Frodo, Keeper of the Ring

Thursday, May 10, 2007

Walk This Way
Mood:

blue
Topic: "Galadriel Is No More"(3)
Frodo has written of the love between Boromir and the Lady Galadriel. Boromir of the Fellowship is a noble warrior (he landed airplanes on aircraft carriers for all the rest of you wusses out there), and a gentleman farmer. From the alien land known as Ioway he brought the light of his life to the Shire, and her gentle integrity spread all around, drawing Frodo and Sam as if they were moths pursuing a flame. Soon their union produced two halflings, the iridescent Beth and the inveterate Matthew. Frodo and Sam were privileged to watch them as they grew.

Life is not always fair or just, for savage diseases, undefined and incurable, strike without regard to honour or faith. Malignant Myeloma is a scythe that reaps those whom it befalls, and the shining light of Galadriel was dealt a tremendous blow far too early in her days. Courage is not limited to warriors however, sometimes it is a Mother who dreams only of seeing her daughter dance on her Wedding Day. So the battle began.

For many years, experimental methods, with names which include Interferon and others unfamiliar to the non-clinical ear, were the weapons used by she who fought the fight. Long after her daughter danced she challenged the Grim One, and lived a life filled with the finest of words, and that is Grace. She became a regular associate of yours, dear reader, and commented often on Frodo's fractured humor while laughing an appreciative song. She saved the postings thaat identified her as Galadriel, and Frodo believes she became a student of Lord Tolkien when Frodo told her that he believed the words were a re-write of the Book.

Of that now, Frodo will never know.

Goodbye sweet Dorothy. Arlin loved you so. Frodo is proud that he identified you, forever, as a beacon of light in the darkness. Sam and Frodo will be there on Monday next when the noblest of us all, goes home.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:30 PM EDT

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Wednesday, May 9, 2007

I Don't Need Any Money, Fortune or Fame
Mood:

hungry
Topic: "Caramel or Carmel?"(3)

The old Reading Terminal in Philadelphia, now a center for commuter trains to the Pennsylvania suburbs, now includes a Farmer's Market. Amish, from the counties around Lancaster, bring produce, handmade items, and baked goods directly to the consumer. Frodo, in earlier days, would spent countless lunch hour diversions from Mount Doom looking, talking, listening, smelling, and tasting. One day, while lusting after the baked goods, with a special emphasis on peanut butter cookies, he noted a familiar product; that which he had always known as a "Red Velvet Cake." Frodo entered into a discussion with a young lady half his age who convincingly argued that this was an Amish creation. Frodo had never really thought about it, he always just assumed it was something Bilbo had discovered in a cookbook.

Frodo previously discussed "buttermilk drops," and his introduction to that delicacy in the City of Orleans. His all-time favorite culinary creation however, is mentioned in his bio, and has been the subject of but a single query in these many postings. Frodo's curiosity about a southern writer, who happens to have grandchildren, was piqued when she mentioned that she, too, loves "caramel cake."

Caramel cake was first presented to Frodo by his Father's last surviving sister, the grand Alma, who spread a sugary, ready-to-die-for caramel covering over a white cake in a pan. The pan was probably a foot-and-a-half long, about a foot wide, and maybe three inches deep. She lived most of her life in West Virginia, and today exists in a facility designed for those without memory. She always made a caramel cake for Frodo's birthday.

After Frodo moved far away, Bilbo took over the assignment of caramel cake for Frodo, and Frodo swears that it was almost as good as that created by the grand Alma. Now Bilbo fixes things for Bilbo, and special treats for others occur only occasionally. Sam has all the talent and creative skill of the grand Alma, and the caramel cake which sporadically appears is no doubt touched by the Hand of God.

Sigh. Long time until the old birthday rolls around again. Frodo wonders if that lady in Mississippi would maybe like to split a caramel cake with her new-found friend?

