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THE FUNNY THINGS KIDS SAY
Spencer arrived home from kindergarten with a Good Citizenship Award.
When his father asked him why he received it, he replied, "I got caught
being nice to a girl!" -- Gerry Heberger (grandmother of Spencer) of
Tamworth, New Hampshire
Toby was watching her two granddaughters. Ashley said that her mother
was thinking of making her a very special Sweet 16 Party. Ashley added
that turning 16 was only a year and a half away and that she was feeling
old. Toby said that sometimes she feels old because she is 61. Jessie
said, "Mema, I noticed that people in their 60''s are very nice. Why don''t
you think of that instead of how old you are!" -- Toby Stieglitz of
Margate, Florida
Shannon asked her boys what she needed to know about their dad before
she married him. Zeb, 6, said, "I don''t know." Ray, 7, thought for a
minute and then jumped up and down and said with excitement, "I know. I
know. You needed to know if he was a Republican or not!" -- Shannon
Dougherty (mother of Zebidiah and Ray) of Mill City, Oregon
On Mother''s Day Shannon opened cards her boys had made for her.
Zebidiah''s card said, "I love you, Mom, because you are beautiful."
Shannon had tears in her eyes. Then Ray gave her his card. Shannon opened
it and read, "I love you, Mom. You are a great parent. From your great
son, Ray!"
Miss Sara is at it again. Sara, 5, was spending the night with her
grandparents. There had been a rumor about chicken pox at school. While
bathing Sara, her grandmother noticed some red spots on her stomach and she
asked her about chicken pox at school. Sara replied, "No, but there is
chicken salad!" -- Janice Finley (grandmother of Sara) of Arab, Alabama
When Christine lived in Texas, her son Roy was on a kindergarten field
trip to the Tower of Americas when he announced to his class that his mom
and dad got married in there. Then he became quiet and said he would tell
them the rest of the story tomorrow because he didn''t know where they got
divorced because he didn''t see those pictures. Christine found out about
his storytelling when she picked him up and all the kids asked, "Roy''s
Mom... where did you get divorced at?" -- Christine Cardenas (Roy''s Mom)
of Bellevue, Nebraska
Pnina started talking very young. Her first birthday was shortly
before Israel Independence Day, when many homes and cars sport flags. At
13 months old, she looked up at a stained glass window in their synagogue
and called it a "flag!" -- Brandel Falk (Pnina''s mother), Jerusalem,
Israel
Jay''s neighbor related this story to Jay the other day. Kaylee, 5,
was intently watching the plumber working under the kitchen sink when her
kitten walked by. The plumber asked if that was Kaylee''s kitten and she
said that it was. "What''s its name?" asked the plumber. "Shadow," Kaylee
replied. The plumber said, "I have a cat named Shadow, too, and she just
had kittens." With a somewhat concerned look she replied, "And just where
did she go to get married?" -- Jay of Slaterville, Utah
Jay''s grandson Clayson, 5, spotted some pigeons on a power line.
After talking about how they stayed up there and how they didn''t get blown
off, Clayson asked, "If those are ''lectric lines how come the birds don''t
get ''lectrified?" Trying to keep it simple Jay told him, "The insulation
keeps the birds from being electrocuted." Clayson replied, "I didn''t know
birds'' feets had insulation!"
Michael has always eaten onions with his meals. He has two sons,
Tyler, 8, and Corey, 5. Michael told the boys that they need to eat onions
because they are good for your health, especially your heart. Recently,
the boys'' great-grandmother passed away and they attended her funeral. As
they were leaving the service, Corey said, "Daddy, I guess Grandma didn''t
eat enough onions!" -- "Mamow" Jean of Battletown, Kentucky

THE HUXI GRUX MAN
by Ron Gold
His name was Jerry.
He was a corporal and lived in my Army barracks in Arizona after the
Korean Conflict. The shooting had ended but, if it were to erupt again,
we''d be ordered into action in Korea.
Jerry was the barracks wit -- seemingly immune to the realities of danger.
Like me, Jerry was a writer. But we wrote different stuff. I wrote
fiction and inspirational stories, some humor and a little poetry.
