Fred the Squirrel (USAF, Ret.)

I realize that today (October 31st) is

Halloween, but I am not doing a

Halloween entry.

My dogs are not very big on Halloween.

Candy is not good for dogs, especially
chocolate, so trick-or-treating isn't as
much fun.

Last year they dressed up and knocked
on my door, and after I gave them each
a (dog) treat, they walked around the
house and knocked again.

They were bored with this quickly.

But if you want a Halloween story,
click here and read the one I posted
last year which tells how Macky Rae
whacked a real zombie.

I went to the VA clinic last week and got my flu shot.

One of the benefits of having served in the military is that I get a free Flu shot every year courtesy of the VA.

They set up in the back parking lot, and (I love this) the had a drive thru! Veterans with vehicles could just drive up, stick there arms out the car window and get the shot, and then drive off.

Myself, I rode in on the bus. I walked up to the pavilion, bared my arm and let a nurse give me the shot.

At least I think she was a nurse.

She didn't have a badge, nor did I ask for identification. I just walked up, bared my arm as requested, and accepted the shot without question - the result of military training, no doubt. For all I knew, these innocent looking females could have been terrorists, and I may have been injected with Anthrax.

I'm not dead, so I guess they were nurses.

 

October was vaccination month in the Dances with Dogs household. My trio of dogs got there shots updated a few weeks ago, so the are protected against whatever diseases dogs might get. They were very good about it. They were not pleased, but they were good about it.

Their anger lasted about as long as it took me to open the bag of beef jerky I brought for a snack.

I was thinking about not getting my flu shot this year, but the dogs were not going to allow that.

SARAH: That's @#$%!!

MACKY: Yeah!

FREEDOM: We had to get our shots!

MACKY: Yeah!

SARAH: Hypocrite!

MACKY: Yeah!

Before I knew it, I was being shoved out the front door by my dogs. I heard the sound of the door being locked behind me, and a voice from behind the door telling me:

SARAH: And don't come back until you get your flu shot.

MACKY: Yeah!

I wouldn't of minded it so much, except the VA wasn't giving the shots until the next day.

And it was starting to sprinkle.

From inside, I heard :

FREEDOM: You guys want to eat the leftovers in the fridge?

MACKY: Yeah!

I dislike shots.

Let me tell you a story: Some years ago, I developed a tooth ache. Of course, I didn't take care of it right away (I dislike dentists more than I dislikes vaccinations) and of course it got worse. It became serious on an evening when I was hanging out with my friend Keith, drinking and eating pizza while watching something on cable. Suddenly, a sharp, stabbing pain jolted through my jaw. It had upgraded from a simple tooth ache. The pain on my face was obvious as after a few minutes Keith suggested that I let him take me to the ER. I told him I'd be OK in a moment, to which he said "I don't know. You just turned a shade of white I ain't never seen on a white boy." So we went to the ER. It must have been a slow night (definitely not a full moon) because after filling out some forms and answering a few questions from the triage nurse... Q: What have you taken so far for the pain? A: Four Ibuprofen and a triple shot of Jack Daniels. (The triage nurse didn't even blink. She had either heard that before, or was a redneck herself.) ...we were taken back to an examination room to be examined by the examining doctor. We only waited a few minutes (which is hours when there is a sharp, stabbing pain jolting through your jaw) before the examining Doctor came in, asked a few more questions, then looked in my mouth and declared the tooth to be infected. And it needed to come out first thing the next day. In the meantime, if I wanted something for the pain (yes, please!) he would send a nurse in and give me a shot. The problem is that this type of shot is always injected into the fleshy region of the lower anatomy that is know as the gluteus maximus. I refer to da butt! The nurse came in with a vial of something I assumed to be "something for the pain" and a hypodermic needle, and requested that I roll over on my stomach and lower my pants. I hate this part. It's not that I'm shy or nothing. I have no problem undressing for a nurse... I have no problem undressing for anybody of the female persuasion ... but this is going to hurt, because I have no butt. Those of you who know me know what I am saying. I have what is referred to by the medical community as a gluteus minimus. And I had this professionally confirmed by the nurse who (after a visual inspection of my left buttock) informed me that I didn't have much padding down there... (to this day Keith, who heard all this from the other side of the curtain, still brings this up and laughs) ...so this was going to hurt more than normal. Is it worse than the sharp, stabbing pain jolting through my jaw? After I was injects, the nurse informed me that I should not to drive, or anything else along those lines while under the influence of the pain medication. The nurse informed Keith that he could take me home as soon as the pain medication took effect. I lay on the examination table for a few minutes, then a thought occurred to me: "Keith" I said. "That nurse was cute. Did you notice if she was wearing a wedding ring?" Keith decided it was OK to take me home at this point, as I was returning to my normal, sexist self. And can someone (medic or other) tell me this: Why does the pain meds numb the sharp, stabbing pain that was jolting through my jaw, but doesn't work on the spot where you got the injection? Ever ridden in a pick-up truck, sitting on one butt cheek the whole way?

