The Little Sable Dog

Goddamn My Dead Husband

2009-12-11T22:37:00.000-08:00

Originally, this was going to be rant about my lovely meeting with the County Inspector who was parked in my driveway as I departed for work the other morning.

He was there to tell me that Google Earth [no lie] showed that my home had un-permitted home improvements on it.
My immediate response was of course, "No, you must be mistaken. We haven't done any home improvements."

Then he explains that he's referring to the covered patio.

Ah.

The covered patio that my husband had built, while I was in Iraq.

Hands me the citation. Explains that I'm gonna get raped in the ass by the County, etc etc...

Goddamn you Tim. Seriously? You didn't get a fucking permit? It's not bad enough that you painted the house fucking neon green, but you didn't get a FUCKING PERMIT?!? And then you go and FUCKING DIE, SO I CAN'T FUCKING YELL AT YOUR STUPID ASS FOR NOT GETTING THE FUCKING PERMIT! Well isn't THAT just convieniant.
Asshole.

So, that's what I was pissed off about when I made this entry as a placeholder.

I just never really got around to ranting about it, and I'm kind of not mad about it any longer...

so i was googling physiologic shock to respond to a post because i couldn't recall the correct term [yeah, i'm typing so fast that capitalizing is too burdensome, because yes, i want to get this over with as quickly as possible], and stumbled into kind of a neat article.

started reading said neat article, because i liked the tone of it. also, i avidly read first aid shit. as a former First Responder, i've often been the first one on the scene of something gruesome and life-threatening. i've done a lot of cpr and other first aid, much of which drifts into the realm of EMT [another one i'll always capitalize. those guys/gals are fucking awesome, and if you haven't ever thanked an EMT before? go take them some jumbo bags of candy. seriously], so in general, i try to stay up and that stuff, and find it interesting...

it was a huge series on trauma, targeted toward non-EMT First Responders [Law Enforcement/Fire Fighters].

because i'd entered it while looking up physiologic shock, i'd come in about three articles into the series. read through to the end, and then doubled back to pick up the first two articles.

of course, the first article is about the most basic elements of first aid: airway, breathing, circulation. the ABCs of not letting this poor bastard in front of you, die.

so, i'm kinda like, okay, this stuff is uber-basic, but it can't hurt to read through it anyway; besides, this author makes it pretty damned humorous.

and then i stumble upon the term: agonal respirations. the article did not explain, except to say that agonal respirations were not to be considered breathing, and therefore cpr was still warranted.

trip to google.

agonal respirations are gasping, irregular breaths, common in cardiac arrest.

agonal respirations [having read the descriptions] are what my husband was doing, the night he collapsed in our livingroom.he called out to me [i was falling asleep in bed, yay remeron] that he thought he was having a heart attack.

if you knew tim, you would know why i did not immediately leap out of bed at that announcement. not that i took my sweet time, either, but it's not like i was running down the hallway or anything. i walked. [no, i'm not beating myself up here for not running. it wouldn't have made any difference... anyway...]

Tim was sitting in his chair, and it appeared he was snoring.

nope. that was agonal breathing. i know that now.

at the time i wondered if he hadn't been dreaming and called out in his sleep. looked like sleep to me. sounded like snoring to me.

until i couldn't wake him up.so... call 911.

pull the rather large man out of his chair onto the floor [still halfway thinking that somehow this was all a big joke]

explain to the 911 operator that i was checking for airway/breathing/circulation. [while internally marveling at how calm i sounded. a small voice said, "maybe this is why you went to war. so you could be calm tonite."]

meanwhile, the snoring has become sporadic, gasping breaths... reminiscent of sleep apnea, except spaced waaaaaaay farther apart.

can't find a pulse.

am really unsure of what to do, because he's *kinda* breathing, right?

fuck it, there's no pulse? this breathing is retarded. i'm gonna do cpr.

start cpr.

hear sirens. thank god. EMTs take over.

the sound of the EMTs rushing in woke midget mud up. i decide that since i can be of zero help now, to go make sure midget stays in his room.

i explain that daddy is sick and the "Fire Fighters" are here to help him, but he has to stay in his room so the Fire Fighters don't get distracted.

then i go to stand at the end of the hall where i can see both tim and midget mud.they shock him a few times. establish a rythym. an EMT pulls me aside and begins taking information from me.

when i explain that tim is my husband, i immediately feel paranoid, that they'll think i tried to kill him or something...

the EMT asks if i want to sit down. no, i'd rather stand.

the EMT asks if i have someone to come watch midget mud. i call my mom.

agonal respiration.

bad sign. very bad. i know that now. i didn't then.

i also know now, what they don't tell you in those first aid classes.

cpr rarely works.

i've used cpr several times. most of the times the patient didn't live, but i attributed it to the fact that they had massive gunshot wounds and bled out. which is probably true.

Not to bash CPR... but ultimately, if something STOPS your heart?

As wikipedia notes:"Agonal respirations are also commonly seen in cases of cardiogenic shock or cardiac arrest where agonal respirations may persist for several minutes after cessation of heartbeat."

Several minutes.

Which means my husband's heart probably stopped very shortly after he called out.
Factor in the time to call an ambulance, the time fumbling to find a pulse [very hard to do when your own heart is racing]...

Agonal respiration does not get oxygen into the body.

Again, from wikipedia:
"Agonal breathing is an extremely serious medical sign requiring immediate medical attention, as the condition generally progresses to complete apnea and heralds death."

Cardiac arrest is actually clinical death.
If the heart ain't beating? Technically, you ain't alive.

A cardiac arrest [which is why my husband suffered] has a very poor survivability rate. Especially outside of a hospital.

So much so, that they actually term them as "Out-of-Hospital Cardiac Arrest".

More from our wikipedia friends:
"The out-of-hospital cardiac arrest (OHCA) has a worse survival rate (2-8% at discharge and 8-22% on admission), than an in-hospital cardiac arrest (15% at discharge). The principal determining factor is the initially documented rhythm. Patients with VF/VT have 10-15 times more chance of surviving than those suffering from pulseless electrical activity or asystole (as they are sensitive to defibrillation, whereas asystole and PEA are not)."

Tim was in asystole. I recall this because one of the EMTs called this out, and I said to myself "i don't know what that is, but i know it ain't good."

At least I'll never mistake agonal breathing again.

God knows, I'll never forget that shit.

My Timmy's Eulogy

2009-09-06T23:19:00.001-07:00

I tried to write this for three days.Every time I sat down and tried to list all of Tim's accomplishments chronologically, I just kept hitting a blank.It took me a little while to realize that the problem was that I was trying to talk about what a man had done, instead of who he was.Tim did a lot of incredible things in his life, and he has left one hell of a legacy behind him.But as amazing as his accomplisments were, its the man, the spirit behind it, that made it all so remarkable.Tim was a family man. To his sons, to me, he was the rock in the middle of chaos. Tim was the central hub in all of our crazy lives. The thing we returned to. He was what always brought us home.He was unashamed to give his love freely and openly, and he taught us to love.Tim was a Soldier; a Guardsman. He was proud to have served with the two finest Cavalry outfits the United States Army has to offer: the 5th of the 7th, 1st Cavalry Division, and Troop E, 303rd Cavalry.He was almost fanatic in his devotion to the military, the Washington Army National Guard most of all.He was proud that every member of our family had also chosen to serve in the Guard. Tim passed that legacy on to us and we are proud to be the Guard -deleted- Mafia.Tim was a rebel, in every sense of the word. He was a renaissance man, a fighter and a lover. A man of chivalry and honor.He was a joker, a smoker- he was not, however, a midnight toker, sadly. Had he been, I could have played Steve Miller Band instead of standing here and struggling to describe a man who lived his life, refusing definition.That quality, and his desire for brotherhood and a shared code of honor, drew him to the motorcycle world.Tim was, by ALL accounts, a pain in the ass, but he was also the first to drop everything to help a friend. He understood what "brother" meant; and Tim was never happier than when he was on his bike, surrounded by the people that he loved.One of Tim's favorite movies was Second Hand Lions. There is a scene in that movie that I think is an appropriate summantion of who Tim truly was:

"Sometimes, the things that may or may not be true, are the things a man needs to believe in most. That people are basically good; that honor and courage mean everything; that power and money, money and power, mean nothing; that good, always triumps over evil. And I want you to remember this, that love... true love never dies.You remember that. Doesn't matter if it's true or not. You see, a man should believe in those things, because those are the things worth believing in."

Climbing Out [i can haz haiku]

2009-08-25T22:24:00.001-07:00

Scrambling up steep shale
it gives way under my feet
Slide/I gain no ground

Huh

2009-08-20T09:58:00.001-07:00

I guess people DO read this.
Who knew?

Relax folks, I'm not suicidal.

If that changes, I'll let my therapist know. I promise.

That is all.

Brace for impact

2009-08-18T23:03:00.001-07:00

Fucked up thinking:

I wasted every Sunday.
Every stupid fucking Sunday, I was at dog training. With a dog.

And I left him home, to watch our son.

I left him home, when I went to war.

I put him through hell, a million times.

I didn't even have to go to the stupid war. But I wanted to go play hero.
So away I went.

And left him home, to watch our son.

I said a million, mean hurtful things.

I didn't say I love you enough.

I didn't make love to him enough.

He always loved me more, than I loved him.

I was always too busy.

Too busy.

Every Sunday.

And now I'll never see him again.

Ever.

Nothing I do will ever bring him back.
Nothing I do will ever make this better.

I will never, ever see him again.

I can't do it over again.
I can't make it right.

I can't make anything right.

I can't make myself well.
I can't bring him back.
I can't make the PTSD go away.
I can't make the nightmares stop.
I can't make it right.

But I can make it much, much worse.