Jerry wrote those bureaucratic memos people were not supposed to
decipher: Gobbledygook.
Once, over a cup of PX coffee, Jerry pointed out our different styles.
"You think life is meaningful and important," Jerry said. "I know
it''s neither. We''re here today, gone tomorrow and nobody really cares.
You think words matter. I know they don''t."
Jerry and I also clashed on 1950s popular music.
Our barracks was split between Southern-born devotees of Country and
Western music and a minority of men who preferred City and Eastern music.
And we all got along well.
And then there was Jerry, who couldn''t care less.
Jerry liked all music but had no time or inclination to learn other
writers'' lyrics. I felt strongly that songs without lyrics could be
performed nicely on the piano. You''d hear the melody and enjoy the harmony
but you''d have no idea of the song''s reason for being. So when Jerry
really liked a song, he''d invent his own nonsensical lyrics -- "pidgen"
words that made no sense at all.
But they fit the melody well. And, like Jerry, they were funny.
For example, Jerry really liked Teresa Brewer''s recording of "''Til I
Waltz Again With You."
To Jerry, the song began, "Huxi Grux A Grux Agroo. Huxi Grux A Grux
Agree."
Soon everyone in the barracks was Huxi Gruxing along with Jerry.
Every weeknight, as we changed into our civilian clothes, we''d circle
Wayne, a PFC with a guitar, for at least one chorus of "Huxi Grux".
Jerry also invented other Jerry-tunes -- "Kranka kranka kranka kee"
and "Zinga Wanga Kangaroo" -- cute stuff but none with the style, essence,
maturity and positive value of "Huxi Grux".
Jerry joined the Army with a commitment that would welcome him back as
a federal government bureaucrat while the current political party would
still be in power. He also earned two year''s pension time for his active
military service.
I''m still writing, creating stories, poems and memoirs that people
understand and become emotionally involved with.
The last time I heard about Jerry was in a note from Wayne.
"Jerry died in a car crash somewhere on the Washington Beltway. At
his funeral, a vocalist sang his favorite hymn, Nearer, My God, To Thee.
And he sang it in perfectly understandable English. And with great
sincerity."
God bless you, Huxi Grux Man.
-- Ron Gold <Outthinkresumes @ aol.com>

DROPPED FROM HEAVEN
by Jaye Lewis
If only I hadn''t developed that old roll of film.
If only I hadn''t looked at his picture.
If only my heart hadn''t rushed back so quickly to that time of anguish.
I held the picture in my hand, and a sob rushed to my throat. There
was Sam, in the snow, grinning from ear to ear, his long coat parted from
his ears to his tail. Black as midnight, Sam loved a frolic in the snow.
He was a drop-off, and I was just home from the hospital. As my
husband pulled the car to a halt in our driveway, I stepped out and was
assaulted by a pair of huge paws and a wet, lapping tongue. In less than a
moment I was sitting on the driveway, receiving the biggest tongue lashing
of my life!
My heart leaped right out of my chest and into the heart of that dog.
In spite of our search for an owner, no one claimed him.
It was like he had been dropped from heaven -- and maybe he was --
because Sam did more than change my life. He saved me.
My convalescence from a serious illness was supposed to take place at
home, under the tender care of my husband, Louie, a First Class Petty
Officer, in the U.S. Navy.
Louie had been given 30 days emergency leave from his ship, for the
sole purpose of caring for me. I was so thankful as Louie cooked, cleaned,
and took care of our two teenage daughters. There was nothing that he
wouldn''t do to help me get well. My doctor had personally spoken to
Louie''s Commanding Officer, explaining my illness and need for constant
care. The C.O. seemed to be right on board with my doctor''s instructions.
"Of course Petty Officer Lewis will get 30 days emergency leave to
care for his wife," he said. "All he has to do is check out from the ship
on Monday morning."
So, Louie left for the ship, and we were both certain that he would be
home by noon. Of course, I could take care of myself for a few hours, and
I could use that time to get to know my new puppy.
Noon came and went, and Louie did not come home. Then it was two
o''clock. Perhaps he had things to finish up. Four o''clock arrived. Then
five, and six, and seven.
