Snowy day in Georgia

Buster

Buster had a really good Buster day Friday. He got some treats; he got to go for a walk and eat some grass and smell a freshly dug hole in the ground; he got to snuggle next to Daddy on the couch all night and even drink from his water glass; and he got to curl up in bed with Mommy and Daddy and Gibby.

On Saturday morning Buster got up with Daddy and coached him through getting dressed and ready for work, like every day, then went back to bed. Daddy kissed Mommy, kissed Earle, kissed Gibby and kissed Buster on the head before setting off.

Around 11 a.m., Mommy went to take a bath, and Buster walked her down the hall, talking all the way. And while she was bathing, he went into the den, lay down under a table and went to sleep.

Forever.

Our big boy would have been 18 at the end of May. He was an anniversary gift from Rox's mom to her stepdad when the kitty was just a few weeks old, big feet and big eyes and all. Bob named him Patches because of his mottled coloring.

Patches learned quickly that he wasn't allowed on tables or countertops, so he would sit up straight on a chair or a stool, like a person. Cracked me up, even though I didn't really like the guy very much.

See, Patches and I got off to a bad start. The very first time we met, there were a lot of people in the house and I was sitting on the floor, engaging in conversation with someone at the table.

Suddenly I heard that nasty scream that comes with a cat fight and felt something sharp slicing across my finger. The little bugger bit me for no reason!

I forgave him for that, but I distrusted him for a long time and never did warm up to him much for all the years he lived with my in-laws. He was no trouble, but we were generally indifferent to each other.

Bob and Jeanette lived next to a lake and had a purple martin house in the yard, so there was plenty of wildlife for the kitty to watch. One of them got the idea to put Patches in a harness and tie him outside so he could enjoy the fresh air. He took to it immediately, spending long afternoons, year after year, lazing in the shade of a pine tree -- and often needing pine sap combed out of his fur.

Jeanette and Bob loved that kitty. They let him eat potato chips and ice cream and popcorn. Unfortunately, when Patches was about 12, Jeanette went to heaven. Bob eventually met another nice lady and got married again. They started traveling a lot, and they felt bad about leaving Patches home alone. So on one trip, in late 2005, they brought him along -- to our house. And left him with us.

We were surprised but we welcomed him, as our home had been catless since Rikki had died in 2004. Patches made himself right at home, picking out a spot on the couch for hanging out.

Patches had a gregarious personality and such a stout body that our vet didn't believe us when we told him this was a 14-year-old cat. Dr. Hicks figured him for about 8.

For the same reasons, we didn't think the name Patches fit him very well. Rox had often called him Buster as a nickname, and that became his official moniker. He didn't care; he couldn't hear us anyway.

When he first came to us, Buster would open his mouth but only a squeaky little sound would come out. We soon realized he had gone deaf, but it didn't seem to bother him much. Eventually he got his voice back, and boy, did he like to use it. He always had plenty to say on just about any subject.

One thing he cried for often was a chance to go outside. We tied him up to our back porch virtually every day, and in about a half hour could count on hearing him call out to free him from the spirea bush he always wound his leash around.

It was a natural next step for us to take up the leash and start walking him up and down the block. This he took to with great enthusiasm. He took us on some prodigious walks; I can remember one that covered 12 blocks. In fact, Dr. Hicks told us to cut down on the walking because Buster was losing too much weight!

Buster became a neighborhood celebrity -- the Walking Cat. Drivers on busy Merriman Road would stop their cars to gawk and ask us how we got him to take a leash like that; a few people even took pictures.

A few months after Buster arrived we adopted Earle and then Gibby, and even though he had never shared his home or people with another cat, he didn't seem to mind. And when we moved to Georgia, he saw it as a fun new place to explore. He even knew which driveway was his; he never failed to turn in when we reached it after a walk.

Maybe because I was the one who took him for walks most often, Buster decided to make me his buddy. He wore me down, and I came to love him.

Both of us cherished our couch time together. In the last few months he'd become a little arthritic and had a touch of asthma, but he was a happy cat who had a good life.

I'm grateful that we had that great Friday and nice Saturday morning before he lay down for his final nap. His ashes will go to be with Jeanette, but the warmth of his companionship will always stay here with us.

God bless you, Buster. Thank you for being my buddy. Keep our spot on heaven's couch warm for us, and one day we'll walk and talk together again.

But Valentine's Day will never be the same.

Hair today

I'm letting my hair grow back in.

Not all of it will grow back in, of course, but whatever can grow will be allowed to grow.

My original decision almost four years ago to start shaving my dome was based on a desire to shape my own image, to seize control of my appearance from the cruel hand of nature and genetics. I thought it would make me look mean or tough or whatever; I don't know if it did or not.

What I do know is that just about every balding white guy under 55 is doing the same thing now. I pruned my goatee down to a soul patch a few months ago because the goatee has become part of the standard bald-white-guy look too.

Now I'm comfortable enough in my own skin and scalp to just go with what my daddy gave me. I'm sticking with the soul patch cuz I like it. (And Vannah doesn't want her godfather to grow a full beard.) If I start shaving my head again, it'll be because I want to, not because I'm trying to project an image.

Who knows? A semicircle of gray hair could be the next big trend.

Let's learn from Lincoln

As Inauguration Day nears and we enter an era of new leadership, let those whose candidates lost and those whose candidates won in the recent election be reconciled. In his first inaugural address, Abraham Lincoln, our 16th president (and a Republican!) said this during a time of civil war:

"We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature."

