Every Dog Should Have His Own Kitten

My dog has his own kitten. This is a privilege that not all dogs have. However, my dog is extra special: he loves other dogs, cats, and humans of all descriptions. In my household, the adult cats seldom want to play with the dog, so it was imperative that I find a feline that would play with him. If you bring up a dog and cat together when they are both young, then you stand a good chance of them forming a close bond. That is what has happened with the two of them. The kitten is an orange tabby with the cutest smirk and a long, bushy tail. He and the dog enjoy play fighting. Pinning the cat down, the dog will gently nibble on various parts of the cat's anatomy. The kitten just grins from ear to ear while the dog playfully growls at him. When the kitten has had enough, he will run away until he is ready for another wrestling session.

This cat imitates the dog in some respects. The dog likes to ride in the car. So does the cat. In fact, this is the first cat I have ever had that liked to ride in an automobile, and I have had a number of cats throughout my adult life. The kitten also likes to play outdoors, so I had to find a creative way to keep him safe and allow him to enjoy the sights and scents that belong to nature. In one pet store I found just the answer to this dilemma. There was a nice cat stroller. It looks something like a baby stroller only it has netting where the opening should be. This prevents the feline from getting out, but does allow the cat the opportunity to sit back and see what is going on in the great beyond. The stroller also has a couple of drink holders near the handle and has pockets for keeping miscellaneous items near the wheels. The kitten adores his stroller. He sits toward the front and looks all around him as I take him for a ride. I suppose it is a novel experience seeing someone pushing a kitten in a stroller, so people will sometimes come to a screeching halt in their cars when they see us walking close by. The car passengers do a double take to see what is in the stroller. I suppose I attract quite an audience this way. The dog doesn't seem to mind. He just holds his head up high and wags his tail in appreciation for the adoration that his kitten buddy attracts in our idyllic southern town.

Movies at the Drive In Theater

Last night I went to a drive in theater. Drive in movies are going the route of railroad trains. They are becoming more rare and infrequent yet neither is completely extinct. Occasionally one can hear the far away choo choo of a freight train, and once in awhile, one can see a drive in marquee along the side of a busy highway.

I hadn't frequented a drive in since I was in kindergarten. At that time, my mother took her children and some neighbors to a county drive in theater during the summer. We saw an Elvis Presley flick. I think it was Kissin' Cousins. I ate popcorn until I got a stomachache. Those were the good old days.

There are still a few drive in movies in Alabama. The one I visited last night had four separate theaters. Not being aware of most of the current movie plots, my hubby and I decided to see Talladega Nights. We figured that we probably couldn't go wrong with a movie that had an Alabama theme. Talladega, Alabama, boasts a famous Nascar race track. Unfortunately, the movie was as stale as last year's popcorn. To put it another way, Talladega Nights would make
Smokey and the Bandit seem like Hamlet by comparison.

Oh, well, the ticket cost was reasonable: five dollars per adults and two dollars per children. There were a lot of families with children present. I am pleased to report that the children were well behaved, the air was clean and not too humid, and my hubby and I didn't get eaten alive by mosquitoes. Furthermore, the theater offered food not normally sold at most movie places. They sold hamburgers and french fries that would rival Burger King.

We also took our dog with us. When we arrived to buy our tickets, we saw a sign that said no pets allowed, so hubby had to hide doggy between his legs on the floorboard until it got good and dark outside. Then he was allowed to sit in my lap and hang his head out of the window. Of course, our pooch is well behaved, so he was not a problem.

On the way home, our doggie slept contentedly in my lap with his head nestled on my left arm. I am thrilled to report that I did not get a stomachache from the popcorn ingested at this movie. That made the drive home infinitely more bearable. Even though the movie was subpar, hubby and I decided that the drive in theater was worth trying again soon. Next time we will make sure we check out the movie selections more carefully before we pick our choice. I suppose we could also read what Roger Ebert says. And yes, should we go again, the dog is traveling with us incognito.

School Days

Schools in this area are already in session. They start much earlier than they once did. In years gone by they began either in the last week of August or in the first week of September following Labor Day. Nowadays Alabama schools typically begin the first or second week of August. Since I was in school, more days have been added to the school calendar making an earlier start a must. Also, many schools now operate on an all year schedule meaning that the summer break is much shorter, but students and teachers get more holidays throughout the school year.

