Hide the Silverware, Congress is Back

As Makai, my huge Anatolian Shepherd, and I took our walk this morning, the sun was just thinking about rising for the day, the eastern sky was a beautiful red-orange, and the cold, crisp 16 degree morning was full of peace and promise. The holidays were over and they had been nothing but a wonderful time. Even Makai seemed to walk at a more brisk pace, as if he, too, were enjoying the beckoning day.

Why, I wondered, was everything so perfect this morning? Then it hit me. For the last couple of weeks I had assiduously avoided thinking about politics, politicians, and the crumbling of my country. What a pleasant time it had been; but, now it is early January and Congress is back in session, so to paraphrase Will Rogers, “Hide the silverware, Honey, Congress is back in town.”

Our Elected Betters just can’t help themselves. They spend; they are addicted to the mother’s milk of politics…money. If any of the rest of us Great Unwashed out here had to straighten out these problems, it could be done in a heartbeat because Congress and the lawyers that draft their legislation have made everything so complex that we are moribund. Fear of offending any group has made us totally unable to make logical and sensible changes in the way our government operates. We, the Great Unwashed, are used to offending people and making choices that are right for us and our families and letting others make their own choices and then letting them live with the consequences of their own decisions.

So, herewith are a few of my suggestions that I would make if tomorrow I became “King for a Little While”:

• We have unfunded mandates, such as pensions, so from today forward all government hires will be encouraged to invest in their own 401K or IRA programs as defined pensions are no more.
• Congressional pensions for all future electees are also eliminated with the same proviso as above;
• Congressional salaries are doubled and congressional staffs are halved. Congressional sessions will be three months in Washington and then three months returning home to their districts. This simple change will allow our Elected Betters to stay in touch with their constituents. Senators and Representatives that live in the DC area and do not return to their home districts will be deemed in contempt of the Will of Congress and be expelled.
• All Departments will have their budgets frozen at the current funding levels for 5 years;
• Every bill will be single subject legislation; no more “Christmas Tree” bills. Line item vetoes will also be in effect.
• Withholding taxes make things too easy for us Great Unwashed to forget that we pay taxes; therefore, they will be phased out over a five year period. Then, every April 15 we will have to pay our taxes instead of being happy that the Government is giving us a refund;
• Bring home our military from overseas. Let the people who live in Korea, Japan, Kuwait, Germany, Philippines, Bosnia, etc. protect themselves. I no longer want to be the “Policemen of the World.”
• United Nations headquarters and the den of thieves that inhabit it will be forcibly encouraged to relocate in one of the third-world countries that they wish to help so much.
• Every new bill submitted for consideration will also have a list of 10 current bills attached to it. From this list of 10, Congress will choose 5 to be eliminated before any new legislation is signed into law.
• No troops can be committed for more than 180 days without a Declaration of War by Congress;
• No state or jurisdiction can aid illegal aliens with public funds. If churches or private organizations wish to help them with food and shelter then that is their right. However, that being said, illegal means illegal and when found they will be detained and/or deported. Employers hiring illegals are subject to heavy fines and/or imprisonment.
• America needs petroleum and until alternatives are practical then we will exploit all oil resources.

I believe this is a good start for the first 90-day session. Admittedly, many Senators and Representatives will not be met with happy constituents and perhaps might even lose their next election. I don’t see a downside to this. After all, they will have done their public service and then returned to private life, just the way the system is supposed to have worked.

In the next 90-day session we might think about how to handle illegal drugs, organized gangs, social security, etc., etc., etc. But, at the very least, we will have begun.

An American Tragedy

As  Makai, my huge Anatolian Shepherd, and I were walking this morning, I could not let myself just enjoy the beauty of another gorgeous daybreak in the North County. The deer were still grazing on “bushy tail” grasses that Mrs. Commish planted, the sky was full of the promise of a rare summer day with low humidity, and the gravel in the lane to my home was still in my driveway—always a good thing after the storms of the previous night. There was nothing to indicate that this morning’s walk, with apologies to Samuel Clemens, was going to be “a good walk spoiled.”

