Mood:  on fire

Before Frodo has a heart attack, he would like to very briefly summarize a few facts, dear reader.  Please do not assume that he doubts either your intelligence or your attention to recent history, for it remains evident that some others must have such doubts.  What follows in paragraph number two is what we know, and in paragraph number three is what we are being told.  Paragraph number three, in Frodo's humble opinion, is presented as if the facts of paragraph number two are not significant, and have no value in deciding upon a future course of action.  That is what is making Frodo so very angry.

Saddam Hussein was a Sunni. The Sunni sect (if you will accept that term for the sake of simplicity) represented approximately 20% of the population of Iraq at the time the Pre-Emptive War began.  The Sunnis, under Saddam Hussein, controlled the government of Iraq, and the Shiite sect, representing roughly 65% of the population of Iraq, had little influence in either policy or iimplementation under the dictator Hussein.  The Kurds accounted for the majority of the remaining population, and nearly all of them were located in the same geographical area bordering Turkey.  The Sunni government aligned itself with other predominantly Arab states in the region who were controlled by Sunnis.  The Sunni government waged war against the predominantly Shiite state of Iran, and was no close ally of any state, Arab or no, which was predominantly Shiite.  With the coming of the Pre-Emptive War, the Sunni government of Iraq fell, and it was replaced by a predominatly majority Shiite government, now under the leadership of Prime Minister Nouri-al-Maliki (a Shiite).  Insurgencies developed, predominantly sectarian in nature, and both Sunnis and Shiites were armed into  militia groups which struggled for power.  Shiite clerics on one side, Sunni tribal leaders on the other, and Coalition troops, with some level of government roops in-between.  This we know to be true, and it is the situation from which the "Petraeus report" has been developing. 

General Petraeus has been having some level of relational intercourse with Prime Minister al-Maliki.  The General has been reporting that Sunni Tribal Leaders have grown so disaffected with "al Qaeda" that even those who have participated in the insurgency against the Coalition, are being armed in order to fight against "al Qaeda."  Prime Minister al-Maliki looks at it a little differently, being a Shiite, he is very concerned that the Coalition is therefore re-arming the very same guys who ran the government under Saddam Hussein, and who subjugated the Shiite majority.  The Prime Minister has also noted that promised deliveries of arms and equipment to the predominantly Shiite Iraqi police force are  way behind schedule.  The fraying relationship reflects Petraeus' efforts to combat "al Qaeda," and al-Maliki's belief that all he is doing is re-arming the prior despots (except of course, for the late Mr. Hussein).  The Prime Minister, it is rumored, may demand that General Petraeus be removed.

The imbecilic position, dear reader, is that we are indeed giving guns and weaponry to the very guys whom we disarmed and fired.  Now, because we see the enemy as "al Qaeda" and we are no longer concerned with non-existent WMD's, we are in effect, telling the 65% of the Iraqi people who were under the thumb of the Sunnis that they have nothing to fear if they all pull together.

And the Shiites are saying, "Yeah, right, those infidels are going to work with us after we kicked them out of power, killed their leader, and basically allowed the Americans to turn out the lights, turn off the water, close the sewers, and blow up two-thirds of our homeland."

And the Sunnis are saying, "We'll be baaack." 

The Iranian mullahs are planning a new religious holiday, the one in which they unite both Iran and Iraq under one theocratic government.

Al Qaeda, on the other hand, is working on some surprises for the Pakistanis.

Isn't it just about time for the Incomparable Moron to take his August vacation, cuttin' brush, doin' hard work, there in Crawford?

Petraeus?  Wasn't there a guy in Greek Mythology with a name like that?  You know, he flew too close to the Sun and the wax holding his wings together melted.

'Nuff said, Frodo needs a Gelusil.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:23 PM EDT

Updated: Sunday, July 29, 2007 9:11 PM EDT

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Mood:  not sure

Others noticed it and subtly brought it to the attention of Supervisor Frodo.  The Mooman had a problem, and it was getting worse.  Frodo sat down with him and discussed the issue, perhaps more as a friend than as an employer, but the Mooman admitted to a problem with alcohol.  He made all of the promises, and used all of the words Frodo expected to hear.  No one, least of all Frodo, believed him for a nanosecond.