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:35 PM EDT

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Tuesday, May 8, 2007

So Ferry Cross The Mersey
Mood:

suave
Topic: "State Dinner" (3)

"Mr President, my name is Mr. Frodo, my title is Chancellor of the Exchequer, and I am here at the suggestion of Mrs. Bush."

"So, what am I doing with the guy who used to run a grocery store?'

"Sir?"

"Well, you said you were the ex-chancellor at the checkout." The President snickers.

"No Sir, that means that I am assigned the task of ensuring propriety at State Affairs. For the White House Dinner, it is my responsibility to assist you with your, how do I say it? Your manners, Sir."

"Laura, what's this about my manners? Where is that woman?"

"Sir, no one is impugning your behavior, it is just that there are certain requirements which mean a great deal to the British people, and to make you aware of them would prevent anything implied as discourtesy, if you will."

"Well, I owe 'The Poodle' a great deal for helpin' me out in Irack, so I certainly don't want to do anything that might cause him a problem."

"Very good Sir, that's the spirit. Now let's begin with the tails on your tuxedo, shall we?"

"Okay, what's to know?"

"Sir, when seating yourself at the table, you should carefully place each tail to the side of your chair. Sitting on the tails will wrinkle them, or make them stick out at funny angles."

"Well we couldn't have that, could we?"

"Ah Sir?"

"Yes, Mr. Frodo?"

"Don't wipe your mouth with the tails, Sir. Use your napkin. It is so much more appropriate."

"Let me ask about all these forks and knives and spoons. I never have been sure about what to do after the salad fork. That is the one on the outside, isn't it?"

"Oh yes Sir, that's quite correct. However Sir, I strongly suggest that you not pick your teeth with the tines of your fork."

"Listen here Mr. Frodo. I'm from Texas, and we do understand manners. What I know is that you don't use a toothpick at the table. . ."

"That is correct Sir. Very good, but a gentleman will deftly use his napkin as opposed to a fork."

"The napkin again, huh? Anything else you can use it for?"

"Uh Sir, I do not suggest that your blow your nose into your napkin. The Queen would find that to be quite offensive."

"Well, now that we've covered the napkin, and the utensils, and I know the boys serving the dinner will do just fine, exactly how do I handle pushin' back from the table, and gracefully makin' my exit?"

"For God sake, do not fart at the table."

"Well you better let Rove and Cheney in on that one."

"Are you serious?"

"Listen here Mr. Frodo, I need to know if all you English boys got sissified by being in those boarding schools together?"

"Sir?"

"Well, we used to always say that the whole British Empire came crashin' down because the boys was all a bangin' other boys, if you know what I mean?"

"Sir!"

"Well, except for ole Churchill, of course. Then there's Liz's boy Charles, shoot, givin' his story, he'd fit right in with ole Newt and Rudy. I mean with Diana and everything."

"Sir, I strongly suggest that these are not proper items for discussion with Her Majesty during dinner."

"Shoot boy, I know that. My Dad told me he thought the old girl was going to pass out when he asked her if she'd ever had a real man."

"He did what?"

"Well, don't worry. I won't do anything worse than old Gerry Ford."

"I'm afraid to ask."

"He busted his zipper takin' a leak just before the Queen and Phil showed up. . . Hey, somebody get some water, this here Hobbit fella just fainted!"

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:45 PM EDT

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Sunday, May 6, 2007

Those Were The Best Times of My Life, Back in The Summer of '69
Mood:

a-ok
Topic: "Gimme Head With Hair"(3)

Frodo, Legolas, Pippin, and Tom Bombadil all enjoyed doing things out-of-doors, given that both the mountains and the beach were within a few hours by motorcar. The River of the Potomac bisected both destinations, so the adventurers had frequent opportunity to canoe or hike, sun or swim, in a variety of settings. What united them in all these endeavors was a new-found pleasure in fishing. Rainy days were spent in sporting goods stores searching for lures more tempting than those owned by others in the Fellowship. Exploratory visits to farm ponds and the fish ladder at Little Falls of the Potomac filled warm weather days no matter what time of year. It remains a puzzle to Frodo that little Janet Perry and Cheryl Burke and Barbie Howard and Patsy Wetzel all seemed to tolerate the mutual lack of attention. Some of the opportunities lost make Frodo shake his head to this day.