As you probably know, Mark Twain was responding to what he thought about golf. As for myself I am referring to what should be a celebration of a life well-lived but, instead, one that has become a true American tragedy.

Mrs. Commish has a favorite uncle named Cletus. And he is typical of many in the generation before mine. Cletus grew up in depression-era Baltimore and was poor in every way except those things that really mattered. He was an only child raised by a single mother who was widowed when Cletus was a mere lad but he grew up amongst a large family of cousins, aunts, and uncles. They did not have much, but they had a sense of family.

At seventeen Cletus left high school and was proud to serve in World War II. A hero? No, Cletus was just another young American doing what he thought had to be done.

In 1946 Cletus got his discharge and came home. To make a long story short, he got his G.E.D., went to college and became a teacher. He spent most of his teaching years in tough schools in the City. He never left for the county school system because he felt that he made a difference in the lives of some of “his kids.” Cletus stared down knife-wielding thugs posing as students on at least two occasions and verbally, not physically disarmed them. When he finally retired in the late 1980’s Cletus had a doctorate but had never left the classroom for the cushier life of an administrator. His “kids” still needed him.

All of the pieces were in place for the American Dream but something has gone horribly wrong. Cletus is Mrs. Commish’s favorite uncle, we talk to him a couple of times a day; and, even though he lives an hour away we usually see him several times a week. But not often enough.

Cletus never married and during the course of his working life he bought, lived in, and sold at least a dozen homes. While he never made as much as $20,000 a year, he was able to provide for his mother and himself. When his mother died after a lengthy period of decline, I think Cletus lost his direction in life. He no longer felt needed.

Today he gets, literally, two dozen requests for money every day in the mail. He believes that every request is real and sends out between $600 and $800 every month to save the whales, to save Social Security, to save American Indian children, to save the Democrats from the evil Republicans, to save the Republicans from the stupid Democrats, and to things like Citizens with Arthritis Concerned About Neighbors with Diabetes. He reads every mailing and believes in their pleas because “they wouldn’t be writing to me unless they really needed my help.” Now, finally, he believes his karma is being rewarded and he can help even more because Cletus has become “qualified” to be a sweepstakes winner.

We can no longer count the number of checks Cletus has written for $7.95, $19.95 and even $49.95 for fees “required” to redeem his possible prize. He grew up in an era that produced this feeling that Americans looked out for each other and he will not accept that anyone would try to scam him. After all, he has led a good life and tried not to hurt others. He does not comprehend how anything that says “Official” or “Express Mail Delivery” can be a scam. Now he is receiving telephone calls from persons with eastern European accents requesting him to meet with the “prize director” to receive his check for up to $400,000.00 that he is guaranteed to have won. All he needs is to have $1495 dollars in cash or cashiers check to hand over for “processing and qualified international fees.” At least on these occasions Cletus has taken the Commish’s advise to meet at his attorney’s office and never at his home.  Of course these “prize directors” never want to meet in the presence of sane and rational persons; and, in fact, have become abusive over the phone and even cursed Cletus severely for not trusting them and not really wanting the sweepstakes money and then they abruptly hang up. They always call back.

Cletus has become an emotional wreck. He sort of realizes that the calls are from potentially dangerous people but he still can’t quite believe it. After being cursed at and hung up on, Cletus, for a short while, understands that he has managed to escape from a scam. However, before our phone call is even over he reverts to saying something like, “I can’t believe that someone from The Official Sweepstakes Redemption Center would treat me like that.” The scamming is forgotten and he awaits a call from someone with a nicer phone presence to call him with word of his winner’s check.

Most of Cletus’ friends have died, an unfortunate by-product of living a long life. He complains that no one comes to visit him and that all of his time is taken up by the mail. We just don’t understand, these are important letters. The mail is central to his daily routine, he cannot throw it out without reading every word and it piles up on every flat surface in his home. He says it has become the bane of his existence.

