The False Ducks Blahg This Blahg is about me and other things.

December 25, 2011

THE CHRISTMAS CAT

Filed under: Uncategorized — sinatrafan @ 6:38 am

Well the yuletide is upon us and like Santa Claus, I’m trying to meet my deadline by completing this blahg the day before Christmas.  Santa ScottI’ve had this blahg in mind for a couple of weeks but finding time to write it has not been an easy task.  We all put so much into this time of year and stressing about what’s to be done that we forget the little things.  This blahg will hopefully prove to be a reflection for those of you who forget to find the joy that we all so desperately need.

I confess I wasn’t always a cat person.  When I was growing up, we always had dogs.  That must mean my parents were dog people.  Oh, I remember once we had an old barn cat, despite the fact we lived in the city, which my father had obtained to get rid of a rat that plagued our house.  The cat did finally kill the rat but it also gave birth to a litter of kittens and then my memory gets vague on this because the cat and kittens were sent packing.  The dog stayed.

When Jeanette and I were married we had hamsters.  They were fun but when we moved back to Belleville with our two year old daughter, Emily, we gave the hamsters away and upgraded to cats.  ElmoFirst we acquired Elmo and then two weeks later we adopted Tully.  TullyBoth were black and white and males.  They were very friendly and received their names from Sesame Street characters.  We lived in an apartment for two years with them until moving into our first rental house in the country.  They soon transformed from indoor cats to outdoor felines.  That of course came at a cost.  Tully got into something poisonous and eventually died.  Elmo was struck by a car.  Both were devastating times.

Sometime between the death of Tully and the death of Elmo, we adopted Panama.  Our Cat PanamaShe was a short haired grey and black striped tabby.  My children spotted her at a yard sale where she languished in a cage with her siblings with a sign denoting the free kittens.  By this time, our family had extended to include our son Noah and a third child, Abbie, on the way.  Panama’s unique name came from a favorite book that I enjoyed reading to the children, “The Trip to Panama” by Janosch.  In this book, a bear and a tiger set out to find Panama, the land of their dreams.  The Trip To PanamaThere’s a great line in the book “oh how lovely is Panama” so it influenced the naming of our new cat.  This cat we decided would definitely be an indoor cat.  We couldn’t break Elmo of his desire to be out of the house be we would ensure Panama would stay safely inside.

After we lost Elmo, we quickly adopted Carrot to fill the loss.  We were always a two cat family because we thought that a solitary cat would be too lonely without a playmate.  Carrot was a barn cat that came from a friend of ours.  Whenever we visited his farm, the children loved climbing on the hay bales and admiring the barn kittens that ran freely.  Our Cat CarrotCarrot was a long haired cat named for her beautiful coat of orange fur.  She was my favorite from the start.  She took to me immediately and I couldn’t go anywhere in the house without her tagging behind or pouncing into my lap the moment I sat down.  She, too, we kept indoors.

Soon our house became too small because it was a two bedroom house and we had three children and two cats.  We moved to a five bedroom house complete with a barn but fortunately, at that time, no additional barn cats.  I thought we were complete.  Jump to a hay ride after church one fall when we end up at the farm where we had obtained carrot.  My wife spies a lovely calico type kitten and falls in love with her.  Before going on the hay ride, I had prepped the children that we were not in the market for another cat and not to ask about a new kitten.  I had forgotten to prep my wife.  Our Cat PatchesSo that’s how Patches came into our life.  Despite being my wife’s choice, Patches chose me.  She and Carrot vied for my attention constantly and Panama just watched and then went to whomever she pleased.

We only rented the house we were living in at the time and the owner didn’t mind the cats we had.  He was a cat fan too.  Eventually some cats adopted the barn on our property and cats and kittens came and went.  I won’t go into those right now.  They were not ours; they were free spirits.  Eventually the owner of the house decided to sell the house and property and because it was 800+ acres, we didn’t have the means to meet his asking price and he didn’t want to sever the house from the land.  So we moved again but only after purchasing our first home.  Five bedrooms, three children, and three cats and still going strong.