Finally, the phone rang.
It was Louie. He was on the ship, and the ship was leaving. His
emergency leave had been canceled, and he had only a moment to call and say
goodbye. My husband was sick about it, but he had no choice in the matter.
What many civilians do not understand is that "emergency leave" for a
service member is discretionary, depending upon the goodwill of the
Commanding Officer. So, sick wife or no sick wife, Petty Officer Lewis was
ordered off his leave and back to duty.
The ship went out to sea, and I was alone.
I don''t remember much about that week. I was sick, helpless, and afraid.
The only thing I remember is Sam. He never left my side. I stayed on
the couch, except to go to the bathroom. I don''t know if I ate or drank.
But I can still feel the pressure of Sam''s body leaning against my feet,
and I can still feel the scrape of his tongue on my face. He hovered near
me every moment.
At one point, when I began to lose consciousness, Sam barked wildly
and began licking my face, bringing me to. He made me laugh, and I clung
to the reality of Sam.
God took care of everything. When I needed someone, God sent me Sam.
In time, I recovered. And our family was reunited. Sam remained a
member of our family, and though it''s been ten years since I last saw him,
Sam will always be a part of my heart.
I''m certain that Sam is frolicking in some snowy part of heaven,
looking forward to seeing me again.
-- Jaye Lewis <jlewis @ smyth.net>

THE FUNNY THINGS KIDS SAY
Meghan, 6, went with her Aunt Kay to a Weight Watchers meeting.
Before weighing in, Kay carefully removed her shoes, bracelet and watch.
"Why did you do that?" Meghan asked. "So I won''t gain any weight," Kay
replied. When Kay got on the scales, she found she had gained a pound. As
they were leaving, Meghan commented, "Aunt Kay, maybe you should have taken
out your earrings!" -- Darlene Frye (grandmother of Meghan) of
Kendallville, Indiana
Amy and her family and friends went to a monster truck show at a civic
arena. Everyone brought various hearing protection as the show was going
to be very loud. After they found their seats, Amy''s brother bought some
blue cotton candy for the kids to eat. It wasn''t long before someone asked
Amy''s brother what the blue stuff in his 3-year-old son''s ears was.
Apparently after watching some of the adults stuff cotton in their ears for
hearing protection, little Blake thought that was what the cotton candy was
for! -- Amy Garnsay of Eaton Rapids, Michigan
Margaret''s little grandson saw some yellow flowers. "Are they
daffodils?" he asked. "No, they are smaller; they are crocuses," was the
reply. "Will they be daffodils when they get bigger?" he asked. --
Margaret Wright of England
Hattie and her 4-year-old granddaughter were riding in the car
listening to gospel music and singing. Then they were quiet for a few
minutes. Hattie''s granddaughter said, "Nina, didn''t you say Jesus and God
are everywhere?" Hattie said yes. Her granddaughter asked, "Are they in
the back seat?" Hattie said yes. Then the little girl said loudly, "Then
why aren''t you talkin'' to them?" -- Hattie Davis of Napoleon, Michigan
This is a story I get several times a year, in various forms, but I
always love it. It shows that many kids think along the same lines when it
comes to putting their shoes on. Joey, 3, got dressed all by himself one
morning and his mother mentioned to him that he had his shoes on the wrong
feet. He looked down at his feet, up at his mom, then down at his feet
again. Then he looked at his mom again and said, "But Mom, these are the
only feets I got!" -- Kathleen Williams (Joe''s mom) of Portland, Oregon
This year was Louella''s first time attending the local Relay For Life
event. She is a recent survivor of cancer and had just finished treatment
about a month before the relay. The local relay starts off with a Survivor
walk. All the survivors are given a special T- shirt that signifies that
they have survived the dreaded disease. The whole event is to raise money
for cancer research. Family members walked with Louella and there were
many tears of thankfulness and joy. Travis, 10, did not know what to think
of the crying, hugging and holding hands. When they went home that night,
Travis didn''t want Louella to leave. But he hugged Luella and said, "Good
night you liver you." When asked why he had called his grandmother "liver"
he explained, "''Cause you are still living." He had meant to say
"survivor!" -- Louella Gore of Cortland, Ohio
Danny, 6, was angry with his mom and said if he didn''t get his way he
would just go get on his horse and ride away. His mother did not take him
seriously. But later when she went to feed the horses, she was shocked to
find Checkers, Danny''s horse, coming down the driveway loose. When she got
to the staff she found a very shocked Danny. She asked Danny why he had
turned the horse loose, and he said, "I wanted to ride him but I thought he
would wait for me!" -- Sara Couchoud of Palominas, Arizona
Alyssa, 7, has a locket with a picture of Jesus on it that she wears
on special occasions. One day when she was wearing it, her 3-year-old
sister Amanda asked her who the picture of "that boy" was. Alyssa told her
it was a picture of Jesus. Amanda said, "Oh... Did God give that to you?"