It was the dead of summer, and the heat and humidity made it perfectly clear why the British Empire had declared foreign service in this end of the Shire as worthy of "tropical duty pay." Rain was infrequent, and the flow of water was lazy, if not stagnant, almost everywhere. To the Fellowship it was merely a challenge which allowed them to wade into areas that were usually torrent rapids, and to venture much further up river than at any other time of year. These locations included those where a smallmouth bass could lie in wait under a rock and grab a wayward minnow with little effort, then drift back into the same hole. It was locations such as these that the Fellowship sought early that morning.

Frodo's motorcar was parked on the Virginia side, at the end of an unpaved road that looked down a rock escarpment to the lazy river below. It was an easy slide down into the water, and an easier dog paddle to the checkerboard of rocks that would be their route to the lair of the virgin smallmouth bass upstream. For long periods of time, the quartet would leap from rock-to-rock, interrupted only by hopeful casts of "Tiny Lucky 13" or "River Runt" into a quiet pool. Laughter and horseplay, the cacophony of hormones which cement friendships for a lifetime grew silent only when a red-tailed hawk would circle overhead, and all stopped to watch, in awe.

Occasionally a canoe or a kayak would flash by heading downstream, and a friendly wave would yield a covetous remark about from one-or-the-other about having their own, some day. As the day wore on, more and more time was spent in pursuit of the catch-and-release prey. Frodo's memory tells him that they caught many, mostly small, but enough to make them travel on-and-on-and-on. When finally the adventurers made solemn eye contact, each knowing that it was past time to head back, there was a unified realization that they were tired, and a long way from Frodo's motorcar.

It was already growing dark when they found the wooden construction pallet caught between two multi-ton boulders. By the time they were able to free it, and launch it into the middle flow of the summer river, the sun had set, and the sounds of the night were all about. With one arm thrown onto the pallet, clutching fishing rod and gear therein, each of them paddled with the free arm and kicked and walked with both feet. Banging about off sharpened boulders and narrow aisles of water is difficult work, but considerably safer than leaping from rock-to-rock in the dark.

Pippin had a date with Barbie for which he was beaucoup late, and he lamented the eventuality until the rest could stand it no more. Tom Bombadil was totally absorbed in the natural world, and commented from time-to-time about a snake hanging on a tree limb, or some bright-eyed creature glaring from the shoreline at the preposterous craft trying to proceed downriver. Frodo and Legolas, soldiers that they were, paddled and kicked, paddled and kicked. Legolas, by far, was the strongest, and it took every ounce of Frodo's strength to keep the craft from drifting too far to his side. Frodo grew weary, perhaps mopreso thaan he realized.

At last they reached the base of the escarpment, and Frodo realized how steep it was and that he was now in water over his head. Frodo and Legolas kicked and held the craft in position so that Pippen and Tom Bombadil could scramble up the cliff. In so doing, the rocks became wet and muddy, making the scramble up more difficult for those now scrambling out and up. With Pippen and Tom holding the craft in place from shore, Legolas started up, just as Frodo lost his grip and began to sink beneath the surface of the tepid river. He was exhausted, and had little energy left to pull himself from his peril.

Frodo felt a pull from above and as his head rose above the surface, he realized that Legolas had him by his long mane of blond hair and was pulling him into the arms of all his friends.

Legolas' daughter, Erica, will graduate from Emory University this coming Saturday with a degree in Fine Arts. She would probably laugh at hearing this story, improbable it would seem to her that her father could get a grip on the head of hair she knows to be so thin and sparse.

