Saturday, October 10, 2015

The Art Of Listening

Last post I talked about a different way to verbalize one's opinions, and needs, in a more effective manner to enhance communication; this post is about completing the communication process, listening.

Communication, is by definition, a give, and TAKE of ideas, and needs.

Too often, when we discuss something, we state our views, then mark time thinking of what we will say next, instead of truly listening to what the other person has to say.

How many times have you been in a group conversation, when everyone is so avid about what they want to say, that the whole conversation turns into a shouting match? We all have something to say, but without the patience to listen, communication breaks down into your average day on "The View".

Between everyone thinking they are right, and the mental clutter going on when you are not talking, it is a wonder anyone can learn anything.

Nobody learns anything by talking, only by listening. All wise people have one thing in common, they are good listeners. Perhaps that is why they are wise, they have mastered the art of listening.

I have another great book for you to check out (I feel like Oprah), its called "the Zen of Listening" by Rebecca Z. Shafir, M.A.CCC. Ms. Shafir goes into detail how one can become a good listener. By mastering the art of listening, you open the door to learning, and you open the door to better relationships. This is true for any relationship, your spouse, your child, your boss, your employee, etc.

As important as it is to express yourself, it is more important to receive what the other person has to say, only then, can you work things out; only then, can you learn and grow together.

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

Communication Breakdown

I am troubled by the hostility I encounter every day. It does not bother me that people are vehement about their beliefs, but rather the way they communicate them to others. The politicians, the editorials, the news channels, the evangelists, even bloggers, don't know how to get their point across without insulting their opposition.

The point of communication is to convey your thoughts, your beliefs, your needs to someone else -- not to convert them or coerce them into your way of reasoning. To berate or threaten those who feel differently will not work in trying to get them to understand your views.

Now, we can talk about tolerance, but the truth is most of us are not tolerant. However, that does not mean we cannot communicate in a nonviolent fashion. After all, it goes to reason that if you can communicate your needs and thoughts without insulting or threatening the listener, you will have a better chance of getting that person to listen, understand, and perhaps agree to your views.

One of the best books I have read in the last ten years is "Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Compassion" by Marshall B. Rosenberg, PhD. This book should be required reading for all people, like "Johnny Tremain" was back when I was a kid. OK, little joke there, but every parent, teacher, politician, manager -- anyone who has to interface with other people -- should read this book. It is well written and shows how easy and effective it is to communicate in a nonviolent way.

When communication is nonviolent, it not only conveys to the listener your needs, but also tacitly lets them know that you care about theirs. This is when real communication can take place because it is an exchange of ideas and needs.

Isn't that what communication is all about?

Saturday, October 3, 2015

Mike's Health Cocktail

Many people today are looking for ways to improve their overall health without the use of prescription drugs. Most prescription drugs have many side effects that may cause more problems than they help. Most prescription drugs do not really cure health problems as much as they just hide symptoms of poor health.
The best way to maintain health is through natural foods, and herbs that are readily available at your local grocery, or whole foods stores.
Here is my personal cocktail that I take once a day, it is my breakfast.
This cocktail is anti-fungal, and antibacterial. It will help prevent, and cure cancer. It will also prevent the flu without the use of vaccines. It has natural probiotics so it will help keep you regular, prevent acid upset stomach, and will help keep your body pH alkaline.
Each item is linked to a site so you may investigate their health properties. (Go ahead, click on them).

Put the Vitamin C crystals, turmeric, ginger, cinnamon, black pepper, sea salt, and cayenne in the bottom of a glass. Pour the apple cider vinegar, and the liquid aminos on top. Add a spritz of water (or as much water as you wish. You can even put in a little natural honey for taste), and stir vigorously.
In addition to this I also take supplements such as 2400 mg fish oil, 5000 mg garlic oil and vitamins B,D, E, and graviola.
Use only an organic, unpasteurized, unfiltered, apple cider vinegar, NOT clear pasteurized vinegar. Bragg's Apple Cider Vinegar is the best, and easiest to find (Available at Whole Foods).
If you are on prescription blood thinners, or other prescription drugs, consult your doctor first.
Try this cocktail for a couple of months, and I guarantee you will notice results. You will feel better, more energetic, lose weight, and fight off cancer and other bacterial diseases.

