Mood:  cool

Harry Truman, noting the return home of men who fought, men who died, and men forever scarred by war, guided the military forces into an equilibrium.  For more than a generation, the rest of American society trailed badly behind the recruitment, training, and development of a multi-racial workforce which followed the American Flag wherever and whenever called.  That realization causes Frodo to remember, as well as regret, many of his words directed at those who dared to describe "light at the end of the tunnel," and "Vietnamization."  Frodo now recognizes accomplishment amidst stupidity.  

This past Monday, more than 100 retired generals and admirals called for repeal of the "Don't ask, don't tell," policy regarding military service.  Their joint statement in part stated, "As is the case with Great Britain, Israel and other nations that allow gays and lesbians to serve openly, our service members are professionals who are able to work together effectively despite differences in race, gender, religion, and sexuality."  In this case, Frodo had no words to regret, so there was absolutely nothing holding him back from standing up and cheering.

Perhaps, and likely it is, that among the 100 or so retired officers there are a sprinkling of black guys.  In any event, it is the military institution itself which leads the way for this, the next generation of national service participation.  Frodo realizes that he is very, very proud of all these changes, and of those who help to bring such change to bear. 

Frodo would go into battle with these guys any day.  The Fellowship of the Ring is much more real today.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:17 PM EST

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Mood:  special

Mr. Johnathan Smoot;

Congratulations on your selection as this years' recipient of the Sgt. John A. Jenkins Scholarship.  Your academic and personal accomplishments at the College of the Shire merit both recognition and reward.  Let me assure you that Alumni throughout Middle Earth take special note of your name, alongside that of someone so very special to all of us.

John Jenkins was the nicest boy I ever knew.  He had three sisters, and he learned early on how important it was to respect, and to protect them.  His parents taught him the value of hard work, and for John that was a crucial factor.  For no matter how hard he worked, school work did not come easy for him.  He was athletic, but he always seemed to be the guy who dropped the long pass, or threw the ball out-of-bounds.  He was however, the guy you wanted in your corner if you had to fight your way out of a situation.

As he neared the end of his fifth year, he was notified that his student deferment was to thereupon expire, and he was to report to Basic Training.  It was touch-and-go, right up until the day before graduation, and the strain was on his face and in his heart.  Less than thirty days after he graduated, he was on his way to Fort Benning.

I saw him several months later at the Wedding of one of our Fraternity Brothers, and I walked with him to his car as the happy couple departed.  I told him to be careful, and he said to me, "Frodo, I just hope I do a good job."  

I learned, years later, that in September of 1968, near a little piss-ant of a place called Duc Lap, Republic of South Vietnam, his outfit was engaged by North Vietnamese Regulars in a conflict known as "The Ambushes."  The enemy, according to official military records, threw itself directly upon Sgt. Jenkins position.  Rallying his troops, and utilizing the weapon of a fallen comrade, he led a vicious battle and accounted for numerous enemy casualties.  The battle continued until he ran out of ammunition.

I was a thousand miles away when they buried my friend at Arlington.  I have visited him there, and have an etching from Plaque 47W, Line 12, of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial.  His Mother was presented with the Silver Star, awarded posthumously.  I have held that Medal in my hands.  It is the most expensive thing I have ever touched.  His Mother told me that the only thing that he would have valued more than that Medal was the Diploma he earned at the College of the Shire.

Soon Johnathan, you will share that diploma with Sgt. John A. Jenkins.  He thought so much of it, and I truly believe that he indeed felt that his sacrifice would be worthwhile if it gave you the opportunity to do better.

It is a great gift you have received.  It came at great cost.  I certainly hope that you, too, do a good job.

Semper Fi,

Frodo Baggins on Veterans Day, 2008. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:09 PM EST

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Mood:  sharp

"Special Agent Frodo, TV Monitor here, I have ROSEBUD skating the hall in her stocking feet just outside the Oval Office."  

"Where is RADIANCE?"

"She is in the kitchen helping herself to the Cherry Vanilla."

"Does RENAISSANCE have control of the situation?"

"Actually Sir, she told me that you were in charge for the afternoon."

"Me?  I'm out here on the South Lawn with a dog that piddles more than Oktoberfest in an Old Folks Home.  It'll be thirty minutes before I get back inside."

"Special Agent Frodo, RENEGADE here, is there a problem?"