Mooman had been an engineering graduate of Georgia Tech who also had a flair for music.  His rock-and-roll band evidently had a level of success, and appeared behind several prominent performers of the era.  Tales of "Mama Cass," and raucous behavior filled many hours of conversation, and Frodo always felt that Mooman was talking of the times when his problem began.  For he married, and had young boys, whose demands were for a sedentary lifestyle and regular paychecks.  Mooman forsook his dreams in order to get a "real job," but he took his problem along with him.

Frodo and Sam had great affection for the Mooman and his family, and days and nights at "Lake Lovey" were treated as normal respite from the toil of Mount Doom.  His fellow workers also had affection for the Mooman, but none realized that they were being used, until it became obvious.  Soon, Mooman began to leave work early, and his associates were instructed to be evasive if his wife should call.  He regaled them with stories of "Big Red," the couch who beckoned him to afternoon siestas when he should be at work.  He made them laugh when he called late one afternoon to warn them of an impending snowstorm, only to call back several minutes later to acknowledge that he'd been watching a cable station from Chicago.  Drunks are like that, they win your trust with humor.

Eventually Mooman's wife came to Frodo seeking his assistance.  Mooman's family had sought the services of a professional psychologist, and had decided that an "intervention" was a necessary course of action.  Because of Mooman's relationship with Frodo, and the discussions that they had had, they asked Frodo to participate.  In order to help them, and his friend, Frodo agreed to do something he had never done before.

The surprise confrontation began with no subtlety whatsoever, and it went all downhill from there, for Frodo.  Although the "intervention" ended exactly as the family wanted, Mooman denied ever having told Frodo that he had a drinking problem.  When Mooman left the room that day, he was admitted into a rehab program and he would never say another word to Frodo.  He took his materials with him and abandoned his position.  Not long afterwards, Mooman's wife filed for divorce, and the Mooman would attempt an entirely new life, virtually all alone.

Sometime later an old friend called to tell Frodo that the Mooman was dead.  Frodo immediately called Mooman's former family just as they were returning from his funeral. Frodo was too late to even tell the Mooman good-bye.  They told Frodo that Mooman had fallen off of the proverbial wagon, and was found with a half-empty half-gallon bottle of scotch next to his body.  His heart gave out as he was swigging directly from the bottle.

Frodo doesn't think of those days often, and that is why he writes of them today.  He still feels dirty, and used.  His experience with "intervention" showed that although the short-term objective was achieved, the preconceived ideas of the family added Frodo as credibility and justification for what they had already decided upon.  Frodo did his friend no service, and it is a process in which Frodo never again will choose to participate.

All Frodo did was put an end to the music.  He will not make that mistake again.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 2:35 PM EDT

Updated: Saturday, July 28, 2007 3:13 PM EDT

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Mood:  crushed out

When Frodo lost a friend, and eulogized him, there appeared a response from an unknown other who also suffered in that loss.  The miracle that transmits words between those who may never meet became the vehicle which brought shared thoughts and friendship to Frodo and she who chose to remain unknown.  It is only fitting that  gallantry and courage be recognized within the Fellowship, so Frodo takes great pride in naming Eowyn, Lady of Rohan.

Lord Tolkien introduced her as "fearless" and "high-hearted," which speaks well for one determined to wrest the Ring from Sauron.  Lord Tolkien was wise, and Frodo is privileged to have another warriors' sword by his side. 

Besides, anybody from the cradle of Little League Baseball has to be pretty cool. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:21 PM EDT

Updated: Thursday, July 26, 2007 10:31 PM EDT

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Mood:  celebratory

Among Frodo's earliest memories of the black-and-white were the commercials for Wilkins Coffee.  A young man and a fuzzy band of puppets would shoot cannons and explode fireworks while marketing the merits of this adult product to people just growing comfortable with commercials in the living room.  Frodo had no way of knowing that Mr. Jim Henson with Ernie, Rowlf, Kermit, and more than 300 other characters would become such an integral part of his life.

"Sesame Street," and later "The Muppet Movie" and  "The Muppet TV Show," found Frodo staring into the reflective light with a song on his lips and joy in his heart.  In 1978, Jim Henson brought Kermit (dare we say, the Wonder Frog) to Atlanta for the grand opening of the Center for Puppetry Arts at 18th and Spring Streets in midtown Atlanta.  Henson was a frequent contributor, and often displayed his works there.  After his death, his family was planning to construct a "Muppet Library" to house their father's creations and friends when they learned that the Atlanta Center had outgrown its space, and was planning to either expand or relocate.  Negotiations commenced, and today it was announced that the 10,000 square foot "Jim Henson Wing" will be added to the building and be opened to the public in 2012.