Wednesday, September 30, 2015

The Thin Line Between Love and Hate

There is an old saying, "There's a thin line between love, and hate". The more I ponder this, the more I believe it to be true. Hate is a strong word, and I can say that there is no one that I truly hate, but there are a few that I dislike a lot. Of this list of people, most, if not all of them, are people that I was enamored with, infatuated with, or in love with.
Why is this? When we have a falling out with someone we care about, why do the scales in our minds make such a drastic swing, from love, all the way to hate? Why don't they swing from love to ambivalence? Is the ego so vindictive, that when it is hurt, or senses an injustice caused by someone who supposedly cares about it, that it must seek revenge in the form of hate?
Apparently so.
When someone we like, or are indifferent to, wrongs us, we merely slot them into the asshole file and forget about them. It is hardly a blip on our radar of life. When someone we love, whether or not that person loves us in return, wrongs us, we immediately take all the emotion sitting on the "love" side of the scale, and dump it on the "hate" side. We do a 180 degree, about face on them. This causes a 8.0 on the Richter scale change in our lives.
Why don't we just slot them into the asshole file, and forget them?
Eventually, we do; time does heal all wounds. I believe it is the shock, surprise, and the ensuing hurt, that brings about such a drastic change in our feelings. I don't believe it is in the human makeup to be able to go from love to ambivalence, or from hate to ambivalence. Once we reach one extreme emotionally, such as love, the only change that can be made is to the other extreme...hate.
That is why, even though they are worlds apart, there is a thin line between love and hate.

Saturday, September 26, 2015

Who's That Man Behind the Curtain?

I am approaching my seventh anniversary as a member of blog spot. I am happy to say that I feel I have grown not only as a writer, but as a person, due to my association with the hubpages family. I do not use the word "family" lightly here. We are an entwined group, of writers, and readers; crafting our skills as writers, while we support each other as readers.
Those of you who have followed me over the last seven years know that I might write about anything. I have written many humorous, political, and spiritual hubs. I have also written an e-book "The True Adventures of Wilbur the Pig". The whole book is here on hubpages, all 19 chapters of Wilbur's hi jinks.
However, I feel my true calling is to write spiritual hubs to help everyone learn the lessons we need to learn to graduate from this school called the physical world. As someone who grew up a Catholic, I know that many of the things I talk about may seem strange to members of organized religion. I understand and can relate; I myself went through periods of doubt, and misunderstanding as I grew spiritually.. My personal experiences as a young man are documented in the hub"Kreskin's ESP Kit and Beyond". It is my hope that after reading this you will get an understanding of how I arrived where I am writing from, and that you will investigate further yourself.

One thing I have noticed, is that there are many truth seekers out there. Your responses on my spiritual essays are very positive. I thought I might give you a list of books I highly recommend. Not all of them are still in print, but are readily available on line. I would link them all for your easy access, but I am not allowed so many links in one blog post. They are all readily found through google.
1) Journey of Souls by Dr. Michael Newton
2) The Waking Dream by Ray Grasse
3) Conscious Dreaming by Robert Moss
4) 35 Golden Keys To Who You Are, and Why You Are Here by Linda C. Anderson
5) The Spiritual Exercises of Eck by Harold Klemp
6) The Far Country, and The Flute of God by Paul Twitchell
7) Journey To Ixtlan by Carlos Castaneda
Thank you all for your support, the only thing any writer desires, is to be read. You folks make my dream come true. May the blessings be.

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

9/11 Fourteen Years Later

14 years ago 9/11 happened, and we the American people were found guilty. Not only were 3,000 people killed that day, but also millions of Iraqi, and Afghanistans murdered under trumped up pretenses. If you still believe the "Official" 9/11 story, you have obviously not even done even a cursory investigation. First of all 2 jets hit two buildings, yet three fell at freefall speed (still don't know about Building 7?). The aftermath of this debacle (besides us invading and killing millions for oil, and heroin) was the passage of the (so called) Patriot Act, and the NDAA, which basically put all Americans under constant surveillance.
I am openingly calling for the arrest of G.W. Bush, Richard (Dick) Cheney, and Donald Rumsfeld for treason to the United States Of America. The time has come for Americans to wake up, and to act to take back our country. I encourage you all to read this informational article. God Bless America.

