Thursday, June 8, 2017

First I need to address my last post.
This morning I was still a little bugged so I called the real estate company that the girl (let’s call her Mary) who wrote the offensive Facebook post worked for. I left a message.
I got a call back an hour later from the owner of the high-end real estate company. I’ll call her Gina Lollobrigida. I’ve always liked that name. Gina was nice and became horrified at my information. She said Mary was a good person and would never do something like that. I gave Gina the benefit of the doubt and decided maybe someone had hacked into Mary’s Facebook account and made the post. But I still felt pretty sure Mary was the culprit.
We finished and I looked up Mary’s Facebook info. Mary is a lover of animals. There are pictures of her and all kinds of critters on her page. I then knew she had not been hacked. She was the originator of the post.
Gina said she would talk to Mary and get back to me. This afternoon I got a call back and we had a nice conversation. Mary is now checked into an alcohol treatment center. Gina likes her but will not put up with that type of behavior.
Ms. Lollobrigida said that her seeking medical help means something. If not for that, Mary would have been fired today. Gina is giving her another chance after Mary finishes treatment.
I wish the best for Mary. In fact, I called her cell and left a message of forgiveness from Kashann and the rest of us up here in Basin City. I also wished her the best of luck in conquering her demons.
Alcohol sauce is a nightmare. I’ve lost some good friends (some of whom are still living) along with a brother-in-law who was also a friend. Why play with fire? Leave the sauce alone.
Right after Christmas I got a call from Jorge, a guy I sometimes work with during corn harvest. Four or five years ago I was involved in a near-fatal accident. Two days later I was involved in another near-fatal accident. The second incident found me working feverishly with a father to save his son.
After all was done that we could possibly do, Jorge Jr. (George) was still trapped and dead. I gave up. It was all over. We both were crying, exhausted and resigned. Then inspiration hit and it all worked out. The story is in my Book so I won’t retell it here.
Anyway, Jorge called last week and invited me and my wife to his home for dinner. Michele’s brother is down with a touch of pancreatic cancer so she was headed to Alaska to be with him. I told Jorge I would be there by myself.
New Year’s Eve found me knocking at their door. We had a nice dinner. Jorge has a great family. We played a game I called Mexican Bingo. When I won, I stood up and shouted “Gringo Bingo!” It got a laugh.
We then played another game involving beans and snakes. By some strange fluke, even though I don’t think in Spanish, I won.
I figured I better go. I decided I better quit while I was ahead. Remember the Alamo?
I wanted to take a picture of Jorge’s wonderful family…George (Jorge Jr.)is the kid on the right.
Since I had a little bit of film left in my camera/telephone, I got another picture of the three people involved in the accident along with Lorena (Jorge’s wife and George’s mother)…


This was one of the more special nights of my life. As I left, they handed me a card…


This is one of those passports I’m going to take when I try to weasel my way into heaven. It means a lot to me. Several times during the evening, there were at least three or four eyes that teared up. Did I mention it was a very special evening?
Right after the accident, my wife and I ordered this plaque. We keep it on a file cabinet so we’ll always remember how blessed we are from the happenings of that day years ago.
If you’re not a Recovering Idiot blog follower, you WILL miss some of my posts. Sign up.

Should my bro’s dog go?
But first this…
We spent Christmas with our kiddies and their kiddies in Phoenix. While at the Salt Lake airport, I observed two instances of the difference a dog can make in people’s lives.
The first was a custodian laying out some caution signs. I asked the guy what was going on. He said somebody with a large dog had just walked through and the dog urinated past 2 gates and then up the carpeted runway. I doubt that the dog owner even knew the dog was relieving himself. I for one didn’t know dogs could do that while walking.
Maybe Homeland Security should make a rule that all dogs in airports should be outfitted with catheters.
I’m pretty sure there was enough liquid spilled that a Haz-Mat team should have been called.
A bit later, I saw this lady with her best friend. She came over and sat by me. She proceeded to tell me a sad story. Her family is all against her, she has brittle bones and after breaking a few of them, deals with lots of pain and anxiety. She then listed all the pain killers and assorted pills she’s addicted to.
We didn’t get to talk about her dog but I know it’s probably the most important thing in her life. I felt bad for her. Until we got on the plane and I saw her sitting in first class.
Just kidding. I still bad for her. However, I’m not kidding about the first class. And speaking of dogs…
I have a brother. This brother has a dog. This dog is a hunting dog. This dog is named Cyrus.  Cyrus belongs outside.
Cyrus barks and growls at me whenever we meet up. Maybe it’s because he knows I don’t approve of the fact that he gets to sleep in my brother’s house. The aforementioned house is the house I grew up in.
I look at Cyrus like my dad would if he hadn’t already checked out of this earthly sojourn. Dad would say Cyrus can track scents and scare up pheasants. Outside.
Cyrus can help herd the cows to the next pasture. Outside.
Cyrus can play with the kids on the lawn. Outside.
Cyrus can bark at strangers when they come around. Outside.
Cyrus can make strangers stay in their car until somebody in the house tells him to be quiet. Outside.
Cyrus can keep the house from being ransacked by a few of these strangers. That’s what dogs are for. Outside.
But in my mind, from decades ago, I can still hear Dad saying:

“Get that dog out of this house. Now!”