Frodo is in line for tickets.  If you are nice, boys and girls, Frodo will get a ticket for you too.  Even though it is five years into the future, the saving grace is that it gives Frodo plenty of time to memorize all of the words to "The Rainbow Connection," and to then sing them with Kermit, the Cookie Monster, Miss Piggy, Bert, the Swedish Chef. . .

Frodo and Kermit, together again, it doesn't get any better than that.  Frodo wonders if they will serve Wilkins Coffee? 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:17 PM EDT

Updated: Wednesday, July 25, 2007 8:40 PM EDT

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Mood:  mischievious

General Petraeus received today the approved outline for his report. The Incomparable Moron announced that "Al Kreider" had reconstituted himself in Iraq and was confronting us there in order to destroy us and our way of life. In fact, "Al Kreider" is preparing to follow us back to our homes if we fail to confront and defeat him in Iraq.   Complete and total victory must be achieved in Iraq, and it may take several more years at present or stronger troop levels to achieve that victory.

Frodo started to change channels.  Suddenly, he had an epiphany and decided that it might be worth listening just a wee bit more.  Once again, the Incomparable Moron started in on "Al Kreider," so Frodo decided to put his computer to work.  It turns out, according to the googling methodology, that "Al Kreider" owns the next ranch in Crawford, Texas.  Mr. Kreider, it seems, has evidently been a major irritant to his next-door neighbors.  Mr. Kreider has just completed building a new ranch house, modeled after the newly-constructed US Embassy in Baghdad, utilizing Mexican day laborers, and costing far less than the $1 Billion the Incomparable Moron had "earmarked" for his Pyramid, er, we mean Embassy.

Mr. Kreider is evidently not the outdoorsy-type, because he has allowed brush to grow willy-nilly all over his property.  It is likely that he doesn't even own a chainsaw.  This is of course a bone of contention in a land without zoning restrictions.

This means that although Frodo may not have been the first to discover that the Incomparable Moron fails to comprehend whom we are fighting or why, he has indeed discovered the fact that he thinks he's fighting his next-door neighbor, "Al Kreider."  Frodo is just so very grateful that Mr. Kreider has not sold his property to anyone named "Hips Bullock" or anyone named "Chenise Armey."

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:28 PM EDT

Updated: Tuesday, July 24, 2007 9:29 PM EDT

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Mood:  hug me

Weekends in the Shire have a discipline somewhat different than the days when Frodo must toil upward on Mount Doom.  After breakfast, Fiona and Mick, the Wonder Dog, join Frodo for a game of soccer in the schoolyard abutting the Shire.  Once the soccer game is concluded, Frodo bounces a tennis ball off the concrete facing of the school, and Mick, the Wonder Dog, supplants Michael Jordan and Michael Johnson as the premier jumper and sprinter in all the world as he hurdles himself in pursuit of the lime-green treasure.  Fiona merely scans the horizon, looking for trouble. 

After an appropriate rest period, while Frodo accomplishes assignments for which he receives gratuitous compensation, there is a hopeful staring desire for a leisurely walkabout all the lands surrounding the Shire.  Sultry summer Shire days drain the aging Mick, the Wonder Dog, more than Frodo wants to admit, and Frodo finds many excuses this time of year to not push his friend.  Mick, the Wonder Dog, naturally lacks endurance, but he will not be denied the opportunity to check the canine telegraph when the weather is overcast and it is a bit cooler than a fortnight ago.

The walk gives Frodo an opportunity to supervise all the construction projects, landscape alterations, raucous housepets, and the greetings which characterize the anonymous persons who wave at the Hobbit and his friends.  Perhaps it is the hat that Frodo purchased at the "Alligator Farm" in  St. Augustine, Florida, some years ago, which Frodo feels gives him the ambiance of "Crocodile Dundee."  More likely, it is the unlikely triumvirate themselves, for the charming Fiona, who resembles a miniature chocolate labrador retriever, and the gregarious Mick, the Wonder Dog, who is an unmistakeable working dog, are usually pulling hard on Frodo to get his two legs on a par with their eight.  That is, until either one catches or feints an interest in some odor attached to almost anything, and it has been thoroughly investigated and answered in urine.  At such a point, Frodo has ample opportunity to take note of the world around him.

