Yes, with trunks big enough to sneak four or five of your friends into the drive-in. It's lucky that gas was only twenty five cents a gallon, so we could spend all day driving around. Good times!

And minimum wage was $1.25 per hour, or five gallons per hour. Compare the minimum wage of today with the price of gas.

We really did have it sweet, but we didn't know it.

That's true, but I also remember being in a car and driving past the first McDonalds in town and thinking that if I could go there anytime I wanted to then I would really be rich.

So with that look in our eyes that betrays the guilt of the young, we rushed to go get every cent that we had. The six of us fully pledged to meet back at Rick's as quickly as possible. Things must have come up, as they always do, when our hour came at last it was only Rick and I standing next to Lucy in the darkness, ready to leave.

Undeterred, with twenty-seven fifty to our name, we jumped in the car and headed out to our destiny. On a cold Winter night, two boys alone, with nothing but the absolute belief that we were making the right decision, the decision that would give us the fame and fortune to which we were due.

I asked my friend if he knew the way and he replied that he had been there before, you just jumped on the highway out of Denver and in a few short hours we would be in the city of bright lights and gambling. I was mildly concerned that the car's heater was out, but what grand plan began without some hardship involved? In a flash, we would be returning to our friends who were too scared to commit to fate, rich beyond our wildest dreams.

The two of us, the only ones brave enough to go for it all. Us against the world, without a doubt in our minds, we would be rich in just a few days! In our dreams we saw ourselves heading straight for the roulette table, placing all our money on a single number and then letting it ride into the wealth of Midas. We were truly the captains of our lives and we would prove to the others that they should have taken this brave journey with us.

We never doubted that they would let us gamble, in fact it never even crossed our minds. It was a city built on dreams, how could they deny us ours? The road, fueled by our very existence, spread out before Lucy; in the sky, stars on the blue-black void, as if placed there in our honor.

She didn't have a working radio, so my head played the tunes for me, loud and persistent. The songs were from the album I'd just bought,

"You really got me."

"You really got me."

"You really got me."

And Lucy rumbled on...

We talked on as we drove through the night, the excitement oozing from our mouths. We'd heard that the showgirls walked down the street dressed in their costumes, dancing with any one who wanted to dance. We'd heard that the lights were brighter there than anywhere else in the world, how you could even see them from outer space. Flushed with anticipation, Lucy charged on. Would it be diamonds or would it be gold, that awaited us at the end?

It became freezing cold inside that car, but nothing would stop us now. In the age-old search for riches, we were simply another tiny group in a long line of adventurers, forever setting out on that long road to fame and fortune. We could see images of the huge hotels in our minds, the neon glowing like guideposts, leading us toward the land of milk and honey.

"All day and all of the night."

"All day and all of the night."

"All day and all of the night."

I don't remember how many miles we had driven, but both of us were getting pretty tired. It was cold and late at night and we had been driving for many hours when we finally saw the sign "Las Vegas" coming up on our right. I remember feeling a little confused though, because there were no bright lights to be seen. We drove a couple hundred feet up the road past the city sign and came to a small cafe, the only thing open in the dark.

We walked into the diner and marched right up to the lady serving coffee and asked,

"Where are the casinos?"

"What?"

"Where are the casinos?"

And with that an old State Trooper, sitting at the other end of the row, looked up from the newspaper he was reading. "What do you boys want?"

Fearless, we asked, "We're looking for the gambling casinos, the bright lights, the dancing girls. Where are they?"

It took him a minute before he answered. I like to believe that he took that minute in a sort of reverence for what he was about to say. Did he know that he was about to dash the grandest dreams that can ever be dreamed? Was he once young, with the same wild ideas of riches and fame? I can never be sure, but I really want to believe that that's what caused him to hesitate, a boy once, a powerful memory still hidden in the back of his mind, not wanting to hurt us, still wishing that those dreams were actually true.

"You boys are looking for Las Vegas, Nevada. This is Las Vegas, New Mexico, we don't have gambling. You two need to get back in your car and head back where you came from."