Dad and I have always held on to the adage that dogs, especially big ones like Cyrus, are not to have a free run of the People House. The Dog House is fine but not the People House.
Dogs aren’t going to scare up any pheasants in the house. They aren’t going to herd any cows in the house (unless they are in India). They just aren’t made for the great indoors.
But unlike me and my dad, my brother let Cyrus have the run of his house. That is until the other day. In an instant, my brother moved over to our side and saw things very clearly from our point of view.
The family had been gone for a couple of hours. When they got home, they saw that Cyrus had wet down a good 500 square-foot section of carpet in the living room. I guess he was just marking his territory. Maybe it was Cyrus’s way of telling my brother that he and his family were no longer welcome in the living room.
At this point, my bro started reconsidering his stance. Then one of the kids went downstairs and found a Mt. Everest style-sized pile of Cyrus’s dog chow remnants and another patch of dew-dew on the carpet.
At this particular point in time, my bro saw the light. It was like he all of a sudden was staring at the sun without sunglasses or a welding helmet.
A malady called Canine Stress was building so he decided to relax and take a dip in the hot tub. (I coined the term Canine Stress. I’m hoping the medical industry grabs on to the term and elevates it up to the level of PTSD and PMS. Maybe I should file for trademark protection.)
Oh, but we’re not done.
The hot tub cover had been completely shredded by…you guessed it. Cyrus. Incidentally, this was not the first cover to be reduced to tatters by Cy.
Bye-bye, Cy.
So the head of the home was informed by my bro that Cy had to go. She put a post on Facebook, asking if anyone would like a dog? She didn’t say they were going to dump him off in the desert. She didn’t say they were going chase him around the house with an ax or a shotgun. She didn’t even say that he was going to sleep outside until they found a new owner.
She just asked if anyone would like a dog.
This family all love Cyrus. If you don’t believe it, take a look at the picture…
They love Cyrus but enough is enough. (Cyrus has caused other damages along the way that haven’t been spelled out.)
She instantly got major feedback on Facebook, a few of them scolding and even screaming at her for being a bad person, irresponsible and mean for not taking care of her dog. It was as if people thought Cyrus should be the top dog on the food chain, a notch above her kids.
In my opinion, a good share of this world is going insane. They think animals have more rights than humans. I personally think critters were put on the earth for the good of man, not the other way around.
I mean, where does it stop? If a dog is on the same level as your children, is a cat also? If so, then how about a squirrel? Which reminds me of an incident a few years back.
My son Derek and his wife Brianne were living in Charlottesville VA while he went to law school. One day they drove down the lane from their apartment and a squirrel darted across the road. A couple of their tires make a crunching sound and ended the squirrel’s mortal existence.
They stopped and walked back and found the tree hugger. It was lying on it’s back with paws in the air, glassy-eyed and putting out a few final involuntary shudders.
They felt bad. Especially Brianne. She thought for a few seconds of how they could possibly help this flattened and almost-a-corpse bigtail and then asked, “Would it help if we fed him a nut?”
Brianne is a sweet lady and always wants to help. However I’d bet the entire bundle of assets that I own (approximately $124 and some change) that she has never worked in the surgical wing of a squirrel hospital or she wouldn’t have asked a question like that.
Anyway, back to animal rights. If squirrels have rights, then how about frogs? If they do, how about a mouse? If so, what about a snake? And if the mouse and snake have rights, what about a butterfly? And a stinkbug? And an earthworm? And a mosquito?
If they get their way and it becomes a crime to swat a mosquito, they’ll probably outlaw mosquito nets and OFF!
What a messed up world.
So my bro’s wife started getting hate mail after her Facebook inquiry. A real estate agent somewhere down south took the cake. Here is her communication (redacting the really nasty expletives):
********* is quite a refined and well-spoken lady, isn’t she?
This lady’s real estate company is listed on her page. If you were her boss, would you want an employee spewing this kind of venom over the airwaves?
There’s been some major new developments concerning this situation. My next post will address the situation.


Got a little note and picture from the wife of the guy that won the $500. Unbelievably, they haven’t spent it all. Here’s the note:
I bet by now you’ve wondered what happened to that $500? Well, it inspired me to start saving some cash around the home. Started with some Benjie’s, now we are here! Adding to the pile at least once a week 🤑🤑🤑 Thanks for choosing my husband!!!

