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When Sparky Lost His Spark: A Dog Dies of a Broken Heart

Old ShepherdMy Aunt Sarah died over 16 months ago. During a recent conversation I had with her husband, my Uncle James, he shared with me a story about their dog’s unusual behavior following my aunt’s death.

As a dog lover, I’ve always been impressed with stories I’ve heard about the instincts and loyalty of animals and how some of them travel great distances to reunite with their owners. And research has proven that dogs have an innate sense of protection for the people with whom they live. After my uncle told me about their family dog’s performance following my aunt’s death, I am even more convinced that just as dogs are “man’s best friend” we are theirs also.

When my aunt died not only was she mourned by numerous relatives and friends who traveled from far and wide to celebrate her homegoing, unbeknownst to us her absence was also felt by her family owned German Shepherd named Sparky.

My aunt and uncle had owned Sparky for many years and although I never knew the dog’s precise age, I do remember him being a frisky, energetic young canine that could easily intimidate anyone entering my aunt and uncle’s yard. Back then, when my aunt saw our family arriving at her home and then backing away when the dog appeared from around the side of the house, her confident words before shooing him away, “He won’t bother you.”  didn’t make me feel any less afraid of that dog. It’s like a dog owner telling me, “He won’t bite.” and me thinking, “He’s got teeth, doesn’t he?” As I said, I do like dogs, providing they don’t frighten me. I remember being wary of Sparky even after he grew old and slow; because as is a dog’s nature, he was no less territorial.

Long before Sparky became a member of their household my aunt and uncle lived in New York City. After retiring from their jobs in the Big Apple, they built a spacious brick house on family-owned land in Eastern North Carolina, outside a small town with a Mayberry feel to it. Several feet across the lawn from my aunt and uncle’s place, within shouting distance, is an old wood frame house built by my grandparents during the period dominated by World War II. They lived there until their deaths. Grandpa, the town’s popular Baptist preacher, who I never had the pleasure of knowing, died in 1946. Grandma left us in 1987. I cherish memories of the wonderful times that my immediate family and I spent visiting between the two houses over the years when grandma was alive.  After grandma died, my aunt and uncle’s home became the primary gathering place for many family members on holidays, getaway weekends, and other occasions.

In the rear of those two houses, partially encircled by a forest, is the small, family cemetery, the final resting place for a number of our family members. It is a quiet place where the living who visit the gravesite can connect spiritually with our departed loved ones. Apparently, Sparky connected there, too. 

I will tell you Sparky’s story as my uncle told it to me. 

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Desperately Seeking Closure

QuestionI think he’s dead. I don’t know for sure. I hope I’m wrong. What I do know is that he is missing. Not knowing what has happened to my friend has me in a quandary, so perhaps you’ll understand if I switch between speaking of him in the present and past tense.

In the years since we’ve been platonic friends, Kenny G – my nickname for him – rarely missed sending me a card for my birthday, Christmas, and other special occasions; or phoning me every few weeks just to keep in touch. For him not to send a Christmas Card or call me last month to say “Happy New Year!” was very unusual.

Although we attended the same high school — he was a few years ahead of me — and grew up blocks apart, we never actually met until 21 years ago; and over time we learned that we knew some of the same people from school and the old neighborhood.

The last time I saw Kenny G was a few weeks after his birthday last October, when he stopped by my home and visited for about half-an-hour with my beau and me. Before leaving he hugged me, shook hands with him, and said “See ya’ later.” to us. That was four months ago. Since then I have left several messages on his phone — the calls went straight to voice mail — and sent notes to his last known address, but received no reply.

Recently, while scrolling through my cell phone messages I discovered that

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Resistance to Change: A Baby Boomer’s Perspective on Computers and the Internet

A lot of people resist transition and therefore never allow themselves to enjoy who they are. Embrace the change, no matter what it is; once you do, you can learn about the new world you’re in and take advantage of it.” ~Nikki Giovanni 

“Why can’t things go back to the way they use to be?” That rhetorical question was asked by my friend, Jay, a fellow boomer who frequently expresses dislike for most things technical including computers and cell phones. His disdain for such gadgets is not only the result of occasional encounters with computerized devices that refuse to yield to his touch; it is ongoing warfare with any gadget that requires more steps to operate than turning it on and off.  And although he occasionally uses the Internet, he feels that he could easily live without it, without email, without cell phones and texting. I could go on, but that might imply that he is a dinosaur, which would be an insult to every prehistoric creature ever recreated in a computer simulation.

Humans are creatures of habit. We get used to doing the same old things, the same old way. Change will never be embraced by everyone, nor will resistance to change prevent it. Like it or not — change happens; so the sensible thing to do would be to accept and enjoy it.

I recently went to the post office to mail a small package. Sometimes when I go there, I purchase a roll of stamps that usually lasts for several months, because I use them infrequently to snail mail a birthday card or send something to one of the few organizations that still doesn’t offer online services. On this particular day, when the clerk asked me if I needed stamps, I said that I didn’t need any and she replied with a wide grin, “You know y’all have to mail those bills, don’t you?” I returned her smile and responded innocently, “No, I pay my bills on line.” 

Freeze!  Apparently, I said the wrong thing on the wrong day, because

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A Never Ending Open Season on Black Males

Did the Sanford, Florida police simply take George Zimmerman’s word for what happened to Trayvon Martin on February 26? No questions asked. No investigation. No lockup. Did they see a cut and dry case of  stand your ground — Black man down? End of story?  Thanks to a national outcry for justice, it is not going down like that.

Like people throughout the country, I am hurt and fire-spitting angry over the unfortunate shooting of Trayvon Martin. I have one son and six young grandsons. They are all Black. That gives me a strong vested interest in the circumstances surrounding Trayvon’s senseless killing and the call for justice.

What mother of a Black male child cannot relate to this most recent tragedy and does not fear for her own offspring? Even those of us who have had “the talk” with our young, male children know that just warning them is never enough. Making our boys aware of the dangers of simply being a Black male, combined with the ongoing racial stereotyping and negative judgments against Blacks in general is a struggle that requires endless vigilance.

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Remembering Christmases Past

There is no other season that makes me long for the good old days like Christmastime. Compared to the chaotic, anti-religious period that we live in now, Christmas season during the sixties seemed a bit more civil and so much merrier. And, oh how well I remember Christmas when I was a child.

 

I remember the gifts that my parents set beneath the Christmas tree

Toys, new clothes, and goodie bags all for my siblings and me

One year there was a set of drums, a bowling set, and Twister

A tin doll house and a doctor’s kit for me and my little sister

Some years we each got roller skates and a game like Candyland

Things that today’s techie children just would not understand

There were boxing gloves, Tonka trucks, and GI Joe for the boys

Because of finances our Christmases did not always bring lots of toys

But we had a loving family and with the joy that Christmas brings

Our bond was more important than any of the material things

I so enjoyed the sweet music from Christmases in the past

It’s just too bad that those good old days did not last, and last, and last

This season also makes me remember Christmas music played at the rink

I roller skated to Booker T and the MGs, but now they play Nsynch 

Before I go off on a nostalgic tangent, I’m going to stop right here

And wish all my readers Merry Christmas and a wonderful New Year!

My gift to you is this beautiful Motown Christmas blast from the past. 

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