But this blog entry is not about nurses, vaccinations, my dogs, Halloween, or my tushie. Next month (the eleventh) is Veterans day, and I would like to pay tribute to a humble and little know veteran of the United States Armed Forces: Fred the Squirrel (USAF, Ret.)

Keesler AFB, Mississippi
 

After basic training, I was loaded on a bus with several other GIs and transported to Keesler AFB, MS.

For those of you who have seen Neil Simon's play and/or movie Biloxi Blues, this was the same base. The play is a semi-autobiographical account of Neil Simon's time in the Army (it was an Army base in the 1940s).

Neil Simon was not there when I was there - they had discharged him years (and years) before I got there.

One of the first things they briefed us on upon arriving at the base was not to feed the squirrels.

We did anyhow.

There were a plethora of squirrels on the base, as well as the Biloxi/South Mississippi area. And they were all weird. I mean weird, even for squirrels. If you are familiar with Ray Steven's Mississippi Squirrel Revival song, you may remember a crazed squirrel that got loose in a church in a "sleepy little town of Pascagoula."

Pascagoula was 26 miles from Keesler.

Mississippi Loblolly Pines
 

Squirrel Jedi Training

Let me give you an example:
Me and my buddy were sitting at a picnic table in the park-area across the street from our squadron compound, working on a six-pack and watching two young squirrels playing the squirrel version of grab-ass tag, with one squirrel chasing the other up and down the pine tree, then switching off.

Now, I should point out that these loblolly pine trees grew fairly tall. The ones on base were easily 75 feet tall.

Occasionally, during the rough housing that occurs when they are up in the branches, they shake a pine cone loose and we hear it thump as it hits the ground.

Or they could have been aiming for us.

As we were drinking the beer, we heard a THUMP. Not a thump, but a THUMP that sounded heavier than just a loblolly pine cone. We looked over, and saw one of the young squirrels on the ground in a daze - like a Looney Tunes character after a stick of dynamite had just gone of in his hand. He (the young squirrel) apparently either fell out of the tree, or was pushed by his buddy.

Either was a possibility. We think the latter.

The young squirrel shook it off quickly (like in the Looney Tunes) then, with that "you're going to pay" look in his eyes, raced back up the tree.

A moment latter, there was a loud squirrel chatter (squirrel profanity?) and then anoth THUMP. We looked (we had to) and there, on the ground, dazed, was the other young squirrel.

I was assigned to the 3383rd Student Squadron, and it was there that I first met Fred.

 

Fred the Squirrel was the semi-official mascot of the squadron. Unlike the rest of us who lived in the dormitory, Fred lived in an old oak tree in the courtyard of the squadron compound - much like a Keebler™ elf except (to the best of my knowledge) he didn't bake cookies.

There were rumors that he had a microwave, and some claimed to have seen a glow coming from the tree at night that indicated that he may have had a TV.

Fred was old. How old I do not know, but if I found out that Fred was there the same time Neil Simon was there for basic training I would not have been surprised. Like many seniors, Fred had aging issues, one of the was his tooth.

Like many elderly southerners, Fred

the Squirrel only had the one tooth.

Like most squirrels, Fred was a rodent. You may remember from middle school biology that a rodents teeth continue to grow and that they need to gnaw on stuff in order to keep their teeth ground down. Otherwise, they grow long, which is what happened to Fred's tooth. He wasn't gnawing as much as he should because his tooth had grown fairly long and had curled around and was stabbing his cheek.