"Oh no problem Sir, we just seem to be having a little trouble coordinating our escort assignments for RADIANCE and REDBUD."

"Have they done their homework?"

"Affirmative Sir, and that seems to be the problem.  They got their homework done much faster than we planned, and they have taken off in different directions."

"I was under the impression that you had the same reponsibility for the Bush family, and were therefore quite experienced in situations like this.?"

"That is correct RENE. . .I mean Sir.  It's just that the Bush daughters never finished their homework on time, much less early."

"I see.  And why was that?"

"Well Sir, you have to remember that they were from Texas."

"Special Agent Frodo?  TV Monitor here, I now have ROSEBUD in the bowling alley, all by herself.  RADIANCE is in the War Room playing some sort of computer simulation.  Does that present a problem?"

"TV Monitor, this is the President, would you head to the War Room and disconnect my daughter from any and all systems, right now.  I'll see that we put a parental chip in there as soon as possible."

"What about ROSEBUD Sir?"

"I'll go down to the bowling alley and keep her occupied until Special Agent Frodo gets back from walking the dog."

"Sir, I'm not sure that is a good idea."

"Oh, and why would you say that."

"Sir, she's bowled three straight strikes."

"Sir, TV Monitor here."

"What now?"

"Sir, the dog has slipped his leash and is practicing evasive manuvers on Special Agent Frodo.  He is in hot pursuit, but it now appears that it will be quite some time before Frodo is on-line again. "

"I'm on my way to the War Room, please call RENAISSANCE and request back-up."

SOME TIME LATER.

"Special Agent Frodo?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"Am I to understand that my daughters, collectively, ruined a new pair of socks, ate ice cream an hour before dinner, threw heavy bowling balls around without supervision, failed to walk their dog as they promised, and came close to instituting a thermonuclear war by identifying three unreported Iranian power plants as potential targets for destruction?"

"Well, I'm not so sure about all of that, Ma'am."

"Of which part are you not sure?"

"I think it was a little more than an hour before dinner when the, uh, ice cream, was, uh. . ."

"Special Agent."

"Ma'am?"

"What was your assignment before the White House?"

"I was assigned to the Fairbanks District."

"Fairbanks?  Like in, Alaska?"

"Yes, uh, Ma'am."

"What were your duties at that time?"

"I was on an Intergovernmental Task Force assisting the State of Alaska."

"So you worked for. . .?"

"Yes Ma'am, Governor Palin.  That would be correct."

"Might I ask. . .?"

"I, uh, kept Russia under surveillance."

"So, how did you end up here, in this assignment?'

"The Bush daughters requested me.  I, evidently, was highly recommended by Governor Palin."

THE NEXT MORNING.

"I'm awfully sorry that you'll be leaving us Frodo, it won't be quite the same without you around."

"I appreciate that TV Monitor, but that's the name of the game."

"Where are you off to, this time."

"Well, the orders are sealed for now, but I have overheard the use of a code word."

"And what was that?"

"PAYBACK."

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:52 PM EST

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Mood:  don't ask

Frodo is not unlike most of his gender; there is order, and there is disorder.  Order exists as long as things continue just as they have always been done, and disorder reigns whenever anything changes.  Sam goes shopping, and that includes the megalith known as the "grocery store."  Frodo consumes that which returns in plastic or in paper.  Given this preamble, all of life should be simple and uncomplicated.

Sam is in recovery, and is forbidden to utilize a motorcar for the next two weeks.  Under normal circumstances, this would be a point of revelry for Frodo.  Unconsumed petrol is an asset these days worthy of entry on Frodo's ledger of accounts.  However, the need for sustenance in the Shire requires that Frodo substitute for Sam, and thereby seek provisions at the 21st Century version of the "general store."  True it is that these centralized placements in every retail mausoleum in America do, indeed, sell anything, and everything.

Frodo is therefore entrusted with a list.  Once he emerges unscathed, at least in this instance, from that which is known as a parking lot, although there seems to be a constancy of unplanned traffic flow throughout, he then takes temporary possession of a cart.  Frodo knows that, within seconds, the complexion of his hands will pale against the light.  Frodo is truly a "white-knuckle shopper," fearing the inevitable consequence of one without patience loosed upon the methodically unreasonable aisles and lanes of that which distinguishes our land from all other civilized nations.

