Tui xin một cái topic nhé....

THE HERO
by Clara Wersterfer
As quiet as a shadow, Honey Girl came into my life.
I walked out to feed my cats one morning and there she was, sitting
apart from the others -- a scrawny tabby and white cat.
The first thing I noticed was her very pregnant tummy. Great, I
thought, she thinks this is the feline maternity hospital.
One nano second after the food made contact with the dish, she dived
in ear deep. After cleaning the dish, she departed, hopefully forever. No
such luck! Dinner time she was back. I spoke to her, but she hissed and
showed her teeth.
The next morning I dubbed her Honey Girl and started calling her by
name. She hissed. I extended my hand and she took a swipe at it.
Two weeks passed without progress. This might have gone on for years
except for the storm. It was one of those hard-driving downpours,
accompanied by wind, thunder and lightning. Literally raining cats and
dogs.
Over all the noise of the storm, I heard a definite meowing at the
kitchen door. I opened it to find Honey Girl in a highly agitated state.
She was pacing to and fro and practically screaming at me. Right away I
could see she had lost about 20 pounds since morning.
Honey ran down the steps, stopped and meowed at me, and ran back to
me. Twice more she repeated the process until I realized she wanted me to
follow her. Grabbing an umbrella (which lasted all of 2 seconds in the
wind before it was discarded), we dashed into the solid sheet of rain. She
led and I followed her to our fence.
There, beneath a shrub, in a little burrow she had made, were three
precious, newborn kittens in a puddle of rapidly rising water. With
trepidation, trembling hands, and visions of wearing gloves for the rest of
my life to cover the scars she would make with those claws, I picked up one
of the babies and held it close. I still had my hand, so I quickly
snatched the other two and ran for the comfort of my house -- Honey Girl at
my heels.
Honey stopped at the door and refused to come inside. I didn''t have
time to argue with her, so I went the bathroom and towel dried the kitties,
who were not moving, and picked up the hair dryer. Putting it on low, I
waved it over them for several minutes before being rewarded with one of
them wiggling and mewing. Another couple of minutes of warm air and the
other two responded.
Mission accomplished! They were okay, but I was still soaked.
I covered them with warm towels and left them alone to change clothes
and dry off. Upon my return, all three were squirming and crying for food.
Placing the babies in a bed, I carried them outside to a corner of the
porch to meet their mother. Without hesitation, she climbed into the bed
and began to groom her children. After she was assured they were unharmed,
she gave me a look of pure gratitude and let me pat her on the head,
without hissing. She got some well earned sleep. Trust had been
established!
The rain had stopped, the babies were safe and doing fine. I stood
there, looking down at her, and admired this wonderful cat who realized she
didn''t have time to relocate those three kittens to a place of safety
before one or more drowned. She ran for help to the only human she knew,
and thank heavens I heard her cry. She was truly a hero.
Instead of a medal, she received a dish of canned food. Thereafter,
we shared the kittens. She allowed me to hold and cuddle them whenever I
chose. Honey Girl became my newest best friend, following behind me in the
yard.
The kittens stayed with us for eight weeks before going to loving
homes. A docile, spayed Honey Girl is quite happy here.
She thinks I''m the hero of this story, but we know who the hero really is!
-- Clara Wersterfer <cbwest @ ebtv.net>
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

THE FUNNY THINGS KIDS SAY
Someone asked Cassidy, 6, how he got so good looking. He replied, "I
just get cuter every summer!" -- Celia Keel (grandmother of Cassidy) of
Harveyville, Kansas
Daniel, 5, was very much looking forward to his first day of
kindergarten. After his first week ended, his mother asked him if he had
had a good time. He said, "Yes, but we still haven''t gone to the garden!"