Fred was well loved and it was decided that we would all chip in and take Fred to the veterinarian (as the base dental clinic did not have anyone qualified to work on a squirrel.). The money was raised quickly, and Fred was caught and made comfortable in a cardboard box.

The problem was that the veterinarian was 9 to 5 Monday thru Friday, which was (for us) during duty hours. Students were not permitted leave the base during duty hours without permission (and the Captain was not likely to authorize going off base because of a squirrel). So the duty to save Fred fell on the First Sergeant.

A First Sergeant in the Air Force (in case you are wondering) is the senior NCO of a unit, serving as both guidance counselor and disciplinarian, sort of a cross between your uncle and your high school principle.

Senior Master Sergeant Mesnières (our First Sergeant), a thirty-four year veteran of the Air Force with tours of duty in Vietnam and Korea, humbled himself and agreed to escort Fred to the veterinarian.

God bless Sergeant Mesnières.

Fred's other aging issue was his eyes, and it was obvious from observation that Fred didn't see as well as he did when he was a younger squirrel. I can feel his pain. Some years ago, I noticed the local paper had began to use small (and fuzzier) print-type. Finally, I had to admit my aging issue, and go get a pair of reading glasses.

But Fred's hearing was still 20/20, and he could hear a peanut 500 feet away. He just couldn't see it to good. And he also had a basic understanding of the English language. Once, when me and my roommate were on our way to chow, I told him to hold up because I wanted to get some peanuts for Fred.

There was a covered walkway between the CQ and the Training Office, which had a vending machine with a candy, gum, chips, cookies, and peanuts.

I put my money in the slot, pushed b-9, and watched as a bag of peanuts dropped from the slot. I turned around, and there was Fred. He had followed me into the walkway, watching me get his peanuts.

Military security was covered in a

previous blog entry.

As you might imagine, security is very important in the military. It is one of the first things you learn in basic training.

So what does that have to do with squirrels?

While in training, we had to do what was know as dorm guard duty. This was a two hour shift in which you monitored one of the two entry points of the squadron dormitory, and made sure everyone who was going in had a military ID and a squadron ID card, or had a pass from the CQ. It's not that hard, really. It's low level, as security goes, and a chair is provided and you are permitted to sit. You can also do your class work, read a book or magazine, listen to music (the Sony Walkman had just come out, and many GIs on dorm guard jammed out on music), smoke, drink (soda, not beer), eat lunch - or any of the mentioned activities, as long as you checked everyone coming in for proper documentation.

Usually, dorm guard duty was done by members of the same squadron, but not always, and one afternoon dorm guard duty for our squadron was being performed by members of the 3411th - the women's squadron. On that particular day, I was coming out of the CQ and saw the young lady who was guarding the west door. She was sitting in the chair, drinking a diet Pepsi while reading a copy of Cosmopolitan (very popular with GIs of the female persuasion). She had also brought along a snack, a bag of M&M'S® which she decided to open at the same time I was exiting the CQ.

The sound of a bag of M&M'S® being opened sounds the same as a bag of peanuts. Fred, who could hear a peanut 500 feet away heard what he thought was a bag of peanuts being opened. As I watched, Fred came racing down from the oak tree, and went racing down the sidewalk towards the young lady with the M&M'S®.

It was at this moment she looked up.

Not being assigned to our squadron, the girl was unaware who Fred was (or for that matter that his name was even Fred) What she saw was (what she believed to be) one of the lunatic squirrels charging full speed towards her.

She screamed, dropped her magazine, M&M'S®, and ran inside the men's dormitory, and refused to come out for about a half hour.

My roommate, who was one of the men whom she burst in on, told me later that she kept insisting that there was a squirrel trying to kill her.

Fred, however, was disappointed. The M&M'S® that had been scattered in the young ladies hysterical retreat were plain, not peanut.

And Fred didn't read Cosmo.

I felt sorry for him, so I bought him some peanuts from the vending machine.

