At one time, dogs roamed free in America’s neighborhoods. They knew everybody and everybody knew them. Everyday was a day of visiting, meeting and greeting. No fighting, no snarling, no chasing, no rock throwing, just a happy good morning with a little stick chasing and ball throwing on the side. Everybody knew Henry, the resident Golden retriever where the old guy grew up, and felt honored if he took an interest in them. Henry was not Insider’s family dog, but he was there each morning to walk with Insider as a young timer to the school bus stop. Once the then-young guy boarded the bus, Henry would chase after the bus, trying to bite the tires with all kinds of silly gusto. Henry loved sports and often engaged in the football games we kids played. The only problem with Henry was if he got the football the game was over because he would slobber all over it, force it in his mouth and then run off with it. The old guy would find it in Henry’s front yard the next day by a water bowl. Henry was one of the boys.
Henry was the unofficial mayor of our town. Whenever anyone saw him tail-wagging his way through town, they stopped to give him a pat, much like people do with handshakes and bull&%#!ing mayors today. That was until the dog haters moved into town. The approach to Henry started to slowly sway, and one time after the old guy returned from a stint at Navy training, Henry was nowhere to be found. Insider figured Henry moved on to greener pastures in Heaven until one day he saw Henry in the backyard of his house. He was in a fenced-in pen and never looked so old and sad. His tail would not even wag when the old guy gave him a bone. The city people had finally won. They made their presence known and the dogcatcher became a fact of life. Henry’s owner was forced to put him in a pen or the dogcatcher said they would “put him down” because there had been complaints, pure fabrications by the metros to get their way. And the old guy wonders to this day who the true polluters of the earth are: dogs or humans?
The ants are back. They always come back. And they are smart. It doesn’t take them long to learn that the presence of a human means a quick thumb job to that great anthill in the sky. At first, they were easy prey, they seemed to disappear in a countertop of tiny crumbs. Insider walks into the kitchen and the tiny guys immediately freeze in place, remaining so until he leaves. So far, the old guy is still winning by faking his departure then doing an about face to a countertop of furious activity followed by much thumb work. The ants are going to figure this out and are even now back in their home nest discussing Insider’s latest ploy. More later.