-- Yvonne Rem (mother of Daniel) of Carrollton, Texas
Molli, 9, was playing "Michael, Row the Boat Ashore" on the piano
while her brother Samuel, 3, was singing. He didn''t quite understand the
"Hallelujah" part. This is what he sang: "Michael, row the boat ashore,
Haaaalleluuuujah. We get caaaaaandy on Haaaaloweeeen (Halloween)!" --
Melissa of Gonzales, Louisiana
Many years ago David, 3, and his older brother Dennis were at the barn
cleaning a newly killed chicken for dinner. To remove the feathers, they
dipped the freshly killed chicken into boiling water. The feathers could
then be easily pulled free. Later, when their mother asked David where
"Daddy and Dennis" were, David replied, "They are out at the barn pulling
the LEAVES off the chicken." -- Dennis Smith of Oak Ridge, North Carolina
Cierra, 3, spent the night at her aunt''s house. When asked what kind
of eggs she wanted in the morning, she replied, "You know, the kind that
are in the shell!" -- Mary Paldino (mother of Cierra) of Youngstown, Ohio
Molly, 7, was talking to her school friend Amanda, 5. Molly started
singing a patriotic song which included lyrics "Proud to be from the
heartland." They live in Michigan. Amanda piped up and said, "We don''t
come from the heart, Molly, we come from the mitten!" (Michigan is shaped
like a mitten.) -- Renee Bainbridge (mother of Molly) of Belmont, Michigan
When Jay was 3, the hairdresser, Sandy, asked, "Jay, what do you want
to be when you grow up?" He matter-of-factly answered, "Big!" Sandy says
she will never forget that! -- Jaysnan of Dickson, Tennessee
Alex, 7, asked, "What does ''good riddance'' mean?" Before his mom
could answer, his sister, Bella, 8, told him, "It''s like W-H-E-W!" -- Beth
Padini (mother of Alex and Bella) of Saipan, CNMI
As they sat in church during a somber and solemn ceremony with the
pastor speaking in hushed and urgent tones, you could have heard a pin
drop. At that point, several altar servers carried large, lit candelabras
to the front of the church and turned and faced the congregation. As they
stood there in silence, a 3-year-old stood up in his pew and in a loud,
clear voice began to sing "Happy Birthday To You!" The service stopped and
the entire congregation, including the pastor, started laughing. Later the
pastor told the boy''s mother, "At least HE was paying attention to the
service!" -- R. Smith (mother of the 3-year-old) of Riverdale, Maryland
Working as a preschool teacher, it was almost always a chore for
Rachel to get children to eat all of their lunches. Jack was one of the
worst nit-picking food eaters Rachel had. One day he just ate the front
part of his pizza slice, and Rachel told him to keep eating the rest
including the crust. "But," Jack whined, "I don''t like the pizza bone!"
-- Rachel Toth of San Diego, California
Riley, 3, was being taught correct bathroom behavior. He was told to
flush each time he went to the bathroom. One day his Papa''s friend was
visiting. The men had been working outside so they came in to wash before
dinner. Riley came with them, went to the bathroom and the friend, meaning
to help, bent over to flush. Riley went into orbit. "That is my job. I''m
s''posed to do that," he cried. After a moment of thought, he said, "Well,
I''ll just have to sit and pee again." He did and got to flush. -- Grandma
Donna Rosell of Eagle Bend, Minnesota
Emily, 3, was aghast. She told her mother to bend down and open her
mouth. After much looking Emily exclaimed, "Momma, I see the frog in your
throat... so you better get it out before it gets hungry!" -- Amy Ignaczak
(mother of Emily) of Derby, New York
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

STICKING TOGETHER
by Darlene Buechel
Every October, as crisp Wisconsin air transforms trees into magical
shades of red and gold, my thoughts turn to ghosts, goblins, and chocolate
covered cherries.
It''s October 1968 and I''m a freckled face, pigtailed, Catholic school
third grader.
"Mom, can we get my costume today?" I beg after I''ve finished my
Saturday chores of dusting the living room and feeding Frisky, our yellow,
fluffy, Heinz-57 dog.
"Yes, Darlene. We''ll go to the Dime Store later."
Wow! A trip to the Chilton Dime Store was the highlight of any kid''s
Saturday. Back in 1968, I was one of the few lucky girls whose mom hated
sewing. So, while Mary Lynn, Dawn, and Jodi would have dorky homemade
ballerina, princess, and hobo costumes, I was gonna be a scary, creepy,
"store-bought" witch.
That afternoon, I piled into a back window seat of the station wagon
with Dennis and Diane. I was the middle child who -- luckily -- never had
to sit in the middle since I''d get car sick if my head wasn''t bobbing out
the window like a St. Bernard.
I don''t remember what 9-year-old Dennis or 7-year-old Diane picked out
that day, but I grinned from pigtail to pigtail as the blue haired store
clerk put my long black dress and pointy hat in a huge white bag.
Since Halloween was a whole two weeks away, I''d have plenty of time to
try out my cool costume. I practiced my witches cackle during a rehearsal
for Frisky. The poor dog barked, ran in circles, and dashed into her dog
house. Ah, sweet success!