Can't make myself well...

... but I can make myself sicker.

CONTROL

PFC Bowe Bergdahl

2009-07-29T09:46:00.001-07:00

I have listened to almost a week of bullshit surrounding the arrest of
Professor Gates in Cambridge, including the Presidents inappropriate remarks
regarding the conduct of Law Enforcement.

I have, as of yet, seen little to no coverage of PFC Bowe Bergdahl.
I'm not even going to mention who PFC Bowe Bergdahl is. I shouldn't HAVE to.
We all know what I'm referring to when I say Professor Gates, RIGHT?

Shouldn't we all know what I'm referring to when I say the name Bowe
Bergdahl?

And now I will close with the United States Army's Warrior Ethos:

I will always place the mission first.
I will never accept defeat.
I will never quit.
I WILL NEVER LEAVE A FALLEN COMRADE.

Footstep Tracking Basics

2009-07-28T14:05:00.001-07:00

To train footstep tracking:
Take cheese or hotdogs, and slice them very small. Zukes Treats size. You
want soft food that doesn't require chewing and doesn't make crumbs.

You will also need a slightly oversize chain collar. The way this is worn
during tracking is very different. Instead of threading the collar through
itself for the choke, you will clip the lead to both rings, and make a large
loop collar.

By placing this over the dogs head, and then running the leash underneath the
dog's armpit, you will create a quasi-harness. Unlike a tracking harness,
this method puts a slight downward pressure on the dogs neck as he pulls into
the leash, encouraging the deep nose that we are looking for.

In the beginning, you will stand right next to the dog, preventing the leash
from coming up sharply into the dog's armpit and causing discomfort.

To begin, you will lay tracks about 150 meters long.
No, I can't tell you how long that is in feet. I just know it's the middle
target on the firing range. *shrug*

Find an area with decent grass or other vegetation, that doesn't appear to be
too overused (walked on a lot, tons of other dogs, etc).

The first time or two you do this, you want the dog watching you, so he/she
is interested in what it is you were doing out there. Enlist a helper to hold
the dog in plain view of what you are doing, but far enough away that he
cannot spoil the track. 15-20 feet from your flag is good enough.

Take your tracking flag out and stick it in the ground.
Approximately 12 inches to the right of it (This keeps the dog from bumping
into the tracking flag as it checks the scent pad), press in your scent pad.
Basically what this means is, lightly and repeatedly step on the ground,
until you've basically pressed down a little pie-pan sized and shaped area.
This is your "scent pad".

Put many of your treats within this little pie pan area.

Then begin your track, making sure your first step has your heel touching the
edge of the scent pad.

Walk in your normal, nonchalant pace as much as possible, placing a small bit
of hotdog or cheese in the toe of each footprint.

Why the toe? It teaches the dog to bring it's nose up through the heel and to
the toe, encouraging the deep nose we're looking for.

Continue this until either a) you've laid a 150-300 meter track, or b) you
run out of hotdogs. It seems as though you always run out of hotdogs first,
in the beginning.

At the very end, you want to place a toy that the dog is fond of. Place this
so that he/she cannot see it from the track. You may have to press it into
the grass a little, or intentionally lay your track towards a bit of a
depression to conceal the toy from sight until the very end.

Place a couple extra pieces of food on the toy. Then continue walking as
though the track continues beyond the toy.

With the toy and the continued track, you are laying the groundwork for
article indication in the future, as well as longer tracks and corners.
The food teaches him to stop and mentally acknowledge the toy, as he will
pause there longer to eat the excess food.
At the beginning of the track, the dog will be on your left, you will stand
near his hindlegs.

Allow him to find the food in the scent pad, at which time, you can calmly
move the leash underneath him, under his right foreleg.

Calmly give him your tracking command, whatever you choose. In Schutzhund, we
generally use "Such"... which I can't really begin to describe the
pronunciation of.

If he eats all the food in the scent pad, but doesn't appear to understand
that there is more out there, you can help him the first step or so, by
pointing out the food, and prasing him using the command when he finds it.

Do not permit him to move forward on the track unless his nose is down in the
ground. If he lifts his head, forward movement stops.

Do NOT let him charge ahead, air scent, etc. These are VERY hard habits to
break once the dog learns them, and it only takes once.
The dog will learn that forward progress can only happen if his head is
correct and his nose is deep.

Hold the leash with your right hand, leaving your left free to stroke his
side and praise quietly, as well as keep him from circling or tracking
"crooked". Don't apply too much pressure, just a very slight amount of gentle
guidance should his hind end dance off the track.

When he reaches the end of the track, you can pick up the toy, praise him for
his good work, and play with him and the toy.

Cardinal Rules of Foot-step Tracking:

ALWAYS KNOW WHERE YOUR TRACK IS!!!One of the most disasterous things you can
do to a young dog, is repeatedly correct them OFF of a track. They're right,
you're wrong, but you keep preventing them from moving ahead because you
THINK the track was over there.
In the beginning, the food in every footstep helps, the dog's eating of the
food will be your clue that you are still on track. The food should be
readily obvious (tuck it under the grass just a little. It was also thwart
the birds).

ALWAYS AGE YOUR TRACK PROPERLY
With a beginning dog, in mild weather, no shorter than 15 minutes, no longer
than 30.
In hot weather, no less than 5, no more than 15.
In sprinkling rain, age it longer than average.
In pouring rain, run it immediately, as scent can wash away.

ALWAYS END ON A POSITIVE NOTE
If you somehow lose the track, or the dog falls apart, LAY ANOTHER TRACK.
It is hard to FORCE a dog to track. We can only motivate them to do so (there
are ways to force a dog, but lets PLEASE not go there). So, if the dog goes
out and falls apart, we need him to understand that we are going to ask him
to repeat it until he does well.
Even if you have to run a 10 foot puppy track on a seasoned dog, they MUST
end on a success.
[this is really a cardinal rule of ALL training, and even applies to HUMAN
learning... but I digress...]

IT DOESN'T MATTER IF THE BIRDS ATE ALL THE DAMNED FOOD!
Unless this is the first or second track the dog has run, he knows full well
what's going on. They make the connection quickly that they are tracking
human scent, and the food is the reward.
They DON'T think they are tracking food. If the birds steal all the food, the
dog can still run the track. If you tuck your food correctly under the grass,
there should be enough food left for the dog to receive some reward.
Remaining near your track (at least 10 feet away, to prevent parallel tracks
on a beginning dog) will help keep the birds off your track as well.

If your birds become what my club calls "Schutzhund Trained", as in, they
LOOK for your flag, and run your track for the dog, you can also use canned
tuna. The birds typically cannot get every little bit up, and the grease
alone smells enough for the dog to receive satisafaction from the smell and
the little bit of taste on the ground.

NO, BIRD POOP ISN'T GOING TO KILL YOUR DOG
Danke has probably consumed a metric TON of goose crap.
She isn't dead yet.

-- Post From My iPhone

Puppy Visit

2009-07-28T07:39:00.001-07:00

Went to see Qashmir puppy last night. It was hot, so I waited until the evening when it was cooler.
Saw Xenna first. She looks incredibly like Danke. Sweet disposition, aloof but not unfriendly or shy. Just reserved, which is very appropriate for a GSD her age.
Also saw Loly, Jean's big bicolor Czech girl. Very nice bitch, definitely on the civil side.

And then I got to see Qashmir. Fluffy, cuddly little bundle of bicolor joy.
Not shy in the least. She didn't mind at all that a stranger was holding her, playing with her feet, etc.
Took her outside where it was cooler, and to watch her play.
I had very low expectations of what a 4 wk old pup would be like.

She had TONS of energy, gamboling about the yard, exploring everything.
The area we were in was very noisy. Dogs barking (Loly and Norbo) and a kennel worker cutting steel tubing with a power hacksaw.
Qashmir was totally unfazed.
She happily walked up to the fence to investigate all that racket.

She apparently likes to scent, as she was very active using her nose to sniff me, and the ground.
Ground, mind you, not the air.
Perhaps all godd GSDs are naturally ground scenters, and it is we humans who inadvertantly discourage them, by constantly dragging them away from interesting scents on the ground.

Qashmir also displayed some prey drive, which again, I was not expecting to see at 4 wks.
She chased flies, pounced on any blade of grass that dared move, and more than once chomped down on my or Jean's pantlegs.

What a happy little puppy.

All indications are that she'll be a balanced, outgoing dog with a cheerful disposition and confidence to spare.
In other words, very much like Danke.

All in all, I am very pleased.

This heat sucks

2009-07-26T14:31:00.001-07:00

Working in a building with no A/C is really starting to suck. The heat, of
course, doesn't help with my PTSD symptoms @ all. Starting to get really lax
bout taking my meds and doing all the other "healthy" things I should be
doing. [note: I DID take my meds last night, however]
Beyond tired of the hot, sweaty, drained feeling.

Getting very edgy again. Really dislike how short-tempered I have been with
the family. Today is my last day @ the G1. Hopefully J9 has good A/C in their
building.

Seems like such a cop-out to say that I'm feeling lousy and mean because of
the weather. Like normal people don't also feel cranky in bad weather.

But it's not crankiness I feel.
More a mild, pervasive sense of impending doom.

Bumping along jagged edges of fear and hatred.
My hands miss the weight of a rifle.
My eyes long for date trees and canals and my fellow warriors shuffling off
to tasks unknown.
The sound of mortars falling and the adrenaline rush of fear and adventure.
Whispered prayers, "please don't let it be one of our guys", and the guilt
that comes from loving one man more than another.
The nagging self-loathing from placing value on one life, but not another.

Who decides such things?
Who decides who to live, and who to die.
23 years old, and playing god.
I never wanted for this.
Honor. Glory. Yes. Oh how I longed for honor.

