’ and that’s a lie. The world’s going to end because of a virus and that’s a lie. The world’s going to end because of economic collapse. That’s a lie. The forces of family far above me in the billionaires and dictators and globalists and religious fanatics of the Middle East and the fat cats and the drones of east and west, play games with lives, wagering. They all play out. The great casino cockfights where dogs of war are bread and women fuck their best friends husband. I’m on the edge of the storm struggling to keep my boat trim in the heightening waves.  

I turn to you Lord. I pray to you. Each day fearing the future I pray to be in your bosom. I pray to be held safe by you. I hurt. I ache. I weary. I worry.  I’m fragile. I tell myself in self pity. This tough old bird scarred and infinitely dangerous, a survivor. I ‘ve taken so many beatings. I’ve been humiliated and shamed. I’ve been kicked and stabbed and shot at by little wearying shits who live still with their mothers and taunt me. I’m a man and I’m judged and lead by boys and girls who haven’t left home who’ve not made families of their own, who haven’t created, but live to destroy. I feel I live in an episode of Lord of the Flies. I watch Animal Kingdom and Sons of Anarchy and it seems to be a tale of my government in Ottawa. It’s just crime. Law breaking, stealing, dope smoking, drunken ,bullying crime.

I’m afraid. I’m listening to dozens daily who are emotionally uncertain. I reassure. I comfort . I support. I feel the nails on broken glass scratching,  the chalkboard scrapes in the tones of voices.  

Little cowardly men and women who live in palaces know nothing of the Jean Val Jean’s. They don’t listen either. They laugh at deaths, of others.  They are immune , surrounded by body guards and bought judges and bought lawyers and banks of money made by selling death. The whole world is a arms race and the individual citizen is lied to and told that the threat is guns.The emperor has no clothes . Billions spent and made selling mass destruction so Huffington Post girls can flaunt their sensitivity like weapons. This  weaker sex like all the poor me tyrannies serving the juggernaut of destruction and stupid men rush to do their bidding. The girls feint as Hitler and Stalin kill millions for their love. Stalin’s wife suicided.  Amo’s wife smugly thought to reign. Imelda had her shoes. The courts upheld them. The judges and bankers loved them,

I pray. I call out to you Lord. Even as a court and judge and lawyers on behalf of the lying deeply ugly soul girls attack the saint  in wheelchair, whose wife has died, while he is under constant attack, todays Christ, his children ravaged by this witch and her deceit,  the courts and judge and bureaucrats, whose greed and evil strip this poor broken man of his last vestiges of pride. He is Job.  I cry out to God to protect him for he may as well be me. This world is a model of the Christ story. The Herod’s and the Sanhedrin and the Emperor and his representatives swagger in the court rooms of BC, pedophiles protected, money the only currency. They their coke and dirty girls and dirty boys and hedonistically lust in this world.  But mostly they slouch towards Bethlehem too. And you said the Kingdom is not of this World, Lord. And I wanted a spaceship growing love within taking way too long.

I look within. I seek you, like the Hound of Heaven seeks me. I beg for you to come. Holy Spirit come!  Free me of fear. Give me faith. Strengthen me in this day and age of growing despair.  Help me hear another expression of sadness and anxiety.  Make me a Channel of your Love. Let me not be phoney and give bandaids and needles for the incomprehensible demoralization and the unbearable blessing of being, the angst. Let me wake the dead instead. Help me walk on the living water.

I am yours Lord.  Lift me up on eagles wings.  Let me know joy. Rocket me into the 4th dimension. Surround me with your light and love.  Wrap me in your arms  Protect me as my mother and father  once protected me. Let me know you. Show me the Way.  Guide me. Be my  lodestar. Be the light house.  Lift me out of the dross. Lighten my load.  Over come my fear.  Let me know you you more fully.  Let my song of praise and thanksgiving fill the air as I struggle for that attitude of gratitude that shields me from despair.  Please Lord.

Thank you. 

Ornithologist Tools

Note the dog.  Gilbert walks me twice a day.

I take along my Nikon Monarch M511. 8x42 5.5. Water proof binoculars and

The Nikon Coolpix P1000 with its Nikon 125W Optical Zoom ED VR

          4.3-539 mm 1:2.8-8.     4K

The two books are the Audubon Society Field Guide to Birds Western Region

And the Birds of Interior BC and the Rockies by Richard Cannings. 

