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Discussion in 'Random Ramblings' started by sunflour, Nov 7, 2015.
Of course he's real!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Don't talk like that Phil!
Scared me for a second there.....
Don't cry sour, Phil just mis-spoke.
There's a fine line between pessimism and realism. Bloodwork indicates excessively high white cell counts, and no exposure to tick borne diseases. Cytology results not in yet, but sadly it is looking more likely that Easy has lymphoma - not good.
sorry...that's rough....how old is the poor dog?
Poor Easy, I'm sorry sour.
My reaction completely, Phil! As I said, Evan and Katie are beyond it - I never will be! Just posted the full story of the Charlie Brown tree on Rachel's thread. Had to pull it up to send it in to the paper again this year. David (editor/owner) asked for it and wanted to reprint again if space allows in our small town weekly. So if it gets in, fine, if it doesn't it's been reprinted enough times the way it is so no big deal.
I remember when my kids were little. Our Navy Wive's Club had a "Have Santa, Will Travel" program. You could call, set up an appointment, and at the scheduled time a Santa would arrive at your door. If you tucked a couple of gifts on your porch that the kids could open, he'd bring them in with him. It was great fun, and a great fund raiser for the club. Anyway, Ken's brother Mike was staying with us at the time and I wheedled him into being one of the Santas. Talk about bad casting! Mike was probably 5'5 and if he weighed 120 pounds I don't know where he would have been hiding it! We found him a small Santa Suit, layered lots of clothes under it and stuffed it pretty good, then one of the Santa drivers arrived to take Mike on his appointed rounds. Mike wasn't familiar with the Navy Housing complex we lived in (shoot, I lived there for 2 years and I wasn't even familiar with that maze!) so we made sure his area was fairly close to our unit. The plan was for the driver to drop Mike off at the building farthest from ours and for Mike to work his way back. We figured he could handle that.
It was beyond cold that night in Great Lakes, Illinois, with temps in the negative teens. And of course it was windy. He'd been gone almost 2 hours, but since he wasn't outside for long just going from one appointment to the other, and since he had so many layers on, I wasn't too worried. Ken had the duty that night, so he was spending the night at the base. Got a knock on the door and when I opened it there was a base security officer standing on either side of Mike, who looked like he'd been put together with scotch tape. His beard was hanging from one ear, his belt was missing, his pillow was poking out of his Santa jacket and he was mad...mad...MAD!! One of the officers looked at me and said, "Does this belong to you? He said he was staying here." Um, yep, he's mine, and I explained what was going on and showed them the appointment list and program details. So they let him go with a strong admonition to restrict his gift giving to the stuff people left on their porches. Mike huffed off to the room he was sharing with Kenny and shivered into some real clothes while I made a pot of coffee. Then I got the story from him.
Seems several visits before, Mike realized he had to pee. He figured it was harder to be Santa if you looked into the faces of overjoyed 3 year olds and asked to use the bathroom there than wait a little longer, so he could wait. A few more trips out into the cold and he realized he couldn't wait. But after his last visit, with the lights of our unit shining just half a block away, he knew he wouldn't make it. So he put his Santa sack down, and crawled into a dumpster to be out of the wind and out of sight while he took care of business. He was trying to find a way to access what he needed under all those clothes and padding, and in the process started using some language that Santa probably shouldn't even know about. A concerned citizen heard the commotion and when she looked out her window she saw the sack laying on the ground and just the top of a cussing Mike's Santa hat bobbing around in the dumpster and called base security. Must have been a slow night - Mike hadn't even finished what he'd set out to do when they showed up. He said the idea of explaining briefly flashed through his head but as fast as it entered he decided that trying to explain why he was dressed in an ill-fitting Santa suit standing in a Dipsey Dumpster with no ID on him would probably land him in the brig overnight, so he opted to have them bring him home so I could help.
Ken and I couldn't stop laughing about it. It was years before Mike could start laughing about it. He hadn't been in the Army too long when he had the opportunity to spend a little time with us before he deployed to Viet Nam, and he used to tell people that his first combat action was in a Dipsey Dumpster in Great Lake's Navy housing, which was known as Flintstone Village.