Cloudy days seem to detract from the aromas of the Shire.  Even the magnolias seem sterile, and tarrying too long anyplace is answered by the presence of tiger mosquitos, who have arisen in abundance with recent thundershowers in the Shire.  Blackberries are mostly all picked over, by man and beast, and even Frodo has been able to assemble several quarts for Sam's gifted blackberry cobblers.  The high trees of the Shire are nesting spots for the soaring predators who ride winds in search of careless squirrels or thoughtless songbirds, and they whistle to each other when there are no other sounds to be heard.

Suddenly, Fiona bolts from the brush and is on her way with Frodo and Mick, the Wonder Dog, making every effort to re-establish the normal gait for the walkabout.   It takes a minute or two for everyone to come disentangled from the leash that binds them as one, and to stride normally.  Motorcars pass hither and yon and nearly everyone has a friendly wave for the Musketeers.

They must, indeed, be handsome travelers.  Frodo will long remember moments such as these, and wishes they would never end. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 4:36 PM EDT

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Mood:  caffeinated

The Secretary of the Department of Homeland Insecurity who, if dear reader will forgive the derogatory nature of a physical reference, looks like "Walking Death," reflected upon his "gut" feeling that a terrorist strike is imminent.  Frodo, who would look terribly out of place dressed in black and carrying a scythe, has not been able to shake the fact that the Month of August stares in the face of Middle Earth, and that it portends all sorts of danger signals.  It is the four-week period of time predating the issuance of the "Petraeus Report," that begins to bear a historical reference akin to the "Zimmerman Note" or the "Dreyfus Affair."  Merely listing the variables is illustrative.

The Incomparable Moron entered office with the predisposed notion that he could retreat to "the ranch" in Crawford, and stay for the entire month of August.  After all, that was what he always did when he could "cut brush" and do other "hard work," while his superior staff carried out his plan.

The Congress of the United States traditionally fails to convene so that the Members can return to their home districts, go on junkets, campaign, raise money, spend time with their families, or "cut brush" and do other "hard work."   

The Iraqi Parliament, modeled after their American cousins, also intends to shut down for the month of August.  Temperatures are expected to reach a sizzling level somewhere in the neighborhood of ten degrees cooler than either Phoenix or Las Vegas.  Afraid that their purple thumbs might run, the Shiites need a cooler location, perhaps in Syria or Iran, in which to plot their "stragedy" for the pending departure of all those who need to "cut brush," or do other "hard work."

It was during the month of August, 2001, that the Bush Administration, while the Incomparable Moron was on vacation, failed to note the significance of any of the National Intelligence Estimates which were issued.

It was in August, 1914, when sectarian violence culminated in the conflagrations which united to become the First World War.

Frodo could go on too long for the attention span fostered by Internet blogging, but the point is made.  Chertoff, like a blind man, throwing enough rocks, will sooner or later hit an elephant with one. 

Frodo thinks it wise to raise the threat level beyond pink (beware of gay marriage), and to recognize that if the "enemy" really wanted to do some damage, then just prior to the "Petraeus Report" would be prime time.  If Frodo were Osama bin Laden, he'd like nothing better than to convince even the 29% that the Administration had no clue at all.  What then, would be "Plan C?"  Sauron will reap what he has sown. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:41 PM EDT

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Mood:  down

"Hear Ye, Hear Ye, Court is now in Session, the Honorable Judge Frodo presiding.   All Ye Who Have Business Before the Court, please step forward," said the Bailiff.

"United States Attorney Patrick Fitzgerald representing the Prosecution, Your Honor."

"Barrister Johnny Cockamamie representing the Defendant, Your Honor."

"Mister Prosecutor, do you have an opening statement?," asked Judge Frodo.

"I do, but brief Your Honor.  It is the intent of the Prosecution to prove that the indictments against Mister Michael Vick, aka 'Ookie,' document his involvement in the interstate transportation of animals for the purpose of conducting illegal gambling on dogs fighting dogs."

"Does the Defense wish to make an opening statement?," Frodo asked.

"Only that the Defendant reasonably thought that his conduct was both reasonable and legal, and that no intent existed to break any laws."

Frodo stared at Cockamamie, and thought to himself that Frodo may well soon be wishing that he had never gone to Law School in the first place.  He smelled a rat in the defense contention.