In theory, I find the bird with the binoculars, then take the pictures with the coolpix p1000.  The birds like to moon me and flit by often beyond the speed of photographer or camera.  I try to identify the birds with the books or call my nephew Graeme. He also was the one who recommended the Nikon Coolpix and as he does astronomy photography he knows about camera telescopic lens. 

This is the best set up I’ve had in years. Since I was 12 ,I’ve taken bird pictures with a wide variety of cameras and equipment. 

I have had some really blessed shots which were published internationally.  Ross Gull, Snow geese lifting as examples. That was using a Canon with zoom or a Nikon with a 500 lens plus that required a tripod to stabilize it. The beauty of the Coolpix is that it’s light enough to and small enough to be hand held. 

This arrangement was for small birds and I’m just loving the telephoto on the Coolpix.  I have big  10x50 binoculars for hunting and boating but the 8x42 is truly the classic birdwatcher binoculars. These Nikon Monarch’s  was blessed to get with reward points.  The are bright and lightweight so perfect.  

Covid 19 and the Lockdown with 2 dog walks a day certainly served to restore my old love of bird photography.  My Scottish uncle was the Audubon photographer for seagulls and my brother Ron loved raptor photography, having his photos hanging in wildlife museums in Italy.

All together this is the best set up, with the dog as encouragement, to get me out and off the couch. We had a marvellous walk this morning and saw a hummingbird faster than the speed of binoculars or camera. What a rush!

June 14, 2020 The Plague of-Cultural Marxism/Social Communism

We had the plague, then the lockdown, then the riots.

Cultural Communism, Social Marxism are just a couple of the names for the wedding of Marx and Freud at the Frankfurt School.

The essence of Marxism was the paranoid position. I and them. The beogeoisie and the proletariat. Marx said there needed to be perpetual class warfare between the rich and poor till Communism won and there was a classless proletariat society.  

It was a rather reductionist, simplistic, and wrong. Fabianism, the socialist theory that said there were three classes, the upper, middle and lower gave rise to the successful Union movements. The Middle Class was the Guilds.  Ultimately a just society would put this group of meritocracy and competence central with elevation of the poor to wealth through education and cooperation. 

Where ever Marxist paranoia “I and them’ by contrast has been imposed, the poorer have become poorer and the elite rich richer.  War has prevailed.

.

Cultural marxism and social communism moved away from economics to social groups and then joined them, rather arbitrarily, by the word ‘oppressed’. So the salt shaker ‘oppresses’ the ‘pepper shaker’.  Men oppress women. Whites oppress blacks. Yellow oppresses red.   It goes on ad infinitum.  Leonard Cohen called it the ‘war’ and said the odd is at war with the even. 

Lenin introduced the term ‘dictatorship of the proletariat’ .  Communism has forever remained dictatorship, a gangsterism construct  always justified by dubious intellectual authority.  Intellectualism was the equivalent to Aetheist Godless Communism as the Church was to the Monarchy. To communism the State or the dictatorship, by individual or  committee.  

The dictator then makes  a list of people with grievances and uses ‘divide and conquer’  to gain greater control.   Favourites played against one another in the ‘social marxism’ or cultural communism ‘oppression’ flavour of the month.  

All women are oppressed. All men are bad.

All blacks are oppressed. All whites are bad.

All criminals  are good. All police are bad

Take any ‘binary’ and in Marxism,the Climate denier ‘oppresses’ the ‘climate change saint’.  The whites oppress the blacks.  It’s a tedious moralistic judgemental, informal based paranoid society as a result. 

The trouble is in African nations dominated by Blacks , the blacks oppress the Indians, Chinese and Whites. But as this doesn’t fit the State assigned narrative, it’s ignored.

Women who lie and falsely accuse men, putting thousands in jail for untold years out of spite are still  invariably the ‘oppressed’ and the ‘abused’.  The white slaves that were taken by the black Barbary Coast pirates are excluded from the narratives. Similarly the whole history of Communist murder, 80 million killed in USSR, 100 million killed in China, and half the country, 3 million murdered in Cambodia. All that is ignored. The lie is central.  The bigger the lie the better.

Generalizations and what Piaget called ‘concrete’ thinking, the pre adolescent, inability to abstract and think critically are the rule. Media plays predominantly to the masses which average less than high school.  College level thinking is the minority.  Hence mob violence. ANTIFA. Black Lives Matter and other Communist groups.