God bless Barack Obama, God bless those who disagree with him, and God bless America and the world it seeks to lead by example.

(Photo swiped from http://www.dirtwrites.blogspot.com )

Surprise ending

The nice dog we found and lost Wednesday night was found again by a neighbor this morning.

Our neighborhood association president had received an email plea for help from the dog's owner, and he forwarded it to everyone in our neighborhood.

The neighbor who found the dog called the owner, who lives in an adjoining neighborhood, and the reunion occurred minutes later.

Last we heard, Newton (he turned out to be a boy; our bad) was on his way to the vet to get his foot looked at.

Unfortunately, his brother (who knew?) is still missing. But Newton found his way home, so maybe Archimedes will too. He has a microchip, we're told, so that might help.

Newton's return home was a real community effort. Thanks, everybody!

Easy come, easy go

Late this afternoon My Lovely Wife was just getting home from the grocery store, and our sobriety-challenged neighbor Andy walked up the driveway with a beautiful stray dog following him.

The dog appeared to have a broken right rear foot and a contusion on her left hindquarter, leading me to believe she'd been hit by a car. She was very calm and sweet-tempered, though.

Andy said he wasn't willing to do anything for this dog, but, after hesitating, said if we wanted to seek treatment for her leg he would throw in some money. We didn't commit at that moment to doing anything either, as we felt we were having a dog dumped on us. Andy walked away and we walked inside.

I couldn't stand the thought of that poor dog, with her pale blue eyes and her nice disposition, hobbling around out there, so I said something to MLW. We agreed to put her in our fenced back yard while we made an effort to find her people. She was well fed and well cared for, so we knew someone would be missing her.

We contacted our neighborhood association president, who sent an email to everyone in the neighborhood, and I posted an ad on craigslist. Then we went out to talk to some of our neighbors who we thought might know whose dog this was.

One of those neighbors, a guy named Richard who has an ancient Mustang parked in his driveway, has two dogs, both of whom were accounted for. But he was kind enough to bag up about three servings of dog food to take home to our urchin.

After checking with a couple of other neighbors -- one of whom may have provided a good lead to the owner -- I went home, put the food in a pie pan and took it out to the backyard.

"Doggie! I have food for you! Come and get it! ... Doggie! ... Doggie?"

She was gone.

We searched all over that yard, under the shed, under the deck, behind the composter ... nothing. Gone.

Somehow that dog, who I guessed was half Malamute and half ... something else, had either leapt over the fence with her one good hind leg or squeezed through a narrow opening by the gate. Neither one seems plausible.

I feel terrible about this, and I don't really know why. She hadn't acted afraid or uncomfortable around me at all, and didn't seem to have a problem with our yard. I was trying to help the poor thing, and she took off. I'm almost ... insulted.

Maybe I was looking forward to being somebody's hero when the reunion happened. Maybe I liked playing the role of rescuer. Maybe I secretly hoped I'd get to keep her.

I don't know, but it's all over as quickly as it began. I just hope she found her way home.

Women begetting badly

Matthew's genealogy of Jesus covers forty-and-two generations, but it mentions just five women -- and only four by name. The interesting and fun thing is that every one of those women was scandalous in some way.

Tamar had been married to Judah's son Er, but Er died. According to Hebrew custom, Er's brother Onan was supposed to take on Tamar as his wife to provide offspring for his late brother, but he failed to fulfill his duty. (Onan "wasted his seed on the ground," meaning he pulled out so Tamar wouldn't get pregnant; it is misunderstanding of this Scripture that has led many Christians to condemn masturbation, which in fact has nothing to do with this.)

As Tamar's father-in-law, it was Judah's duty to provide a man to help her conceive, but he reneged. So, Tamar tricked Judah into fulfilling this duty by disguising herself as a prostitute and getting him to sleep with her. When Tamar, no longer disguised, was found to be pregnant, Judah tried to have her burned at the stake. However, Tamar turned the tables by proving that Judah was the father, exposing him as a john and as a man who failed to fulfill his word or his duty.

Judah -- a son of Jacob and patriarch of the largest of the Twelve Tribes of Israel -- admitted in front of everyone, "She is more righteous than I." Tamar gave birth to twins, one of whom was Jesus' ancestor Perez.

Rahab was the mother of Boaz and great-grandmother of David, the greatest king Israel would have and a figure who in many ways was a precursor of Jesus. She was also a prostitute, but she helped the spies who scouted out the town of Jericho for Joshua.

Rahab's son Boaz married Ruth, who was not a Hebrew. She was a minority, a foreigner, a member of a different race, so to speak, but she became David's grandmother.

Next in line is a woman whom Matthew calls "Uriah's wife." Her name was Bathsheba, and David had a one-night stand with her while Uriah was off fighting a war for him. David married her after having Uriah killed. She eventually gave birth to Solomon, who succeeded David as king and was one of Jesus' forefathers.

The last scandalous woman on the list is a girl named Mary, who was an unwed teenage mother whose fiance knew he wasn't the father. Her fiance, Joseph, "desired to put her away secretly." However, an angel of the Lord let Joseph know that Mary had conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit, so he stuck with her.

And, as Jentezen Franklin said, Mary had a little Lamb.

Every one of these women was at the center of a scandal, every one a subject of gossip. And every one is in the bloodline of Jesus, the Son of God and Savior of the world.

God esteems -- and redeems -- scandalous women.