I recall my first day of elementary school in grade one. Back then, kindergarten attendance was not common, so many of us had never spent an entire day in the classroom. Therefore, it was customary for the mothers to spend the first day of school with their children who were in grade one. After that, we were on our own. Some children were traumatized by being left alone without their mothers. This was during the era in which most mothers did not work outside the home. I do recall the second day of school without my mother. I admit that I desperately wanted to cry, but I had too much pride. I felt that it was undignified. Not all children had such a well developed sense of propriety. There was one boy who sobbed uncontrollably every day for what seemed like an eternity. The teacher tried to be patient, but she finally had enough. No other child continued to cry after the first month. In frustration, the teacher scolded the boy, telling him that she had had enough of his crying. It was time to stop. Amazingly, her strategy worked. He never cried again.

Soon I settled down into the routine of learning reading, writing, and arithmetic. Reading proved the easiest for me. At first I didn't think I would get the hang of it. Our first reading lesson consisted of the teacher reading a sentence out loud and asking us to repeat it. I was amazed at how well most of the students could parrot what the teacher said. I couldn't repeat everything with the ease that the others did, but now I realize that they weren't reading, just memorizing what she said. The teacher introduced us to phonics, and I excelled at reading. Phonics lessons were my favorite academic exercise. I loved learning new rules and being challenged to apply these rules to decipher unfamiliar words.

My least favorite activity was handwriting. We were forced to learn by watching public television lessons. The TV teacher went too fast, and I couldn't keep up. Today my handwriting is simply dreadful. One day I decided to rebel. Instead of trying to write five r's on my handwriting pad, I sat there like a stubborn mule. There was no sense in trying to make five r's when the teacher barely gave us enough time to write three of them. My classroom teacher noticed that I wasn't writing, so she asked me why. I made up a stupid fib that I simply forgot that I was supposed to keep up with the TV instructor. Later on in the day, the second grade teacher visited our room, so the first grade teacher made it a point to inform our visitor: "One person in this room did not do her lesson. I am not going to tell you her name, but she has blond hair." I was clearly the blondest person in the room, so that left little doubt as to the identity of the culprit.

Sometimes our teacher would step outside the room to blow her nose. She honked so loudly, you could hear her clear across to the end of the sixth grade classroom. During her absence, we would get into mischief. I once decided to entertain the class by seeing how high I could kick my shoe into the air. Unfortunately, the shoe landed in the fish bowl. Although I carefully and quickly plucked the shoe out of the bowl, the damage turned out to be irreversible. All the fish died a week later. To this day, I have terrible foot odor no matter how much I bathe. I suppose my feet harbor some powerful bacteria.

My antics were not the worst in the class by far. One boy named Scooter used to catch flies with his bare hands. He then popped them in his mouth and swallowed them. I am not sure if he actually chewed them up or not. Scooter didn't appear to suffer any ill effects from his culinary habits. The teacher never knew what Scooter did when she was absent from the room. I wasn't about to tell. It would have ruined our entertainment. Since we had no playground equipment outside at the time, we had to make our own fun. Our mothers would have been horrified. But we survived long enough to become adults.

Summer is drawing to a close, but the flies linger as a reminder of the heat and humidity. To this day, I can't view a buzzing fly without remembering Scooter. Unfortunately, he passed away a few years ago. To this day, I don't know why. He was in the prime of life.

Tough Choices

In Virginia there lives a child actor named Abraham Cherrix. He was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease which is a type of cancer that invades the lymph nodes. Last year he underwent a round of chemotherapy and radiation treatments that left him debilitated physically. He became so weak that his father literally had to carry the boy in and out of the car to receive his treatments at the hospital. Hodgkin's has about an 80 percent survival rate after the first series of treatments. At first young Abraham remained cancer free following his standard medical treatments, but the cancer has unfortunately returned. Now his odds of remaining cancer free have dropped considerably. Studies indicate that if a person has to undergo a second round of chemo/radiation treatments, the chances of beating the disease drop to 30% -50%. Not the greatest odds.

Both the teen and his parents do not want a second round of conventional treatments. They say he lost too much weight and he hurt so much that even the soles of his feet ached making walking impossible. So now they are trying an unconventional treatment plan of diet control and herbs as prescribed by a Mexican clinic. One of the standard items is the questionable use of large doses of licorice.

The Virginia Courts have said that his parents are guilty of neglect and have ordered Abraham placed in social services' protective custody . A judge declared that he must continue his chemotherapy treatments.

Frankly, I am torn about this decision. Ordinarily, I would side completely with the courts if the parents had never tried standard medical chemo radiation treatments. But this situation is different because the family tried the standard treatment and it was not successful. Furthermore, the side effects were so bad, that the teen adamantly refuses to go that route again. At the same time, I view the quasi medical Mexican clinics with great skepticism. They are allowed free reign because the Mexican government doesn't regulate medicine with the strictness that most western countries do.