One more story before I go:
I was heading back from the base exchange (yeah, probably to get another six-pack) and I just happened to be looking when a power transformer blew. There was a loud BANG and a big puff of grey smoke, and I also saw a squirrel falling from the pole.

Thanks to the squirrel, the power was out for several hours.

The squirrel was laying on the ground as I walked past, 'cept he wasn't dead. Just dazed. After a moment, he got up and ran off.

Honest, I am not making this up.

Cellphone, Part 2 - Ringtones and Stuff

Last time on this blog, I covered cellphones (and phones in general), which included the Ten Commandments of Cell Phone Etiquette.

If you did not read that blog, click here and do so now. This is part two of Cellphones, and shouldn't read part two until you've read part one.

 Go ahead, we'll wait.

For those of you who did read part one, here is a quick recap:

• We learned about phone.
• We learned about pay-phones, and phone booths
• We learned about heroes, and how my Uncle Theo (and Chuck Norris) fought comets.
• We learned the Ten Rules of Phone Etiquette.

Riding the bus to the phone place.

• We also learned that Macky Rae (my youngest dog wanted a cell phone (and has, for sometime, been recycling aluminum), which is where we ended last month - heading to the phone store.

I do not drive, nor does Macky Rae (or either of my other two dogs). Therefore, in order to reach Phones R Us, we must take the bus. With nearly $400 inside a empty soup can, me and my dog boarded the bus, and rode to the phone store.

In case you are curious, we ride the 110 bus to the transfer center, then transfer to the 160.

There are several phone stores in our community, but Macky wanted to go to Phones R Us. He says its "dog friendly."

You might be surprised to learn that many stores are not "dog friendly."

Many stores and other establishments have a "No Dog" policy, and many of them announce this policy by placing "No Dog" signs in their windows. I'm not allowed to patronize these establishments. My dogs say this is racism, and we should not condone racism, or any other isms.

Sarah wants to sue some of these places.

---

I have a dream that my little dogs will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their fur but by the content of their character. We can never be satisfied as long as our pets are stripped of their self-hood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating: "No Dogs Allowed."

---



Info on service animals can be found at

the DOJ's ADA website.

Now, by law, even if these stores have a no dog policy (or a sign), they have to allow "service animals" for people with disabilities. My dogs don't understand why some dogs can go into stores, and some can't. They  don't understand why dog aren't allowed in stores in the first place. I told them that the stores are afraid that the dogs might pee on the floor, to which Macky asked

"How does the service vest prevent dogs from peeing on the floor?"

We encountered this sign while walking past the local elementary school. Naturally, my dogs found it offensive.

MACKY: That sign is stupid. Dogs do not even play golf.

FREEDOM: Or ride motorcycles.

MACKY: Do you know why we do not play golf?

ME: Why?

MACKY: Because we can not hold golf clubs because we do not have thumbs.

ME: Is that why dogs don't ride motorcycles?

FREEDOM: No. That's because our legs are to short.

MACKY: I wonder what they would do if a group of dogs rode up on Harleys carrying golf clubs?

FREEDOM: They'd probably call the SWAT team.

SARAH: You guys are stupid.

Dogs are not permitted on this beach,

even if they have clothes on.

Man invented writing about 10,000 years ago (give or take a week). There are various theories as to why man invented writing, but one theory is that it was so that signs (such as "No Dogs" and "Keep of the Grass") could be placed in various locations.

Here's a sign story for you: Some years back, the owner of a strip mall was having problems with people parking directly in front of a coffee shop (instead of in the parking lot) and then going in to order there café lattes (or whatever) - this all despite the red painted curbing and a sign that said "Fire Lane - No Parking - Tow-Away Zone." He even hired a security guard, who tried to tell the people not to park by the curb. He (the guard) was pushed aside by yuppies who told him "I'm only going to be a minute" - like that made it O.K. Finally, he (the owner) was force to resort to having a towing company come in and tow away the offending cars. The rent-a-cop took pictures of the cars by the "no Parking sign. Personally, I'd love to see a picture of some yuppie coming out of the coffee shop holding a cappuccino while his (or her) car was being towed away.  So after several yuppies had to bail their vehicles out of an impound, some lawyer of the ambulance-chasing variety got several of them together and filed a class action suit against the property owner, the towing company, and no doubt anyone else he could think of. The case didn't get to far. The presiding judge, no doubt smelling something malodorous, requested that the lawyer explain the premise of the law suit. The lawyer began to ramble, and the judge cut him off and repeated his request. Again, the lawyer rambles, and again was cut off. This time the judge asked the lawyer if he believed that his clients had some legal right to park illegally. The lawyer said they didn't, and the judge dismissed the case, and suggested to the lawyer that he should file a class action suit against the educational system that failed to teach his clients how to read a sign that said "Fire Lane/No Parking/Tow Away Zone."