Bread, bacon, milk, orange juice, hamburger, steak fries, lettuce are not generally the kind of items which require participation in a safari.  Frodo is, however, immediately accosted by an elderly person wanting him to sample apple juice.  Although Frodo has a certain fondness for apple juice, particularly when it is offered sans cost, he is irritated by intrusions upon his appointed rounds.  Once he has laid waste to this insurgent, he decides to start the search for those items on his list least likely to spoil or to suffer once removed from their storage unit and placed in Frodo's cart.

Frodo determined that the frozen steak fries should be the last item placed in the cart, logically enough.  For whatever purpose Frodo first found himself in the frozen foods, with steak fries prominently displayed therein.  Fearing that he might not be able to pass this way again, Frodo decided to scrap his original plan and to take advantage of this easy kill.  Amazingly, the milk, juice, and lettuce followed soon thereafter, and Frodo was beginning to feel a certain level of comfort amidst the ladies who insist upon stopping in the absolute middle of an aisle, almost daring the passage of any male on either side.

Bacon is a pork product, is it not?  Why therefore would bacon not be assembled in the meat section alongside anything labeled as "pork?"  While in the general vicinity, Frodo was accosted by another elderly person wanting him to taste her "cracker with cheese."  She was very insistent.  Frodo thinks she was hitting on him.

At last, Frodo had only the "hamburger" on his list, and he had already noted many plastic wrapped piles of ground meat from afar.  Ground "chuck," ground "roast," and something that looked like a "ground ball," once neatly arranged, had been examined, quite obviously, by the entire population of Wasilla, Alaska, during the past thirty minutes.  It took Frodo's real tears to bring a sympathetic response from the "butcher," which resulted not only in the final "kill" of this adventure, but a permanent level of gratitude to the nameless individual who will have a special place in Heaven (right next to Frodo).

Then, the white knuckled mania struck as originally feared by Frodo.  Proud he was that he could enter the "10 items or less  only, checks accepted," line honestly, he noted that there was only one shopper in line in front of him.  Frodo recognized her as one who had parked herself in the middle of the aisle that separated soup from dog food.  Frodo noted the presence of at least 75 items in her cart.  Sensing danger, Frodo began his retreat from the check-out line, only to find himself trapped by the same lady who had blocked the aisle between magazines and greeting cards.  She was reading a copy of "National Enquirer" and did not respond to Frodo's whimper.  Frodo accepted his fate.

The lady in front of Frodo carefully analyzed every keystroke by the smiling check-out lady, that is until the cantaloupe rang up at $1.19 rather than $.89.  The entire function of business in North America came to a halt due to the allegation of an incorrect price by the one person in line in front of Frodo.  The blood disappeared from Frodo's extremities, and he considered making a break for it and running over the miscreant.  The lady required a "price check" (two of the most dreaded words in Frodo's vocabulary).  After an inordinate delay, Frodo cleared his throat, and offered to give the shopper 20 cents if she would merely pass through the system as is, and bring order back into the universe.

Frodo had never before been publicly identidfied as a "Communist."  As he considered the indignity of the allegation, he briefly thought about strangulation, or perhaps a thrashing with a plastic container of milk. 

Eventually, the harpie moved on, and Frodo was greeted by the overly-friendly check-out lady, who noted that she lived in the same subdivision as the Shire, and that she hoped Frodo was having a "good day."  Frodo was speechless.  Hadn't she paid attention?  Hadn't she been humilated by the overweight aisle-blocker?

From his rear Frodo heard the "National Enquirer" reader complain about the "slow-mover" in front of her.

Had there been a United States Marine Corps Enlistment Booth in front of the store, Frodo would have sought enlistment.  He wanted to kill someone, soon.

Get well soon Sam, please. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:17 PM EST

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Mood:  celebratory

Michael Crichton was 66 years old, and he almost made Frodo pee his pants.  It happened while Frodo was reading "Jurassic Park," and it was a scene that did not recur in the movie.  The T-Rex suddenly appeared at the bottom of a waterfall while the human main course found themselves in a raft at the top of the waterfall.  Frodo supposes all that water may have added to his discomfort.  Frodo can never remember whether the theme of the book was "Life finds a way," or if it was "Nature finds a way."  It matters not, because since the time of Jules Verne, excepting perhaps Arthur C. Clarke, has anyone  been able to excoriate science from fiction with the precision of this surgeon.  Only time separates Man from that which he predicted in his numerous best sellers.