Shortly after moving into our new home, we acquired our fourth female cat.  Emily, by then 15, and I were volunteering with a youth group and one outing found us at an animal shelter scooping and cleaning cat litter boxes.  Emily spotted our new cat at this shelter.  She was a lovely long haired grey and white cat with the friendliest disposition.  I wanted to say no to adopting this cat until I heard her story.  The cat, named June by the volunteers at the shelter had been found abandoned in the countryside.  Our Cat JuneShe was only one year old and had had kittens at some point.  When she was rescued, she was pregnant again but the kitten she carried was stillborn.  Fortunately, there were some kittens brought into the shelter without a mother so June nursed them.  I thought that any cat with that kind of history deserved a home.  So we became a four cat household…all females and all indoor felines.  Noah and I were the minority males.

I was quite content with our four cats but somewhere in the retelling of this adventure I have forgotten to mention our two dogs.  Our first, Daisy, was a puppy that we adopted while we were in our first rental home and still had Elmo and Tully.  That dog hated me.  She started to turn vicious and she always took it out on me.  She got loose one day when she was less than a year old and was struck and killed by a car.  We were all saddened by this but it did not lead us to go and adopt another dog.  On, the contrary, the next dog found us.

Probably a year after Daisy passed, I was shopping in Belleville, prior to Christmas, with my two young children when I spotted a young pig running under some parked cars in a supermarket parking lot.  I finally caught up to the animal and discovered it was not a pig but rather a young pup whose fur was so white and so short that his pink skin shone through and made him look like a piglet.  I inquired in a few stores about the dog but no one claimed him.  I was going to take him to the shelter but they were not open until later in the day so I had no choice but to take him home.  I called the shelter later to inform them of the dog in case anyone reported him missing and I posted a notice of a lost dog with the newspaper and the radio.  No one claimed him and he became a fixture in our house.  There were two pig movies around this time, “Babe” & “Gordy”, so we chose Gordy because his coloring had made me believe he was something other than a dog.

Gordy was with us for ten years.  He was very very friendly but he could not be trained.  He would run wild in the house or outside so we had to keep him leashed constantly.  Once, he broke his leash and took off down the road.  He was struck head on by a car but miraculously he walked away with no injuries.  He only spent one night at the vet for observation.  After this incident, however, he became very protective of us and whenever a stranger came near the house he would turn vicious.  Once, he tried to bite the seat of the pants of my best friend.  Even friends were not safe from him.

Gordy moved with us from house to house but when we finally purchased our new house there were neighbor children that he would constantly bark at.  One wandered in our yard to play with my son and underestimated the length of Gordy’s leash.  The boy received a few stitches from a nasty bite from Gordy.  We had to have Gordy put down to keep peace in the village.  We were back to four female cats again.

Panama was the oldest of our cats and she loved our youngest daughter Abbie.  Panama always slept in Abbie’s room and it made Abbie feel special because this cat chose to be with her.  This started when Abbie was in a crib and we had to keep Panama out of her room.  When Abbie eventually moved to a bed we then allowed Panama back in her room.  Carrot, Patches, and June usually just slept on the sofa or a comfortable chair.

Three years after we moved into our current home, we noticed a lump on Panama’s underbelly.  After checking with the vet, we were told it was cancerous and that any surgery would be dangerous to the cat.  We were all devastated.  We made the decision not to put Panama through the surgery but because she was still in good spirits, we decided to let her live out the rest of her life with us.  We found some naturopathic feline medicine over the internet and this seemed to help Panama.  It provided her with more energy and she seemed to flourish for a little while.  Our biggest concern, besides Panama’s health, was Abbie’s state of mind.  Abbie was ten and she had a lot of love invested in Panama and they were truly good for each other.