No Shirts   No Shoes
No Service

If you lived through the 70s (like I did), you may remember this poster.

You may not remember the happy face on her derriere. I had to add that, because I am trying to keep this blog rated PG or under. 

This barely relates to the subject of signs (and has nothing to do with cell phones), but the young lady's response to the sign is inspiring.

Butt (pun intended) I have digressed.

Where were we... Oh, yes. Phones R Us.

This quaint little shop is owned and operated by a Hungarian immigrant by the name of Slilard Rakoszczi.

Macky can't pronounce his name.

Hell, neither can I! Vanna, we need to buy a vowel.

Macky calls his Mr. Lizard. 

The Barkia™ 2000.

Mister "Lizard" runs a small shop that sells cellphones (and related paraphernalia), sports cards, and espresso.  So while I was drinking a complimentary coffee, Macky Rae was on the counter - literally, standing on the top of the glass display case examining the cellphones. After examining the phones, studying the brochures, and listening to Mr. "Lizard" explain the service plans, Macky Rae mad his selection.

The Barkia™ 2000.

Mr. "Lizard" even threw in a special collar attachment, to help Macky carry it around.

I found it interesting that he wanted a cellphone. Humorous in fact, because of his reaction the first time he encountered a cellphone. Fat bottomed girls You make the Rocking World go round When Macky Rae was about 6 month or so (still a pup) I took him with me to the convenience store, conveniently located a short walk from our house. While we were waiting in line to pay for our purchases, Macky noticed he woman in front of us. "Dad" he whispered to me (loudly) "that lady has a big butt!" And she did, too! Don't Get me wrong, I have nothing against a woman with a booty. I like big butts (I can not lie), but there are limits. This woman's ass was more than just big - it was ginormous! And it stuck out so far that not only could I have rested a beer on it, but there was still room for the rest of the six pack. However, I told Macky that it was not polite to say things like that in public, and we continued waiting.   The woman had a cellphone, which for some odd reason she kept in her back pocket. We discovered this because as we were standing behind her (waiting to pay for our purchases) she received a call and her right butt cheek started beeping. "Dad!" Macky yelled. "Get out of the way, she is backing up."

 

One of the first things Macky did when we got home was to download some ringtones. They weren't "tones" per se, they were dog noises. Barks, growls, etc. You know, stuff that a dog would use on his cellphone.

At least they weren't musical ringtones.

I hate musical ringtones.

Some people have got the most annoying ring tones, usually some stupid hip-hop or redneck song. And to make it worse, they turn the volume up full. And its not even the whole song, it's a 15 second bite that repeats over, and over, and over.

Makes you want to scream "answer your @#$% phone!"

In the original Star Trek Captain Kirk

used a simple ringtone. The reason for

this that most ringtones are annoying,

even in the 23rd century. 

Of the numerous songs and/or ring tones that came with my phone, I use two. One goes beep-beep-beep and the other goes beeeep-beeeep.

 

The first I assigned to people on my "A" list, that is people that I like and who's call I will answer (provided I am not otherwise engaged in some other activity). The other one is for people I don't really want to talk to. I never answer these, they go straight to voice mail. That way, If someone calls I know whether its worth my time and effort to dig my phone out of my pocket and answer.

If you have ever called me, and I answered, congratulations, you are on my A list.

If you always seem to only get my voice mail... Beeep Beeep! 

There is a third ring tone I use that goes ding. This tells me I have just received a text.

I don't need hip-hop, redneck, hard rock, or any kind of music on my phone. If I want music, I turn on my stereo. That's what I got it for.

And my phone does not have a radio app. Again, that what I got a stereo for.