I don’t say that the so called ‘right’ don’t do the same. The Nazis’, National Socialists, did the same. Che Quevara jungle warfare is taught at West Point. Right now everything that was used by the Nazis to gain control and destroy Germany is being played out , not by National Socialists ,but by Communists,  International Socialists, in the world today. 

Ironically Islam is a partner in this as politics make strange bedfellows. Hitler and Stalin were allies.  Now Islam is also a construct of perpetual war.  Whereas perpetual war for Communism leads to ‘worker paradise’ with ‘dictatorship by the party’, Islam, the religion of peace, claims that when all are Muslim, then the ‘religion of peace’ will prevail.  The ends justify the means.

The difficulty with gangsterism and communism is that the other guy will turn on you when he has an opportunity so Hitler at the height of his power turned on his ally Stalin and attempted to invade Russia. 

That’s where we are today.  It’s not rocket science. I once wondered why the Mensheviks, the Russian majority communist party, lost control to the bolsheviks, the minority communist party. The reason was simple. Lenin, Tolstoy, Stalin and Molotov, Bolsheviks, promoted Assasination and Bank Robbery. They were cold blooded killers and  and thieves . They were the violent mob leaders and the Mensheviks were the moderates,  against murder and bank robbery.  Lenin and the Bolsheviks overthrew the Russian Parliamentary democracy and began to rewrite history.  

Today the Democrats are supporting violence, mob rule and robbery.  History repeats itself.  

June 13, 2020 Covid and Gratitude

Today Laura said how much she liked not being shoved and pushed since Covid. “I’m short and no one notices me so they poke me on elevators with their elbows or reach over me for things. I like that for once in my life people have been respecting my personal space.”  She went on to say. “Strangers don’t chat with me when we’re wearing masks and I like not having to talk after working with people all day.”

I had to admit, I liked working from home. “I hated the commute and the traffic jams and all the disruptions,” I said.  Now I just have to get from bed to office.

“I”ve really liked the quiet here. Downtown it’s still noisy with people shouting even though there’s less traffic. In Burnaby its so quiet now.” She said.

“I liked that life was simplified. I’m walking Gilbert twice a day but haven’t had to go to all those ‘things’ that just made everything so ‘busy’. “I liked them mostly but I felt pulled by a lot of obligations and expections and this freed me of that.” People had been talking about how terrible things were but we were actually faring okay.

We loved Netflix, watching movies on Friday and Saturday night, barbecuing and just hanging out.  I used to feel some ‘pressure’ to ‘go out’, ‘to take in a movie, a play, a concert’, ‘to get together with friends’, ‘to socialize’. But now we’re just sitting at home enjoying each other’s company.  We are here with Gilbert a bit like young families who describe this period of partial isolation as, ‘nesting’.

“I’ve liked the Post Office and Amazon and on line ordering and delivery.  It’s a bit like when I was growing up and we ordered everything from the Bay and Sears catalogue.  We didn’t shop for half the stuff we did before Covid.  It’s a bit like living in the 60’s and 70’s again.  That same sense of time and space.” I shared.

“I know.  People are more subdued and less catty.  On facebook there’s still that bickering and looking for a fight but in person people aren’t like that anymore. There’s more manners again.  I like that.” She said.

“I’m loving ornithology and photography again and I just got too busy, somehow.  I felt like a work week was a crazy tunnel I descended into and was spit out the end at the weekend just to recovery for another week. Now I’m actually feeling I’m getting some time to relax in the evening. Instead of an hour commute I have an hour to walk Gilbert and look at birds.’  You know we’re talking as neighbours.’ I continued, ‘  In the evening three or four of us have frequently chatted with each other six feet away. I’ve chatted with my neighbours more in the last month than the whole year before. I remember Dad and Mom growing up having the time to chat with their neighbours and now I’m doing it. It’s only because of the lockdown.  It’s strange how that turned out.’

“I’m love reading. I love Kindle and getting books from Amazon. I have more time,’ she said. 

“I’m loving riding my motorcycle and not thinking I’m going to be killed in the city by some guy drunk or stoned in road rage. It’s easier to maneuver now, less cars, less angst.  I’ve really enjoyed riding the Harley about town to do the few errands I have to do.”

Gilbert enjoyed having us with him more. He talked to his other dog friends and they said it was the same. They didn’t know why but it seemed humans were slowing down. Some were even remembering the importance of throwing the ball.