And with that our dreams were shattered. We drove the long cold miles back to Colorado in silence and I don't think we ever mentioned it again. Of course, our friends would ask what happened, but we kept our secret and rather than answering, we just stared off into a distance that only the two of us could see.

I've been to Las Vegas, Nevada a few times as an adult, but it never quite lived up to the dreams that I'd had as a boy. But then again, has there ever been anything in life that ever did? As adults, we are forced to live in reality, a truth not of our own making. Those dreams die hard, but they do die, just more fodder for our memories, one more thing to think on as we get further and further from from our youth.

"Yeah, you really got me now. You got me so I can't sleep at night."

nice one

Thanks. It's funny, because we were supposed to feel bad about ditching school, etc,. but here it is almost fifty years later and this is what I remember. I certainly don't remember all those dreary days that went by one after another, lol.

And to all of 2+2 (and everybody IRL), have a fantastic holiday, whatever your persuasion! (and this year I am making a promise to begin (and end) my study of Zoroastrianism! Perhaps this one holds the key...)

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

First, a little story about my less than successful stage work. (And I really hope that I was not singing here, but I do remember some comedic parts where I tried my best...)

This photo still was from a very early melodrama that came a few years before Heritage Square ever opened. Several teachers got together to raise money to help with the hospital bills for a little girl in our school who had leukemia.

We put on several productions that seemed to go over pretty well, so we kept getting calls to put on a few more. Like most things in life, we started out rough and as we gave more and more performances, we became better at what we did. Each of us became more confident on stage as the timing of the lines got tighter, our jokes got funnier and we could loosen up more and more.

It was a good feeling being able to help the parents with their bills and give people some laughs at the same time. I had acted as a little kid, but as I got older I never had the confidence to actually get up in front of an audience. This was different, because I just imagined that I was acting for my students and I had always been able to ham it up all day long for them.

Because the little girl was in remission, it became a happy story all round (And as an aside, that little girl is turning fifty this year!) as our troop began gaining some notoriety around town. This was before the advent of the more professional productions, so I assume that people were more easily amused in those days.

We had a small group of actors and a piano player and after awhile, with the help of word of mouth, we were putting on a play about once a month. Most of the audiences were around two hundred people with a few of them up to three hundred, both adults and children.

It was during one of these melodramas that I had secretly planned for something a bit different to happen. As I was delivering my opening lines, I could see out in the center aisle, a small boy holding something in his arms. He slowly began walking up the middle section, between the audience. As he continued up to the stage, the audience began focusing on him, rather than the play.

He stopped right in front of me and just looked up and smiled. The piano player saw him standing there and stopped playing, so the whole play ceased right there. Suddenly he turned toward the piano player, walked over and sat his bundle on top the piano. The crowd could see that he had been carrying a bunch of flowers and they grew silent, wondering what was going on.

He handed the pianist a card and then turned around and walked off. Suddenly, my piano player stood up, nodded her head vigorously, burst into tears and ran out of the auditorium. Of course, the crowd was completely confused as I stood up there on stage alone.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence all around, a big smile came over my face. In the best stage voice that I could muster, I announced to the crowd,

"Would somebody go outside and find my new fiancee, bring her back in here and let's finish this thing!"

And with that, I got the first standing ovation of my life.

The next set of stories will be about my misadventures in Asia. I spent five months there training in martial arts (and of course studying educational systems), where I was taught many lessons that I never signed up for.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

I should have listened to the advice that I was given while sitting in an airport in Taipei. I had traveled all day (and into the night...) from Denver and I was tired and ready to get to my destination. The final short piece of my trip would take me to Bangkok, where I would be eating Thai food and training in kickboxing, something that I had never tried before.

The man sitting next to me in the lobby was an American agent involved with "fakes' flooding the US market, but he didn't really tell me specifically what he was doing in the East. He acted surprised that I would fly into Bangkok without knowing where I was going or having made any preparations for when I got there. He just told me to be careful. I was pretty confident of my travel skills by then, so I didn't give it too much thought.