 

 

Level 150 Happy Dance

The other thing he did when we got home was download a ZombieLand™ app, so he would get instant notification if something important was going on in ZombieLand™ while he was offline. 

Regular readers of this blog are aware the Macky Rae likes computer games. His favorite is ZombieLand™ which he has been playing for about two years.

Recently, he proudly announced that he had reached level 150.

I assumed it was significant by the fact he was doing a happy dance.

I addition to playing ZombieLand™ he spend time in Z-Chat™ talking to other Z-Heads. After he downloaded the ZombieLand™ app, he downloaded the Z-Chat™ app, so he could talk with his Z-Head group with his phone.

He also downloaded a  ZombieLand™ screensaver.

ZombieLand™

ZombieLand™ is one of a dozen or so games created by a company called TechnoSoft® for online play, usually through social media.

 

TechnoSoft® was in the news last year when it developed a software glitch. The company uses one computer to operate all their online games, and a glitch allowed zombies from ZombieLand™ to infest some of the other games because of shared sofeware between all the game systems. TechnoSoft® attempted to patch the glitch, but was unable to do so because the zombies were every where.

If they were unable to solve the problem, they announced in a press release, they were going to have to shut down ZombieLand™

Macky (and the other Z-Heads) became concerned.

Although Macky explained it

to me, I was never clear as to

why they commandeered the

John Deere tractor.

Fearful that there game would be shut down, Macky Rae and the other Z-Heads™ met in Z-Chat™ and devised a plan to save TechnoSoft® from the Zombie Apocalypse.

 

They all logged into their ZombieLand™ accounts, then hacked into ArmyLand™ where they broke into an arsenal and acquired weapons normally not available to ZombieLand™ players. From there, the crossed into FarmLand™ where they commandeered pick-up trucks and a John Deere tractor and drove through CowboyLand™ until they reached CityLand™

Going block by block, Macky and the Z-Heads™ rooted out the zombies and hearded them back through the breach and held them there long enough for the programmers at TechnoSoft® to repair the program (and close the breach).

Macky Rae and all the Z-Heads™ each received $50 Visa gift cards and  "I ♥ ZombieLand™" t-shirts.

And they were allowed to keep the military weapons they took from the arsenal.

 

I came up with an idea for a phone app:   I am affiliated with an organization that helps people in need. Without being judgmental, the people that frequent the facility have a higher frequency of knowing someone (or being someone) on a state mandated time out. That means "in jail" Often times, when somebody hasn't been seen for a day or two (or three), missed an appointment, etc., the chances are good that he/she is in the county hotel. That means "the jail" Usually, calling the sheriff's office (or checking the online inmate list) locates the missing individual. If that turns up negative, the next call is to the hospital. Then the morgue.  So what I was thinking was this: Most jails are connected to the internet, and publish a daily inmate roster of their guest, usually along with the charge and the amount set for bail.   For those people with a friend and/or family member that has a tendency to visit the county jail on a regular basis, what we need is JailApp®  After you download this to your smartphone, you enter the name of your friends(s) and/or loved one(s) into the app. Every so often, the server sends an inquiry to the county jail, and if it receives a confirmation, it will sends an alert to your smart phone, something like this: Alert! You brother John Doe has been arrested. The charge(s) are: Mopery, Resisting Arrest Current at Dogpatch County Jail Bail is set at $2500 I think everybody knows at least one person for which this app would be helpful. And if you don't know of one, you probably are that one!

 

 

One of the problems we encountered was Macky's texting. Mr. "Lizard" sold Macky a plan that had unlimited texts, and the dog is trying his hardest to get his money's worth. He texted everyone he knew on a regular basis. When I go to the store, I would get texts reminding me to pick up this, or that.

Once I got a text from him, asking me what we were going to have for dinner. He was on the sofa, about 10 feet away from me at the time.

And my personal favorite: While going to the Zip-E-Mart one evening to get a soda, I received a text from Macky warning me to "watch out for zombies on the way home, and pick up some beef jerky."

 

I once told Macky that when I was growing up, we didn't have cell phones and text messages.

"How did you send messages to your friends?" he asked

"Drums" I told him.