I found the little plastic broom Diane and I used for playing "house"
and hopped on for a trial run. With all these dress rehearsals, I was sure
to be the grooviest witch of all!
Door-to-door begging wasn''t allowed in our little village of Hilbert,
so the local civic group threw a party in the High School gym each
Halloween. During this grand event, kids could play games, watch movies,
and eat cupcakes with fancy orange and black sprinkles. Best of all, each
kid got a goody bag of treats and got to compete in the costume judging
contest.
This was my big year!
I wasn''t sure what the prizes were, but to be singled out for one
would make me feel less of a "middle child" and more of a star.
Finally, the big moment arrived.
"Okay, kids. Form a circle and walk around the gym until the music
stops. Then please sit down so the prizes can be awarded," the mayor''s
voice boomed across the shiny gym floor.
I grabbed my broom, straightened my pointy hat and perfected my scowl.
I rode my broom around the gym as the scratchy record player belted
strains of "Hey Jude" and "Spooky". Finally, right in middle of "Raindrops
Keep Fallin'' on my Head" the music stopped!
Everyone plunked down on the cold, tile floor as the mayor listed each
age category. Mine was the 7-10 year olds. Great! I was competing
against my brother and little sister. Oh well, they hadn''t frightened poor
Frisky until her hair stood on end, so my costume must be better. I held
my breath and crossed my fingers, pigtails, and pointy black shoes for
luck.
My heart beat like a tom-tom as Mary Lynn placed third in ages 7-10.
I smiled as she stood with the winners, but I was sure to keep my eyes
crossed as I did so.
"Second place goes to Darlene Totzke," Mr. Mayor shouted. My ears
were ringing, and my hands started sweating through my black gloves. "Get
up there!" Diane nudged, almost knocking off my pointy hat.
I stood proudly in the winners'' circle as Dawn snagged the first place
spot for our age group. It figures that I placed second, but for once I
didn''t care that I was in the middle.
My scary scowl turned into a grin as I accepted my $5 prize money and
a big box of chocolate covered maraschino cherries.
When we got back home, Dennis drooled as I proudly carried my cherries
into the house.
"She''s gotta share, right mom?" Dennis pleaded. Diane locked her lips
too, as she struggled out of her costume.
"It''s up to Darlene," Mom smiled, "you kids each got a goodie bag anyhow."
I thought it over a long time, which for an 8-year-old amounted to
about five seconds.
"Nope, I''m eating them all," I grinned.
By bedtime, I had only two cherries left. Great! I''d save them for
tomorrow. My stomach rumbled as I brushed my teeth and buttoned my pj''s.
When I laid down on my Judy Jetson bed sheets, I could feel myself turning
green, and not in a good witchy way!
"Mom, Darlene''s gonna be sick!" my sister yelled from her twin bed on
the other side of the room. Some lessons have to be learned the hard way.
It took ten years before I ate another chocolate covered cherry, but I
do get a craving for them each October.
Last Saturday, I carefully placed a box of chocolate cherries in my
cart at the local Wal-Mart as I passed the Halloween aisle.
"Oh look, sweetie -- A Power Puff Girl''s costume -- and there''s
Cinderella," a smiling mom gushed to her scowling little girl.
"I wanna be a witch!" the girl insisted.
I grinned and gave her a thumbs up as I handed her a small plastic
broom. We witches have to stick together!
-- Darlene Buechel <dar @ tcei.com>
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

SMALL DOG, BIG PERSONALITY
by Ruth A. Buck
When I first found Whitney at the local shelter, I saw a small black
dog with tangles of matted hair hiding her eyes.
I didn''t know she was a Toy Poodle. As I reached into the cage to
have a better look, I discovered the cuteness of her personality in an
instant. Then I read the card that was attached to her cage which said
that this 8 year old dog had been given up for adoption by her one and only
lifetime owner.
One has to figure that if someone gives up a sweet little dog after 8
years of loving it, there must have been some tragedy of age or illness in
the little dog''s saga. No one could possibly have stopped loving her, as I
was about to find out.
Whitney was a tiny little handful but she had the heart of a great big
dog. Immediately on my way home from the shelter, I started to worry about
how well she would do with my two cats whose territory had never been
invaded by a dog before.
Although she was smaller than both cats, this was never a problem.