"Mr. Prosecutor, please proceed with your first witness. . ."

Five days later, after testimony from fourteen eye witnesses to Michael Vick's physical presence at illegal dog-fights in Virginia, South Carolina, and Georgia, the prosecution was prepared to rest its case.  Along the way, the Government presented photographs of Michael Vick, credit-card receipts, fingerprints, and cashed checks;  the evidence substantiated that Vick had been present at the fights, that he had bet on the fights, that he transported dogs to the fights, and that he had participated in the slaughter of dogs who had performed poorly in these fights.  The Attorney for the Defense had virtually conceded all of the evidence, and had not challenged any of the facts entered into the record.

After the prosecution rested, Frodo eyed Cockamamie, and asked if he were prepared to call his first witness.

"Your Honor, the Defense will rest after the testimony of our only witness, Mr. Michael Vick."

The courtroom was abuzz as the quarterback of the Atlanta Falcons sauntered up to the witness stand.  Wearing his trademark doo-rag and baggy shorts, and the black-and-red Official NFL Uniform Shirt (Number 7) with the name "VICK", and his NIKE tennis shoes, he smiled at his trained poodle Arthur Blank, Owner of the Atlanta Falcons Football Team.  After placing his hand on the Bible, he sat down and waited for Johnny Cockamamie to ask the first question.

"Mr. Vick, did you or did you not own fighting dogs?"

"I did."

"Did you or did you not participate in the breeding, training, and the selection of dogs for fighting?"

"I did."

"Did you or did you not transport dogs to the various locations identified during this trial for the purpose of makingf them available to fight?"

"I did."

"Did you or did you not wager on these events?"

"I did."

Cockamamie walked away from the witness stand, and looked directly into the faces of the Jury.  He asked, "If you did all that is alleged by the Prosecution, as you have just indicated, then why Sir, may I ask, would you have the temerity to plead 'Not Guilty?'

This was the question that everyone in the room and around the country was asking themselves at this very moment.  Frodo knew that everything hinged on what Vick would now do or say.

"Mr. Cockamamie, in Georgia, where I live and play football for the Atlanta Falcons, it is not a felony for dog fighting to take place, and, as I now understand, Georgia is one of only two States where that is the case.  It was my understanding at the time that no one could even be charged with a misdemeanor for dog-fighting unless the police were actually present and witnessed the dog fight."

"So, Mr. Vick, you're saying that you logically assumed that if dog-fighting was not even a felony then it was no big deal?"

"You got that right, Dude."

"I beg your pardon."

"I mean, yes sir.  In fact, I thought that if we simply held the fights in places where the police weren't invited, like on private property, that we weren't even doing anything which would merit their interest, at all."

"Who attended these matches, Mr. Vick?"

"Invited guests only."

"So, if I may sum up, you are saying that you were following the laws of the State of Georgia, and that you were holding a private party on private property?"

"Yeah, I mean yes sir."

Frodo looked at Fitzgerald, who remarkably resembled "Scooter" Libby, and he watched as the members of the Jury looked around, many of them nodding their heads.  Vick was signing autographs for the bailiff.  Arthur Blank was handing out "$10 Off" Home Depot coupons to the gallery.

The following season, Michael Vick threw 8 touchdown passes, ran for 22 more, and the Atlanta Falcons finished the season with 7 Wins and 9 Losses.  During the course of the Season, 565 American troops were killed in Iraq. 

Judge Frodo resigned from the Bench and moved to Idaho.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:15 PM EDT

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Mood:  don't ask

An earthquake has struck the Pacific Rim causing death and destruction in Japan.  Among the buildings suffering damage is a nuclear reactor, and evidently the extent of the damage to that structure is considerably worse than what has been reported so far.  Frodo cannot help but be concerned about the prospect of a summer novel prediction of a nuclear winter amidst the reality of the detritus scattered upon our energy-starved planet.

The Catholic Archdiocese of Los Angeles has announced an absolutely staggering financial settlement of the sexual abuse charges levelled against "the Church" (as defined by the current holder of record in the Holy See).  What has given special rise to Frodo's attentiveness to this story is the fact that most of the fiscal cost is being paid by insurance.  "Insurance?" asks Frodo.  "What kind of insurance would exist to protect an organization against the sexual deviancy of its representatives?  Errors and Omissions?  Or would there simply be a rider tacked on to the Health Insurance Policy of the Pope?'  In any event, the talking heads of network and cable news are of little value when it comes to intricate sub-textual issues.