But there is no honor in this dying.

And the many times I turned my back. Looked away.
How can I decide who to arrest, when my own integrity is lost?

No heroes. Only hypocrites.

-- Post From My iPhone

Raw Feeding

2009-07-24T09:40:00.001-07:00

Based on my personal observations Raw Feeding one (1) Female German Shepherd
Dog for twelve (12) months.
[Compiles from feeding log, personal notes and comments from interested
parties: other members of the household, Veterinarians, Veterinary
Technicians and other dog trainers.]

-Immediate changes in dog following beginning of Raw Diet

-Fresher, less "doggy" breath
-Clean appearing and smelling ears (zero wax or gunk buildup in the
ear)
-Improved stool quality and regularity (dog previously suffered from soft
and/or poorly formed stool, and unpredictable movement schedule)
-Reduced water consumption
-Increased activity level
-Significant reduction in flatulence
-Dog ate with more interest in the meal

-Long term changes in dog and differences from "peers" fed pelletized, cooked
foods

-Raw fed dog maintains appropriate weight with virtually no intervention from
owners. If dog is consistently presented with portions of food in excess of
the correct feeding amount to maintain weight, for an extended period of
time, dog will begin self-regulating the intake of food by refusing a portion
of each meal.
When weighed, this portion is equal to the excess amount.

-If dog is presented with portions of food in excess of correct feeding
amount, while concurrently being presented with longer or more strenuous
daily exercise, dog will not reject additional amount until exercise is
decreased.

FROM THESE TWO BEHAVIORS I can only assume that the dog is regulating its
food intake to self-control weight gain/weight loss. Dog has maintained a
lean, healthy weight at each of the growth stages, and into adulthood, with
no human intervention.

CONTRAST THIS WITH my experiences with dogs in the past, and current dogs I
am familiar with (not owned by me) who are fed pelletized, cooked foods. My
own experience and reports from other dog owners has been that dogs fed
pelletized, cooked foods will generally eat portions much larger than
necessary to maintain an appropriate weight, it permitted. My own experience
and reports from others have demonstrated that the majority of dogs do not
self-regulate their food intake and/or their weight gain.

I WOULD POSTULATE THAT the additional times required to chew/rip/grind Raw
Food (fed in a prey-model diet) permit the dog additional time to receive
digestive signals that the stomach is full. The rapid rate at which
pelletized, cooked foods can be consumed, permits the dog to eat amounts that
are actually in excess of what it requires to feel "full", however the dog
has already over-eaten before the signal has time to make it to the brain.

ADDITIONALLY, I AM CURIOUS IF feeding food that is more natural to the body
doesn't encourage certain [unknown to me, and perhaps unknown, period]
mechanisms in the digestive system that enable dogs to more naturally
regulate their own diet.

-Raw fed dog occasionally rejects certain food items in favor of
other food items; e.g., dog rejects "chicken back" high in bone content, in
favor of "chicken quarter" high in meat content. These "preferences" appear
to coincide with changes in the dog's stool quality.
-Excerpt from Raw Feeding Journal:
2009FEB02, 0700 Hours: Mild constipation.
2009FEB02, 1730 Hours: Mild constipation
2009FEB03, 0700 Hours: Mild constipation
2009FEB03, 1850 Hours: Refused chicken back. Consumed chicken quarter and
liver.
2009FEB03, 1945 Hours: Mild constipation
2009FEB04, 0700 Hours: Regular stool

This pattern is repeated multiple times throughout journal.

FROM THESE TWO BEHAVIORS I can only assume that the dog is regulating its
food intake to ensure its individual dietary needs (in this case, lower
bone/higher muscle) are met. The dog is clearly choosing to consume certain
items, and not to consume others. Those choices coincide with apparent
dietary needs of the dog.

CONTRAST THIS WITH my experiences with dogs in the past, and current dogs I
am familiar with (not owned by me) who are fed pelletized, cooked foods.
These dogs are not presented different feeding options from which to select.
The meal is unvarying.

AGAIN, I AM CURIOUS IF feeding food that is more natural to the body doesn't
encourage certain [unknown to me, and perhaps unknown, period] mechanisms in
the digestive system that enable dogs to more naturally regulate their own
diet and choose items which meet specific dietary needs. Contrast this with
the mechanism in pregnant women, whereby they crave food items that contain
nutrients lacking in the diet. Women experiencing pica during pregnancy, for
example, are typically found to be lacking iron.
Is it not reasonable, then, the assume that dogs are not capable of the same
signals to direct them to, or away from, nutrients they need?

-Raw fed dog has more energy than peers.
This could simply be the result of different breeding, genetics,
temperament, etc.
However, what is most notable is that the dog displays an increase of energy
that can only be described as a "burst" approximately 30 minutes after
feeding.

CONTRAST THIS WITH my experiences with dogs in the past, and current dogs I
am familiar with (not owned by me) who are fed pelletized, cooked foods, who
typically experience either a decrease in energy following feeding, or do not
experience an increase of energy.

I SUSPECT THAT because dogs fed pelletized, cooked foods are often able to
overeat, they also feel uncomfortably full following mealtimes. This would
mesh with my own experiences with several puppies I've owned in the past,
including my current Raw Fed dog as a puppy, who was fed pelletized, cooked
foods. These puppies oftentimes ate their meals quickly, and within a short
period of time, regurgitated the meal in whole. They had simply consumed
more than their tiny stomachs were capable of holding.

THIS WOULD APPEAR TO COINCIDE with anecdotal reports I have heard of Raw
Feeding reducing risk and/or incidence bloat (gastric torsion). This may be
the mechanism by which this reduction occurs, along with the lack of fillers
and artificial ingredients. As noted earlier, my own dog experienced a
dramatic reduction in flatulence once on a Raw diet. This reduction in gas
may be a mechanism of both the ingredients, the method of digestion AND the
manner in which the dog consumes the food itself.

-- Post From My iPhone

Training Report

2009-07-19T15:19:00.001-07:00

Good Schutzhund training today.
Great tracking. We did some very rough terrain, up and down steep bluff, through bushes, etc. Nice article indication, too!

OB was disasterous. She decided to flake on a new field, and I let myself get frustrated. (I ALSO forgot my prong collar).
We did manage to do some beginning work on the jumps. I think *hopp* may be her favorite command. *Fuss* sure wasn't! [Danke: "Who, me?"]

Bitework was gorgeous, however. *Giblaut* is now solid, and she took her first real stick hits. [Danke, "Stick hits? What stick hits?"]
And to think, she's >1.5 years old. I LOVE this dog!!!

Recon, the Mal/Dutchie mix got some nice Revier training with the new helper-in-training. Nice escape bite, too. Lots of potential with this helper.

Scoped at our trial venue; it is FANTASTIC!!! Should be a great trial.

-- Post From My iPhone

Meds, again!

2009-07-17T12:36:00.001-07:00

Didn't sleep worth a damn last night. Nightmares are getting progressively worse. Night sweats. The whole shit&kaboodle. Depression is hangin' on like a fucking shawl. Can't seem to shake it. Wondering if it's even worth the effort to raise the Remeron.
None of the side-effects suck, so maybe I can pair it with something else. It DOES help withthe majority of my PTSD symptoms (anger, hyper-vigilance, anxiety, etc) but it isn't doing a thing for the depression.
And it almost seems like it made the nightmares worse. I would like to remain on Remeron, but I need to add something for depression, and something else for the nightmares (Prazosin?).

Thoughts about proofing commands in dog training.

2009-07-16T22:01:00.000-07:00

Don't wait for the dog to blow you off in real life to correct.

Set the dog up for mini failures, to create a window of opportunity for the dog to gain deeper understanding of what it does, and doesn't mean to "come".

When you control the time and place of the "mistake", you can control the outcome, and the lesson the dog learns.

If the first real incident of proofing comes in an uncontrolled way, the dog may learn any number of things from the incident. The law of averages says, none of them will be the lesson you want.

While you are thinking about training the recall, also consider teaching the down out of motion.
Sometimes recalling the dog puts it in danger- as in, it may return across a busy street and be struck.

Having the down command as solid as the recall, means the dog will drop like a rock where it is, and remain out of harm's way.

Just something else to think about. (Part of why I've come to love teaching positions on raised surfaces... it helps drive home the implied stay.)

Celebrating Danke's Recall

2009-07-15T22:05:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I had Danke out in the backyard for her final potty.

She was sniffing around the west side of the porch, which I thought very little of (she's always following her nose) until I heard a loud thump on the east side of the porch, directly below where I was standing.

It obviously wasn't Danke, as I was watching her on the west end of the porch.

A second thump, and Danke comes flying around the side of the porch, just in time for me to see a cat streaking out from underneath the porch, headed for the fence.

Danke was hot on the cat's tail, and I wasn't sure the cat was going to outrun her. Without really thinking about it, I hollered out, "Leave it! Hier!"

To my utter amazement, she turned on a dime, and was at my feet in a flash. I almost forgot to praise her, I was so astonished. She's never chased a kitty before, since we don't have cats, and most have enough sense to stay out of our yard. It doesn't surprise me that she gave pursuit, but I was surprised that she was willing to obey in such high drive, in a situation she's never been introduced or proofed for.

Combine that with her apparent snake sense (growled and circled a rattler at a 6 foot radius, but would go no closer and immediately backed away when told in Montana over the holiday), and I've got more dog than I deserve. Only so much of that is training. The rest is strong pack drive, strong handler bond, and just a damned clever dog.