No automatic alt text available.

I’m happy for their good luck. Wish I was doing the same. But I’m not.
I’ve had two molars break off in the last mouth, I mean month. Not long after I gave away the $500.
To them.
I’m so very glad they saved it and didn’t blow it. Cause I need it back.
I’m thinking they should loan me their $768 so I can make a down payment at the dentist. Why $768? Because that’s what I counted up in her stash picture.
I sent them a couple of texts with my new request but haven’t heard back. I’m sure I’ll hear from them soon. After all, they got right back to me when they won the dough.
On another note, I have a friend who dabbles in the sheep biz. When I saw this picture on Facebook, it reminded me of him…
Image may contain: text
This is what happens when you lie on your resume about having previous sheepdog experience.
It also reminded me of the song Stuck in the Middle with Ewe
Since we’re totally random, this particular song was released in 1973, the same year my sheepherder friend and I graduated from high school.

This morning my cell phone rang. It was a guy from Dallas TX who was fed up with the literally millions of truck tires that he and all the other guys in his business deal with everyday. His company takes care of the truck casings Walmart generates on all their trucks. They pick up and haul away all the old tires.
His drivers spend hours throwing tires up in the truck van, rolling them to the front and then stacking them 10 tires high, two stacks in each row, all the way back, 40 or 50 feet. Each tire weighs about 100 lbs and it is a killer job on the back. Total weight is probably around 25,000 lbs.
Here’s a guy stacking a few tires. (I did this a few times myself.)
He then said he has watched my You Tube video and thinks maybe I could do something to help him. (Truck Tire Squire)  I built this thing eight years ago but for six years couldn’t generate much interest in it at $1700. A couple of years ago I jacked it up to $3,000 and sold one a couple months later. Go figure.
I have no idea if it worked and has done the job. I’ve held my breath, worrying that I would get a call complaining. So far, no call. All is well. Maybe I’ll call him next week just to see how it’s working.
This dude from Dallas then talked about an outfit in Canada called Martins Industries that had a tire cart that was very unique from other carts. I sat up in my seat.
“Those guys ripped me off!” I informed him. Nine years ago I invented the Tire Squire but dropped the ball protecting it. The Tire Squire was the first tire cart that utilized the arms to activate the tire grip arms instead of foot controls which is what all tire carts used previously. It was also the first tire cart that featured a rear caster to help support the tire load.
Several years ago I noticed that Martins copied my cart. Here it is.
They say imitation is the highest form of flattery so I guess I should be flattered. It’s not all that good of a feeling. If you look at my video, it was posted in 2009. Theirs was posted in 2015.
I sent the President of Martins an email informing him that I knew of his shenanigans and also that I knew I couldn’t do anything about it. I said that I thought he should send me a box of chocolates every Christmas. So far, I haven’t seen any goodies under the tree.
So this phone call from Dallas was interesting, to say the least. Here I am, a little no-name in Basin City and one of the largest truck tire haulers in the country calls me and talks about my products, both directly and indirectly. I was blown away.
Speaking of being blown away, here’s a video of a guy using a bead blaster manufactured by a friend of mine. He’s made millions selling this little tank called the Cheetah.
The Dallas dude then listed all the other huge outfits that fight this same battle with stacking and loading truck tires. He wants me to do something about it. I told him I would get on it as soon as I change some lights bulbs in the kitchen and dumped the garbage for my wife.  It’s all about priorities.
We hung up.
I thought about it today. I figured it out. I’m going to file a patent before I do anything else. Take that, Martin Industries!

I did a 2-year full time LDS mission in Pennsylvania in the 70’s. Knocked on thousands of doors. Met lots of people. A tough experience I wouldn’t trade for the world.
August 1974. An inebriated gentleman came up behind me one night and held a knife to my throat just outside a bar. It was pretty intense for five minutes plus. Our apartment was on the second story, just above the bar. I was pretty happy to finally walk up the stairs to our apartment that night without any red on my white shirt.
Another time my companion and I stopped a suicide on the subway. It just about started a race war since we were the only two white guys on the train. Some folks were not happy we meddled and yet others were. There was a lot of yelling on that particular underground train ride.
During our door-knocking extravaganza, we happened by the door of the home that Grace Kelly grew up in. Another time, we sat and shot the bull with a lady in her very old home that George Washington slept in one night.
No vacations, no visits home, no parties, lots of work. 2 years. Great experience.
Got my feet on the ground concerning God. That’s the best part of a mission.
My son Will served a mission in North Carolina. He shot a video of himself and his companion riding their bikes in the rain. His comp does a nice wheelie and then goes off road to get cleaned up before they get their boatload of mail out of the mailbox from home.

Will is my remote IT guy. That is, when he’s in the mood to answer his phone.