Now this narrative will take a unique turn.  A few days before Christmas that year, another cat came into our lives.  We had had a large dowsing of snow and while my wife was shoveling our driveway, a large orange and white cat came out of nowhere and began to meow at her.  He was very friendly but it looked like it had come across country.  His fur was wet and matted and he had a few burs along his back.  Our Cat FrankWe took pity on the cat because it was so close to Christmas but on further inspection we discovered this was a male cat.  We couldn’t allow him in the house because only two of our female cats were spayed.  We put an old blanket in our garage and left some food out for him, hoping that he would eventually return to whence he came.  He didn’t.

It began to get very cold and was snowing again so we made the decision to bring the cat into the house but to segregate him from the females.  Our house is laid out so that when you come in through the back porch you go through the kitchen to get the rest of the house.  We had a bi-fold door that we had used in the past when Gordy slept in the kitchen during the winter.  This is a door that is hinged in the middle and folds up along a track.  We put a blanket down in the kitchen and the door kept the male cat from entering the rest of the house.  It worked well for two nights.

The third night was Christmas Eve.  The cat had slept well in the kitchen those first two nights and showed no interest in the rest of the house.  He went out during the day and female cats were allowed access to the kitchen while he was out.  That Christmas Eve my wife and I were up late wrapping presents.  I don’t think we got to bed until much after one in the morning.  Everything was still, not a creature was stirring…well not quite.  Shortly after going to bed, I heard a loud thump in the kitchen and had to get out of bed to see what caused the noise.  I discovered the bi-fold door was open and the male cat was trotting through the dining room.  I scooped him up, placed him the kitchen, closed the bi-fold door and went back to bed.  I wasn’t sure how he had gotten out but thought he was secure in the kitchen again.  Again the noise occurred and again I found the door open and the cat in the dining room.  I wasn’t going to take any other chances so I took him into our bedroom and closed our door.  He slept on our bed that night and went out in the morning.

As the next day was Christmas, we allowed the male cat to be in the kitchen in the afternoon with the door closed.  The children and I were playing with something in the dining room when we noticed a small orange paw poke its way under the bi-fold door.  The cat hooked his paw under the bottom of the door and pulled along the middle and the door popped open.  Mystery solved.  After that, we felt that if he was that resourceful, he was welcome to the run of the house during his stay.

We went through all the motions to try and find out if this cat belonged to anyone.  We put up posters and contacted the local shelter and media outlets but there were no claimants.  We also discovered, much to our delight, he was neutered.  We didn’t need to worry about the female cats.  He cleaned up rather nicely and has such beautiful long fur.  We named him Frank.  I had told the children not to name him because he probably wouldn’t be staying with us.  He was still sleeping in my bedroom so one day I just started calling him Frank when asking him to move off my side of the bed.  The name stuck and Frank became a permanent fixture.

The children immediately fell in love with Frank and Abbie put a great deal of time and love into him.  I think she was gradually moving some of her affections away from Panama so that when Panama’s time came it wouldn’t be so hard.  Three months later Panama did take a turn for the worse and we had to have her put down.  We were happy for the ten years we had had with her.  Abbie was very said but she bounced back because she had Frank.  Later that year, we lost Carrot too.  She developed a serious kidney infection and she died in my arms one night.  It was a tough time but we still had June and Patches and Frank.  Frank most of all, got us all through that tough time.  He was truly one of the best Christmas presents we had all received.

Today, we celebrate three years of having Frank with us.  The bi-fold door has long been removed as Frank is now King of the Castle.  Frank is King of the CastelPatches and June pretty much steer clear of Frank but they know that they too are loved.

I want to wish everyone a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.  May you all find your own Frank or something just as wonderful that brings you joy.