Saturday, September 19, 2015

Wilbur and Us Chapter 19 "Wilbur Takes a Bow"

It is now spring of 2009, and Wilbur is approaching his seventh birthday. He is a slimmed down 250 pounds give or take a couple of pounds. He is a very happy and healthy pig.
Our pet population is approaching a small zoo of animals. We now have six dogs, (as documented in my past post “Big Daddy’s Blues”). Besides Princess, Bobby, and Simon, we now have Chloe, a skittish but lovable American bulldog, and Buddy, an eager to please, insatiable loving Golden Retriever. Chloe and Buddy came to us from my step son Jason when he moved down here for a year or so, and stayed with us when Jason moved back up north. We also have Sophie, a small Terrier mixed breed that Rhea took in when a friend of hers moved into a pet-free condo last fall. On top of six dogs, and a pig, we also feed two neighborhood cats (whom I have named Carrie and Molly) on a nightly basis.
Many things have changed, but then again many things haven’t. Simon will still try to pick a fight with Wilbur from time to time, and Bobby will still bark and snap at Wilbur when Wilbur comes up to me for attention and Bobby wants me all to himself.
There are other things that haven’t changed much either. Wilbur still looks out the front screen door from time to time, dreaming of being “Mr. Big shot front yard pig”, and roaming the neighborhood. He is also still very sneaky. His new favorite antic is sneaking into the laundry room where we keep the dog food, and chewing a hole in the bottom of the bag so he can get an illicit snack. Rhea tries to keep an eye on him, but it is difficult to do when her arms are full of clothes.
Wilbur doesn’t really try to hump the furniture any more. Instead he takes cushions off of the sofa and pushes them out side so he can have his way with them; all of this in spite of the fact that he has his fifth generation “girlfriend” at his disposal out in the backyard. Like a typical guy he is always looking for something strange.
Wilbur hasn’t “talked” to me in sometime; I guess he only feels the need to say something is when he is miffed about something. The last time he communicated with me was last summer when we had steak for dinner.
Steak night is a big night for everyone in the house, including the dogs; because they know daddy will have treats for them. Every time we have steak for supper, (every two weeks or so) I save all of the fat, and gristle from my steak, and any other scraps I can get from the others, and cut them up in pieces. I then call all of the dogs out into the kitchen. I then proclaim to the dogs “I will call your names in order of seniority, when I call your name, you eat. If you go out of turn, you will lose a turn.” I then call out each dog’s name and toss them a treat. We keep going around the horn until I run out of treats.
Last summer we had a steak night, I cut up all of the scraps, and then I called all of the dogs out to the kitchen. I just got done delivering my spiel when Wilbur came out and joined us. He looked at me and I knew what he was saying; “Hey, I’m the most senior pet here. How come I don’t get any treats?” I thought about it for a second and said “You’re right Wilbur.” I didn’t want to give him any meat, so I grabbed half of a baked potato, slathered it in sour cream, and cut it into five pieces. Wilbur, being the most senior pet started each round of treats. When I called his name I took a piece of the sour cream coated potato and fed it to him. He was delighted, and so were the dogs. Wilbur is now included in every steak night. The squeaky wheel, or in this case the telepathic pig, always gets the grease.
As I said before, Wilbur is almost seven years old. I have been told that the average pot belly pig lives to be fifteen. This means that Wilbur is now a middle aged pig. Perhaps he will start to calm down, or at least slow down; but so far he has not shown us he has any inclination to do so. As sneaky as he is, he has become my best buddy, and I am glad that I let Rhea talk me into getting him all of those years ago. I am sure that we will have many more adventures together in the future.
Post Script: Believe it or not as I was writing this final chapter about Wilbur and us, Rhea and Jeff were in the main bedroom room giving it a fresh coat of new paint. For some odd reason they didn’t close the bedroom door. While they were preoccupied painting, guess who, snuck into the room? Guess who now has a fresh coat of white paint all over his snout, and is getting yelled at? Guess who is trying to sneak back into the house? This was supposed to be the last chapter, but now I am not so sure. Tomorrow they are painting the walls a lilac purple. I can see it now, “The True Adventures of Wilbur the Pig…The Purple Pig”
PPS: My boy Wilbur passed away 2/13/15 after sustaining an injury knocking something over on our patio. I will forever miss my buddy, and Rhea will always miss her "Pumpkin Pie".
Wilbur the pig Muehleisen: 7/15/2002 - 2/13/15. Adopted by us 10/15/2002  RIP

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Wilbur and Us Chapter 18 "The Mysterious Shrinking Pool"