-- Elizabeth (mother of Amanda and Alyssa) of Fort Wayne, Indiana
Jessica, 9, loves to watch home shopping programs. She went to a toy
store with her mother and found a package of colored beads she wanted.
"Look, Mom," she said persuasively, "It has colors NOT SOLD IN STORES!" --
Kelly (Jessica''s mother) of Tokyo, Japan
Zack, 3, was strapped into his carseat. His mother, Joyce, had
recently taught him his colors and she couldn''t help but ask him about his
outfit. He correctly said his shirt was blue but proclaimed his red
Cincinnati Reds hat was green. His mother repeatedly asked him what color
his hat was and he said green. Puzzled, she pulled the car over and said,
"Now Zack, let''s go over this one more time. What color is your hat?" He
glanced upward toward the brim -- which was green -- and said, "Mom, it''s
green." And Joyce had to agree. -- Joyce of Toledo, Ohio

TELL THEM YOU CARE
by Lt. Col. James T. Patterson
I recently decided to visit some of the veterans in several nursing homes.
I was especially interested in doing this since my dad is a veteran of
World War II and I am a reservist in the United States Air Force. I
thought the visits would be nice, but I was not prepared for what occurred.
I guess I thought these veterans were regularly remembered, especially
on holidays like Memorial Day, July 4th, and Veterans Day, but
unfortunately that is not the case.
These men and women who brought peace to the world and then quietly
came home and rebuilt the nation, have virtually been forgotten and
unappreciated. What they did is the platform upon which this nation so
proudly stands, yet fewer and fewer of our population understand the
sacrifices and commitment these people made.
I wore my uniform when I visited these veterans. I had no idea how
much that symbol would mean to these noble warriors. I visited one man who
hadn''t spoken in four months. I was told he probably wouldn''t acknowledge
my visit. When I walked into the room, he saw the uniform and sat straight
up in bed, eyes bright and attentive.
I told him I wanted to express my appreciation for what he had done.
I told him how honored I was to be in the presence of someone who had done
so much for the peace of this world and the growth of this nation. I said
I wanted to give him a miniature flag as an expression of my gratitude.
He took the flag and held it to his lips and sobbed. He held my hand
and said, "Thank you, thank you, thank you." These were the first words he
had uttered in months.
There was not a dry eye in the room. In one nursing home, we had the
Honor Guard from Dyess Air Force Base present the colors before the
veterans. As the Guard entered the room, these wonderful men, with tears
streaming down their cheeks, placed their hands over their hearts and
pledged allegiance to the flag that they loved.
In two other homes, we had been given a new flag from the U.S.
Senator. We brought the veterans outside to view the flying of the new
colors. When I gave the command to "Present Arms," these veterans who were
stooped with age, stood as tall as they could and saluted. As the National
Anthem was sung, tears flowed with grateful appreciation.
I proudly cried with these soldiers of the past. I was honored to
talk with men who landed at Normandy, fought in North Africa, Sicily,
Guadalcanal and the Battle of the Bulge. I visited with men who survived
the attack at Pearl Harbor and three years in a Japanese prisoner of war
camp. These quiet heroes cried and shared their cherished memories with
me.
Over and over, they and their families told me how much my visit and
my simple expression of respect had meant to these men of history. Never
have I felt so humble and yet so proud and lifted up as I did in the
presence of these veterans.