 

December 18, 2011

MERRY CHRISTMAS & BYE FOR NOW

Filed under: Uncategorized — sinatrafan @ 12:16 am

It’s been getting harder and harder to write a weekly blahg.  I have good intentions but things keep happening.  Scott Henderson still thinks he's cool!The big thing is that my father had a stroke last week.  It was a very mild one but it required him to be in the hospital for four days.  My dad doesn’t do hospital stays so this put a scare into him and hopefully his commitment to quit smoking (a 60 year addiction) will continue.  So far, so good.  For those who haven’t thought about doing this then make 2012 the year you quit; if not for yourselves, then for those around you.  I’ll tell you I’ve never felt so alone than those hours I waited at the hospital for someone to finally tell me that my father was going to be okay.

This week’s post is going to be a bit of a cheat but an enjoyable one nonetheless.  This story, based on all true events, comes from my Christmas collection “Proof For Believing” and is one of my favorites.  It talks about a relative of mine and given everything I’ve been through with my dad this past week, I thought it would be good to post here. 

 

 

“Bye For Now”

 

Archie was my father’s cousin and he was always old when I knew him.

What I remember most about Archie was that he would come and stay with us children when my parents were out of town and that he drank.

          Oh he didn’t always drink.  He gave up drinking once or twice but he always took it up again.  That’s what landed him in The Manor.  If he had continued to drink at the pace that he had set for himself, it would have killed him.  Instead, he perked up in The Manor and lived almost another ten years longer than anyone expected.

          I used to go and visit him a few times a year but mostly just before Christmas.  I would always try to convince him to come to my parents’ house for Christmas dinner and he’d always try to convince me there was some reason why he couldn’t leave The Manor.  He always had some mysterious ailment conveniently at Christmas or some special event was happening at The Manor.  It was funny, on other visits, not around Christmas, he spoke unfavorably of Manor events and told me he had always shied away from them.  But I never got him to take the ride with me to my parents’ house.  He was settled and that was that.

          In his later years he always had a mind that was as sharp as a tack.  He could always recall events from earlier in our lives and would always start a visit with “Do you remember…”

 

          “Do you remember Dan’s wife Gloria?” Archie began during one Christmastime visit. 

          Dan is one of my younger brothers and never really had a wife named Gloria. 

          What had happened was that when we were teenagers I caught Dan listening to the radio in his room.  This was around Christmas and the DJ was taking calls from callers who wanted to wish a Merry Christmas to friends and relatives.

          I was a little stinker or maybe a big stinker because I was and am one of Dan’s bigger brothers.  I thought it would be funny to phone and wish a very personal Christmas wish to Dan.  It was just one of those things that suddenly possessed me.  I phoned and said “I want to wish a Merry Christmas to my family and a special Christmas wish to my brother Dan and his wife Gloria.”

          From Dan’s room, I heard this bellow.  He had obviously recognized my voice.

          Dan wasn’t mad at all.  In fact, he thought it was funny and we both had a great laugh over it.

          The biggest laugh occurred a few days later when Archie popped in for a visit.  He immediately sought out Dan and asked him how Gloria was.  Archie was also an avid radio listener.

          Neither Dan nor Archie ever let me forget that one.

 

          “Do you remember Dan’s transporter?” Archie asked on another occasion.

          I had almost forgotten about that one.

          Dan may want to shoot me for repeating this story but it’s one of my favorite episodes involving Archie.

          Dan had always been a tinkerer.  I would have said inventor but he never really invented anything.  He’d tinker at something and manage to take something apart to create something else that never worked.

          It would be at this point that Dan would point out the helicopter that our brother Todd and I had made out of scrap lumber and onto which we had tied an old furnace motor.  We had planned to fly it to our grandmother’s house in another town.  It would have worked Dan!  Of course my arm would have been tired from turning that propeller all night.

          But that’s all beside the point!

          I don’t remember all of Dan’s devices but I do remember the transporter.  If you’ve ever seen a Star Trek episode then you have to know what a transporter is.  If you haven’t seen a Star Trek episode then my son Noah wants to know why because Star Trek is everything to him.  It used to be Popeye and next year it’ll be something else. 

          But that is beside the point.

          A transporter is a device that takes apart your molecules and transports them to a remote location and puts them all back together; hopefully in the right order.