By the time I arrived in Thailand it was well after midnight and I was very tired from traveling. The immigration guards were not particularly friendly, but I've since learned that may be because I was traveling alone and that fact raises suspicions about the nature of your visit. I explained that I was coming to their country for the express reason to get beat up in the ring, but with their limited English, I'm not sure they knew I was joking.

After I got past customs, I was immediately surrounded by helpful people, all intent on assisting me toward my destination, (or so I thought). I'm naturally suspicious, but I think I let down my guard a bit; I was dead on my feet and I just wanted to be in a hotel bed. One man shoved a picture of a nice looking hotel in my face, told me he had a cab and I was immediately being transported through the busiest street I have ever seen in my life.

The city was absolutely alive, even that late at night, with thousands of cars, motorcycles, tuk tuks, people hollering, neon lights and wild looking clubs. Because of time changes, I had been traveling for what felt like twenty four hours, it was about two o'clock in the morning by then and I just wanted to sleep for a couple of days to clear my head.

Suddenly, the driver pulls off the main street into a dark alley. It was completely pitch black and instantly I knew that something wasn't right.

"This doesn't look like the way to the hotel."

"Oh, this is good, this is the way," were the only words he said.

He drove down that dark alley for about a hundred feet and suddenly stopped the car. At that moment at least six guys surrounded the cab and started to open the doors. I was pretty sure that I understood what was about to happen. It's an interesting thing when one decides to use what could be deadly force to try to save themselves. I had trained for many, many years in dealing with a situation exactly like this, but even after all that, I was afraid that my mind might try to look for that easier softer way out of the situation.

I'd had to back down people a few times before, by just showing them that I was willing to fight, but certainly not to the extent that I felt that my life was in danger and it was kill or be killed. It never crossed my mind in that split second that perhaps I could just give up my money and my "stuff". There was only the feeling that I was about to die and I should use whatever means necessary to save myself.

It took me less than one second from the time he stopped the car and I saw those rough looking men, to grab the driver by the throat with one hand and his forehead with the other and tell him that if he didn't get out of there, I would kill him on the spot. At that moment, I was ready to break his neck, something I had trained to do many times before. I was choking him hard enough that I knew he couldn't breathe and I wanted him to feel his own life fading away. I wanted to convey to him, the exact same thoughts that I had at that second and that he would not be living through this experience if he didn't follow my instructions. An odd act for a teacher, but it was interesting to feel my training take over and my "civilized" nature simply disappear.

Luckily, he threw the car in reverse, probably reacting to the same primal forces that I was and floored the accelerator. We rushed backwards down the alley, until we came out onto the street. I let go of his throat and told him not to say a word, but to drive straight to the hotel. At that point, I was hoping that he hadn't been innocently trying to take me to a club where he earned a commission, but too tired to care any more, we drove in silence to the hotel.

Needless to say, I didn't tip the driver when we arrived. The hotel didn't look anything like the brochure, the room was small, but clean and the door had been kicked in and the lock was broken, but I was too tired to care. I propped a chair against the door and tried to get some sleep.

About ten o'clock the next day, I got a phone call and the manger was telling me that somebody wanted to speak to me in the lobby. Because I didn't know anybody in Bangkok, I assumed it was the police wanting to hear my side of the story. To my surprise, when I went downstairs, I saw the manager talking to the cabbie from the night before. The driver said that he was there to take me around town and that I would have to pay him one hundred dollars if I didn't want to go.

The manager of the hotel seemed as if he was in on the scam, because he was saying that I should just pay him fifty dollars to go away. I guess that they hadn't dealt with someone with my temper before, because they both looked shocked when I went ballistic. I told them both they were idiots, that I wasn't going to pay him anything and if I heard any more about it, that I was calling the police. I also said that I would be changing hotels and filing a formal complaint with the tourist bureau. I was still mad from the night before, so I may have mentioned beating them both to a pulp, but perhaps I'm mistaken about that.

The cab driver left in a rush and the manager told me he would lower my rates if I would just stay for my next few days in the city. I decided that I was still too tired to make any changes, so I spent the next two days in my room, spaced with jet lag, sleeping during the day and training through the night.