The arrivals of Bobby and Simon changed the balance of power in our household. Before this Wilbur had not had any real problems with any of the dogs. Dylan, and Toby had become buddies with the young pig, and Bruno, and Princess were mostly aloof about him. Wilbur was now faced with his first two real antagonists; Simon, and Bobby were definitely not fans of Wilbur. Bobby never really did much to hurt Wilbur, but he would bark and snap at him anytime Wilbur wanted to approach me. Simon however could be vicious with poor Wilbur, attacking him and biting at him until Wilbur’s ears would be bleeding and sore.
I handled each dog in a different manner. Bobby was just trying to be protective of me, and was not nasty in nature. When Wilbur would approach me to get his ears, or his tummy rubbed; and Bobby barked and snapped at him; I would tell Bobby that it is Wilbur’s turn to get love, and that I would pet him some more later on. Bobby was a very mindful dog, and I seldom had any problems with him, and if I did, I just put him in the house until Wilbur was ready for bed.
Simon was a totally different story. Simon was a man-child of a dog, large in stature, but short on smarts and emotional development. Every time he saw Wilbur on the back patio he wanted to start something with him. It was very annoying to both Wilbur and me. Because Simon was just an over grown puppy, I didn’t want to get too heavy handed with him, but I had to find a way to get him to listen to me, and to back off on Wilbur. I instituted the “two fingers” policy with Simon. Every time Simon got too rambunctious, or mean with Wilbur I would give Simon a slap across the bridge of his nose with my first two fingers. This was not enough to hurt him, but certainly enough to get his attention and let him know I was displeased. It did not take long before the sight of me holding up two fingers and saying “Simon, leave Wilbur alone or you’ll get two fingers!” would make Simon leave Wilbur alone, and run away. Even today, two years later, whenever Simon is bad, all I have to do is hold up two fingers as if I were making the Cub Scout sign, and Simon will head inside the house. Never under estimate the power of two fingers.
Being from up north, Rhea and I are intrinsically different from other Floridians; we like being outdoors, and we love the sun. Most Floridians avoid the sun as if it were the plague, and spend their entire existence indoors in air conditioned comfort. As a result the average person living in Florida is as pale as a sheet; the only tanned people here are the tourists, the construction workers, landscapers, and us northern transplants.
In May of that year Rhea decided that she needed some color so we went to a local Big Lots store and bought a 12’ pool on sale. This pool was nothing more than a big kiddies’ pool with a big blow up ring on the top that would make the pool rise as you filled it up with water. It was just big enough for three or four adults, and an inflatable mattress. Rhea would float on her mattress like the Queen of Sheba soaking up the sun, while Jeff and I would hang off the inflatable ring drinking beer and smoking (cigars for me, and cigarettes for Jeff). We spent many enjoyable afternoons lounging around in that pool.
There was one problem though; we could never keep water in the pool. Every day I would have to replace 20-25 gallons of water that would mysteriously disappear each night. Now, water does not come cheaply here in Homestead, so I tried to find out what the problem was. Jeff, and I checked, and re-checked the pool many times for leaks, but we could not find any. I knew that the hot sun down here would make the water evaporate some, but certainly not enough to account for the loss we were experiencing. It was, to say the least very baffling.
One Friday night I was out on the patio after dark watching my sports shows on TIVO, when I heard the sound of rushing water. I could not figure out what was going on or where it came from. I rushed inside and grabbed a big lantern flash light to see what was going on. I shined the light around the back yard, and found out the answer to our mystery. There was Wilbur, up on the pool pushing down the inflatable ring with his front hooves; having a drink of water and cooling off his undersides with the water flowing out of the pool! “Wilbur, What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” I shouted. A very surprised and startled Wilbur hopped off the pool and shimmied away into the dark. I should have known. Of course a large pan of fresh water would not be good enough for Wilbur, not when there was 600 gallons of cool fresh water there for the taking.
I am sure that Wilbur, being the envious pig that he is, was watching all of us have fun in the pool cooling off, then, bided his time to have his fun later when we were not around. I am sure he was miffed at us for not getting him his own pool like we did a couple of years before.
I guess I don’t blame him, but Wilbur was much too big now for a pool like his old kiddies’ pool. We remedied that problem by hosing him down daily with our back yard hose, which he loved immensely. Oh well, live, and learn.