Today, the veterans of World War II are dying at a rate of 1000 a day.
Soon, they''ll be gone. For you active duty military and reservists, I
implore you to put on your uniform and go visit any and all veterans you
know. I encourage everyone not to waste another day, but rather, sit by
the side of these honorable men and women. Hear their stories. Tell them
you care. Learn from them.
It will be more rewarding than anything you have imagined.
-- Lt. Col. James T. Patterson, USAFR
<james.patterson @ hq.transcom.mil>
FALLEN HEROES
They gave up all their tomorrows,
For the freedom we enjoy today.
They gave up their hopes and dreams
That we might have a better way.
They marched across this nation,
With freedom in their breast.
They sailed across the ocean
To meet each and every test.
They fell at Valley Forge.
They marched through Tennessee.
They bled and died at Gettysburg,
So that we might live free.
They fought oppression in the Forest of Argonne,
Battled beneath the Verdun sky,
As they fought the war of wars,
Where so many were to die.
They stood on Iwo Jima
And raised Ole Glory way up high,
As cries of fallen comrades
Reached far into the sky.
In the battle of the Bulge,
Were young men, brave and true.
They stumbled upon distant beach heads,
Trying to make it through.
They were there to aid Korea
Some, not knowing why?
Only knowing, that it was ordered
And some would surely die.
They fought in Vietnam,
Not knowing friend or foe,
With peers, at home protesting,
Wailing sad, sad, songs of woe.
They showed up in Croatia,
Were there in Desert Storm,
Brought freedom to Afghanistan,
Protecting Iraq was just the norm.
They had plans for the future.
They had loved ones left behind,
They were sacrificed for others,
Heroes... the very valiant kind.
-- Freda Fullerton <Fjful @ aol.com>

HAS ME WELL TRAINED
by Philip Jones
I really did not want another dog.
Having been through the entire canine life cycle twice before, I was
conscious of how painful it becomes toward the end. But a few years before
my heart attack, Faye, my wife, raised the topic repeatedly over several
months.
My position was clear. "It''s a 15-year commitment and we''re already
well into our 50s. It''s a lot of work. It will limit our freedom to
travel." And so on. Powerful, sensible arguments, impossible to refute by
any logical reasoning.
Finally she asked, "Are you telling me I can''t have a dog?"
"No, of course not," I reply, "but it will be your dog. You will be
the one to train it and look after it. When it''s extremely cold outside,
it will be your responsibility to take it out."
Well, a few weeks later Faye brought home a tiny, breathing bundle of
creamy, fluffy fur with two big brown eyes. I put him over my shoulder and
all my rational objections melted away.
This was the cutest little puppy I had ever seen. Seven weeks old.
Later we read this is the age they begin to "bond" with their human
guardians. Chambo and I soon bonded.
He is a cross between ****er Spaniel and American Eskimo. His name
derives partly from his champagne color and partly from our recognition
that he will be a bundle of mischievous energy.
While Chambo took me on one of our frequent walks, we finally
acknowledged our shared secret. "You''re my buddy, aren''t you Chambo?" And
he readily agrees. But we do not tell Faye just yet. There is still more
tedious training to be done, and she must meet at least some of her
obligations.
Winter finally arrived. And can you guess who took Chambo outside?
Me, of course, and I am quite content with that role.
Soon after, Chambo took charge of our home and one of my sons
predicted that I would soon find a way to bring this little dog into my
retail management seminars.
Sure enough, the message for retail merchants becomes:
Training A Customer Is Easier Than Training A Puppy!
A growing dog needs to be trained to respond to nine basic commands.
A retail customer, on the other hand, needs to be trained in only three.
A loyal customer needs to learn to Come!, Fetch! and Stay! Normally,
it''s neither necessary nor advisable to order customers to Get Down, Drop
it, Heel, Shush, Lie Down, or Go Outside.
At dog obedience classes, it is always the dog''s owner that needs the
training. A puppy knows how to sit. Sitting at our request is quite
another matter.
Similarly, most customers know how to shop. For one large segment of
the population, it is part of their genetic heritage. It is up to the
retailer to master the techniques that will prompt them to shop regularly
in their store, to "Stay!" as loyal customers.