          One time, Dan decided to invent one while our parents were away and Archie was staying at the house.  I don’t know what he had used to make the transporter but I’m sure the original components were fully functional before Dan began to tinker.

          Now Archie was always a good sport.  He never discouraged us from anything and there were many things he never reported back to our parents.  If my parents are reading this, I deny there are any unreported incidents.

          On this particular occasion Dan had built a transporter and was ready to test it.  The house we lived in at the time had a few bedrooms in the basement and one of them had a light switch up on the landing that shut off all power to the room until you flicked the switch.  That was my job.  I was the flicker.

          Dan had wired everything together and had plugged it in and I was just waiting for my signal to flick.

          Archie was also in on it.  We had explained to Archie what the purpose of the transporter was and that we might be whisked away to some far off location and, if Dan’s transporter worked, it was Archie’s role to inform our parents of our strange disappearance.

          Of course that wasn’t good enough for Archie.  He had to be right there when that device was turned on.  He wanted to see it in action.  He only begged us to excuse him for a few minutes before we began the experiment.

          On his return, Archie was wearing a shawl and life-jacket.  When asked what these were for, he replied that he just wanted to be prepared.  He said that if he ended up in the artic the shawl would protect him and if he ended up in the ocean he’d stay afloat.

          Neither Dan nor I wanted to point out to Archie that a shawl was hardly great protection against below zero temperatures or that floating in the ocean was one thing but sharks were another.

          But that too, is beside the point. 

          The transporter didn’t work.  When I flicked the switch, the whole works caught fire and some of the plastic components melted and left a stench in the house that took us two days to air out.  That was one of Archie’s well-kept secrets.  Again, if my parents are reading this, I deny everything.  Ask Dan.  It was his fault anyway.

 

          “Do you remember Bryan’s five coats?”

          I don’t believe this is a particularly funny story and I don’t know why Archie always seemed to bring this one up when asking me about Bryan. 

          I’ll pad out this story a little because there’s not much to it.  I’m going to tell a funny story that my son insists on telling every time Bryan visits; much to the continued embarrassment of my best friend, Bryan.

          One time Bryan came to visit me when I was a teenager.  He walked into the house and said “Oh, someone dropped their chocolate cookie on the rug.”  That wouldn’t be all that funny except I knew my mother had not done any baking that day.  When I checked out the cookie, it turned out it was a dropping from our dog that had been stepped upon and made flat.

          Noah loves that story.  Noah, please don’t tell that story again when Bryan’s around.  At least, don’t tell it more than five times in a given visit.

          Now, on to the story of the five coats.

          One day, during a brutally cold winter, I took Bryan to visit Archie at the apartment he was living in.  It was always hot in there as old people have a habit of jacking up the heat until it’s only bearable for them.

          Bryan didn’t have a decent coat so he wore five thinner coats to keep out the cold.  When he began to peel back his layers, Archie just kept laughing and laughing.

          That was one of Archie’s favorite stories.

          I told you it was not that funny.  But that story about Bryan and the chocolate cookie is a keeper!

 

          I want to tell another story about Archie that he never remembered because he was sloshed to the gills at the time.

          It might have happened at the same time that Bryan came to visit me at Archie’s place.  I don’t remember exactly but I recall that Bryan was there.

          This particular visit to Archie took place around Christmas because Archie had just received his Christmas basket that some group always gave out to lonely seniors so they could make themselves Christmas dinner.  It did wonders to address their hunger but did nothing to address their loneliness.

          Anyway, every year Archie would get this basket of food with a turkey or a ham and assorted vegetables and other goodies.  He couldn’t eat it all.  It was too much for him and he’d always call me to come and take away what he couldn’t use.  He never had much of a stomach…at least not for food anyway.

          On this one occasion Archie had a plastic bag full of potatoes that he wanted to give to me.  I don’t know why he always wanted to give these things to me.  Whenever I visited him there was always some other elderly person visiting him and who, like Archie, was always imbibing heavily.  Maybe the other person’s stomach was set against food, too.