Madelyn Dunham, born in 1927, was, in the words of her grandson, "humble and plain-spoken."  People say much the same thing about the town in Kansas where she was born.  Little has yet been published about the lady who passed away just 48 hours before her grandson was elected to the Presidency of the United States of America.  Her passing was noted even by her grandson's opponent in the historic election.  The whole world shed a tear for someone they knew only as she who took responsibility, and passed it on as a lesson to he who now grieves for his grandmother.

Harold McClendon is an Obstetrician and Gynecologist in private practice in Marietta, Georgia.  He has an infectious laugh, and a bounce in his step.  It probably comes from the joy he brings to so many families when he helps catapult an addition into their care.  Then, again, Frodo recognizes that he may, indeed, simply be a leprechaun.  What merits Frodo's admiration is his skill, and his ability to carry his good nature into situations far less joyful than the miracle of birth.  To note that Sam's birthday was at hand, while reporting an excellent pathological report, is a present that indeed keeps on giving.  Smiles abound.

Some, it seems, make history, and some make the present.     

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:58 PM EST

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Mood:  quizzical

There is a scene in the latter of the trilogy in which Frodo and Sam are joined by Merry and Pippin in a pub, back home in the Shire.  Amid the celebration, the eyes of these members of the Fellowship meet, one-after-the-other, and, just as quickly, are followed by conscious efforts to avoid contact.  Perhaps it is the moment when they realize that they have confronted the greatest struggle of their lives, and now must part.  It could, of course, contain the simple understanding that change has, indeed, at last, come, and that it will make everything different. 

Frodo, in the chronicle, works tirelessly to complete that which was begun by Bilbo.  Frodo knows that his time grows short, that his wounds are deep and that life must go on in the Shire.  He is being called home.  The stories, he knows, will now always be of things that have already occurred.

The tone, the inflection, in fact the very definition of Frodo must necessarily change now that the Ring has been destroyed.  Sauron will soon be returned to the coffin known as Texas.  All trace of his followers and his surrogates will be removed from monuments, memorials, public buildings, and libraries.  Soon there will be little short of dyspepsia which will even bring a reminder of this evil time to the mind of Man, or Hobbit.

Frodo's journey is far from over, but it will certainly be different.  You are welcome, dear reader, to stay on board.  If you choose otherwise, then Hail, Farewell, and Thank You for your service.  Lord Aragorn is restored to the throne, and Middle Earth will long remember his words:

"Yes we can."

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:05 PM EST

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Mood:  bright

Quite some time ago, Frodo passed on some information to you, dear reader, about a young woman who was trying to do something about ending the Pre-Emptive War.  She had designed and sponsored a blog entitled "Peace Takes Courage" (www.peacetakescourage.com).  She was desperately trying to do something, anything, to influence if not to deter the conduct of that which still shackles our nation.  Her blog was receiving national publicity and was inspirational to many, like Frodo, who opposed a War for which the case had never fully been made.

Frodo had not visited for quite some time.  Tonight he found that Ava Lowery, age 18, from Alabama, was preparing to vote in her first Presidential election.  Her blog is full of the hope that comes from those who know only how to look forward.  Looking back is anathema to those  who have the vast majority of experience in front of them.  Frodo is envious of the ferocity of Ms. Lowery's desire and the eloquence of her action.  Truth be told, it is for her that this election is so pivotal.

Frodo's eyes well with dreams unfulfilled, and stolen.  He reaches out to those to whom the day to come will be a fulfillment of something that required a lifetime of sacrifice, in order to share in the achievement.  It is to the younger however, that Frodo feels a special sense of obligation.  It is they who must to suffer the costs of a financial burden that will yield them nothing.  Their dreams will be deferred until the bonds are all retired.

Looking forward, Ava Lowery must know that her life will encompass technological change equivalent to Project Apollo.  Energy, economy, environment, education; these are the directions they will follow, and arguments about who pays the most taxes, and who associated with unusual characters are of little relevance.

Relevance?  A word that Frodo remembers well.  He just hasn't used it in a long, long time.  When Frodo looked only forward, he argued for relevance.  Today, he pleads for it.

Cast your vote, young Ava Lowery.  Cheer your champion.  Understand that the work does not end here, it is as formative today as it was when you initiated "Peace Takes Courage."  What you did, and the time you spent, was relevant.  When the last soldier comes home, don't you dare rest on your laurels.  Take what you have learned and open another door.