In a previous life, Chambo must have been a manager himself. This is
apparent from his training methods.
When he is exercising me, he occasionally stops, sits down, and
refuses to budge. I then look around, wondering what I am supposed to do
next. Once I realize and acknowledge that I am now expected to cross to
the other side of the road, Chambo jumps up and we proceed.
He has me well trained.
Drawing on his earlier managerial experience, Chambo has used this
tra***ional technique: When your subordinates fail to figure out what they
are supposed to do next, sit on the ground and glare at them until they
figure it out!
-- Philip Jones <philip-jones @ shaw.ca>

A TRUE PAL
by Debra Gray Walter
Father''s Day is approaching and the memories are bidding me to take a
walk with them down familiar paths. I am reluctant, but decided early on
that these little jaunts are what give life meaning and makes difficulties
bearable.
Our town was small.
Being the daughter of the neighborhood druggist, I witnessed
first-hand how to care for those in trying times. The store opened in the
summer of ''61. I was two. My mom took care of the books, while my dad
took care of the customers.
There were longs days and many long nights. It was a time when
honesty and integrity were the store managers and love and compassion were
the employees.
Often customers would thank my dad for being there for them.
Affectionately they called him "Doc". He had a way of not only helping
what ailed them, but he put a smile on their faces by joking with them. He
was the most respected man in our community because he was there for people
in their struggles and came along side them to offer care and concern.
Being available was something for which my dad never complained. He
offered 24-hour service to anyone in need of medication, even if it was an
over-the-counter drug. He would sleep at night next to the phone and often
it would ring. It was normal to hear him up in the night going to meet
someone at the pharmacy. Life revolved around the store and many of my
fondest memories took place in that small building on Silver Star Road.
The sounds of juicy hamburgers sizzling on the grill. Large french
fries in the hot fryer and thick milk shakes whirring in the Hamilton Beach
machine. Laughter from the cash register and phones ringing behind the
counter. These are the sounds that still ring fresh in my memory.
For my young eyes, the toy aisle never disappointed me. My job was to
help my dad order the best and newest toys of the season. Each year, I
would pick one toy that I wanted as payment for my humble services. There
were Barbie dolls with the trendiest accessories and Clackers -- two glass
marbled balls suspended from a string, that took our town by storm. I
loved Clackers, and my arms had the bruises to prove my devotion.
My taste buds found delight in the candy counter. It seemed endless
in the varieties available to my cravings, and my cavities proved that I
was a dedicated sampler of its offerings.
"Our Pills Are Your Pals" was the store''s motto, and it was displayed
on the magnetic signs that hung from both sides of the white Volkswagen
bug, that served as the delivery car.
Young men in our town would apply for the job of driving that little
car -- making free deliveries to the families too sick or too old to come
to the store. The car never had a radio because my dad wanted to insure
that the boys worked hard representing our store well. They were required
to wear a tie, even though there was no air-con***ioning in the car that
traveled around the hot, Florida streets. Well-dressed and without music,
many young men came to love pharmacy by my dad''s example and his
requirement of a strong work ethic.
As I grew into the pre-teen years, my favorite part of the store
became the jewelry section. Necklaces, earrings and rings were displayed
in glass cases with shelves that rotated as you pushed a small, black
button. Row after row of beautiful jewelry caught my eye. Once I tried on
a ring and quickly discovered that I couldn''t get it off, for it was too
small. I panicked. Not wanting to get in trouble, I desperately tried to
remove the ring. The harder I pulled, the more swollen my finger became.
Finally, I showed my dad.
His response frightened me, but taught me a lesson. He said with a
smile on his face, and a wink of his eye, "I guess we''ll have to call the
Fire Department and have them cut off your finger!"
I was horrified! But fortunately, with soapy water, the ring lost its
grip on my finger. I never tried on a ring that wasn''t mine again!
Family vacations were always close to home, since we could not afford
a pharmacist to work for my dad. Whenever the family ventured out-of-state
he usually stayed home taking care of the needs of our neighbors. I missed
him, but I came to realize that his example would mean more to me through
the years.