After two days, I went down to breakfast and met a couple of other travelers who shared war stories much worse than mine. One teenage girl, traveling alone, had her door kicked in at that very hotel and was robbed of everything she owned. Because she was from South Africa and at the time you couldn't wire money out of the country, her father was having to travel to Thailand to bring her enough money to get home. We pitched in enough for her to eat, but she was pretty much in tears for the rest of her stay.

I know now that this is not the norm in Bangkok, but instead I had been, not so magically, transported to a very rough section of the city where problems are common. It was a harsh introduction to Asia, but after I'd rested up, I was ready to accomplish what was a fairly long list of things that I wanted to do.

While visiting various parts of the city I needed to get a Visa for mainland China, which is much easier in Thailand than in the USA. I also wanted to make plans for the most dangerous part of my trip, something that I had dreamed about since the sixties. I wanted to cross the border into Myanmar and smoke opium with a tribal chieftain, one of the "bucket list" items for all hippies in the know.

The Thais periodically go through a series of government crackdowns on mostly young people who are protesting for a more open government. Street riots were going on when I got there and my tuk tuks were having to go around the crowds and barricades to get through the city. I'm assuming that the soldiers were using rubber bullets on the rioters, because they were being hit, but they jumped back up and ran away.

One time a guy on a little motorcycle pulled up and I jumped on before really giving it much thought. It worked out okay because seconds after saying the words, "Chinese Embassy", we were racing through the teeming masses (on the sidewalks, even through the stalls) and were there in minutes. I used that young guy for most of my transport after that; it was a little scary, but if you crashed, you would probably not completely fall over, it was that crowded everywhere.

After viewing several of the main temples in Bangkok, visiting the floating markets and eating at restaurants all over town, I decided that it was time to head to the northernmost part of the country. A bus trip to Chaing Mai and then a second trip to Chaing Saen left me, according to a the little signs in the area, inside the Golden Triangle.

Regardless of government policy at the time and far from being embarrassed at being the purported opium growing capital of the world, one the little town even had an opium museum, showing the history of its use. There were other Westerners there, so I figured that we were all looking for the same experience and I wouldn't have much of a problem finding mine.

Crossing into Myanmar (Burma) was the only real worry, because the military junta ruled with an iron hand and their prisons were considered brutal. Being caught with drugs inside Thailand at that time was being treated almost as harshly, so each step of the way had to be handled with caution.

Illegally sneaking out of one country that was currently in the middle of street riots that were being repressively put down by the government, into a country in the midst of a long term brutal military crackdown, to smoke a substance so addictive that it's been known to grab your soul and never let go, such is what dreams are made of. Those are the moments that define us, those times when life as you know it might end forever; I don't advise them for anyone else, but I can't escape them for myself.

I met up with a couple of Brits who were in the area for the same reason and we found three young men who would take us across the border for a price. I had thoughts of never being heard from again and being locked up in Burma for the rest of my life, but I figured that's one of those chances you take to be alive.

The crossing was uneventful and we ended up in a tiny village, in front of an open air thatched hut. We were introduce to what was supposed to be the leader and it was obvious that he knew why we were there. After we paid using American Dollars and British Pounds, (the preferred currency) we were given a little lump of black gummy stuff that tasted sweet and had a wonderful exotic smell.

I lay down on the mat on the floor and propped my head against the traditional wood block pillow. (They say you know the opium is good when the block suddenly feels as soft as a cloud.) I put the drug in the pipe and waited for the young attendant to light the black ball. When the fire touched the drug, I took a long deep breath and held it inside for as long as I could.

These are the visions I saw...

I was watching the birds outside in the trees when suddenly, one small bird flew down and landed right in front of me on the floor. It was feathered in black, with a white collar around its neck and a red cap on top of its head. It pecked at the ground for a few minutes and then looked up into my eyes.