Disclaimer:

2009-07-10T22:42:00.000-07:00

[DISCLAIMER: THIS IS NEITHER A CRY FOR HELP, NOR A THREAT, NOR SHOULD IT BE CONSTRUED THAT I AM ACTIVELY PLANNING TO KILL MYSELF. THIS IS ME VENTING IN A HEALTHY, CONSTRUCTIVE MANNER. SUICIDE IS A HATEFUL ACT, THAT DESTROYS LIVES. EVEN IF YOU HAVE NO FAMILY OR FRIENDS, SOMEONE WILL HAVE TO CLEAN UP YOUR BODY. I'VE BEEN THAT SOMEONE, CLEANING UP AFTER A SUICIDE. IF YOU ARE FEELING SUICIDAL, CALL 911. IF YOU ARE DEPRESSED, OR FEEL HOPELESS AND HELPLESS, PLEASE SEEK HELP FROM YOUR RELIGIOUS LEADERS OR MEDICAL PROVIDERS.]

still alive
comin apart @ the seams
fascinated with weapons once more
intrusive images are overwhelming

put the barrel in my mouth
can't pull the trigger

oh, NOW suddenly you can't pull triggers to take lives?
Suddenly, i'm not a killer any more

blood on my hands
doesn't wash off

why?

Why?!?

i can't kill the one person who truly deserves to die.

i miss the solace of the bottle.
Drunken oblivion. Release.

i want, more than anything, to die, and burn an eternity in hell.

A Rambling Dissertation On Drive and Training

2009-07-01T22:06:00.000-07:00

When Schutzhund and French Ring became "sports", for competition, rather than a format to judge a dog's suitability for work and breeding, well... it all went to hell.

Schutzhund, French Ring, etc used to be a MEANS to an end.
The means by which you judged a dog's workability, temperment, charector and physical ability.

Instead, they have now BECOME the end.

Now that it's about the sport, and not the dog, we have a need for the dog to be the flashiest, for points.
Instead of judging a dog's willingness to work, it's desire to be useful, we judge the dog's flashiness.

In some dogs, they may be the same thing- in some dogs, they aren't the same thing. Some dogs are sprinters, some dogs are cross country. Does that make sense?

Since flashiness for points is all the rage, we have to find a way to make dogs "flashy".

PREY DRIVE!!! Lets breed dogs with tons and tons of it.

Then we get the very flashy, pretty Obedience on the field.
But did we really get a better dog? IMO, no.
Just a different one.

My dog isn't flashy.
What she IS is real.
She does the OB, not for a ball or a tug, but because she derives pleasure from pleasing me. Not due to some altruistic, feel-good mumbo-jumbo. No.

Because she has PACK DRIVE. An innate desire to belong to a pack, and to maintain harmony in the pack. Just as many dogs desire intensely to chase a ball, or bark.

Yes, I have used a ball and a tug to train things, motivators to help mitigate frustration in the learning process.
Once she understands a command, the reward really goes out the window. Verbal praise is sufficient, because she's a WORKING dog. WORKING is it's own reward.

I have posited the same beliefs elsewhere, and been laughed at.
I have also had the same discussions with people who got in on the ground floor of Schutzhund and French Ring in America, who agree with me.

*shrug*
I think I'm right.
They think they're right.

Ultimately, only time will tell.

Canine Heat Stroke

2009-06-30T22:30:00.000-07:00

It happened to us:

Danke was fine when I came home from work last night (5pm). Jumping and running around like her normal exuberant self.

I was grilling, so the back door was open, and she was going in and out.

Even in my own yard, I like to keep a close eye on her. She's never shown any inclination to escape the yard, but I worry about other animals, and just generally, I like to keep my girl close.

I spotted her over in the corner of the yard, with her head hanging down, and I thought she might have been eating poop (she does that sporadically. Nasty dog.)

I called her, and she acted like she didn't even hear me. That's VERY out of character for her, she ALWAYS comes when called. So I walked over to her, and noticed that she'd vomited a small amount of yellow bile. This was at 6:30pm.

She hadn't had dinner yet, and it was a little past her normal dinner time, so the yellow bile wasn't particularly alarming. I figured she just needed to eat.
When I told her to go inside to her crate for dinner, she took a step forward and collapsed, and didn't seem able to get back up.

---This was the big, uh oh.---

I carried her inside and put her next to her water dish on the kitchen floor.
She lapped at her water, and then was able to walk to her crate.

I checked her gums, and they were very pale and tacky, and the loose skin on her neck had no elasticity. The skin on the rest of her body was uncharacteristically taut.

So, we rushed her to the emergency vet.
The ride in the AC perked her up a little bit, but her gums were still very pale and she was still very unsteady on her feet.

The E-vet X-rayed her to rule out bloat and did a full blood panel to rule out any disease or organ failure. It also doubled as a pre-Op panel, in case surgery was indicated by any results.

In the end, it was heat stroke.

She had perked up enough after an hour at the vet's office that they were willing to send her home with no IV, but I opted for sub-coetaneous fluids, to be on the safe side.

I've seen people AND animals rushed to the ER after heat stroke, who then perked up, only to later collapse and die after being released.
Their outward appearance had improved, but their internal temperature continued to slowly rise until the brain shut down.

She got a bag of fluids, and we took her and her camel hump home.
By the time we got there, she was perfectly fine.
Ate her dinner with gusto, and romped around the backyard chasing flies like nothing had ever happened.

I did have to get up earlier than normal for her to pee. Gee, I wonder why!

This morning she was her normal self, nice healthy pink gums, full of energy.
In the future, I need to make sure she stays adequately hydrated. Just like humans, it's the hydrating we do BEFORE a workout that makes the difference, not the water we drink during or after.

She wasn't well hydrated enough (she DOESN'T drink much water, of her own choosing, it's there) through the week, so Sunday was a drain on her resources.
I suspect she never fully recovered from the heat and exertion on Sunday, and it caught up to her yesterday evening, which is when the temperatures are always the highest.

I will definitely become an obsessive gum-checker.
I have already begun pouring 2 cups of water over her food (she is raw fed- I wouldn't recommend doing this with kibble) at every meal to encourage more water intake.

We are also going to be measuring exactly how much water she takes in, so we can gauge her hydration levels in the future.

As a final measure, I may begin feeding twice a day, despite HER preference to only eat once. Eating properly is as much a component of hydration as drinking is. It may be too hard on the body to eat only once in a 24 hour period.

If anything, I'll just separate a very small portion of her nightly meal and give it in the morning with water.

Sadly, I knew all of this before any of this occurred, but I never really thought about how it applied to my DOG. I never gave serious thought to a heat injury in a perfectly healthy dog, who has access to water at all times.

Just like some Soldiers, though, my dog apparently lacks the good sense to hydrate herself adequately. I guess I have to implement the same hydration maintenance for the dog that I do for my Joes.

It was VERY scary for both of us.
To suddenly see my athletic, healthy 1.5 year old GSD collapse and become weak-limbed and dull-eyed is NOT an experience I wish to relive.

Dogs that won't stop barking.

2009-06-28T22:33:00.000-07:00

Allowing a dog one or two warning barks, praising those barks as "good Watch, good boy" and then following up with a command that is 100% incompatible with barking (like the hand-touch, for example) and praising that behavior is the key here.

An alert bark is a very nice thing to have.
If you praise the alert bark, but then move on to something else, he may just learn that one or two barks is sufficient.

We want to reward APPROPRIATE BARKING.

Me, in Three Parts- Pt 3

2009-06-19T13:06:00.000-07:00

Iraq.
Via Kuwait.

I can tell you what Iraq smells like. Burning shit and garbage. Sewage. Musk. Heat.
The damned heat. Ever present. Pushing you down like a heavy, unseen hand. Eventually, you become inured to the heat. You don't notice it. You just feel beads of sweat that began on your neck, trace a path down your entire body, and finally pool with their salty brethren in your combat boots.
That's your cue that it's hot. Cigarettes lose their charm, in 130 degree heat. You literally cannot tell whether or not you inhaled, the air is twice as hot as the smoke. Many people took up smoking menthols, for just that reason.
I stuck to Marlboros.
I also learned an important lesson: US Export-Only Marlboros SUCK!
Stick to the American Marlboros sold in the PX. Don't buy from the Hadjii Market.You learn what things matter in life.

You learn that you really CAN live without the little things.
Like cell phones.
24/7 internet access.
Clean clothes.
Clean water.
Clean, ANYTHING.

Nothing was ever clean.
The personal hygiene process, Iraq-style:

STEP ONE:
Twice a week, take clothes to KBR Laundry service.
Clothes must be inside US Army Issued "Barracks bag", a heavy cloth drawstring bag.
KBR Laundry then takes said bag, full of clothing, and places it in an industrial washer with 3-4 other similar bags. And washes them all together, with your clothes still INSIDE the bag.

99.9% of the dirt and grime remains on your clothes.
Your clothes are then dried in exactly the same manner- INSIDE the bag.
This is done so that KBR never risks losing a single article of clothing, so that they can keep 100% of our tax dollars, and never have to pay out a single dime for lost clothing.
Instead, we just get to keep the grime on our clothing.

I ended up shredding and tossing several uniforms because KBR could not get the blood out and I couldn't bring myself to scrub someone else's blood out of them.
It felt wrong, like I was removing from the Earth the last evidence that someone existed.

STEP TWO:
With your disgusting KBR Laundered Towel, one bottle of water and your shower bag, proceed to the Shower Trailer.
Make a pit-stop in a porta-shitter.
Proceed to shower in water that is extracted from the same canal that the porta-shitter you just used gets emptied into. Granted, they filter and treat the water, but it's still disgusting, as evidenced by signs all over the inside of the shower that exhort you NOT to drink the water, as it is non-potable.
Quickly wash as much of your body as you can, as you must limit your shower to 5 minutes. Because it's really expensive for KBR to process all this water, so dammit, don't make them spend more of your tax dollars by taking selfishly long 10 minute showers.