A few weekends ago, Mrs. Commish took Cletus to visit several independent living communities. Here he could make new friends, have his own condo, and, best of all, escape all of the daily solicitations that the mail plagues him with. Cletus broke down and cried saying if we forced him to go into one of “those” places he would but “no one would ever visit him and if we stopped his junk mail than no one would ever write to him either.”

Cletus can afford to enjoy his remaining years but he cannot let himself use his accumulated savings on himself. Those depression-era lessons run deep, much deeper than I can understand.

Today Cletus is still in his own home. So far he has not talked to us since we “tried to take him from his home.” That is my American Tragedy and I can’t stop thinking about it.

Your Vision for My America? No Thanks!

Makai and I took our daily walk again this morning and I reflected on how he interprets this time as compared to how I use the time. Mak, our Anatolian Shepherd, enjoys checking out each clump of grass, grazing upon certain particular blades and then moving about 10 feet to check out each individual blade of another clump of grass. If he had his way our morning walk would last just about three and a half hours and then he would eat a little chow and take a nap. On the other hand, I look at our morning walk as a time for a little exercise for both Mak and myself. A brisk little half-mile jaunt during which I can enjoy the fresh air and perhaps clear my mind and get ready for what the day will bring. I allow about 10 minutes for this endeavor and then off to the shower and office.

Which one of us is right? If you answered NEITHER then I think you are on the right track. We both enjoy our walk together but for totally different reasons, neither of which is right or wrong; just different.

America used to be this same way. Your pursuit of happiness was protected by the Constitution and also by the collective “American thought.” As long as your concept of “happiness” did not infringe upon mine, then go for it. When did this change? Why did it change?

Today every one of our Elected Betters has his or her “Vision of America” as they “fight” the good fight to shape our country and thought into what they perceive to be a “brighter and more just America.” Their only requirement is that we passively follow where they lead. When did we abdicate the pursuit of our happiness to the pursuit of Our Elected Betters Concept of Happiness? I think it happened when we realized that it is hard to think for ourselves. It requires effort and even results in some failure to realize our dreams while if we let the elected officials make all of the decisions it is so much easier.

Look how easy our cattle have it compared to the wild deer. The free roaming deer have to contend with traffic, bad weather, predators, possible famine and even disease. In the end they learn to fend for themselves and adapt to the encroachment of people into their space. Cattle have it so much easier. Their Selected Betters (us) bring them their food, bring them into the barn during bad weather, treat their illnesses and even carefully transport them to the slaughterhouse. How much happier they must be than their hard-living ruminant cousins, the deer. Their Selected Betters supply them with everything they could possible need and the only thing required in return is for them to quietly give up their lives for our comfort and eating enjoyment.

Is it just me or does it seem to you, too, that our Elected Betters treat us pretty much the same as we treat our cattle. Everything is going to be okay as long as we don’t ask questions and just keep putting them back in office. Sure some of us will die in Afghanistan but look at the big picture. Sure some of our property will be seized by eminent domain and given to private developers but look at the increased tax dollars. Sure some of  us will have a hard time paying for required health insurance but so what, that’s why the Healthcare Bill also hired 16,500 new IRS agents.

Until we take back our responsibility to pursue our own happiness, then we are going to get the type of government we are getting. Believe me, there are plenty of people who are more than willing to tell you what to do if you just pull their lever. Resist the easy way and, even though it hurts, think before you re-elect the same crowd that has populated Washington and Annapolis for the past 50 years.
When in doubt, throw them out! Term limits. No more than 12 years of “public service” then they have to work in the private sector and experience the results of their legislation. Sure we might lose some good people but that makes way for more good people to shoulder the responsibility. No more “cushy” retirement for Our Elected Betters, let them fund their own IRAs just like the rest of us.

America once was the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave, let’s try to make it that way again.

Wii Knee (with Apologies to Thomas Paine)

As I took Makai, our Anatolian Shepherd, on his walk this morning, I watched the sunrise breaking in the east. My mind drifted back to the founding of this nation and the awe that must have been experienced when viewing this wonderful “new” land for the first time. Out of this vision of majesty and freedom evolved the great American experiment, The United States of America.