Abraham's parents became convinced that the herbal/diet route was the right choice after visiting the Mexican clinic. The clinic reports 400 persons cured of cancer through their regimen. Of course, they cannot document this in a medically acceptable manner. They have provided the family contact with some individuals who claim they were cured through the program. Again, my sympathies are with the parents who are probably willing to grasp at any straw thrown in their direction. However, it is a well known "secret" that such clinics can and do often pay individuals for their "testimonies." They are probably as authentic as the tooth fairy or the Easter bunny.

As I recall, Jim Jones used to plant healthy people in wheelchairs at his meetings. They would "miraculously" rise out of their wheelchairs and walk to the podium to the amazement of an undiscerning audience. He would also pluck "tumors" from "cancer victims" at his "healing" services. Those closest to Jones knew that the masses he seemingly removed were nothing more than globs of hamburger meat. For those of you who are too young to know about Jim Jones, he was the spiritual leader of a group of idealistic people in California. He convinced his people to move to the South American country of Guyana. Jones' behavior became increasingly bizarre and paranoid. He finally convinced his followers to commit mass suicide by drinking cyanide laced koolaid. A few of his followers escaped to the jungle and lived to tell some real horror stories about the sordid conditions of the camp.

But I digress. Abraham Cherrix will have to undergo the hated chemo treatments. However, since he is 6'1" tall, the orderlies and nurses may have to strap him down. He does not want the treatments. Is the hospital likely to go to that extreme to force this treatment on Abraham? Only time will tell.

Comment Moderation

Unfortunately, I have had to resort to turning on the moderator comment option because I kept
receiving spam from an anonymous source. Every day I was having to go to my blogsite to remove the same spam message over and over again. Alas, I am weary of having to do this. Those of you who are registered bloggers will not have to get my approval for posts to be placed. Unregistered posters will have to wait for my approval. I regret the delay that this will cause in messages appearing on the blogsite. I don't want to discourage any sincere person from commenting; I just want the spam to stop. Thank you for your understanding, and keep the comments coming! I love hearing from you all.

Chitlin Jamboree

The local paper said that the Chitlin Jamboree will be discontinued this year. This is an annual fall event held each year in Clio, Alabama. Clio is an even smaller town the one that I reside. Clio's claim to fame is being the birthplace of famed politician George Wallace and the hometown of baseball great Don Sutton. Not bad for a town with less than a thousand people.

Clio has also received the public spotlight for the last decade or so since it started hosting its Chitlin Jamboree customarily held in late October. For those of you who are unfamiliar with chiltins, they are hog intestines usually prepared by deep frying. Although I eat a wide variety of pork products, I draw the line at eating anything from the intestines of an animal. My mother said that her father used to love chitlins. However, she said the odor was so bad that she had to leave the house when her mother or their cook prepared the dish.

I have attended only one Chitlin Jamboree. As well as I remember, I saw a few homemade floats that accommodated a couple of teen and preteen queens dressed in their gowns and tiaras. There were also a wide variety of arts and crafts booths, some local country bands, and the ubiquitous smell of freshly cooked pork products. In my opinion, the most brave hearted and iron stomached individuals would sally forth to the booth that sold the chitlins.

A few years ago, the organizers tried to get fancy and change the name to "The Pork Festival." Thank goodness common sense prevailed and the name was switched back to "The Chitlin Jamboree. " There is nothing worse than country folk trying to put on airs. That is like tying a pink ribbon around a mule's tail.

This year's jamboree has been canceled for a lack of participation. That is indeed sad. The annual traditions are the glue that binds southern society together. This is especially true in the rural communities. Each year one looks forward to and counts on the pancake suppers, bake sales, church revival meetings, carnivals, and Christmas cantatas. Whenever one of these events is taken away, it feels as though the fabric of one's soul has suffered an irrevocable tear. This tear can only be mended with the reinstatement of the old tradition or the establishment of a new one.

There is a ray of hope with the Chitlin Jamboree. It may be reinstated next year if there is enough public interest. Also, the older generation has been saddled with the burden of planning and conducting this event. There are not enough sunset age citizens left in Clio who can carry the torch. The younger generation must step up to the plate if this institution is to remain a part of the town tradition.

At least I can comfort myself with the thought that come March, the town of Opp, Alabama, will hold its annual Rattlesnake Rodeo. I am told that rattle snake meat is quite tasty. I can always wash the meat down with a cool RC cola. On the way home, I can stop by a mom and pop store to buy a moon pie for dessert. Can't beat that for southern cuisine.