We lived a simple life, yet the lessons taught me are constant
reminders of what is truly important. I often wonder if the medicine my
dad prescribed was the real remedy for his sick customers or if his
kindness and friendliness was the key to their well-being.
The store motto should have been, "Pals Are Your Pills!" My dad loved
life and loved others. He was a true "Pal".
He passed away on January 3, 2004, and this will be our first Father''s
Day without him. His funeral was a time for the hundreds of people he
faithfully served to come and share their story. It was a moment that
cemented in my heart how wonderful my dad was. Often the truly great among
us are those who do what they do faithfully, unselfishly and without
complaint. My dad was a skilled pharmacist, a faithful friend, a devoted
husband and a truly great father.
I miss him deeply but am grateful for the path he marked out for me.
Knowing that I can walk this road following his lead makes life worthwhile
-- in good times and in bad.
I offer this familiar quote to my dad: "Thanks for the memories!" I
am your devoted daughter and biggest fan!
-- Debra Gray Walter <debiwalter @ bellsouth.net>

MOZART IN THE MORNING
by Monica Ackerman
For the many years I was raising children, a puppy, and a husband, I
hated cats.
They were sneaky and useless, untrainable and a nuisance. And you
could not have a black one cross your path. Or walk under a ladder with
one. Something like that.
Life went on -- the children and the husband moved away and the dog
died. I had no occasion to cross paths with a cat, black or any other.
Until one day, two years ago. One of the feral cats in back of my
house, having been pregnant for countless times, presented me with a litter
of five kittens. Yes, she left them right next to my backdoor.
Me, the cat hater, who had been chasing cats with raised broom sticks
and water hoses to stop them from stealing hamburgers right off the grill,
among other unspeakable crimes, now had to make a decision. I selected the
option of gathering them all up to take them to the shelter, in hopes of
finding families who could adopt them.
Strangely, one of them, the runt of the litter, was a little black
furball who seemed to want to stay with me. I promised my daughter I would
raise it, keep it for her until it became a cat, and then she would take it
into her own home.
I hated cats, remember?
To this day, I don''t remember exactly when I fell in love with Maxx
but fall in love I did. And then I became a cat fanatic! I bought books
on cats, subscribed to cat magazines, registered for cat chat rooms and
help lines and almost lost my house! I convinced the landlord that a
feral cat could be kept indoors and trained not to destroy the apartment --
no worse than the three-year-old human next door who consistently tried to
go through the screen door without opening it.
In short, I lost my mind and heart to Maxximus.
One day, I discovered he loved classical music, especially Mozart.
When I put his carrier in the car and Mozart was playing he seemed to have
no complaints about being in the carrier. It seemed to calm him down.
Switch the station to talk radio or jazz and he would get restless and cry.
Now, in the morning, as he follows me around the house as I open
drapes and raise window shades, he settles down in front ofthe floor
speaker to the stereo and waits patiently for me to turn on the radio to
the classical music station and their 8am program called, Mozart in the
Morning.
While he is absorbed in the music, I''m able to leave the house to go
to work without any complaints from him. Cat hater indeed.
My daughter still jokes about wanting me to give her "her cat." Fat
chance I tell her. "You get your own kitty, this one is mine."
When Maxx sits on the windowsill to look at his feral cousins in the
backyard, I remind him how lucky he is to be inside with me.
But when he looks at me with his expressive amber eyes, I know I''m the
lucky one.
-- Monica Ackerman <legal4all @ aol.com>

Thanx for all you''ve posted. Vote you 5*
This web may be very useful for those people work all day with computers But it doesnt mean that it''s not useful for us.
But I dun understand why there isnt any people try to translate these articles. Hihi, maybe I will the 1st people try. . . Hihi, it''s a pity that Im a bad translator
These stories look like the chicken-soup-for-soul-stories. I think they are very good for our soul. We will learn much from them. It can be considered as a morning cup of coffee.
Have fun!

Hi, tieu co nuong. I''d be very grateful if you''re kind enough to translate these touching stories, but please post in the right topic "Thử dịch những ...".
Have a nice day!