Friendship is something Frodo has never been able to explain. He's just glad it is.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:36 PM EDT

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Saturday, May 5, 2007

One Little, Two Little, Three Little Indians, . . .
Mood:

loud
Topic: "Dumber Than Dirt" (3)

The Democratic Party in the United States of America is celebrating an early Christmas. Frodo, perhaps as a reward for having been good little boys and girls, has delivered ten "Ken" dolls to the office address of Mr. Howard Dean. These symbols of American hegemony characteristically have no voice; therefore, they don't say anything. These symbols of American intolerance characteristically have no movement; therefore, they don't do anything. These symbols of American hypocrisy characteristically have no human qualities; therefore, they don't represent anything. Frodo has loosened Gollum's grip on the Ring, and the end of Mordor is at hand.

The first "Ken" doll, named Huckleberry, has lost about 100 pounds, unfortunately, most of it was in brain cells. Mick, the Wonder Dog, has greater potential for the highest elective office in all of Middle Earth than does this walking advertisement for teeth brightener.

The second "Ken" doll, named Pall, is ineligible for the Presidential post because he is a Liberian. He was allowed to participate in the debate because he is from Texas, and he would have gone home crying if that mean, old John McCain had chased him all the way back from the "Gates of Hell."

Which brings us, via segue, to the third "Ken" doll, named McCan't, because he wanted to be in Jamestown greeting the Queen, again. In fact, he was there when the first Elizabeth was on the throne. He is the only candidate who was there when Ronald Reagan was born. In fact, he still refers to his Republican hero, Herbert Hoover, as "Junior."

The fourth "Ken" doll, named "Brokeback," protests very loudly against the "gay and lesbian lifestyle," and we all know about those who "doth protest too much," don't we?

The fifth "Ken" doll, named "Goosey-loosey," has organized all of the barnyard into a single location so that if the fox attacks again, then it won't be so difficult to tabulate all the damages. Both of his first two wives, and their offspring, have offered to hold him down while the farmer chops off his head.

The sixth "Ken" doll, named "Tubby" neglected to mention his participation in the "mismanaged" administration, and advocated a management policy which directly conflicted with the Bill of Rights (for which he apologized the next morning). He is the "Ken" doll who looks most like Jimmy Hoffa.

The seventh "Ken" doll, named "Tanqueray," is so dubbed mainly because one would have to be pretty liquored up to advocate anything this yahoo had to say. Following in the long-time success of the Berlin Wall, he wants to separate the US of A from all of the rest of the world by masonry, if not by lack of knowledge. Frodo assumes he believes that putting one's head in the sand is an appropriate course of action when confronted by questions to which his fifth-grade education provided no answers.

The eighth "Ken" doll, named "Gary," has the same name as the criminal executed in Utah some years ago ("The Executioner's Song" was the book title). He is DOA. He is supposedly qualified because he once cut taxes in Virginia, the State which contributed "macaca" to the English language a few months ago. He used his personal savings from the tax cut to buy an automatic weapon.

Again with a segue, the ninth "Ken" doll, named "Hummer," believes that anyone not holding a duly-authorized and issued identity card should be immediately executed, unless, of course, they were anti-abortion, then they should be elevated to consideration for the next vacancy on the Supreme Court. Even Arnold was gagging whenever this hodad opened his mouth.

This brings us to the tenth little "Ken" doll, named "Hominy," simply because he is a pure corn product. Had he been a contestant on one of those old TV game shows from the 1950's, the whole world would have immediately cried "Payola." The only thing that separates him from the public projection of Sen. John Kerry (D-MA) is that he wouldn't know a "Swift Boat" if it grounded itself in the "Big Dig."

So, boys and girls, that concludes Frodo's assessment of "The Gang That Cannot be Elected." Play with each of your dolls while you can. Frodo is looking forward to what follows. Want to bet that the next two we see will be the ultimate divider, and the acting District Attorney who can't seem to keep the help from one-season-to-the-next. Frodo wants "Arthur" back where he belongs.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:48 AM EDT

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Thursday, May 3, 2007

You Can't Always Get What You Want
Mood:

chatty
Topic: "Ma Bell is Baaack" (3)
FRODO NOTE: This is the second entry for the subject date. The earlier entry was composed yesterday, entered into the system, and disappeared into the Ethernet when the DSL connection was broken. Frodo re-wrote the entry today, losing a lot in the spontaneity of the moment. However, it inspired this entry, which should serve as a warning to all mankind.