–Try not to get electrocuted in KBR's wonderfully wired shower trailer-

STEP THREE:
With your grimy KBR-laundered towel, dry off.

STEP FOUR:
With the bottle of water you brought along, brush your teeth.
Why use the bottled water? Because the water that comes from the sink is specifically labeled as non-potable (drinkable). You WILL get the shits for a week if you use the sink water to brush your teeth.
Yay, dysentery!

STEP FIVE:
Step outside and let the 130 degree heat dry your hair in 2.5 seconds.
Pretend to ignore the sand and grit on your scalp as you brush your hair.

STEP SIX:
Return to your trailer, and dress in your KBR-laundered underwear, socks, sports-bra, brown T-shirt and uniform. Try not to think about how filthy you are.

STEP SEVEN:
Don't rinse (the water is non-potable, recall?); repeat.

Dining is even more fun.
Thank you KBR for having Dining Facilities which are three-times worse than any Army Dining Facility Stateside.

Shifts are a minimum of twelve-hours long. You generally get one day off per month. Maybe two.
It is not uncommon to work 19 hours, only to be back on duty 5 hours later.

This was my year.

On 6 May 2008, a C-17 touched down at McChord Air Force Base.

My time in the desert was over.
At least, that's what I thought then.

It's been a year, and I still spend more time in Iraq, than I do home.

I miss it.
I miss my hooch, especially.
My little 15x7' den of solitude. Aside from the threat of a mortar coming through the roof, nothing bad could happen there.

I watched DVDs and listened to music on my laptop in my 12 hours off-duty.
I ate junk food and cooked eggs I bought from Iraqis on my little hot-plate.

I miss my hooch.

In Iraq, you only worry about one thing: death.

Pretty simple, monistic life, really.

Our possessions were few, our wants were simple.
We laughed, and cried, with reckless abandon- because tomorrow my brother, we may die.

So now, I have a heart full of stories, and a head full of horror.

I have PTSD.

But I also have plenty to write about.

Me, in Three Parts- Pt 2

2009-06-18T13:02:00.000-07:00

shortly after the 81st BCT deployed, I was contacted by my Aviation unit. They explained that the unit was undergoing restructuring, and my assigned "slot" there was being eliminated.

I *could* they emphasized, try to find another slot in my same MOS field, but my promotion potential would be severely hampered by the limited slots available.
They recommended I select a new MOS and transfer into a unit with slots available for that MOS.
So, a sneaky little voice in my head said, "Hey! Here's your chance! Pick a high-demand MOS, so maybe you'll get deployed!"
See, I'd wanted for ages to VOLUNTEER to deploy, but I couldn't do that to my husband and my son (who at this point, was 14 months old).I figured, I'd just position the pieces a little, and hope that the opportunity came along for me to be deployed within my unit of assignment.

What MOS to choose?

I wanted a gritty, tough MOS that had the potential to get me deployed. I wanted to go to war, and fight for my Country.
I had ample time to make my decision, as I'd been forewarned well in advance, so I spent a fair bit of time sifting through options.

Explosive Ordnance Disposal?
Seemed like a good career field. Good pay in the civilian world; definitely a gritty job. Somewhat of an elite field within the military; at least, as elite as a woman can get.

In the end, I chose to join the Military Police (MP).

My husband had recently introduced me to Joseph Wambaugh's fantastic novels, and through them I began to develop an interest in Law Enforcement.

It seemed the perfect culmination of skills and interests. I enjoyed the military because I enjoyed living my life in the service of others. I also enjoyed the gritty, tough mentality, and of course, firearms.

Being a MP was all of those, and more.

I was not only living a life in service to my Country, but now I was also serving and protecting my fellow Soldiers.
Two years after I became an MP, and shortly after my son's third birthday, I deployed to Iraq.

Me, in Three Parts- Pt 1

2009-06-17T12:56:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, I really wanted to be a writer.
I have always fantasized about writing for a living. I never pursued it though, because as much as I enjoy writing, I've never been able to manage anything beyond short stories, and I've always been plagued by lack of subject matter.

So, I grew up, and joined the Army.

Initially, it seemed like a means to an end.
A friend of ours (my husband and I) was leaving the Regular Army. My husband, being a Retired National Guardsman, encouraged our friend to transfer into the Guard rather than leave the military completely.
In the process of convincing our friend to join the Guard, I somehow became convinced myself that the Guard seemed like a good choice. It would pay for school, and I could get a degree and become a teacher. I wanted to be a teacher because, lacking subjects to write about perhaps I could inspire some other young kid to become a writer.

So, off I went to Basic Combat Training at Fort Jackson, South Carolina.Along the way I discovered I REALLY liked Soldiering.

I liked the Army for the Army's sake, and I stopped viewing it as a means to an end.

The war in Iraq began while I was in Advanced Individual Training (AIT) at Fort Gordon, Georgia. Learning how to repair avionic equipment. I had half-heartedly watched the lead-up to the war on television, but it still came as a shock. Being in Basic and AIT, I'd gotten somewhat removed from the rest of the world. Suddenly, we were in a full-fledged, two-front war.

Many people were upset, and wanted out of the military immediately. I, on the other hand, was excited. I wanted to go to Iraq, go to war, SO badly.

Instead, I went home. I got a full-time job working for the National Guard, in addition to my weekend requirements.In my full-time job, I processed 5,000+ soldiers from the 81st BCT to deploy to Iraq.And I ached to go with them.

Maybe...

2009-06-08T12:52:00.000-07:00

I’m beginning to feel less antagonistic towards medication.
I guess that’s the way to put it. Antagonistic.

I suppose after so long at war, so much time spent fighting, resisting, battling against things… survival… I don’t know how to just move WITH something.

If there isn’t something to throw myself at, against, I can’t feel okay.

Without a focal point for all the rage, killing urge, where does it go?
Inward?
Every where?
Does it drift away on the wind?

Or do I just resist that which is good for me.
Things that I actually need and WANT, but I have to fight something, so I’ll fight this.
Because when the fighting stops, the dying starts.

NEVER lower your weapon.
Scan your sector. Stay alert, stay alive. Shoot. Move. Shoot. Move.

What else is there to know?

I miss the smell of cordite.

Breathing

2009-06-07T12:45:00.000-07:00

Today, my head hurts.
I am alternating between depression and anxiety. Restless.
I cannot sit still. Feel like I have to move.
Reminders of the dread accompanying mortar attacks. Trapped. Waiting. Waiting.
Measured breaths, taken in terror. If you don't breath, can the mortars still find you?
The world's most deadly hide-and-go-seek. Shrapnel screams through the air. Like children shriek in laughter.
____________________________________________________
I know I need the meds.
But I can't bring myself to submit. Why? What changed so much, that I don't want them. Refuse them.
I know that they may bring some relief, so WHY?
Why, when I say I want this gone, when all I want is to move forward, why do I refuse something that could help in that pursuit?
Why don't I understand my own motives?

Since when, can I not read myself?

German Marlboros

2009-06-06T12:37:00.000-07:00

When we left Iraq, our plane broke.We got stuck in Germany for 48 hours.
It was beautiful. Rolling hills. Absolute, serene silence. We hadn't had silence for a year. Green, soft, lush grass. To roll in, lie on and breathe in by the lung-full.

Sitting in the grass, gazing out over this gorgeous village nestled in the hills, I have a panic attack.
Watch the mortars rain down onto the most picturesque villiage I have ever seen.As quickly as the images come, they are gone.

We had to go off base, to spend the night. First they take our weapons away. It is the first time we've been weaponless in a year.Naked. The sudden lightness, suddenly having hands unoccupied, no longer slinging a rifle, checking a holster, maintaining muzzle awareness; the shock of no longer having our metal and plastic security blankets. Defanged.

Then, we all got on a bus
And left
The base.
Without our weapons.

Lock and load. Nothing to lock and load.
Steel your mind against the possibility of attack. Undefended. Naked flesh. No body armor, nor weapons. But who would harm us here? _______________________________________________
As a kid, I lived in Germany for six years.
Three in Wurzburg, three in Menden.

I slept that night in the hotel, in the most comfortable bed I have ever- will ever- know.
Unbelievably thick feather comforters, with traces of bleach smell. There were two beds in my hotel room (we all got our own rooms. PRIVACY!!! What a delicious privilege THAT was!); I stripped the second bed of it's down comforter.

I slept atop one, and beneath the other- cocooned in great pillowy clouds of comfort.
I take THE longest bath in the world's deepest, most wonderful bathtub. Hot water.
I fall asleep in the tub more than once.

The next day, the plane was still broken. We went to the PX to shop while we waited.
I want to buy cigarettes. Our unexpected lay over has drained my stockpile.
In Germany, on military bases, you have to have a ration card.

I don't HAVE a ration card. I'm not stationed here, you stupid Air Force retards!
I finally walk to a German canteen and purchase a pack of cigarettes from a vending machine. (Yes, they still have those in Germany.)
The exchange rate is ridiculous. I am being robbed. The US Dollar is worth nothing compared to the Euro.

Last time I was here, it was still the Deutschemark. Now the Euro.
I miss Deutschemarks.
A German pack of cigarettes has only 18 cigarettes. Not 20.
And tastes different.
But I am pleased with the novelty.

We buy blankets and pillows for the flight home.
We buy fast-food. Burger King.
There is no Burger King in Iraq. And we eventually reclaim our weapons, and board the plane for the US.
I take codeine, Ambien and Seroquel, and sleep the entire 18 hour flight home.
Laying on the metal deck of an Air Force C-17, bound for home.
It is cold, but I don't mind.

Herding

2009-03-27T10:33:00.000-07:00

Last weekend found Danke and I out at Joe Kapelos and Linda Leeman's beautiful property,
http://www.ewe-topia.com/
Danke successfully completed both legs of the American Herding Breeds Association's "Herding Capability Test". The test was hosted by the Twin County Schutzhund Club http://www.twincountyschutzhundclub.com of which I am a proud member.