The birds chirping was calling my soul, while the black eyes beckoned me forward. I felt the impulse to follow, but I wasn't sure how, when suddenly I dropped the bonds of my body and I was flying haphazardly off through the clouds. We soared up over the mountains and into the sun, faster and faster like sand in the wind.

We came to seven citadels, each sitting on top of a mountain, each surrounded by its own little town, two were built of grey rock and five were fashioned out of red sandstone. Each building had twenty-three windows and each window had fifteen panes, I tried to look into the rooms, but all was dark within.

The streets of each town glittered in the bright sun and there was a strange flashing in the air. As the bird and I flew closer, I could see that each street was covered with individual tiny papers of gold, little pieces of thin gold leaf; covering the roadways in their entirety, blanketing each town. So far my quest was giving me more questions than answers, but I wanted, actually I expected, this journey to give me clarity, to give me the meaning of life. (Not too much to ask for, after all...)

Off in the distance I could see the bottom of a high mountain, it's top obscured in the clouds. I left the bird behind in my flight and headed for that mountain, hoping that this would give me the answer to the questions that were spinning around in my head.

On top of the mountain, deep in the clouds, I saw a huge statue, it's head reaching into the distant sky. I flew higher and higher, at a faster and faster pace, focused on the carved monolith that stood before me in the sky. It was chiseled out of the same grey rock that the two citadels bore, a lofty, gigantic statue in honor of something that existed in the world long before.

After flying for hours, I reached the head of the gigantic totem and I looked at the face. It wore a look of sadness, a world weary grim expression that spoke more than words. But, in the eyes I saw the answer, if only in runes, I saw the truth as a symbol, the glimmer of soul.

For from those eyes, those fifty foot orbs that contained nothing but void, out spilled those flakes of gold, as if tears on the world. And those flakes fell down on the people in those little towns, so that even their grand citadels, those castles built to protect them from the terrible storm, could not help them stop this wealth from above. They cowered in fear away from the deluge, huddled in their houses and afraid to go out.

It was then that I awoke from my dream, an opium fueled journey to the end of eternity. Our guides were smiling as we each came back to reality, they knew exactly where we had been. The three men took us back across the border, got me onto my bus and with that I was heading back to Bangkok, perhaps none the wiser, but then again perhaps I was.

I spent a few days back in Bangkok training at a kickboxing school, seeing more of the sights and eating Thai food all over town. The classes were fantastic exercise, which left me dead tired, but because I was twice as big as everyone else, it was hard for me to feel really comfortable.

I decided that I would make the trip down to Phuket, where most Westerners go to party and lay on the warm sand. I booked the trip on a bus meant for regular people rather than tourists and had a fun song filled journey down. My plans were to go island hopping to Ko Phi Phi and Ko Samui, do a little snorkeling, train on my own and use up the rest of my time in the country.

I loved the area, primarily because it was far less crowded than Bangkok. I had to train before sun rise, because it was so hot and humid, but I spent the rest of the day just resting under the palm trees. The prices were even cheaper in the South, so my hotel room, right on the water, was about ten dollars a night.

As an embarrassing aside, I was kidnapped by bandits, but subsequently saved by the Royal Navy, a frightening fact that sounds more exciting than it really was. I was drinking at the time and must have blacked out at some little bar in Phuket, when several sailors on leave saw me being carried away by less than savory characters. They kindly intervened by taking me away from them, carrying me back to my hotel and putting me in my room. They left a note on the dresser explaining what happened for me to read when I woke up.

I am still unbelievably grateful to those young Brits and I hope they were given some benefit in Karma down the line. And while I could probably have left this little bit out of my trip report, it is important to be reminded that we all have clay feet and these are exactly the kind of stories of which a good first step is made.

After a too short time enjoying the area (It's terrible to think that this was the same area that was devastated by the tsunami just a few years later.), I decided to start using Hong Kong as my central destination and planning all my other travels from there. Flights were plentiful and cheap, and everywhere I wanted to get to was a short hop away.

The flight into the old Kai Tak airport was easily the most exciting that I had ever had in my life up to that point. The flight was made in the middle of a huge rainstorm that made it feel like a roller coaster. Almost everyone on the plane was either clinching their seat in fear or screaming every time we hit a bump.