AT&T has completed its "purchase/acquisition" of the entity BellSouth. This follows earlier acquisitions which have resulted in the re-emergence of a single, dominant force in the world of telecommunications. In a word, "MA Bell" is back, and all of the consumer-friendly efforts by the US Congress to develop a more responsive communication system has gradually become bird poop. Frodo herein shares in his most recent experience with "Big Brother," or is it "HAL-9000," or perhaps it is simply "The Patriot Act."

If the truth be known, it was Sam who took the time to dial 1-888-321-2375 to complain about the dimunition of service on the residential DSL service at the Shire. Sam recognized problems when the first words heard were "Press 1 for service in Tagolog. . .". Sam was facinated with the eventual connection with a human being in Manila. After a few questions about the weather, what time of day it was there, and attempted humor referring to "Manila Vanilla" as an ancient rock group, Sam finally got to the point. For the better part of a week, the DSL service had made connections spotty, at best, and speed of service even slower than in the less expensive days of dial-up. Sam observed to the Manillan that this had not been the experience prior to the merger. The Manillan did not offer a comment in rebuttal.

The Manillan did comment that there had been reported problems in the Area Code of the Shire. The Manillan arranged for a serviceperson to appear the next day (today), and to check the "optic wire connections," free-of-charge.

Sam reported to Frodo this morning that the serviceperson from BellSouth showed as promised, and commented that the problems were pretty widespread and that "conference calls" were underway to diagnose the problems. Sam again commented that the problems had only become prevalent when the merger was finalized. The BellSouth serviceperson gave his best imitation of "De Tar Baby."

This evening, Frodo has returned once again to the keyboard to stimulate the spread of vowels across the airwaves, and things are operating quite smoothly. Sam has received a follow-up call regarding the level of satisfaction with the efforts of the Manillan. Sam responded to the automated message by suggesting that they "push 1."

Frodo asked Sam if at any time any of the computerized voices had referred to Sam as "Dave," or if anyone had asked what Sam's position on same-sex marriage happened to be? Gonzalez is still there.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:43 PM EDT

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I'm Much Too Young To Be This Damn Old
Mood:

hug me
Topic: "Chief Noc-a-Homa" (3)

The gallant Braves have suffered a number of injuries over the past several days, including both of their catchers. This necessitated action by team management, which produced one of the most interesting statistics in Major League Baseball History. Young Mr. Saltalamacchia was called up from the Richmond Minor League affiliate, and inserted into last night's starting lineup. He became the player with the longest last name in the history of the game, causing quite a bit of consternation Froldo feels, by young Mr. Spooneybarger who lost his claim to the title by a single consonant.

Playing left field for the gallant Braves in their contest against the Phillies from Philythedelphia, or something to that effect (since it is north of the Mason-Dixon line, Frodo does not see the relevance in the details), was a young man named Willie C. Harris. Given gallant Braves managements' predisposition to signing players from within the viewing and listening parameters of television and radio broadcasts, it was not surprising that Mr. Harris is from Cairo (pron. Kare-O), Georgia. For the uninitiated, Cairo's high school sports team name is the "Syrup Makers," referring to the fact that this is the town in which that syrup which your Mama spread all over your pancakes is manufactured. Mr. Harris is the second player in Major League history to come from the town of Cairo; the other being a young man named Robinson, Jackie Robinson (shaken, not stirred).

Mr. Harris, who just happens to be black, was all atwitter over his opportunity to play for the team which was his favorite growing up in small-town Georgia. Frodo was particularly pleased to see Mr. Harris line a single over the first baseman's glove in the bottom of the eighth inning to drive in the eventual winning run. Then, in the bottom of the ninth, Mr. Harris made a diving catch in left field to preserve the victory for the gallant Braves. For those feats, he was named "Player of the Game."