Thank you for what you do, young lady.  May your champion lead you down a path that is wide and free to walk.  Frodo follows.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:25 PM EDT

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Mood:  surprised

Eveyone has heard the semi-jest that "To go to Hell, you have to change planes in Atlanta," so it is not surprising that some pretty strange things take place in the confines of Hartsfield-Jackson Airport.  The dialogue which follows is added to the circumstances which usurped all of Frodo's creative juices.  To the protagonist so identified, Frodo says "Trick or Treat?"

"Hello."

"Who is this?"

"This is Willie, in baggage."

"Sir, you are on a restricted channel and are disrupting communications in the Airport Control Tower."

"Hey man, all I know is I dialed 911, cause I got a serious problem here."

"Sir, clear this line immediately, you are endangering flight control operations."

"Listen here sucker, it's either you gettin' me some help down here, or I'm gonna be a hamburger for the biggest damn cat I've ever seen."

"What?  Who are you?  Where are you?  What are you talkin' about?"

"Not so loud man, he might hear you?"

"Who? He? Repeat.  Can I have a supervisor over here, please?"

"Listen, I'm Willie Andrews, workin' baggage, and I jus' opened the cargo hatch on 'dis plane in from Oregon, and here's da biggest damn cat I ever seen."

"So what's. . ."

"Man, he's jes walkin' around like he owns da joint."

"Wait a minute, are you sayin' he's loose?  What kind of cat is it?"

"He's a big cat."

"How big?  Does he have a mane?"

"What's a mane?"

"Sir, this is Flight Supervisor Landers.  Are you reporting a wild animal loose in the baggage compartment of an incoming aircraft at Hartsfield-Jackson Airport?  Are you reporting this as an emergency?"

"What the hell you think I'm doin'?  Calling Roto-Rooter?"

"Hang up now Sir, I will call you back."

"What you got up there, Caller ID?"

"Security, this is Flight Supervisor Landers, please dispatch a Team to the Baggage Area, we have a potential wild animal threat."

"Say what?"

"We have a report by Baggage Handler Willie Andrews that there is a wild feline loose in the baggage compartment of an incoming flight from Oregon.  We are diverting all incoming traffic away until such time as you report back to this station."

"Any description?"

"According to his on-line photo ID, he's male, about 6'2", 255 pounds."

"I mean the 'feline'."

"Oh, negative on that."

"Hello, Mr. Andrews?"

"Nice kitty."

"Mr. Andrews?  Come in."

"Nice kitty, you wanna chew on this phone?  Jes' don't use up all my minutes."

FRODO NOTE:  the one-year-old female cheetah, en route to the Memphis Zoo, apparently got out of her crate while changing planes.  The Delta 757 was brought into a closed hangar and Dr. Sam Rivera, a Zoo Atlanta veterinarian, shot the 90 pound kitty with a tranquilizer gun.  She is doing well in quarantine in the Atlanta Zoo, and will continue her journey to her new home next week.

Willie Andrews has filed for early retirement, and is seeking compensatory damages for both the "roaming charges" which appeared on his telephone bill from AT&T, and for dry cleaning.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:12 AM EDT

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Mood:  a-ok

It was almost exactly two hours from the moment when Frodo and Sam had joined the end of the line, until they were handed their ballots.   Frodo is notoriously impatient, and is widely-known for irrational outbursts when suffering incompetence.  This day however, was very different.

The young man immediately in front of the Hobbits had moved to the Shire a year ago from Seattle, and this was his first voting experience in a non-coastal setting.  About 100 places in line ahead, but only 20 feet away, were a couple of black guys who offered to trade places with Sam for $20.  When they mentioned that they had been in that exact spot 45 minutes earlier, Frodo authorized the beginning of negotiations.  Their good humor told Frodo that he would have to suffer delay, and like it.  Soon, Frodo began to find that he was enjoying himself, and, what's more, so was everybody else.

There was a little boy eating a saltine cracker, which he offered to Frodo from his stroller.  Since he was not yet to a communicative level, Frodo was hesitant to accept such a gift.  Frodo asked him if he knew that he was a part of history, and his mother smiled at Frodo.  She was snapping his picture with a digital camera.

There was a college-aged young lady, reading a best seller familiar to Sam, but unknown to Frodo.  She carried a bookmark which read "Yes We Can."