The Herding Capability Test is designed to test a dog's natural inclination towards herding and it's basic willingness to cooperate and work for the handler. This was Danke's first attempt, and she did VERY well (if I do say so myself). She breezed through both legs without difficulty and received plenty of praise and compliments from Joe.

Herding (cont)

2009-03-27T10:30:00.000-07:00

More Herding Pictures:

Herding (cont)

2009-03-27T10:25:00.000-07:00

Even more pics:

Busting Phony Vets

2009-03-15T22:35:00.000-07:00

A word to the wise:

If you set out to expose phony vets, be prepared for personal attacks of the nastiest variety.

When asked why it is that some folks, not the ones being exposed, but simply by-standers, often respond with such indignation and venom to the thought of exposing phony vets, I was truly at a loss for explanation.

Upon further consideration, I am forced to admit that I still have no real answers, but I can venture a few guesses.

First, many people don't understand the military, and how truly easy it is for a legitimate vet to spot a phony.
They assume that there is no real way to prove whether or not someone is telling the truth, and thus, anyone claiming to do so is the liar- NOT the phony vet.

Well folks, I can assure you, it is actually quite easy to spot phony vets.
First, many phony vets draw their information from poor sources, and are easily identified by incorrect or outdated information they provide.

Second, the US Military has a directory that allows any other member of the military to search for the name (and email address) of anyone currently serving in any branch of the Armed Forces (it's called JEDS).

A Freedom Of Information Act Request can easily obtain the records of someone who is no longer serving.

Many people may also be living in their own denial. Either they have lied in the past, and thus become defensive when their fellow liars are exposed, OR, they know someone who has lied in the past.

Perhaps a father, uncle or other family member lied about military service. Deep down they knew that the stories were embellished (or just plain untrue), but they never admitted it to themselves.
As a result, they become hostile when they witness another phony vet exposed, because they are in denial.

Regardless, know this: no amount of character assassination, threats or harassment will EVER stop me from exposing a phony vet.
I owe it to all my fellow Veterans, the real ones, who have served with Honor, and who don't have to lie about their accomplishments.

I'm no war hero- but I did stand up to be counted when my Country asked.
And I will continue to stand up, until the Honor that all Veterans deserve, is safe from frauds.

In Memory Of SFC JOHN J. TOBIASON

2009-03-13T20:29:00.001-07:00

Progress has been made on the come to heel from the front position.

I may let the dog live after all.

She and I had a come to Jesus meeting yesterday about the fence-playing with the neighbor's pittbull. That stupidity is now a thing of the past.
What a stubborn little bitch she was about the whole thing. I eventually made my point, and she was happily doing position changes 5 minutes later.
What a shithead.

2009-03-09T19:39:00.000-07:00

Turkey necks and venison for the dog tonight. Gonna be stinky tonight.

Still snowing here. The weather can't quite make up it's mind. Hail, followed by snow, followed by sun (which melted the aformentioned snow) followed by high winds and more snow. All in 8 hours. What a day.

Feeling bad for the neighbor's pitbull. I think it's time to call animal control. Too cold for a short coated dog to be left outdoors.
It's sad when you realize that a dog would be better off put down, than in it's current living situation. He wouldn't fare well at animal control- I doubt he'd be deemed adoptable.
Anything would be preferably to the neglect and maltreatment he's currently living with.

Danke is done pouting over missing training on Sunday.

Re-reading Two-Space War. I really need to quit being lazy and buy the sequel.
That, and an E-collar for Danke.

Anthony Jerone, continued

2009-03-04T19:14:00.000-08:00

POW Network corrected the link to Mr. Jerone's military record today.
You can now view the TRUTH about Mr. Jerone's military decorations, here:

http://www.pownetwork.org/pownet.secure/jerone_anthony_nprc.pdf

Anthony Jerone

2009-03-03T19:21:00.000-08:00

Mr. Anthony Jerone is the owner of the NY Dog School, in Queens, New York.
http://www.dogschoolny.com/

A quick perusal of Anthony Jerone's website will quickly show any astute reader that he relies heavily upon his military record, specifically his military awards, as evidence of his worthiness to train dogs.

Anthony Jerone IS a Vietnam Veteran, however two of the medals he claims to have received, the Army Commendation Medal, and more importantly, the Bronze Star Medal, are utter bullshit.He did not receive either while a member of the US Military.He instead falsified documents and conned a politician into "awarding" things which no politician has the right to award.

Anthony Jerone convinced a New York City Councilman to recreate a Bronze Star which he claimed the Army "lost". He told the Councilman that records of the original had been destroyed in the 1973 St Louis National Records Warehouse Fire. Unfortunately, that politician, like many Americans, fell for one of the oldest lies that phony Vets and con artists tell.
As you can see from the Archives' own site, it would be impossible for Mr. Jerone (who served from '67 to '70) to have had his records destroyed in the fire.
http://www.archives.gov/st-louis/military-personnel/fire-1973.html

The 1973 fire did not burn a single record, from a single person who served in the Vietnam War.
Anyone who claims that proof of their heroism during Vietnam was destroyed in that fire is a con artist, liar, and probably guilty of violating the 2005 Stolen Valor Act.
http://thomas.loc.gov/cgi-bin/query/z?c109:s1998:

After hard work, research and communications with the wonderful folks at the POW Network, Mr. Anthony Jerone was added to their Phony Vet Hall of Shame.
http://www.pownetwork.org/phonies/phonies488.htm

Before you consider taking your dog to Mr. Anthony Jerone's school, the Dog School of New York, and before you let even a CENT of money pass into his hands, consider that you are giving money to a man who is a criminal, who has lied about his military awards and passed them off as credentials, a man who has conned and connived politicians and honest hardworking Americans out of their money, a man who lacks any shred of integrity.

People who lie and misrepresent their military service, spit in the face of all those Veterans who served with honor, who actually EARNED those awards, and who went on with their life quietly.

Real heroes don't go around beating their own drum.

People who've really been there, and been "in the sh*t", don't go around advertising it. Braggarts, loudmouths and self-professed heroes are usually nothing more than liars, con artists and wannabes.The real deal doesn't have anything to prove to anyone. He knows where he's been and what he's done- and frankly, he'd just as soon leave it firmly in the past.And in the case of dog training- the results speak for themselves.A reputation based on reality, ability and success, can withstand a little criticism.

My Beautiful Son

2009-02-19T19:59:00.000-08:00

2009-02-12T21:44:00.000-08:00

HAPPY FIRST BIRTHDAY!!!

mmm, cake!

i been a good dawgie

is it time fur my present yet?

OOH! things for chewiez on!

chewchewchewchewchewchewchew

Sucking Chest Wounds, Suck

2009-02-06T21:08:00.000-08:00

For our unit, life in a combat zone consisted of stark contrasts.

I found myself standing in the frosty cold, pacing the length of an olive drab, canvas tent. The nights have just begun to get colder, and I hadn't thought to bring warmer clothing, "snivel gear". Pacing to and fro in the cold, my shoulders and neck beginning to feel stiff, willing my mind to be blank.
I am here to guard the Washington Redskins Cheerleaders. Cheerleaders. I'm here
to guard
Cheerleaders.
In a combat zone, as a Military Police Soldier, in the United States Army, and my mission is to guard Cheerleaders.

I pace my self-appointed loop, periodically peeking inside the tent-flap, making sure no errant soldiers have wandered inside. There are a handful of MPs from the unit here, each of us guarding a different area. Slowly, soldiers and civilians begin arriving for the outdoor show, and fill the bleachers and open areas. A few MPs stand between the crowd and the stage.

The cheerleaders arrive, looking and acting exactly how you would expect cheerleaders to look and act. I become increasingly angry, increasingly wrapped up in my thoughts.
The cheerleaders begin to perform. In between the provocative dance routines, the cheerleaders give personal, patriotic, stirring and completely contrived speeches to the crowd.

The MC who accompanies the cheerleaders is openly homosexual, and jokingly flirts with the male soldiers in the crowd. He gives short, impromptu stand-up routines which are absolutely hilarious, but I find myself annoyed with when I realize that if the soldiers in the crowd made the same jokes, they would probably find themselves facing an Equal Opportunity complaint, or worse.

After the show, the cheerleaders conduct a meet & greet, and sign autographs. I've been on duty for well over 15 hours, and I park myself in a folding chair near the end of the autograph table. I lean back and watch the cheerleaders interact with the soldiers they have come to entertain. Most of the chit chat is heavy in sexual overtones, and if it weren't for the amount of money they make, I would have felt bad for the cheerleaders. I couldn't help but feel that they were selling their dignity.

Finally, all the soldiers have been through and gotten their autographs, and I stand outside the tent flap, ensuring no one enters while the cheerleaders change out of their stage outfits and into warmer garb.

I chat with [name withheld], and we agree that guarding cheerleaders is a shit detail, and joke about bringing Chip'n'Dale dancers on a USO tour, in the spirit of fairness. I don't mention that it's not so much guarding female cheerleaders thats eating at me, it's the entireity of my day.

I look at a wall only 100 meters away, and know that only an hour ago, on the other side of that wall, I watched someone bleed to death.

Earlier in the evening, I was typing traffic tickets into COPS, when everyone started commenting on the sounds of a firefight over on the South wall of Victory. It wasn't an uncommon occurance, but at one point, it sounded extremely close, as in, the fight was INSIDE the wall. At about the same time [two soldiers] came inside saying they'd heard rounds ricocheting over their heads while they were standing outside the PMO (fancy term for police station).