The Georgia State Legislature was reccently confronted with a proposal to apologize for the legitimacy of slavery. The proposal did not come up for a vote, and Frodo notes that many legislators did not see the relevance for an act in which they, personally, had no participatory interest.

There is no doubt in Frodo's mind that Mr. Harris was fully aware of the fact that he was not the first ballplayer from Cairo to make it to the Big Leagues. Frodo knows that Mr. Harris has special feelings for the man who endured and achieved so that he could have the opportunity to be cheered by fans of the gallant Braves. That, of course, includes all the Members of the Georgia State Legislature.

Much has changed in Middle Earth, and the land that Frodo calls home has come far from the days of ignorance and blood. Dishonesty is what keeps most from admitting to the horrors of those times, and the damage to innocent lives. Wittingly or not, all participated, and all share the blame.

Frodo has no compunction about an apology. He heard the words of his grandfather, and he even told "jokes" that made fun of other people. For that he is truly shamed. He apologizes to Willie C. Harris, and to all the others who may or may not take note of these words.

You da man, Willie C, you da man. Play ball.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:04 PM EDT

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Tuesday, May 1, 2007

If I Die in Tennessee, Send My Body Back COD
Mood:

spacey
Topic: "Doohan's Delight" (3)
One way to make Frodo angry is to tell him that your interests only include "Non-Fiction." Frodo places his hands behind his back and paces all about when someone tells him they only read biographies, history, and science. The creative power of the mind is responsible for music, poetry, dreams, stories around the campfire, tall tales, and fiction. Without that which is omitted by some there would be no Peter Pan, no Juliet, no Casey, no Medusa, perhaps no Frodo, and even, arguably, no Adam or Eve. How much poorer, dear reader, would our lives be?

Frodo loves to dream about things the way they might have been. The future according to Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, Bones, and Scotty, where diversity is part of a "Federation," is a stark contrast to the divisive country in which we currently live, and the divided world that frames its' existence. Perhaps, thinks Frodo, the unknown could be the great adventure that approximates that one actual shining moment in July, 1969, when all the world stopped, and watched, as one of us stepped onto the lunar surface. What a grand and wonderful future would lie in front of those who follow us.

They will get there without Scotty, but perhaps they will meet up with him again. This week, a private service sent a retrievable rocket into space in order to deposit the ashes of more than 200 Earthlings who sought eternal rest in man's final frontier, The remains of the real honest-to-goodness astronaut, Gordon Cooper, traveled with those of James Doohan, the erstwhile Chief Engineer of the Starship Enterprise, to ever search the heavens.

It would be disingenuous of Frodo to conclude his words here with the most famous of lines from "Star Trek." If Frodo were writing an end to the adventure series, a piece of fiction, he would have George W. Bush absorbed into the Borg. Of course, he's probably already there.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:29 PM EDT

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Monday, April 30, 2007

He Got The Action, He Got The Notion
Mood:

cheeky
Topic: "Eye Opener" (3)
Frodo could see him sitting atop the street light attached to the telephone pole at the end of the cul-de-sac. With the dawn's early light behind him, the mockingbird was going through his paces. He mimicked everything from a robin to a whippoorwill, and he got louder the more he irritated the sleep-deprived Hobbit. Despite the joys of a visit to Sam's home, Frodo spent many hours plotting the demise of this bird from Hell. Frodo fears now that, despite the passage of time, the creature has arisen from the grave to follow and again torment the Hobbit.

Cardinals are among the most striking of all the avian visitors to the Shire. Apparently, the Shire sits right along the territorial imperative of a number of males, for the flashing red is something visible from three or four directions simultaneously. All of that makes for pleasant observations about the feeders and water dishes scattered throughout the gardens. The males are in constant disagreement about which feeder, or which female, is rightful property. Frodo enjoys the action.