Saturday, September 12, 2015

Wilbur and Us Chapter 17 "Return Of the Party Animal"

We were all very happy to get Wilbur home with no problems from the police, or Animal Services; once again we had dodged a potential bullet because of Wilbur’s antics. Wilbur always took everything in stride, but he was turning Rhea, and I into nervous wrecks. If there was something Wilbur could get into, he would somehow find a way to get into it.
You might wonder how something as big as a 300 pound pig could keep escaping our notice to get into the trouble that he did. I can only tell you that Wilbur was very smart, and that he was persistent; he also knew when to pick his spot. Wilbur also had this nonchalant way of ambling around the house, to see him you would never guess that he was up to something. He would also wait until you were busy or occupied with something, and then make his move. All in all, Wilbur was one crafty pig.
The pet line up in our household had gone through some changes in the next year. My old dog Dylan had passed away from old age, and Bruno had contracted a mysterious urinary tact disease and had to be put to sleep. After Bruno’s passing Rhea went into a deep depression, and I knew the only way to bring her out of it was to get her a new Rottweiler.
I went back to the Miami-Dade adoption center, but to my dismay found that there were no Rottweiler’s available. I went back again about a week later only to find there was still no Rottweiler’s; but there was a dog who had been there a week before. He looked like a skinny rot, but was probably half Doberman. He was scarred from a lifetime of living on the street, and he looked pretty beaten up. Unlike the other dogs there, he was very quiet, but friendly when I talked to him. I could see on his card that he had been in custody for almost three weeks; that meant if he wasn’t adopted real soon he would be put to sleep. I adopted him, and named him Bobby. I was correct in my assumption that they were anxious to get rid of him, because they rushed the paper work and had him leave with me that day.
I brought Bobby home and tried to pass him off as a Rottweiler to Rhea, but she would have nothing to do with poor Bobby. Bobby became my dog. Within two months Bobby had healed up, and fattened up to the point that you would not have recognized him as the dog I brought home. Bobby became my “body guard” because he would always sit next to me on the patio, and make that sure nobody threatened me. This would lead to many spats between him and Wilbur. These spats kept up until Bobby learned that Wilbur wasn't out to harm me, just to get petted, and loved.
A couple of months later I made one more trip to the adoption center, and got lucky. When I didn’t find any Rottweiler’s in the main section, I “wandered” into the off limits section. There I saw the handlers bringing in a new dog that was a Rottweiler! After I had apologized to the handler for being where I should not have been, I asked him about the new dog. “He is a male, very young, and very friendly, and he needs a new home.” My prayers had been answered! I adopted him, and a week later I brought him home. Rhea was ecstatic! She decided to name him Simon, which had been her father’s middle name.
Simon was basically a puppy, but a large puppy. Like Bruno, and Bobby, he was very skinny when I brought him home; but he soon got fatter, and grew even larger. Simon was the big dog, and he knew it! He constantly used his size to push around the other dogs when suppertime came. He was also big enough that he was not afraid of Wilbur. Wilbur is a lover, not a fighter, but he knew enough not to back down to this young upstart bully. We had many fights out on the back patio with Wilbur, and Simon, going at it like two huge sumo wrestlers; pushing patio table and chairs around, and me screaming at the top of my lungs “Stop it! Both of you go lie down!” They eventually did get used to each other, though like brothers they still will brawl from time to time.
September of that year was the occasion of my fiftieth birthday. Rhea decided to throw me a big party on our large back patio. We had friends and family come, and we had Wilbur, and the dogs. We had music, fire works, party hats, beer, and food. Wilbur, Bobby, Simon, and Princess, all wore party hats, and helped daddy celebrate turning fifty. Wilbur the party animal was in his glory, drinking beer, and wandering around getting food from the other partiers. Wilbur, I, and the others, partied late into the evening until Wilbur had had enough, then he just walked through the house to his bedroom, where he passed out until late the next morning.
When he got up the next day I think he was a little hung over, because he was even more grumpy than usual. I said to him, “Don’t be crabby with me! If you can’t handle your beer, don’t drink it!” Good words to live by, even if you are a pig.
All in all, it was a birthday party I never will forget.