The RTO (Radio/Telephone Operator) starts calling me on the radio. I had my radio off, but was just down the hall from him, so I hollered "What!" down the hall. I never get a response, but a second later, here comes the RTO, running down the hall telling me I needed to get over to the Victory Gym, because someone was hit by one of the stray rounds. I'd just gotten my dinner, so I jokingly tell [name withheld] to enjoy my chow, and haul ass out to the parking lot, calling another MP on the radio to see if he was close enough to respond and render medical aid.

He was not, but Jones [fake name] overheard me make the call, and whipped around in the parking lot and pulled out just in front of me. I rode her bumper the whole way in, since she had working lights and siren, and I didn't.
I throw my rig in park and kill the engine.

Several people were yelling for medics. The mortar bunkers are crammed full with people, and I realize that there is still a risk of more stray rounds. There was a large puddle of blood on the ground, and as I rounded the barrier, there was an even larger puddle. My eyes for moment are glued to the blood, and I follow the trail of blood, streaked, all the way to the victim. Several people are crowded around the prone, shirtless soldier, working furiously, attempting to save a life that was obviously not going to be saved.

We radio and tell the desk that medical needs to hurry up. Their facility is only 5 minutes away. They still aren't there.

There's really nothing I can do. The only thing left is to control the crowd, and try to clear as many people from the scene as I can. Jones identifies the Sergeant of the Guard and begins interviewing him, while I do my best to disperse anyone who doesn't need to be there. Several soldiers ask me if the gym is going to be reopened, and I tell them I doubt it, at least not for a couple of hours.

30 minutes go by, and finally, medical arrives and the soldier is loaded onto a gurney for transport. Someone asks if I am an MP, I say yes. "Here". I stick out my hand, and he drops a warm, bloody rifle round into my hand. Competing thoughts, "Shit, I should be wearing gloves, it's bloody." "Shit, this is evidence" "Holy fuck that is a big ass fucking round". Flesh clings to a grove down the side of the round.

I look around, and spot a discarded bandage wrapper, and drop the round in it. I look at my hand, now stained with the victim's blood. "I should feel more than this. This should bother me. Why doesn't this bother me. What do I do now? Check on Jones. I should check on Jones."
Jones is finishing up her interview with the Sergeant of the Guard.

Representatives from KBR, who run the gym, arrive. They instruct the HAZMAT team to clean the area, and tell us to tear down our crime scene tape. They are going to reopen the gym.
Inside my head, I am screaming. I want to shake these people, grab their collars and shake them, beat my fists on their chests, yell. "What the hell is wrong with you! Don't you realize someone just died! And you're reopening the goddamned GYM!"

It seems so cold, so callous. Someone's life just ended, and we just wash off the blood and pretend nothing happened. Hop back on your treadmills folks, shows over.
Some child will never see his father again, but g-d fucking forbid we shut down the gym for a night.

Our Patrol Supervisor tells us to get going, because we have to go guard the Cheerleaders.

Assist - Protect - Defend

2009-02-06T20:24:00.000-08:00

SUPPORTING the THREE
I am the Infantry, follow me.
not a foot soldier, we're much more you see.
We'll take the fight to the enemy.
I am the Infantry, the first of the three.

I am the Cavalry, follow me.
A modern horse soldier in an APC.
Charging straight forward to the enemy.
I am the Cav, most daring of the three.

I am the Armor, follow me.
The arm of decision I'll always be.
When the going gets rough, call on me.
I am the Armor, the best of the three.

Armor, Cav, and Infantry
rush headlong into the melee.
Braking the lines like an angry sea
deep into enemy territory.

Approaching a crossroads, what do we see?
The area secured by two lonely MPs
Directing us forward, how can this be?
How long have they been there, waiting for me?

What a crazy person an MP must be.
He has no firepower or armor like me.
And I thought everyone followed the three
Armor, Cav, and Infantry.

I am the MP, don't follow me.
You don't want to be where I will be.
Guarding the crossroads, waiting for the three.
Just my partner, a sixteen, a sixty and me.

With the objective taken, wait and see.
No one will remember the lonely MP
Who held this ground so they could run free,
But that's my job, supporting the three.

Written by SGT Allan Perkins

Failing Our Warriors Part 4

2009-02-05T19:45:00.000-08:00

The Long Way Back

War is full of experiences that are outside the realm of normal human functioning.
Death. Fear. Hatred. Lives taken. Lives lost.
How does a soldier begin to reconcile those deep, conflicting feelings? What did it all mean? What was it all for? Why did it happen? Why? Why? Why?

Recall that towards the beginning of this, I mentioned that prior to the Korean War, we welcomed our returning Veterans. We celebrated them. Parades. Honor Guards. Holidays. We honored our returning Veterans as the heroes that they were.
We thanked them for their sacrifices on the Nation’s behalf, on the altar of freedom.

For today’s Vets, and for the Veteran’s of the Korean War and the Vietnam War, this acknowledgement, is largely absent.
In fact, a Veteran can turn on a television any time of the day and hear someone say that the war in Iraq is wrong, pointless, immoral, and illegal and that we shouldn’t be over there.

Why, when the fighting of WWII was far more intense, when the percentage of combat psychiatric casualties; that is soldiers who were removed from the battlefield due to severe stress reactions; was 80% higher than it is today,Why is it that our returning Vets have such a statistically higher rate of difficulty readjusting to life after combat?

The road back from war is long, and difficult. It certainly isn’t a stroll in the park.
The key to traveling this path, and reemerging on the other side, though, is finding meaning in the combat experience. Veterans of WWI and WWII were provided meaning immediately upon returning from combat. They were hailed as liberators, heroes, keepers of peace and liberty throughout the world. The nation praised them as having vanquished evil, and celebrated them as returning triumphant heroes.

For those Veterans of past wars, there was no struggle to find meaning- it was right there on the front page of every newspaper. It was proclaimed throughout the country, in newsreels, in restaurants, in every corner where American voices echoed.

For today’s Veteran, no such meaning has been provided. We, like the Vietnam Vet, return home to a Nation awash in controversy. A nation neither grateful nor proud or our sacrifices. We are accused of war crimes. Our fight, our honorable sacrifice for freedom, is instead called an “illegal war”, a “quagmire”, a “waste”.

If the country that sent us to war considers our sacrifice a “waste”, what value can we possibly derive from it? How can we find meaning in a war our country considers meaningless?
This is an internal question that each returning warrior can only answer for his or her self.

I can offer my own insight, for whatever that may be worth. I trained for the first 6 years of my career. Going to war was the “Final Exam”, and it felt good to pass the test.

Regardless of how the country feels about the war, soldiers must go where they are told, and fight when they are told to fight. Anything less than absolute obedience on this point would mean the failure of our nation and our freedom.

For centuries, long before the Hollywood Elite with their virulent and hate-filled opinions that permeate our society (regardless of their actual voracity or relevance), there were soldiers. In the end, it’s a dirty, filthy job, but it must be done. Those that have answered that call should count themselves the lucky ones. As Shakespeare put it:

"We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition: And gentlemen in England now a-bed Shall think themselves accursed they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day"

Because they, the ones that weren’t there, they will never know. They will never know what it is to have stood upon that sand, to have carried the burden of freedom on your own two shoulders and truly understand what it is to be free. They will never know, and in their not knowing, they suffer. The doubt, the regret, the secret shame, it is their punishment. So bitterness… is unnecessary. (See, I told you I’d tell you why bitterness and resentment is pointless.)

Ultimately, returning warriors must look deep into their hearts to find purpose.
While we are seeking though, it is wise to remember that whether or not a nation places value on your sacrifice does not mean it must lose value to you.

Don’t cheapen who you are, and what you’ve given for your nation, just because they’ve decided it doesn’t matter to them. Frankly, you’re casting pearls before swine.

Your fellow Vets know, and we thank you.

"No easy hope, or lies
Shall bring us to our goal,
But iron sacrifice Of body, will, and soul.
There is but one task for all --One life for each to give.
What stands if Freedom fall?
Who dies if England live?"~Rudyard Kipling

In Memory of SFC John J. Tobiason

Failing Our Warriors Part 3

2009-02-05T19:41:00.000-08:00

Is It Over Yet?

We didn’t particularly expect parades. We knew the reality; most Americans are very unhappy about the ongoing War on Terrorism. As a nation, we’re still figuring out how to support and honor our fighting men and women, while not agreeing with the policies that send them to fight.

In general, there are two main emotions that this evokes in soldiers. The first is bitterness. It is easy to be bitter. While we were standing over the bodies of dead soldiers, America was anxiously awaiting the results of last night's vote on American Idol.
This isn’t about America or the civilian population though, so I won’t elaborate further on this.
It is also too easy to resent your fellow soldiers who did not go to war. It is easy to feel spite towards those who have never served. It is easy- but that does not make it correct.
I’ll explain why, later.The second emotion is a fierce sense of pride and camaraderie. Since America does not open her arms unquestioningly and embrace her warriors, we warriors embrace each other. We will love each other, support and welcome each other in the way that our Country has not.
This second feeling is what we should seek to cultivate. Let the bitterness pass, and cling only to the kinship of your fellow combat vet. In close conversation, I refer to this as “the Order of the Right-Shoulder Patch”.

For some of us, the sense of disjointedness and unreality that dogged us in Kuwait, also accompanied our return from combat. Those that did not return to the same home or living situation they’d left struggled even more with those feelings.Generally though, the first few months home are happy times. Soldiers are provided ample paid leave so that they may enjoy readjusting. We take trips, we celebrate, and we eat favorite foods we’ve been longing for. We share some of our stories- but not all. Some stories are not meant for public consumption. We each struggle to answer the difficult (and rude) questions: did you kill anyone? Did you see any dead people? What was it like?We struggle with awkward situations. What do you say when someone thanks you for your service? You’re welcome? I have to admit, when I was still struggling with the bitterness, I sometimes answered “thank you”, with “I didn’t do it for you”.