Frodo is also awake very early in the morning due to a business deal which is about to land smack dab in the middle of the Antarctic Ice Pack.  Although the competitiveness of winning and losing are very much a part of what Frodo does every single day, it is rare that he lingers long upon either.  In this instance however, Frodo's reputation is imperiled, in at least the eyes of one person, because he expected much more of one party than what was delivered in the process.  Frodo will survive, the financial concerns are comparatively minor, and success is still not out of the question, but Frodo remains bothered by the fact that he expected so much more.  He should know better.

Strange it is that the world could turn to dust in the morrow, and our spiritual leaders would stand idly by, while Frodo is troubled most by the failings of Hobbits not known to the outside world.   Ah, dear reader, the "little people" referenced by Humphrey Bogart, must always remember that no matter what the consequence, they "will always have Paris."  Perhaps now Frodo can return to his rest, and Mick, the Wonder Dog, can remove the furrows from his brow.  Sweet dreams.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 2:25 AM EDT

Updated: Wednesday, July 18, 2007 2:49 AM EDT

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Mood:  lucky

Sydney is a cockatiel.  He is the only resident of the Shire who came at full retail.  He was selected to provide company for Peeper, another cockatiel, who had entered into the lives of Frodo and Sam by sheer happenstance.  Therein lies the tale.

Frodo and Sam were attending an outing at the behest of the College of the Shire.  Sam noticed an avian alien descending to join in the festivity, and asked Frodo to take note.  Frodo extended a single digit, and it was promptly identified as perch heaven by the "Lutino Cockatiel" (as they were to learn later).  Most likely the "yellow bird" had taken flight through an open window somewhere and had lost track of the route home.  Frodo must have appeared as somewhat storklike, but certainly non-threatening, so why not join in the party?

"Peeper," because of her penchant to respond to this suggested moniker, over-and-over, in a somewhat melodic manner, was a female, and after Frodo and Sam learned what and how to care for her, set up housekeeping.  Frodo has to admit that he was unaware that a bird would just begin to lay unfertilized eggs, and to do everything in her unisex power to create new cockatiels.  Although enlightening, it was also very sad.

"Sydney" was just six months old when he came home from the pet shop.  By this time, Peeper was probably four or five years old.  Given what was to take place over the next year or so, Frodo suggested changing their names to "Benjamin" and "Mrs. Robinson."  Peeper was an able instructor, and Sydney was a willing student.  Frodo and Sam determined however, that the care and feeding of baby cockatiels at two AM was not on their agenda, and even though the eggs kept appearing, and were well-cared for a day or so, they mysteriously disappeared shortly thereafter.

Several things happened during their time together that deserve special note.  Peeper never sang again after Sydney arrived.  No matter how he tried, the sing-songy "Peeper" response to Frodo joined the annals of memory.  Grooming became a routine and tender expression of affection between Peeper and Sydney.  For many minutes at a time, one would bow a head and allow the other to beak up the feathers atop, then respond to the other in like fashion.   Even Rocky and Punkin', feline residents of the time, would watch the cooing affection with something more than hunger pangs.

"One grey night it happened. . ." and Peeper lay still at the bottom of the cage.  Despite the anxiety felt by all, Sydney seemed to take things pretty well.  Then Frodo noticed one of the many feeders inside the cage, yellow in color, was drawing all of Sydney's attention.  Sydney would sit next to the yellow feeder, bow his head, and slowly rub his top-knot against the lip of the feeder.  Occasionally, Frodo would softly whistle "peeper," and Sydney would issue a single call, then note that it was merely that storklike clod on the outside, and not something important.

Frodo thought of this because today is Sunday.  On Sunday, Sam prepares an All-American Breakfast, the only such presentation of the week, and Sydney has taken a special interest in both waffles and pancakes.  Somehow, maybe because he can count to seven, Sydney has figured out that Sunday is his day to share in Frodo's waffles or pancakes.  The routine is that he will fly from his cage, and land on Frodo's shoulder, and there stand guard until Sam arrives with the treasure.  Not long ago, Sydney bowed his head while perched on Frodo's shoulder, and began to rub his topknot against the stubble on Frodo's cheek 

Frodo notes special pleasures in life, and a little bird told him how.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:01 PM EDT

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