Founded on principles higher than our ability to live them, America’s development, I was thinking, was similar to the evolution of a child from infancy through adolescence to adulthood, and finally into our old age and eventual demise. I reflected on Thomas Paine’s “Common Sense” pamphlets that helped to galvanize an infant colony into a nation. Even then he wrote of the trade-offs of freedoms that would be extracted by the formation of a new government. Paine did not presuppose to suggest the form a new government should take but did warn of the inherent oppression that any form of government would eventually impose upon its subjects. Even a small grouping of like-minded individuals would eventually change from a successful collective with common interests to a more selfish and less cohesive grouping as interests changed and self-interest became more important than the security and prosperity of the group.


While I was thinking on these lofty philosophical issues, and minding to stop by each and every tree so that Makai could pee or else determine who had recently peed on the tree, it hit me. A more encompassing and engrossing issue was suddenly all that I could focus on….Wii Knee!


Christmas had come and gone and Santa had brought a Wii console and accessories to my daughter and son-in-law. Mrs. Commish wasn’t feeling too well so there was nothing to keep the Commish from showing the younger set that he still “had it.”


We competed in bowling and archery and various other gaming forms, looking always for something in which I could shine. Then we opened the Wii Fit Plus (or Extra, or whatever it is called). We got on the Wii Board and got measured and balance tested and so forth and so on. The Commish came up with a Wii age of double nickel. Not too shabby for a recently turned 61 year old. BMI was borderline between “Overweight” and “Obese.” This, too, was a win as everyone else was firmly in the “Obese” range. What a great Christmas gift. For a mere $400 we have a game that not only insults you but tells you that your goals to get better are not within reason!


Then we took some Wii Fit options to improve ourselves. The Commish immediately choose “Yoga” and excelled at “Breathing.” Hey, how wrong could I go? I figure if you are still alive then you must have a handle on the concept. The “Obese” youngsters proceeded to advance to “Hula Hoops” and then “Super Hula Hoops.” Of course, since Mrs. Commish was home in bed nursing her head cold, nothing could stop me from playing again and again, knowing that this next round was the one I would win. Finally the phone call came saying, “It’s 11:30, do you know where your Commish is?”


Leaving the scene of my defeats, I knew that I could have won if only we had Hula Hooped one more time. Well, tomorrow there would be Wii Golf. After all, I am the Commish of The Bad Golfers Association and I intend to use all of my skills to bury the competition.


This morning as I walked the dog and thought about Thomas Paine, Mr. Real Paine made himself known to me in my left knee. Wii Knee, I was sure. Well, I hobbled back up the hill pulling a dog the size of Delaware that just wanted to smell one more tree and chase one more small herd of deer. Strange to believe, but even Wii Knee has an upside. My son-in-law, who beat me in archery, hula hoops, bowling, etc., woke up with Wii Shoulder!


Tonight I will use my secret weapon, learned during the many rounds of bad golf I have played…tonight I will take Aleve, not before tee time but an hour before Wii time. Tonight Wii means ME.

Another Christmas miracle (with a small “m”)

Miracles come in all sizes and as far as miracles go this one was very, very small. I don’t know about you, but I’ll take my miracles in any size.

Makai is an Anatolian Shepherd. He is our LGD (large guard dog) and was bought to guard our herd of goats and chickens and geese from predators. Anatolians are “serious” dogs. They are born knowing how to protect, when to spring into action, and when to relax. This is so innate in them that they get their feelings “seriously” hurt if you tell them what to do and when to do it.

After waiting for almost eighteen months to get him, four years ago we drove to Michigan to pick up Makai (Hawaiian for “towards the ocean”). What a cutie, just a few months old and already had lion-sized paws. The final decision to get him was after foxes had killed my Father’s Day gift of three heritage turkeys. These Broad Breasted Bronze birds were going to be my “guard turkeys” as they grow to almost 60 pounds and have a wing span of 6 feet, instead they became fox-food. Time for the LGD!