          Archie and the two other seniors were well into their cups when he trotted out this plastic bag.  Oh, there were potatoes in there alright but there was also the content of someone’s stomach.  It took everything I had to keep from gagging.

          I just told Archie that the potatoes had gone rotten.  He didn’t act surprised.  He quickly offered me a head of broccoli in place of the potatoes.

          Bryan and I chucked the broccoli into a snow bank on the way home.

 

          In the years that Archie was in the Manor, I was the only member of my family that visited with him.  I had always tried to convince my parents and my siblings to drop in on him but it never happened.  I was as successful at getting them there as I had been at getting Archie out.

          I visited Archie a few times every year with the visits eventually dwindling to one in the summer and one at Christmas.  We laughed at the same stories each time and Archie passed on family history that had been deprived from me when I was growing up.  I suspect that these were stories that others would not have wanted anyone to repeat.  But that didn’t stop Archie.

          The last time I saw Archie was in the spring.  An aunt of mine had passed away and I went to relay the news to Archie.  He didn’t seem comforted that he had outlived her.  In fact, none of us had expected Archie to live as long as he did.  We were sure that drink would have taken him long before that.  As with the end of every visit, Archie concluded with “bye for now.”

          I had planned to visit Archie that Christmas and had settled on a date the following week as my schedule permitted.  Christmas wouldn’t really start for me until I had visited with him and offered up one more time to take him home for Christmas dinner and have him excuse his way out of it again.  It was a ritual I believe that both of us enjoyed.

          A few days before I was to visit with him, he took seriously ill and was admitted to hospital.  I tried to get away to see him at the hospital but they weren’t allowing visitors.  He died shortly thereafter.   

          A funeral was held for Archie on the very day on which I was to have visited him at The Manor.  My father and I were the only members of my family to attend.  It was a short service and only a handful of relatives attended.  He was cremated and buried next to his brother.  Archie had finally left The Manor

          On top of a podium, in the funeral parlor, next to Archie’s urn, was a picture of Archie in younger days.  He was old even in that picture.

          I wanted so much to take the photo with me as I have no pictures of Archie and I wanted something for remembrance.  But it occurred to me that I had plenty to remember Archie by and most of it was of our visits and what he remembered.  This was our final Christmas visit.  I looked at the picture and, choking on my words, whispered “Bye For Now.”

December 1, 2011

DAVID LETTERMAN BROKE MY COOKIE

Filed under: Uncategorized — sinatrafan @ 12:44 am

Okay, it’s been a while since my last blahg.  If it’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I’m a procrastinator.  Scott Henderson still thinks he's cool!Oh, I have good intentions and left to my own schedule I will eventually get to it; whatever “it” is.  In this case, the “it” is a ten year old cookie.

I don’t know why I forgot about this little event.  It’s only been about five years since the closure of the incident but I’d almost completely wiped it from my memory.  In truth, the incident started about 17 years ago.

In a previous blahg, I talked about staying home with my son Noah for the first 4 years of his life.  That, in itself, was an adventure.  Keeping him entertained day after day was a huge task some days.  One little thing that did make him happy was animal cookies.  Maybe I should call then animal crackers but they’re more like a cookie and he loved those things.  Baby NoahYou know the little cookies shaped like different animals of the circus or zoo type.  Give him one of those and he was happy for the time it took to gobble down the animal shaped delicacy. 

One day, in a box of animal cookies I found a very unusual surprise.  Usually all of the cookies are machine cut into the various animal shapes but I found an uncut and uncensored tidbit.  This particular cookie was a combined buffalo and bear shape that had not been separated.  Normally that wouldn’t be such a surprise but in this case the positioning of the buffalo over the bear made it look like the buffalo was performing an indecent act on the bear.  Maybe it was a decent act for all I know because in the animal kingdom I’m sure they don’t have the same hang-ups we have.  In fact the buffalo cookie had an ear shaped like a heart that made it look comically clear what he had on his mind.