She established her place in the pecking order almost immediately. This
was the "biggest" little dog I''d ever seen. She could hold her own in all
circumstances, even when the cats would taunt her. And to prove it, when
we''d go for walks she would puff up her little chest and run up to the
biggest dogs on the street with the welcoming bark of a friendly Lab.
Whitney was fearless.
One blustery winter morning, Whitney and I were out walking and she
got away from me. I called and called, worried that I would be late for
work but more frantic about my precious little black dog who was impossible
to see in the dark winter morning. I walked up and down the street calling
her name without response. I finally gave up, made my way back home and
thought the worst. Apparently, she was not able to hear me calling her
because of the wind velocity. However, since she couldn''t find me, she did
the smartest thing she could think of. She went home, and I found her
sitting proudly on the front porch, waiting for me.
And even with her big dog personality, she was the ideal lap dog,
constantly looking for attention and reassurance. All the time Whitney was
with me, she would come back from the groomer with a new personality. Once
she was bathed, combed and coifed, she would start what I came to think of
as "pretty girl prancing". Sometimes I''d swear it only took those two
little bows on her ears to make her feel and act so special. She looked
and behaved like a perfectly dainty little lady for days after each visit.
I was Whitney''s loving companion until September of 2001 when the only
thing that could bring her down finally did -- age. By then, she was
probably 13 or 14 years old. When sadly we went for that final visit to
the vet, she was sleeping almost constantly and could no longer eat or walk
without pain. But Whitney always hated going to the vet and it was the
only time she ever exhibited those bad dog behaviors like growling and
showing her teeth. Even during that last visit, as weak as she was, she
tried to show the vet her "big dog" side. Consequently, she had to be
tranquilized before receiving the anesthetic.
I still smile inside to think that Whitney''s feisty personality didn''t
let her passing get the best of her.
-- Ruth A. Buck <BuckR @ shmc.org>
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

I CAN''T BELIEVE YOU
by T. Suzanne Eller
"I can''t believe you tell people your age," my friend commented.
Hey, I don''t mind. Really. In fact, I love my age, because every
single birthday means more than just presents and chocolate cake.
The day I heard the word "cancer" spoken by my doctor, my life turned
upside down.
"I have a test on Monday," I said foolishly, thinking that the doctor
would postpone surgery so I could ace my humanities test. What I didn''t
realize is that I was preparing for the biggest test of my life.
Within hours I discovered that I did have cancer. It had spread to my
lymph nodes. I learned at 32 years of age to face mortality. Every time
the doctors entered my room, they walked in with bad news and one more
specialist. One white coat meant cancer. Two white coats meant chemo.
Three meant radiation. Four meant detection of another possible tumor.
At one point five doctors stood around my bed. It seemed fitting
because the statistics dropped to a 10% chance of surviving five years.
One doctor for each year I might live.
There were a multitude of reasons to stick around -- a husband of 12
years that I loved a whole lot and three beautiful children that were
clueless to the plight of their mom and dad, but who gave me daily strength
in their innocent love and handmade gifts that hung on the hospital wall.
To this day, I still have a crayon picture of me resting in bed, with a
large head and larger lips, with a thermometer sticking out of my mouth.
The words, "get well so u can com home" was my mantra.
I''m thankful for cancer in many ways. Does that sound crazy? I
wouldn''t wish it on anybody and I don''t want to go through it again, but it
was a teacher. It helped me to treasure every single day. It forced me to
prioritize my life. Things that were once important seemed foolish. It
pushed me off the hamster wheel this society calls sacred and let me pursue
the desires of my heart, instead of my wallet. It gave me the ability to
see life as fragile, not one day promised. It allowed me to treasure my
three beautiful children, who sometimes brought heartache along with joy as
they grew up, who are all now in college and can now spell beautifully.
When I hit my 5th year of survival, I left my job to write full time.
I decided not to write one more word about anything that didn''t matter to
me. It was a step of faith, but it made perfect sense. Cancer taught me
not to let the opportunities of your heart pass you by because we are not
promised "one day" or "someday".
On my 40th birthday, I rode go-carts with 30 of my closest friends to
celebrate. The numbers 4-0 hanging across the wall were a beautiful sight.
I celebrated my 10th year of survival on a boat in the Amazon in the
rainforest of Brazil. I sat on the top level and watched the sun rise and
from somewhere so deep inside, I thanked God for the opportunity to
experience life through facing death.