The only person who was enjoying it was a boy, who looked about seven, sitting across the aisle from me. He was laughing and cheering each shudder so happily that I finally said something about him being very brave. He laughed and asked me if I wanted to go up front and ride with the pilot.

When he said that, I laughed and told him that I didn't think that was going to be possible. With that he called the attendant over and before I knew what was happening, the two of us were sitting in little seats behind the people flying the plane. The boy was the pilot's son and we were allowed to ride up there for a short while until the plane was coming in to the airport. That's the only time I've ridden in the cockpit of a plane and it did seem less scary up there in the front, compared to riding in the back.

After we got back to our seats, I was comforted flying with that happy kid, because the landing into Kai Tak was amazingly dangerous looking. You land between high rise buildings that appear to be mere feet from the tips of the wings. The storm was shaking and bouncing the plane so much that the pilot had to abort the first landing and go around one more time. We landed between those buildings, in what felt like a sideways position and came to a quick halt at the end of the runway. Of course, the little boy laughed and cheered the entire way into the airport.

It's difficult for me to believe that that airport was only ranked sixth on the list of the most dangerous airports in the world. Of course, it's been long since replaced by the bigger and better Hong Kong International, with the ride much less exciting now. Because I was again flying into a strange city well after midnight, my focus was on ensuring that I didn't repeat my last escapade with a cab driver. "The best laid plans..."

INTERMISSION -

"Fearing retrogression..."

Sitting around in a snowstorm always brings out the "Searching for the inner meaning in life" in me and two days ago was no exception. In the midst of my ruminations, I got a call from a friend of a neighbor saying that he had always loved my house and asked if I would call him if I ever wanted to sell it.

I made the decision on the spot and told him that I would be happy to sell it and he is coming to see it next week. Although I've thought about moving from the cold, I've been lax in getting rid of stuff (I have enough "stuff" to fill several homes, an affliction of my age) and thinking about my clutter also made me a little stressed about being prepared for the rest of my life. If this change happens, I want this to be the impetus for planning at least for a few years going forward, if not forever.

I've expressed before, that while it's nice having done all these things in life, it's also strange to feel like I'm just sitting around waiting for the end, living in my head with how great life used to be. Which is where you come in. I am in good health, but I am in my sixties and not getting any younger. I am fortunate that money does not have to be a consideration, I can do anything in life that I want. (Which is more daunting than freeing, but I'm aware how that sounds to most of you.)

I will keep writing, but I'm thinking that there should be something more. I want to design the rest of my life going forward (The complexity being that I must end up at a life that is livable at seventy plus, that's the hard part...), while feeling worthwhile during the journey.

It's not as if I haven't given it any thought, but I'm thinking that, because most of you are younger, you will have ideas that I've never thought of. While I don't really know, I'm sure most of you are like I was and don't really want to think about being old, but here I am. Any thoughts would be appreciated. (I can guarantee that it will be in a warmer climate and the dog has absolute veto power over everything, lol.)

(I am also aware that my problems pale in comparison to many of you. I too struggled when I was young and my hope goes out to each one you who is facing difficulty in life.)

As much as we know about you, it's not much. I think your relationships with wife?, ex-wife?, kids?, parents?, siblings? and where they all live have some impact here.

I'm just going to take a very wild swing though and suggest becoming an expert in something new. In your position and at your age you could still do something really cool like make a real scientific contribution as an amateur in biology (ornothology or entymology), environmental science, or maybe even astronomy.

Second wild swing: do t'ai chi on the beach.

The tai chi is a great idea, I haven't really trained in martial arts since my foot was fixed. I've been worried about slamming it into anything, although it's probably stronger than my other one, lol.

Ex-wife died a few years ago, we were friends till the end. Two stepsons with grand kids, everyone is doing fantastic, but of course, they have lives of their own. One set in Colorado that I see regularly and another, that I miss bunches, who live in in a frozen arctic land. (I promise that I will be here in March, whatever happens with the house.) Three sisters that I'm close to (and I wish that I could see one of them more). A friend in Colorado who's life is also in transition, a common fact for people our age.