The breeder bet us that we would make him a house dog and not be tough enough to leave him outside to bond with his herd. We agreed that she might be right but the plan was to let him guard our one remaining goose and the goat kids. Like in the movie “Gremlins,” we had a final warning to never let him escape because once he found out he could, he would, always. And we were off back to the wilds of Sparks, Maryland.

Makai’s father was 185 pounds and chased off coyotes and bears. We figured Makai could handle a few foxes and raccoons. Even though cougar, coyote, and black bears have been spotted in our area, foxes are the largest predator we have seen in our thirty years there. (I think the black bear sighting by a neighbor was actually our rottweiler, Zeus, but that is another story.)

Makai rather quickly killed our last goose by constantly returning it by the neck to the goat herd where he could watch over everything. The goose kept wandering off and he would bring it back. Finally, the darn goose just “broke.” With that duty over Makai settled in to be quite a good LGD and went about his business very seriously. He was constantly on watch until we brought him in to the barn at night to eat and sleep. As soon as the barn doors closed Makai was off duty and it would take an explosion outside to make him stir.

This serious dog never learned how to play. I would throw a ball and then he watched as I retrieved it. I would throw him a snack and he would watch as it bounced off his nose. Stick? Same thing. He saw no reason for such foolishness. Duty was Mak and play was for the silly Labrador Retriever that our daughter had. Then his friend Zeus died.

Over the previous four years Mak grew to the point that our 130 pound rottweiler literally could walk underneath him. They got to be great buddies until Mak lost his friend this past summer. He watched closely as we dug a grave for Zeus and seemed very interested in our lugging his body around and putting it in the ground. As was his nature Makai watched everything intently that went on around him, as if he were trying to understand all of our actions. As soon as I put the first shovel of dirt on Zeus’s body Makai freaked. This very serious dog leaped up and leaned over the side of the grave as if he knew something was wrong. The next day he escaped.

Every week he escaped two or three times. I couldn’t plug the holes because I couldn’t find how he got out. Everything was the same as it was for the previous four years when he never got loose and now I could not keep Makai home. So this very serious dog moved into our home. Over the next six months he learned to love table scraps and chicken grease poured over his kibble. He still can’t catch anything thrown to him but he has become a “rug potato.” Every morning I take him for a half-mile walk then let him loose in the field while I tend to the goats. Makai checks his herd, checks the perimeter fencing and by the time I finish my work he is ready to go back into the house and sleep until it is time to go upstairs for bed. As I said before, when Makai is off-duty he is seriously off-duty.

Today a small miracle occurred. Now if you are looking for the Virgin Mary in a bag of kibble or a long lost uncle leaving a fortune in his will kind of miracle, then forget it. This is a miracle with a small “m”. Today Makai played!

When I put him in the field this morning he did his normal routine then he stopped near the buck pen and looked straight up to the tops of the trees (FYI: we live in a forest). This was peculiar, looking straight up and, like a fool, barking at nothing. So being sort of a fool myself, I joined him in the field, stood next to him, and looked up at nothing, also. At least I wasn’t barking. We both walked around the trees to get a better angle to see nothing until I convinced Makai to come with me into the barnyard and from there to the house where he could nap until it was time to sleep. This is when the miracle happened.

As we entered the barnyard from the field, Makai found a tennis ball that my daughter’s Lab had left and he brought it to me. Could it be? Was he ready? Not wanting to be the retriever myself, I walked to the bottom of the sloping barnyard and threw the ball uphill. This way gravity would bring it to me. But Makai ran to the ball and brought it back! He laid down at my feet, gave me the ball and retrieved it two more times. By the fourth throw he had had enough. He got the ball and laid down at the top of the hill by the barn. It was time to go in and nap until bedtime. But I knew that I had witnessed a small miracle, Makai had allowed me to play, at least a little bit, with him. This may not sound like much to most of you out there, but if you have an Anatolian then I am here to tell you they do have an un-serious side. It just takes a miracle to see it.