You see, life has become a series of celebrations. Last month, I
celebrated my 13th year of survival and embraced my 44th birthday. Next
month, Richard and I will celebrate our 24th anniversary. Leslie, my
oldest turned 21 last year. My twins are 20. All young adults now, all
running after their own dreams, because my bout with cancer taught them
too.
I look at my friend and answer her question. Do I mind telling my
age? Absolutely not. I''ll shout it from the rooftops. I''m 44! I''m
thankful for all 10 gray hairs (though I will cover them with honey ash
brown and romantic red highlights).
When I look in the mirror and notice the small lines appearing around
my mouth and eyes, I don''t call them wrinkles. I call them opportunities.
Every line was placed there by a smile that creased my face -- an
experience, large or small, that came from living this gift called life.
-- T. Suzanne Eller <tseller @ daretobelieve.org>
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

AN OLIVER TWIST
by Joelle Shrestha
When a woman went to the North Tonawanda, New York, police department
and reported seeing a beagle get struck by a car and stagger off, the
Tollar family was sure it was their 7 year old pup, Oliver.
The dog had wandered from their fenced in yard after midnight one
September morning during a party at their home. Bob and Danielle Tollar
grabbed flashlights and started combing their neighborhood for the dog,
which may have been gone for hours when they noticed he was missing.
"My husband searched all night, and even slept on the garage floor in
between searching just in case Oliver came home," Danielle said. "He was
driving and walking around but didn''t see him."
With no sign of OIiver, Danielle contacted several family members to
help in the search about 7 the next morning. With their help, they
searched for hours. But still, no sign of Oliver. They moved to another
location after a woman called police to say she saw a beagle struck by a
car earlier and his collar was found.
Danielle said they were expecting the worst and looked in nearby
***ches, but found nothing more than a few muddy paw prints. The group
decided to disband for the day, but regrouped a little later when someone
called and said they saw the dog depicted in the posters the Tollars had
put up in the area.
Danielle''s mother in law, Emy Tollar, was there when the search crew
gathered in the upscale subdivision with flashlights to look for Oliver.
"We searched with flashlights, carrying a bag of baloney around,
hoping we''d see him," said Danielle.
Neighbors helped in the search, and cell phones were used to
communicate. Danielle said her brother in law saw Oliver but the dog was
frightened and took off.
The first time Oliver was spotted that night was by Amy Schley, a
local resident. She was sitting on her back porch with friends when the
dog ran through the yard and she recognized him from one of the posters.
Amy then helped the others with the search effort which ended about
11:30pm.
But Amy said Oliver touched her heart and prompted her to take on her
own daily search for the dog over the next two weeks. She walked her dog
throughout a mile radius around the wooded area near her home, put bowls of
dog food around her property and even put a blanket in a box and set it
outside, thinking Oliver would be attacted to the scent.
"I heard Beagles have strong noses, and I was hoping he''d find his way
to the box and we''d at least get him to stay in our vicinity," she said.
Schley''s efforts didn''t turn up Oliver, and neither did numerous phone
calls from individuals who said they spotted him.
Their luck changed when a man called at 1am and said he spotted Oliver
while driving home from his girlfriend''s home. The man met Bob Tollar and
helped him search for more than an hour without finding the dog. On his
way home, he spotted Oliver again, but the dog ran away when he saw the
headlights of the car.
However, Bob turned his headlights off and called him and walked over.
Oliver realized it was him and jumped right in the truck.
Oliver lost about 10 pounds and fractured his pelvis during the
ordeal, which lasted 2 weeks and 4 days. Danielle says he is on
anti-inflammatory medication and seems to spend much of his time resting.
He has also had some visitors, including friends and neighbors who knew he
was missing or helped in the search.
Amy spent much of the day crying after learning Oliver was home and
brought him treats and a few balls when she had the chance to finally meet
him for the first time.
"He touched the hearts of everyone in the neighborhood," Schley said.
"I''m so happy they have him back."
-- Joelle Shrestha, Niagara Gazette
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

HER HERO
by Ginger Boda
"But I need your help, NOW! This is an emergency, operator. I tell
you, my puppy is choking! PLEASE HELP ME!"
I had screamed at the top of my lungs to find only a calm voice at the
other end of the line, informing me to, "Call your local vet and see what
they can do."
But I was desperate. My little Tazzy was not going to make it! I
couldn''t believe it. I had seen 911 calls for trapped and desperate dogs
on TV before. Why wouldn''t they help? Panic set in.