Wednesday, September 9, 2015

Wilbur and Us Chapter 16 "The Wanderer"

Wilbur was now a more obedient pig than before, but that was not the same as being a good pig. Wilbur still had a mind of his own, and with that mind came desires, urges, and needs.
Though Wilbur was now forever banished to the backyard, he still longed for the freedom of the front yard. Wilbur would spend hours staring out the front screen door, imagining himself as “Mr. Big shot front yard pig” carousing our front yard, and our neighbor’s yards as far as he could see. I would see Wilbur stare longingly out the front door and I would say to him “Don’t even think about it big fella, that is one problem neither one of us needs.” Wilbur would just stare ahead; little did I know that he was biding his time, waiting for his chance. That is one thing about Wilbur, he is a very patient pig; and very determined.
One day while I as at work, Jeff left to run some errands. He swung the front door shut and hopped into Rhea’s Mustang. Jeff hadn't noticed that the front door had not closed tightly, but Wilbur did. After Jeff drove away Wilbur walked up to the front door and gave it a push with his snout. It was if Wilbur had said “Open Sesame!” because the door swung open for him. I’m sure Wilbur was feeling very pleased with himself as he walked out into the sunshine of the front yard.
“Mr. Big shot, front yard pig” was back! Wilbur spent an hour or two strutting around the front yard smelling the new smells, and snouting the different plants, when he thought to himself, “Why confine my wishes and desires to this small yard, when I can go anywhere?”
So Wilbur decided to go exploring. While humming the song “Don’t Fence Me In” to himself, Wilbur started strolling down the side walk.
When Jeff got home he noticed that the front door was wide open and wondered why. He found Rhea in our bedroom watching “Judge Judy”, and asked her if she left the front door open for a reason. Rhea had worked the night before tending bar, and had not got home until the wee hours of the morning so she replied, “No, I just woke up and haven’t been out of the bedroom all day. Why?” He told her that he just got back from running errands and found the front door wide open. “Oh no, the dogs must have got out!” she exclaimed. “No, I left all the dogs on the back patio before I left, and they are still there.” They looked at each other and said at the same time, “Wilbur!” They searched the entire house, and the back yard, but there was no sign of Wilbur.
Wilbur, being the lazy pig that he is, is a late sleeper; often not coming out of his closet/bedroom until after 11:00 am. He must have got up just before, or just after Jeff had left, and noticed that the door was not shut tight.
At that time I was on my way home from work when my cell phone rang. It was Rhea. “Wilbur’s gone, somehow he got the front door open and he took off.” “Are you sure?” I asked, “Did you check the house and back yard for him?” “We looked everywhere for him, but he’s not here!” Rhea blurted out. “Ok, ok, calm down. He couldn’t have gone too far.” I said. “Start looking through our neighbor’s yards; I’ll be home in a half an hour.”
As I raced home all the different possible scenarios played through my head; and most of them were not good. To half of the people in my area, Wilbur would be nothing more than 300 pounds of free bacon, and the other half would call Miami-Dade Animal Services, or the police on him. Since it was only about 2:30 in the afternoon, I was hoping that perhaps Wilbur had not yet been noticed by any of these people.
When I got home I saw Rhea and Jeff down the street looking through the front yards of our neighbors. One thing in our favor was that in our area everyone’s backyard is fenced off, so we knew that Wilbur could not have wandered into someone’s backyard where we couldn’t see him; but we had no idea which yard he had wandered into.
After checking all the yards on our street, we checked the side street with no luck. We got to the next street a block behind our house, where we saw a group of school kids talking and pointing at something in one of the yards. We walked up to see what they were pointing at. There lying in the shade of a big bush was Wilbur, sleeping. “What is that mister?” one of the kids asked me. “That is our pet pot belly pig.” I replied. “His name is Wilbur, and he has been very bad, we need to take him home.” I walked over and yelled “Wilbur! What are you doing here? You need to get home now!” Wilbur got up and grunted to show his displeasure at being woken up. As Wilbur walked by all of the children backed away in fear. “Don’t be afraid” I said. “Wilbur won’t hurt you. Here, come and pet him. He loves to be petted.” I stroked the bridge of his nose to demonstrate what Wilbur liked. Though timid, each kid took a turn stroking Wilbur’s nose. “His hair feels funny, like bristles!” One child exclaimed. “Yes his fur coat is different than a dog’s” I explained. “But he likes to be petted just like a dog.”
So there we were, the whole group of us escorting Wilbur back home. When we got to our house, all of the kids petted Wilbur one more time and said good bye. From time to time the kids will still ring our door bell and ask us if they can pet him.

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This site is more a column than a blog. I write humorous, spiritual, and political articles. Everything I write is designed to make you think; what you think is up to you.