Frodo returned to his Grisham paperback ("Playing for Pizza") until he was interrupted by the stir all about a talking head from the local Faux News channel who was chronicling the long lines associated with early voting in this, one of six available locations in the county.  Had it been Rachel Maddow or Andrea Mitchell, Frodo would have grinned "that" grin in order to elicit an opportunity to be interviewed.  The reality was that whoever she was, she still appeared to have acne bumps hidden under a Clearisil-colored mountain of make-up.  Frodo turned his attention back to the real people.

The poll workers were both efficient and sensitive.  One grey-haired lady explained exactly where the restrooms were, and how to access them without losing ones' place-in-line.  Another cautioned everyone to "turn-off" their cellphones once they entered the building; the why was not explained, mainly because no one asked.  Frodo didn't care.  Another poll worker asked if anyone were over 75, or had any physical discomfort, and for those who indicated in the affirmative there was an immediate guide provided to the front-of-the line.  No one either complained, or seemed to take any notice whatsoever.  That, dear reader, was what caught the full bore attention of the Hobbit.

Nobody complained.  It was as if everyone knew that this was an important day, and that what they were doing was equally important.  Perhaps, as Frodo surmised, each person there, and in lines just like them in other locations, was moved by something between a sense of history, and a sense of participation.  No one, at any point, ever mentioned a candidate's name, or how they were going to vote. 

Frodo likes to think that he was wise enough to figure out for whom all of those people were voting.  Perhaps he is, but beyond that intellectual arrogance, there rests the knowledge that, for whatever reason, Frodo and Sam had just participated in a plebiscite.  People were determining whether or not, and at what level, civilization and life upon our small, blue planet would proceed against the many challenges we all face this day.  It was this experience which was guaranteed to Frodo by his Uncle "Junior," by Johnnie Jenkins, and by all those who rest beneath marble stones in Arlington and places just like it.

Damn, it was a good day.  Frodo wishes he could vote again.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:24 PM EDT

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Mood:  special

Gumbo was a mixed-breed terrier, thrown from a passing car.  The frightened dog spent the next several days hiding from any passing stranger.  Sam was determined that cruelty would be treated with kindness, and did everything possible to encourage the little creature to come out and accept food and water.  Fear is difficult to overcome, and just when it seemed that nothing more could be done, the little dog took the risk of its' life and crawled out to accept Sams' gifts.  Thus was born a relationship of fidelity which lasted well beyond the next decade.

Gumbo may have been small, but she was fearless whenever the perception arose that Sam was under threat.  The most ferocious of snarls and the most ominous of growls would be presented to any stranger approaching too close, or without a proper introduction.  In those days Sam's Mother was very ill with breast cancer, and Frodo was often occupied at Mount Doom, unable to join in the frequent and long trips to the bedside.  Frodo did not fear for Sam's well-being because of the presence of her defender, the tireless Gumbo.  Many was the befuddled wayfarer who offered to pet "the cute puppy," and found himself in the sights of a guided missile, disguised as a dog.

When Frodo's father succumbed, Gumbo joined Frodo and Sam in the long trek to the land of Frodo's birth.  While services were being conducted, Gumbo had to remain in a strange house, all alone, instead of being on active duty at the side of Sam.  While Sam and Frodo were long-delayed at the graveside, Frodo's Uncle "Junior," remembering the little dog, back at "the house," all alone, and probably under severe distress left earlier than most.  The former Marine, wounded at Okinawa, drove back, all alone, in order to free "the cute puppy."  The gentle giant of a Man swept the dog up in his arms and carried her out into the yard.  He stayed with her while she performed her required duties, and the two of them probably talked for quite some time about Frodo and Sam.

When everyone else arrived, the two were now fast friends.  Sam, who worried all the way from the cemetery about how long the dog had been alone, was moved to tears by the two new friends, and the kindness of Uncle "Junior."  For many years after Gumbo's demise, and whenever Sam and Uncle "Junior" got together, they would speak of their tiny friend.  Sam loved Uncle "Junior," as did Frodo.

One-half-an-hour into Frodo's birthday the suffering ended for Uncle "Junior."  Grieve not, dear reader, for Frodo, and the seeming inequity of death borne on the shoulders of celebration.  Frodo will remember this man, every year, on his own birthday, and celebrate a life that Frodo admired as long as he can remember.  Every year, on that date, Frodo will toast Uncle "Junior," and fill a small water bowl for the little dog who walks with him; of this, Frodo is very sure.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:28 PM EDT

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