Taz was only 4 weeks old, born New Year''s Eve and already chewing
everything she could get her paws on. Thus, we had named her Tazzy --
short for Tasmanian Devil. The newest ad***ion to our family, she was the
cutest black Chow we''d ever seen.
Babies need extra attention and with a family of five humans, Tazzy
got it. We made sure she had a warm indoor bed, lots of love, toys, and of
course puppy food. She was a tenacious little eater. We''d watch her, with
laughter, making jokes as to how she''d "chow down" on her supper.
It was Saturday afternoon and Tazzy just couldn''t seem to get her food
down fast enough. Her spot for replenishment, near the sliding glass door
off the kitchen, was her favorite place to be. The sun was glimmering on
her fluffy black hair. She was the picture of contentment.
The scene changed abruptly when I noticed that her feasting had halted
and her itty-bitty head began to jerk up and down. Concerned, I ran to
check her out. The fright in her eyes was unmistakable. She was choking
on her puppy food! I yelled for my husband to come immediately, screaming,
"Help me Mark! Taz can''t breathe! She''s choking!"
Mark hurried into the kitchen and grabbed her feeble frame out of my
hands, attempting to do a sort of canine Heimlich maneuver. It wasn''t
working. She just dangled limply, seeming to lose consciousness. Taz was
going to die right in front of our eyes!
"Oh no! I have to call for help," I was screaming hysterically as I
felt the minutes racing by. My three kids ran into the room to find out
what was happening and stood in fear, watching.
The operator relayed the same message to me again, as I proceeded to
beg her, with loud sobs, "Please get someone quickly, before my puppy dies?
Send the paramedics, NOW!"
Then all of a sudden, like a scene out of Dances with Wolves, there
came my neighbor, flying over the 5-foot wooden fence that separated our
home from his. Steve landed on the side patio in one fell swoop, throwing
the sliding glass door as if he were announcing, "Help is on the way!"
In seconds, he was on our kitchen floor and had grabbed Tazzy from
Mark''s hands. Holding her head gently, he began performing "Mouth to
Snout" resuscitation on our lifeless puppy. Mark backed away, and the
phone dropped from my hands as I stared through tear-filled eyes. Steve
released his mouth and then repeated the procedure again, only blowing much
harder this time. You could hear a pin drop there in our midst.
Tazzy''s small body began to move slowly. And no sooner had Steve
backed off when she coughed up two little pieces of puppy kernels. My
mouth dropped as the food went flying across the floor. Her dark black
eyes opened slowly and she gazed up at Steve like a damsel in distress
would look upon her hero.
We all ran to a huddle next to them -- hugging and thanking him for
saving her life. Tazzy was a weak and dazed little puppy after the ordeal
she''d gone through. The emergency veterinarian assessed and released her,
warning us that pneumonia may set in, having had such a powerful burst of
air forced into her lungs. The doctor was still shaking her head at the
story we''d told her, as we drove away with our little bundle of New Year''s
Eve, sleeping soundly.
I was told later that our neighbors thought Mark was having a heart
attack when they heard me screaming out his name. Steve heard me too, but
he responded without question or pause, becoming the rescuer of the year.
His reply to that was simply, "Ah, heck, what are neighbors for, anyway?"
Well, his neighboring was above and beyond the call of duty, I''d say.
If our nine-year old Tazzy could tell you her side of the story, she''d
agree completely.
And Steve knew exactly how she felt. Because every time she saw "her
hero" after that memorable day, she''d give him a big ole'' grateful lick,
smack on his kisser.
-- Ginger Boda <Rhymerbabe @ aol.com>
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

THE FUNNY THINGS KIDS SAY
Mary''s 3-year-old twins love singing nursery rhymes to each other.
Madison sings her favorite rhyme this way: "Row, row, row your boat, jump
into the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is just ice
cream!" -- Mary Paldino of Youngstown, Ohio
Rachel was a pre-school teacher for nearly three years. On "show and
tell day" Cody brought a toy sword which was a hit with the other
5-year-old boys, especially one named Jake. Jake asked Cody where he had
bought such a great toy. "At Target," Cody replied. "What aisle?" Jake
asked seriously. -- Rachel Toth of San Diego, California
Josephine, 5, Rachel''s "drama queen," told Rachel quite happily, "I
want to be Snow White and eat an apple and die!"