I'm thinking about your idea to discover something (although I'm not very scientific.), I'm more literature oriented, but maybe something is in there...

Thank you so much for your ideas!

I think there are still 'discoveries' to be made in something like Ulysees. Or writing yourself? Or working with young authors?

I was going to suggest doing something like Henry Beston, writer of The Outermost House, but perhaps less extreme. He spent a year in a remote shack on the beach at Cape Cod and wrote about it.

Point is, you could combine literature with experiencing the world in some way.

I might try to incorporate pieces of both of these ideas, so thank you both.

My life changed again over the last day and a half. The dog started having seizures and I thought that I was going to lose him. He went on medication and he hasn't had one since last night, so I think he's okay now. I'm awaiting the test results of his blood work to see if that's the problem.

We've been inseparable for ten years, so I'm sort of feeling out of sorts right now.

I'm moving this over from OOT, because I want to...
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(The thread was about saving a stranger or a beloved pet.)

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I remember when Buster was just a puppy, how proud I was when he started preschool. I remember how happy he was when the driver picked him up each day, off to see his many friends. The two of us worried that the human parents wouldn't like him, but he quickly fit in quite well.

I remember those early worries when he struggled with reading and the tears we shed when the teachers told us that it was never going to be. I knew he didn't want to leave his friends and travel to that "special school", where his handicap would be less of a detriment, but such is life.

The first few days were troubling, but he finally found his place. The joy on the children's faces as he would bring their toys back to them over and over again. I can still hear their screams of laughter, watching him carry them back to the pile after they had thrown them into the air for the what seemed like a million times.

I remember when I almost lost him after he ate the box of rat poison, (and swallowed the tennis ball, ate the Qush ball whole, swallowed the whole package of frozen chicken wings, ate all the wrappers off of the candy bars, etc., etc., etc.) and how he pulled through every time. There were many sleepless nights, but Buster never stopped believing that it was all just good fun.

I remember him as a teenager, when he drove the car for the very first time. Knocking the emergency brake loose and driving through Greenwood Village, barely missing a plumber's truck who called 911. I remember my embarrassment when the police arrived at my uncle's door and asked if I knew where my car was and I could only shout, "I don't care about my car, where is my dog?" I found him at the end of the street, smashed into a brick mailbox, the horn blaring and the car surrounded by laughing police. They're still talking about it in that neighborhood today.

I remember when he pulled me over the edge of a ravine and I tumbled down the side and landed in the creek. The two teenagers on the other side, worried that I was hurt, didn't even smile. He acted like it was the greatest adventure in the world, while I tried to brush the mud off in embarrassment.

Buster and I have lived in a castle and we've lived on a boat in the marina. We've lived on Venice Beach and we've lived on a horse ranch. We've traveled around the country and he's saved me several times, warning me about break ins and chasing off the bad guys who ran in fear from his big mouth. We have been inseparable friends for more than ten years and he's been the most trustworthy buddy I have ever had.

Sorry strangers, it's not going to be happening in this life, I'm going to save my dog every time...

Buster...

The update that I don't want to make. The dog's blood work was fine which is bad news. (If it showed a problem in his liver or kidneys, that would be fixable.) Instead, because of his age, it's most likely a tumor. The vet was pessimistic, the meds will only stave off the inevitable for so long.

He's on phenobarbital and I'm on tranquilizers, so we are just lying here contemplating life and death. It's not as if I haven't thought about this before, what with the disparity in our different life spans, but "the now" is never the right time. (The distant future is always the more palatable option when having to deal with bad news.)

Anyway, I'm sorry for the negativism, I am going to attempt to write again soon. At this point, I'm faking living and am doing whatever I can to keep my mind focused on anything but reality.

As an addendum to this, I promise to write an upbeat, funny story about Buster, because nothing else will fit. He has been the wildest, craziest dog that anyone can imagine and only a story about one of many of his escapades would really do justice to his life.