Comes the dawn, and one oversexed descendant of a Velociraptor has decided that getting an early start is the best way to prove himself to the adoring female throng. For the past week, he perches in the camellia bush in Frodo's front yard, immediately below the open bedroom window, and has commenced his own version of the "Hawaiian Wedding Song." He does so just early enough to waken Frodo and to prevent him from falling back asleep before the cursed alarm signals time to again commence scaling Mount Doom. Frodo knows that it is some sort of conspiracy, and that he is being laughed at.

There are times when Mother Nature is really a bitch. Frodo wishes he knew what Bilbo had done with the Red Ryder BB-rifle he got some years ago at Christmas. Then again, perhaps he could coach Mr. Beau Neau to set an appropriate ambush and secure himself the feline equivalent of Thanksgiving Dinner. To merely crouch behind the windowsill and softly curse at "Casanova Cardinal" falls far short of the response that such inflammatory action demands.

Frodo fears, arising early some morning, that he will look out and see something flashing past his window in the wind, and it will be a mockingbird, wearing red pajamas. The mockingbird will mimic a pileated woodpecker.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:01 PM EDT

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Saturday, April 28, 2007

South of The Border Down Mexico Way
Mood:

accident prone
Topic: "Georgia on my Mind"(3)
Dementia is something humans seem to know a lot more about these days, simply because it seems to be everywhere. Longer lives, and dumber politicians, make it a topic of conversation almost everywhere you go. It is not restricted to humans however, so Hobbits and other inhabitants of the Shire are also susceptible. The tale this evening dear reader, is of how it affects Georgia.

This chihuahua mix was introduced to you some time ago. Sam rescued her during a hospice volunteer episode when no one seemed to want the last possession of an old man, one which he had called "Baby." When she was admitted to membership in the Shire, the name was changed to protect the innocent and hence "Georgia" was welcomed by all, Smaller than Mr. Beau Neau, she was not viewed as a threat by any member of the cast. Despite the lack of vision in one eye, advanced age, crooked teeth, and limited auditory ability (or attention), it was clear thaat the routine in the Shire was the happiest times of her life. Frodo was fond of saying that "Every day is Christmas for Georgia," and he was right on the beam.

Accidents now seem to occur almost daily. Sam watches nervously for the aimless wandering in circles that seems to precede the inevitable squat and flow on the kitchen floor. The other inhabitants of the Shire, including Sydney the cockatiel, seem to recognize the faux pas and run for cover, lest they, too, fall prey to Sam's displeasure. Sam is almost at wit's end, and reflexively spouts displeasure at the performance of what could indeed be an "illegal alien" in the Shire.

Frodo has pointed out to Sam that returning Georgia to a location south of the American border is infeasible. Punishment for one who is merely trying to make her way as best she can in a big, cruel world serves little purpose, other than to satisfy the more demonic parts of the psyche.
The proposed solution is to confine Georgia to the exterior gardens of the Shire during the day with sufficient leash to allow her to sleep peacefully in the shade, and to wander about without strangling herself.

There are, it seems, solutions to every problem. Coming up with something that works may take a little time, and there will probably be a little suffering along the way, but blind old dogs aren't much different from people who don't speak the same language.

Georgia is asleep in her bed now, snoring in what seems to be Spanish. Her ribs are beginning to show through her mottled coat, reflecting the fact that age withers weight from the torso as systems begin to break down. When she awakes she will todder about for quite some minutes as she orients herself from the bedroom down to the kitchen then, hopefully, downstairs and out the dog-door into the gardens. Frodo thinks of the words from one of the earliest of Beatle songs. It goes, ". . .my independence seems to vanish in the haze. . .," and so it does.

That doesn't mean that her dignity goes with her independence. The gardens of the Shire are most enjoyable at this time of year, so Georgia can look forward to pleasant surroundings. She may whine when she realizes that she is not in the immediate vicinity of her fellow residents, but frequent visits from Fiona are inevitable, and Frodo will play the tickle-me game called "boom-boom" with her every evening. He may also serenade her with his best rendition of "La Bamba." According to Sam, that should be enough to make her laugh, since everybody else does.

Everybody wants to be a comedian.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:41 PM EDT

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