I don’t have a picture of what the cookie looked like.  I wish I did.  Needless to say, I set the cookie aside not because I didn’t want my son to eat it but because I had a purpose in mind for that cookie.  I’m not a prude and it wouldn’t have mattered if my son had eaten it because it was just a cookie after all.  My intentions for the cookie were for fame and notoriety or my 15 seconds in the spotlight.  I was going to send that cookie to David Letterman.

If you don’t know who David Letterman is, then you don’t know late night television.  He’s only had one of the top rated night-time talk shows for the last 20 years (probably more but I’m not counting).  On his show he always has a top ten comical list and celebrity guests and humorous segments like stupid pet tricks and stupid human tricks.  I remember in 1995, Letterman propelled another Canadian to the heights of celebrity just because his name was Dick Assman.  I was sure that my cookie find would make me just as famous. 

I carefully wrapped the cookie in layers of tissues and put it away in a small plastic food container.  I believe this was in 1995 or 1996.  This was before the Internet became so prevalent that you could find anything online; including the address to where you would send a cookie to David Letterman.  I was just waiting for the right time.  I told you I procrastinate.

I cannot tell you why it took me ten years but it wasn’t until 2005 that I actually got around to sending the cookie to David Letterman.  Part of it was, we had moved twice in that time and the container with the cookie had been misplaced a couple of times.  The other reason was simply that life happened.  Read my blahg “When A Good Man Goes Missing” and you’ll see what happened during that time period.

Well, it was 2005 and I relocated the cookie and decided to finally send it to David Letterman.  I found the David Letterman show mailing address online, wrote a letter, packaged the cookie carefully and mailed it off.  Here’s what the letter said:

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

Mr. David Letterman,

Hi, enclosed pleased find a rather unusual animal cookie that I have been meaning to send you for some time.  It is unusual in more ways than one.  First, it is an unseparated animal cookie that appears to show a buffalo performing an indecent act (or a decent act, hey who am I to pass judgment) on a bear.  You will also notice that the buffalo has an ear shaped like a heart that makes it look comically like he has love on his mind.

The second reason why this animal cookie is unusual is that it is almost 10 years old.  I found this cookie in a box of animal cookies when my son was between one and two years old.  Next month, March 25th, my son will celebrate his 11th birthday.  I had put the cookie aside in the enclosed container with full intention of sending it to you but as things happen it was mislaid.  We have moved twice since my son was born and most recently this past December.  Of course in unpacking everything I came across the cookie again.  It’s still intact and hopefully it has arrived that way.

I think it would be very funny if you ate this 10 year old cookie on your show.  After my son was born I took some time off to stay at home with him.  It was only to be a year but then it turned into four years.  One of the things that kept me going that whole time was the thought that maybe someday David Letterman would eat this cookie.  Of course I didn’t imagine that it would be ten years before I actually got around to sending it to you.  If you decide to eat the cookie I have attached my top ten list of things you should consider when deciding to eat the cookie.

 

I also included what I thought was a humorous top ten list that I thought Letterman could read prior to eating the cookie:

 

TOP TEN THINGS TO CONSIDER WHEN DECIDING TO EAT THIS TEN YEAR OLD COOOKIE:

10     It’s an animal cookie and the law of the animal kingdom is eat or be eaten!

09     No buffalo’s going to get away with that on my watch!

08     Mr. Christie doesn’t own me!  Wait, Mr. Christie doesn’t           really own us do they?  Can someone check on that!?

07     The same goes for you Mrs Fields!

06     Hey, what’s another quadruple bi-pass?

05     I’m not really all that hungry, here Paul take half.  Hands off  the Buffalo, I dibbsed it first!

04   Peas Porridge Hot, Peas Porridge Cold, Peas Porridge in the Pot Nine Days Old doesn’t sound half bad right now.

03     Now if it was a Bear doing it to a Buffalo I wouldn’t be having second thoughts right now.

02     Eat it?  I thought you said Ebay.  That grilled cheese sandwich went for $28,000 I bet this cookie would fetch 30 or 35…bucks, easily.