While driving home from Fort Wayne recently, Michele could see that
there was a storm near Albion, where she lives. She commented, "The
lightning must be hitting close to home." Michele''s 3-year-old grandson,
Blake, said, "Maybe your home is on fire, Dammaw!" Michele replied, "Oh,
Blake, don''t say that!" Blake replied, "But I already said it!" --
Michele Rathke of Albion, Indiana
Michele was babysitting for Kendra, 4, and Mackenzie, 5. Kendra was
in the bathroom with the door closed, but Michele heard a cabinet door slam
shut. When she came out, Michele asked Kendra to please not get into
Michele''s bathroom cabinets again. Mackenzie piped up, "Yeah, Michele,
knows what you are doing in there. She can hear you with her over-sized
ears!"
While Bonnie was saying goodnight to her 6-year-old, Sabrina, she
thanked her for being such a sweet girl. Sabrina replied, "Well, Mommy,
you need to thank God, because He made me!" -- Bonnie J. Scarlett of
Tacoma, Washington
Kaitlyn has a close relationship with her dad and likes to go "help"
him after pre-school at the church where he is the caretaker. When she was
4, Kaitlyn was talking to her teacher about helping Dad work. Her teacher
asked, "What does your daddy do?" Kaitlyn proudly replied, "My dad works
for GOD!" -- Annette (mother of Kaitlyn) of Montana
Brian and Cathleen took their newborn, Emily, to meet her cousins in
Oklahoma. Erin and Savannah were delighted with her and watched everything
the adults did with Emily including changing her diapers. The girls were
sitting right beside Brian the first time he changed one of Emily''s messy
diapers. When he opened her diaper he said, "Ew! She pooped!" Erin
looked at him and asked, "Didn''t they tell you she would do that?" --
Christal Bricker (friend of Emily''s Mom) of Colorado Springs, Colorado
Jackie''s niece was forever trying new sweets and foods. If she didn''t
like them, she would hand them to her father to finish off. One day she
came in and handed him a half-sucked piece of candy. Her father was quick
to spit it out and said, "Yuck, that is a horrible one!" Jackie''s niece
piped up, "Yes, I know. Max (their 3-year-old German shepherd dog) didn''t
like it, either!" -- Jackie of Arkansas
Dylan, 3, and his friend Landon were playing outside one evening and
rushed into the house to tell their moms, "There''s a vampire on the porch
and he keeps pulling his curtains!" The mothers thought it strange, but
didn''t check it out until the boys insisted. Under the porch light they
saw a bat, spreading and contracting his wings. -- Barb Mattson
(grandmother of Dylan) of Clearfield, Iowa
After a few minutes of VERY unusual quiet, Jodi thought that she
should check on her son Cody, 3. She called out, "CODY, What are you
doing?" After a brief pause a little voice called back, "WHY? Did you SEE
me doin'' somethin''?" -- Mandy of Evansville, Illinois
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

DOES ANYBODY REALLY KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS?
by Joseph Walker
In honor of the end of Daylight Savings Time 2003, I am conducting a
little experiment.
As I sit to write, the clock on my computer indicates that it is
9:08pm -- the same time that is on my wristwatch. However, our microwave
tells me that it is 9:15, the VCR says it is 9:09, the clock in the living
room reads 9:10, the clock on the stove says it is 9:12 and Anita''s alarm
clock says it is 9:17 -- which explains why she always has to wait around
for the rest of us.
The nine-minute differential is about what I expected. For years I
thought I was Timex-challenged. But then I realized that every clock in
the house -- and there are at least a dozen of them, not counting the
clocks in the cars -- is set to a different time.
"Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?" isn''t just a great song by
Chicago. It''s the story of our lives.
And so, come to think of it, is Chicago''s follow-up question: "Does
anybody really care?"
Of course, some people do. Keeping accurate track of the time is an
obsession with some folks (by the way, just in case you were curious, a
quick visit to Greenwichmeantime.com reveals that it is, officially and
accurately, 03:08:40 -- which means that it is 9:08 here, which means that
the computer and my watch are precisely correct -- if anybody really
cares).
It is Anita''s obsession with being on time that prompts her to set her
alarm clock fast.
"You know that I don''t like to be late," she tells me whenever I point
out the discrepancy between Anita Time and Real Time.
"Yeah, but you KNOW that you''ve set your clock ahead," I point out.
"I mean, it''s not like you''re gonna trick yourself. So what good does it
really do?"