Slowly, most of us begin to withdraw. Right around 6 months post-deployment, we slam right into a brick wall.
Some may take longer. Some Vietnam Vets did not experience their own “brick wall” until they began watching our war, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, on television.
Whatever and whenever it may be, up until that point, we generally tell ourselves we’re fine. We’re not the ones with problems, everyone else has the problem. Then, something will happen that forces us to realize that things aren’t okay.

For me, I was watching We Were Soldiers. We Were Soldiers is probably one of the finest war movies ever made.
It is an honest and accurate depiction of our Army at war. It does not portray the men who served in Vietnam as unwilling or unwitting victims; rather it rightly grants them the honor and dignity of combat veterans.

The movie ends with several lines that forced me to accept that I was not “okay”.

When Joe Galloway, the reporter, tells LTC Moore that he doesn’t know how to tell the story, LTC Moore tells him,

“Well you have to, Joe. You tell the American people what happened here. You tell them how my troopers died.”

Joe Galloway did in fact go on to tell the story, not only becoming a celebrated war journalist, but also in helping LTC Hal Moore write the book, “We Were Soldiers Once, and Young”.
In the movie, Joe begins telling his story like this,

“In Saigon, Hal Moore's superiors congratulated him for killing over 1,800 enemy
soldiers. Then ordered him to lead the Seventh Cavalry back into the valley of death. He led them and fought beside them for 235 more days. Some had families waiting. For others, their only family would be the men they bled beside. There were no bands, no flags, no Honor Guards to welcome them home. They went to war because heir country ordered them to. But in the end, they fought not for their country or their flag, they fought for each other. We who have seen war will never stop seeing it, in the silence of the night we will always hear the screams.
So this is our story... for we were soldiers once, and young.”

I completely broke down. I could not stop crying. When I was (finally) done, I realized that not only was I not okay, but that it was going to take a great deal of introspection and work to become “okay”.

Failing Our Warriors Part 2

2009-02-05T19:38:00.000-08:00

War is Hell

This is not a euphemism. It is not prose and it is not pretty words. It is fact.

Let me speak solely from my own experience as a soldier in Iraq.

On July 20th, 2007 I boarded a plane in New Jersey, bound for the Middle East. At some point during a long, LONG flight, the 20th became the 21st, and I turned 24 years old. Landing in Arifjan, Kuwait, we were ushered down the steps of the plane, and into waiting busses on the tarmac. The heat was overwhelming, other-worldly.
We were giving bottled water to drink on the bus- the labels were in Arabic.
Soldiers were provided ammunition for their weapons, to guard the busses as we departed Arifjan, bound for Camp Buehring, Kuwait. We were told to keep the curtains on the windows drawn at all times. By the time we arrived in Camp Buehring, we’d been in Kuwait for 3 hours, and all we’d seen is a very normal (albeit unbearably hot) airfield, and the inside of a bus.Then we were ushered off the bus and out into the desert sun.

If you’ve been to the Middle East, you understand the feeling of unreality that hits you the second you step off the bus. You suddenly realize exactly how Alice felt when she went down the rabbit hole. Your circadian rhythm is horribly disoriented. (I sometimes wonder if being located in a completely opposite relationship to the poles also has some short-term effect on one’s sense of reality.) The temperature alone is enough to make a person delirious- you cannot prepare for 130 degree temperatures in the shade. No where in the United States can a human being stand, and looking 360 degrees about themselves, for as far as the eye can see, find the land completely devoid of all forms of life. No plants. No animals. No homes. Stretching to the horizon is an endless blanket of lifeless, oppressive sand. In fact, the eye cannot distinguish the horizon from the earth- the line is blurred by heat waves, sandstorms and blinding, painful light. Coming from a well-populated nation, with abundant natural beauty, this is an absolute shock to the psyche. For myself, I was immediately struck by the fact that it would be a long time before I saw Mount Rainier again. Add to this psychological assault the fact that generators are running, endlessly. It is virtually impossible to find a location on a US Military installation in the Middle East, which is quiet. The constant ambient noise level is enough to drive a person mad.About the time that I began to accept that Kuwait was real, that I was neither dreaming nor duped (we sometimes half kidded ourselves that we’d never left the States, that we’d merely been flown around in circles for 2 days and dropped in the middle of the Sahara, such was the depth of the our inability to comprehend the situation) we boarded a plane for Iraq.

Due to unit internal conflicts, I was unable to accompany my unit into Iraq. I was left behind in Kuwait to guard a female soldier who refused to board the plane.One of the most painful experiences in my life, surpassed only by the death of my father and other family members, was watching my unit marching out of the terminal, marching off to combat, and not being able to join them. Friends who spoke with me at the time know how difficult it was, and how much I struggled with my separation from my unit. I spent an additional week in Kuwait.

I had been in Iraq for less than an hour before we were mortared. I was in a pickup truck returning from taking my bags to the transient tents, when the incoming alarm went off. I asked the driver, a member of my unit, what the heck we were supposed to do. He had no idea- this was the unit’s first mortar attack.
Two things went through my mind- one, at least they didn’t get mortared without me, and two, as the mortar exploded 600 meters away, that I was officially a combat veteran. No matter what else I may do in life, I will always be a combat veteran.
I was too proud to be afraid. That or I just didn’t know better.

Fatigue quickly sets in quickly in a combat zone. Enough sleep cannot be had.
Long, boring days, in true Army fashion, punctuated only by brief intense periods of activity and fear.
My unit’s mission was unique. In the entirety of the Global War on Terror, less than 600 soldiers have been tasked with our mission. When mortars and rockets fell on the base, everyone took cover. Everyone but us, that is. We moved towards the sound of explosions. Outside the wire, soldiers protected us in combat missions. Inside the wire, we protected them. We responded to suicides, homicides, rapes, mortars, snipers, stray rounds, thefts, vehicle accidents, medical emergencies… At any given time, less than 10 MPs were charged with maintaining Law and Order for over 55,000 personnel, most of which were armed and generally unhappy. At first, it was hard to accept that we didn’t have a “combat” mission. As time went by, we realized that we were fighting a separate war. On September 11th, 2007, over 40 rockets fell on Camp Victory. The casualty count was over 50. As with all attacks on our base, we were the first on the scene.

Almost as soon as it started, our deployment was over, and we were headed home.

Failing Our Warriors Part 1

2009-02-05T19:37:00.000-08:00

Duty, Honor, Country

We have an obligation as soldiers, combat veterans, patriots, defenders of freedom, to recover. If the price of combat is too high, if entire generations are destroyed by the psychological trauma of armed conflict, then we as a nation may well decide that the cost of freedom itself is too high. Should this happen, our nation as we know it, our very civilization as we know it would cease to exist.Just as we were duty bound to go into combat, just as our honor as warriors demanded that we continue the mission in the face of fear, fatigue and seemingly insurmountable odds- we are also duty bound to do everything within our power to RETURN from combat. So how do we come home from a war?First, we have to dispel many myths. The sheer volume of briefings, lectures and informational materiel provided to our soldiers would lead one to believe that the development of PTSD was virtually a foregone conclusion.The information provided to our soldiers today about mental health is far superior and certainly much further reaching, than their predecessors. However, my own experience returning from a difficult deployment has taught me that we are missing one critical piece of the puzzle. We forget to tell our soldiers that they most likely will struggle when they first come home. We forget to tell them that these struggles are normal, and not necessarily a sign of PTSD. They are simply part of the normal adjustment process.We also forget to tell them that they can get better, and that they are expected to get better.Instead, an air of mystery and fear is created. An aura surrounds our returning Veterans. Families, friends are afraid, “is he going to go crazy”?Every night one can turn on the news and hear stories, news reports about the high rate of mental health issues among our veterans. Another veteran suicide; another veteran arrested for violent crime. What the heck is going on?In past generations, in past wars, returning warriors were greeted with parades, accolades and the admiration and respect of the entire country.WWI, WWII, these warriors were uniformly revered as heroes by an entire nation.Korea, Vietnam… these warriors received a mixed reception.

Fun Things to do in Today's Techno-Centric Army

2009-02-05T19:34:00.000-08:00

(Disclaimer: Actually doing any of the following may result in poor NCOERs, visits with the Battalion Chaplain, Command Directed Psychological Evaluation and/or Article 15/Non-Judicial Punishment. Attempt at your own risk.)

Send emails to co-worker's official email accounts with a subject line that reads: "Your subsciption to WWW.GAYPORN.NET will expire soon. RENEW NOW!!!" (For maximum effect, wait until said co-worker is giving a presentation to a superior on their computer.)

Subtitle all PowerPoint presentations with "Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb".

Once a day, call the IT HelpDesk and ask them to unlock your account. Disregard the fact that your account is not locked.

Use emoticons in official electronic correspondance. Insist that the newest TRADOC doctrine for 42A (Admin Specialist) school includes emoticon SOP.

When emailing non-Military Police personnel, ensure that your signature line includes the phrase, "MPs Lead the Way".

Reminisce about the "Old Army" by emailing pictures of painted rocks to the Disto-All email list.

Change your email signature line to read: Morale Suppression NCOIC.
See how long it takes anyone to notice.

Change your Desktop photo to pictures of adorable kittens wearing pink bows.
For more fun, change your Commanding Officer's desktop instead.

Sign a co-worker up for Google Alerts, for all articles meeting the search criteria: "feces".

Change your computer's sound settings. Use the incoming mortar alarm .wav file you acquired from the JOC in Iraq to alert you to new emails. Try not to wet yourself laughing at co-worker's reactions.

2009-02-05T19:17:00.000-08:00