01     Anybody got any 10-year-old milk lying around?

 

Six months went by before I received a reply.  I don’t still have the original letter that I received in response but I think it was a form-letter thanking me for my submission and no real excuse why David Letterman didn’t eat my cookie.  I doubt that David Letterman even saw my cookie.  Probably some flunkie in the mail-room responded with the form-letter.  David Letterman TshirtEnclosed with the letter was a Late Night with David Letterman t-shirt and my container with the cookie.  Unfortunately when I opened the container, the cookie was broken.  So were my dreams of fame.

David Letterman, you broke my cookie.  Maybe it wasn’t you but someone on your staff broke my cookie.  But you’re the host of the show and you’re responsible for your staff.  No wonder I suppressed that memory for the past five years.  Oh, Dick Assman can get on the show because he has a funny name but a little guy with a cookie can’t get ahead in this lousy world.  I’m not bitter!

Needless to say, I don’t have the cookie anymore.  I should have just eaten what was left of it.  By that time, my son was 11 and he wasn’t going to eat an animal cookie he was denied ten years before.  I guess I don’t blame him.

 

 

…I’ll close on a better note.  It’s getting to be near Christmas, with tomorrow being the 1st of December.  I thought in my posts leading up to Christmas I would get around to that Poet’s Corner I talked about in my very first blahg.  Here’s a fun rambling that might make you smile and forget about your own broken cookies:

 

dear Santa

I was maybe nine

when my parents

up and told me

there’s no Santa Claus

and I suspected

at the time

that they weren’t

bein’ truthful ‘bout that

 

but now

I’m pretty sure

they were

mistaken

‘cause I saw old Nick

the other day

at the mall

and I can’t help wonderin’

if he knows

parents are tryin’

to suppress

his existence

all over

 

and why is that?

what have parents got

against Santa?

 

ya know it just might be

that Nick’s too powerful

fer the average parent

‘cause all year long

moms and dads

try to discipline

their kids

without success

but ya mention

Santa

anywhere near Christmas

and control is

immediately established

 

and maybe that’s it!

maybe parents

get their egos bruised

by the idea

of some

white bearded old goat

havin’ more clout

than them

 

and maybe that’s why

after eight or nine years

the kids are told

this lie

about St. Nicholas

bein’ a myth

so’s parents can say

“LISTEN UP,

WE’RE THE BOSS.

THERE’S NO SANTA

JUST US

AND YOU EITHER

LIKE IT

OR LUMP IT!”

 

but I’m not sayin’

I disagree with

this method

‘cause at some point

ya gotta outgrow

the need for Santa Claus

and ya gotta depend

on the family

and what they can do

fer ya

and ya’ll be

a better person

more rounded

not in the gut

like Santa

but in yer outlook

 

sure, the method’s okay

but what if

ya reversed the order

and said right off

right at birth

“KID YOU’RE GONNA HEAR A LOT

ABOUT THIS

SANTA CLAUS

BUT DON’T BELIEVE IT.

WE’RE THE ONES

YOU HAVE TO RESPECT.

WE’RE THE ONES

WHO ARE

LOOKING OUT FOR YOU.”

 

and maybe later

when the kids are older

and have lost

all faith

in mankind

and have given up

on anything magical

ya set ‘em straight

‘bout Nick

 

ya tell ‘em

ya lied

and there really is

this St. Nicholas guy

and he’s alright

and as long as

they believe in him

they’ll be alright too

 

and wouldn’t it be easier

that way?

wouldn’t it be nicer

to know

ya haven’t ruined

yer kid’s entire life?

 

sure tell ‘em ‘bout Santa

and they’ll pass the word

and they’ll believe

and behave

and ya’ll have

no more problems

in discipline

if ya use Nick’s name

 

‘cept maybe ‘round Easter

when his moniker

brings no pull

whatsoever

 

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