She shrugs and sets her alarm 17 minutes earlier than she really needs
to get up -- which means that it is actually 26 minutes earlier than she
needs to get up, according to Anita Time.
"It works for me," she says, smiling.
And so it does. I''ve never known her to be late for anything. In
fact, she''s usually early.
About 11 minutes early, come to think of it.
All of which creates a dilemma. At 2am on Sunday, Oct. 26, Daylight
Savings Time will end, which means we "fall back" (as opposed to "springing
forward," which is what we do in April when Daylight Savings Time starts).
Not only does this give us the intoxicating feeling that we are
getting an extra hour of sleep (which we all know is a lie because we stay
up a couple of hours later than we normally would because we KNOW we get
that extra hour), but it also gives us Something Important To Do.
Sometime -- either before we go to bed or right after we get up --
someone has to roam around the house and set all the clocks back. With all
of the electronic gizmos of modern living, each with its own LED clock,
this job can take well into November.
As the family''s self-annointed clock adjuster, I usually spend 20
minutes or so planning my strategy. Should I just set the clocks back an
hour, or should I set them back to the CORRECT time? This is, after all,
my opportunity to make things right, to restore order to clock chaos and
get everyone on the RIGHT time -- which just happens to be MY time.
But then I think about the confusion that could follow if every clock
in the house had the exact same time. Think "Stepford Clocks." Why tamper
with a system that, for whatever reason, works?
So I''ll just move the clocks back an hour on Sunday. Period. No
tampering with the delicate balance of time and truth. And if anybody
wants to really know what time it is -- ask.
If anybody really cares.
-- Joseph Walker <ValueSpeak @ msn.com>
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

PAY IT FORWARD
by Merry Shelburne
Woofy, my handsome young Golden Retriever, disappeared one day, as
dogs sometimes do despite our best efforts.
We have a large, securely fenced backyard, and we thought it was
foolproof. There''s plenty of shade from huge pine trees and oak, ample
water, and squirrels to chase, and he had his Samantha, a Lab, for a
companion.
And yet, somehow Woofy managed to "Houdini" his way through a tiny
opening in the basement which led under the house and out through another
small portal that had apparently been nudged aside by a raccoon.
I discovered all of this later, of course.
As a precaution, I locked Samantha in the house and then set out to
find our beloved Golden. I drove up and down the streets, calling his name
and frantically peering into every yard, but he was nowhere to be found.
I called my husband at work, and I could hear the deep concern in his
voice. But he couldn''t come home to help me, so I continued to drive
around, crying -- my fear and dread growing with each passing minute. We
have no children, so our dogs are our kids.
The next stop was the pound and I arrived at the same time as the
dogcatcher, who had just come from my neighborhood. I described Woofy, and
he said, "Oh yes, I have him." Then he pulled a beautiful, limp Golden out
of his truck and cruelly tossed him head first into a trash bin. It was
the meanest thing I''ve ever seen anyone do!
I was hysterical but had the presence of mind to ask about his collar,
which had his name and our phone number embroidered on it.
"Do you have his red collar?" I sobbed.
The man handed it to me wordlessly. Even though the dog looked
exactly like Woofy in that brief glance, it wasn''t his collar!
The tears made it hard to see the road as I drove home, one minute
wondering if that had really been Woofy and the collars had gotten mixed
up, and the next minute thinking he might be playing in our backyard when I
arrived.
He wasn''t there.
Miserable, I glanced at the answering machine. The light was
blinking! I punched the button and listened to a woman saying she had
found my dog.
When I called her to get the address she said, "I saw him playing in
the middle of the street. As I would with any child in danger, I put him
in my car and took him home!" She hadn''t seen the name and phone number on
the collar at first because his heavy fur had covered it.
I was at her house in two seconds flat, hugging and kissing Woofy and
thanking the woman profusely for her good deed. He, of course, had no idea
what he had put me through. He just wagged his tail furiously and gave us
that ridiculous, loveable Golden grin.
And then Woofy and I drove to the closest flower shop where I
purchased the biggest and most beautiful basket of spring flowers I could
find. I put it on her front porch, knowing I couldn''t begin to repay her
for what she had done.
Woofy lived to the ripe old age of 12, and I have never forgotten the
cruelty of the dog catcher or the kindness of that woman. And I have never
passed a dog without stopping to rescue it and find its owner.
I believe the term is: Pay it forward.
-- Merry Shelburne <merrykins @ earthlink.net>
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .