Doug Goodman's Blog, page 8

This is Halloween?

The difficult decision many families face is not celebrating Halloween via Trick or Treating. For people not living in the United States, this may sound like a no-brainer, but Trick or Treating has grown in popularity since the 70s, even if nobody gets the day off. October 31 is a day of heavy socialization for many people, whether that is going to a bar, holding a party, or walking the neighborhood collecting candy.

In 2020, these activities are all in the “VERY BAD DON’T DO IT LIST” for obvious reasons. The CDC doesn’t say not to participate in Fall/Winter holiday activities, but they have some guidelines and stern suggestions for participants.

I think living in the pandemic, you have to evaluate your risks and do what you think is best. But that’s what I’ve said for most things during the pandemic, whether it was traveling or attending school. But as a fan of Halloween and a horror writer, I want to make Halloween work this year. It’s always been a big part of our family calendar. I don’t want 2020 to derail that.

Earlier this week, though, I had an idea for this Halloween. And before I say what it is, I need to add: my kids are too old for trick or treating, but my neighborhood is big into it. Most years, I would say we average between 80-120 kids stopping by our house for candy.

As an aside, I want to do Halloween safely for any kids who will be trick or treating, but I’m too busy (or too lazy) to construct a delivery contraption (slide, slider, or otherwise) for handing out candy. So this year I’m stealing an idea from a friend of mine and making treat bags. I will make 70 or so and put them on a table for kids to collect. Each individual bag will have candy as well as little stamps and stickers I picked up from the dollar store.

While that is good for any trick or treaters, that doesn’t help my family on Halloween night, and we want to have some fun, too! Our household is me, my wife, my college graduate, and my early-teen. And that is the tricky thing. If you are a family that isn’t ready to participate in socializing activities or be out-and-about, what do you do on Halloween? How can you make it fun for your “kiddos” who’d usually be running up and down the sidewalks gathering buttloads of candy?

So, I’ve decided to bring back a Goodman Family tradition, but with a twist: Halloween Party Time! This All Hallow’s Eve, my family will be hosting a party. And if I wasn’t living under Pandemic Rules, my invite list would be much bigger. But this year it’s just the four of us. Still, I am doing it up! Witch’s Fingers, pumpkin bread, scary movies, and of course, the games. (Douglas wants to do a round of D&D. It will be fun making that happen.) I’m thinking Clue, Among Us, and maybe pumpkin bowling.

This is a great year for a home Halloween party. Full moon, Saturday night…loads of time to enjoy Halloween into the after dark hours.

Okay, so I admit that I have the advantage of having stockpiles of decorations already, and since we’ve hosted parties before, we pretty much know what we are doing. But one of the things I like about throwing Halloween parties is that there are so many websites suggesting games and foods. Cause those are the Big Two when it comes to a Halloween party: games and food. Some easy favorite games are the egg-and-spoon relay and the Mummy Wrap. These cost almost nothing and are easy to set up. For food, there are so many DIY recipes. Immediately my son shouted his enthusiasm for a Graveyard Cake, which is a no-bake cake that I forgot he loved. It’s definitely in.

Everybody is excited about the Halloween party, especially me. I think it’s been almost ten years since we last hosted one. Best of all, everybody in the family is involved, so everybody will be able to have their own stake in it. And we can always stop the party if we need to for trick-or-treaters. So if your family isn’t sure about what to do for Halloween this year or if you aren’t ready to socialize, I say trust your gut reaction. You have the option of throwing a family party instead. Personally, I can’t wait for Halloween now! I want to see how this party turns out…

The Proper Technique for Crocodile Hunter-ing My Dog

Ain’t he a beaut?

Koda will be 12 this February. For a German Shepherd, he’s an old dog. (They live to be 10.5 years old, on average.) That does not mean he’s decrepit. You wouldn’t know his age if you met him. He is a complete beast-mode, full of zest and vibrant life, but that can be a problem, especially when it comes to trimming his nails.

I remember the first time I clipped Koda’s nails. He was an elder statesman, 10 years old, probably (we got him late in his life from my brother). Once Koda realized what was going on, he retreated. When my wife would reach for his paw, he jerked it out of her hand. He knew an amputation was about to occur, probably of his paw or entire leg. Why would anyone stick around for that? Another time, when I was not there, apparently he growled. The exact intent of that growl is debated among the persons involved, and even if it was an actual growl or more like a hearty whimper.

Dude does not like having his nails trimmed!

Peanut butter worked for a New York minute, but he would watch what we were doing out of the corner of his eye while he licked the spoonful of peanut buttery goodness. He got wise to the peanut butter flea-flicker plan, and after that he ignored treats. Challenging, isn’t he?

I thought maybe part of the problem was my nail clippers. We’ve never had a dog as large as Koda (90-100+ pounds). His nails are much thicker than the other dogs we’ve owned. So I bought new clippers in the hopes of reducing the amount of time needed per nail. Brina fed him treats while I moved quickly through his paws.

Snip! One nail. YES!

Snip! Two nails. The new clippers are working! This is it!

By that second nail, Koda stopped eating and jerked his paw away. He never growled. In fact, I’d say he was pleading with his eyes, begging me to stop this HORRIBLE thing I was doing. We like our arms and limbs the way they are, right?

Koda panted. He looked away. I realized he was kinda cornered while we were doing this. He was telling me in every way possible we were stressing this dog out in the worst ways possible. So I moved him out into the middle of the floor. Same jerking away of the paw, but no panting, which was good. I grabbed hold tighter. He pulled tighter. Koda is one strong shepherd!

So the next time, I decided to have Brina push down on him. I reviewed the technique with her, choreographing every detail. I showed her how she should stand over him and push down on his shoulders (but not too hard – just put your weight into it). I wanted him on his belly so that he would have have a harder time pulling away. I was worried that this wouldn’t work, but with my daughter at my side, we were resolved. We were a team.

The next day, we clipped Koda. Brina pushed, and I clipped. I got one or two nails before Koda tossed her off and jumped out of the way. I couldn’t believe it. My daughter is the strongest person in the family next to me, and that old dog, all 12 years of him, tossed her off like a mechanical bull at midnight.

Sigh.

There was nothing more I could do. I mean, I could hold him down, but we’d already established that I was the only one strong enough to hold his paws in place, and I was barely capable of that. So unless there were two of me…how the hell were we going to get this dog’s nails clipped? They were getting bad. Clacking and sliding on the tile all day long.

Brina decided to take him to the vet. She warned the veterinarians about his rabid thrashing. If they needed to, we’d agree to a shot to relax him.

“That would require an exam,” the veterinarian warned.

I crossed my fingers that wouldn’t be necessary. You will have to forgive me, and you will judge me, but I don’t do a lot of health screening on my 12-year-old shepherd. Despite his outward demeaner, every day that dog is alive shocks me. He can’t poop worth a damn, but he is immortal. Methuselah the blockhead.

So the day comes, and my daughter takes Koda in. The vet has problems getting him to stand still, too. So they Crocodile Hunter him. I don’t know the count of the number of vet techs that were on top of Koda that day, but I’d like to think it was more than five. I’d like to think there were five vet techs all under five feet tall in their purple and blue scrubs, all lunging on top of poor Koda. He’s trying to throw them off like a six-foot tall 13-year old kid playing football with his friends and all the other kids on the field are grabbing onto his ankles and legs and the kid just keeps hammering toward a made-up goal line. Furthermore, in my head, the one large vet tech had to be called in to help out, too. He’s the vet tech with hands that could cradle watermelons, right? “Ain’t he a beaut?” the six-foot tall vet tech says in his best Steve Irwin impression. He places his giant hands over Koda’s eyes and lowers his outrageously weighty body on top of Koda, saying “By crickey!” and only then does Koda settle down long enough to get his nails clipped.

They totally Crocodile Huntered him. And when Brina asked how they did it, they said, “We totally Crocodile Huntered him.” Koda isn’t a ten-foot long gator, but he is a German Shepherd who’s decided the last thing he wants to do is allow anybody to clip his nails. Reports can be neither confirmed nor denied whether or not he tried a death roll on the vet techs. (No vet techs were harmed in the clipping of Koda’s nails, I’m told.)

Damn, dog. Just let us trim your nails!

Working Animals: The Goats That Eat Fire

There is something I’ve wanted to do for a while. A long while, actually. I’ve wanted to have a place set aside to focus on working animals. I’ve always been interested in that relationship intersection between humans and the working animal, and I’m not just talking dogs, though I obviously have a thing for zombie-hunting dogs.

Today I learned a common animal in the US being used in an uncommon way. I’m speaking of the fire-eating goats of Oregon. They don’t actually eat fire, but they help protect private and property lands from dangerous wildfires.

Wildfires are dangerous, and this year seems especially bad. The wildfires are so extensive they’ve turned the sky orange throughout the West Coast and even the Rockies. In Oregon alone, over 470,000 acres have been scorched by wildfires. According to the BBC, as of September 18, 2020, there are 106 active fires in California and Oregon. Wildfires are devastating. They destroy public use lands, homes, private businesses, and sometimes entire towns.

So it is imperative to find ways to mitigate the potential for a fire. Animals have been used for decades to help prevent forest fires. Perhaps the most famous one is Smokey the Bear, who reminds everyone that “only you can prevent forest fires.” Well, this is where Healing Hooves and their goats come in. Give the goats a day and a half, and they can clear an acre whether its on steep precipices or along rocky roads, places human or mechanical brush clearers may have a difficult time working. Poison ivy won’t deter these ungulates, either.

Healing Hooves places approximately 230 goats to clear the land. They do this by chewing, munching, and generally eating their way through the underbrush, which in a wildfire could become deadly fuel that magnifies a small fire into a giant one.

The small army is maintained by a shepherd who moves them along using electric fences, which keep the goats on task. Besides the shepherd, the goats have two other helpers, though they may not see it that way. One is the Irish Wolfhound who protects the herd from coyotes and mountain lions at night, and the other is a herding dog who helps maneuver the goats in and out of their trailer.

This isn’t romantic work. For the goats, it’s just another day of gluttony, but for the landowners, it is a saving grace. These goats aren’t smokejumpers or hotshots, but they are animals working alongside humans, doing their part to make the world a better place.

Did you find this post interesting? Leave a comment or e-mail me at douggoodmannet@gmail.com. Do you have an idea for another working animal helping out humans? Let me know, and maybe we can put something up on the website. Thanks for reading!

Goats Eat the Fire

There is something I’ve wanted to do for a while. A long while, actually. I’ve wanted to have a place set aside to focus on working animals. I’ve always been interested in that relationship intersection between humans and the working animal, and I’m not just talking dogs, though I obviously have a thing for zombie-hunting dogs.

Today I learned a common animal in the US being used in an uncommon way. I’m speaking of the fire-eating goats of Oregon. They don’t actually eat fire, but they help protect private and property lands from dangerous wildfires.

Wildfires are dangerous, and this year seems especially bad. The wildfires are so extensive they’ve turned the sky orange throughout the West Coast and even the Rockies. In Oregon alone, over 470,000 acres have been scorched by wildfires. According to the BBC, as of September 18, 2020, there are 106 active fires in California and Oregon. Wildfires are devastating. They destroy public use lands, homes, private businesses, and sometimes entire towns.

So it is imperative to find ways to mitigate the potential for a fire. Animals have been used for decades to help prevent forest fires. Perhaps the most famous one is Smokey the Bear, who reminds everyone that “only you can prevent forest fires.” Well, this is where Healing Hooves and their goats come in. Give the goats a day and a half, and they can clear an acre whether its on steep precipices or along rocky roads, places human or mechanical brush clearers may have a difficult time working. Poison ivy won’t deter these ungulates, either.

Healing Hooves places approximately 230 goats to clear the land. They do this by chewing, munching, and generally eating their way through the underbrush, which in a wildfire could become deadly fuel that magnifies a small fire into a giant one.

The small army is maintained by a shepherd who moves them along using electric fences, which keep the goats on task. Besides the shepherd, the goats have two other helpers, though they may not see it that way. One is the Irish Wolfhound who protects the herd from coyotes and mountain lions at night, and the other is a herding dog who helps maneuver the goats in and out of their trailer.

This isn’t romantic work. For the goats, it’s just another day of gluttony, but for the landowners, it is a saving grace. These goats aren’t smokejumpers or hotshots, but they are animals working alongside humans, doing their part to make the world a better place.

Did you find this post interesting? Leave a comment or e-mail me at douggoodmannet@gmail.com. Do you have an idea for another working animal helping out humans? Let me know, and maybe we can put something up on the website. Thanks for reading!

“Dog” Timeline

For anybody who subscribes to my newsletter (which you can do here), you have received short stories in the past year. I have published three. Winter Dog, Cemetery Dog, and just this last week, Voodoo Dog. This is my way of saying thanks to everyone on my newsletter because I really do appreciate my readers.

One of the things I really enjoy about the newsletter is all the discourse – the e-mails and the messages I get. Recently one reader asked a very good question: what is the timeline for the books and short stories? I read the question after midnight, so it took me a minute or two to put them all together, but for everybody who wants to know, this is the timeline for the Zombie Dog Series, books and short stories published to date and soon to be published:

Cadaver Dog (Book 1)Dead Dog (Book 2)Winter Dog (short story)Zombie Dog (Book 3)Ghost Dog (Book 4)Voodoo Dog (short story)Murder Dog (Book 5)

I’ve written them so that the short stories are additional adventures. They can add some extra details, but you don’t need them to understand the books. There are so just so many Zombie Dog adventures in my head, it’s hard to find books to fit them all into! For people who want to read the short stories, there are two ways to get to them. First, sign up for the newsletter where I send them out. Second, I participate in BookFunnel. These stories are often there, available for download. The stories have always gone to the newsletter first, so it will probably be a while before Voodoo Dog goes to any services.

Eventually, I do plan to publish these stories in an anthology with others. In my head, I want to get to 8-10 stories before I publish them, but we will see. I have 4 right now, and it would only be fair to add one or two never-before-read stories, so it seems like sometime in 2021 is when that book would come out, but don’t hold me to it. My priority is finishing through Book 6 of the Zombie Dog Series.

I Get Swept Up in the Arms of God Celebrating Dies y Seis

Anybody who has read from my New Profanity series (or Ghost Dog) knows that I love place names. The New Profanity series is named for the prominent mountain in Dinosaur Falls Wildlife Restricted Area, but also features places like Seven Graves river. Ghost Dog has a big scene in Salsipuestes, which roughly translates to “leave while you can.” It is not the first town with such a name, as I learned about the naming convention from towns in Mexico.

This month is Hispanic Heritage Month, and on Dies y Seis Texas Parks and Wildlife Magazine features an article about the names of Texas rivers, many of which have Hispanic names. Did you know the Pedernales river derives from pedernal, meaning flint? Okay, maybe you knew that one, but did you know that Sabinal comes from Sabino, meaning the cypress that line its banks? And really, was Lavaca named for a cow, and why would anybody name a river the Comal ? (A comal is a device used to make tortillas. It is very flat and round, and not squiggly like the Comal river.)

Everybody respects a good name but loves a good story. So who are Angelina and Medina rivers named for? And what’s the story behind naming the Shell River (Concho)?

Okay, I won’t tease the magazine’s article anymore. You can read it here. But to relate back to the title of this blog post, the Brazos River is the shortened from of Los Brazos de Dios, meaning Arms of God. I never knew that until today, and I think it is beautiful. In fact, I think we should just call it the Brazos de Dios River from now on. According to the Handbook of Texas, one legend goes that Coronado and his men were about to die of thirst in the Llano Estacado when a local Indigenous tribe saved them by leading them to a small stream. Another story goes that a Spanish ship tossed about in a Gulf storm had lost all its fresh water. The sailors needed a source of fresh water fast. One sailor saw a muddy, silty draw in the Gulf. They followed the mud up to a river where they found the life-saving refreshment. In both cases, the thankful survivors christened the river Rio de Los Brazos de Dios for saving them.

I have been to many of these Texas waters. I’ve swam in a few, but fortunately, I’ve never had any trouble with the Brazos. When I was younger I was on a canoe trip down the Guadalupe River. Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe trapped my canoe temporarily under a large overhanging cypress branch. It took finding a new gear of muscle power to escape the tree’s grip and the river’s force, which seemed at the time to be pushing us tighter down into the gap between the cypress and the bottom of the river. I remember how daunting and pulverizing that sudden surge seemed. Moments ago we were gliding along a tranquil river. Then suddenly, PHOOM! We knew better, and the scoutmasters had warned us not to take the river for granted and to watch for the overhanging branches, but I was probably 13 when this happened. Who knows what goes on in the mind of a 13-year old? The other scout and I cleared the obstacle after several attempts. It was a moment of growth. I enjoyed the rest of the canoe trek and being on the water that day. Later, in college, I arranged for another trek down the Guadalupe river (or, “the ‘Lupe” as many people will call it). I’ve had many fun outings canoeing and kayaking on Texas rivers, but that one stands out to me as my first and most exciting.

On this day and during this month where we celebrate Hispanic heritage, it is important to remember just how steeped in its influence we are as Texans and Texicans. The origins of the names of our rivers is just one area, but the stories behind those names are surprising and fascinating.

Devil Raiders Meet the Kill Chain

Sounds catchy, right?

Gary Buettner, a writer friend of mine, passed this little nugget of a CNN story to me:

Robot dogs join US Air Force exercise giving glimpse at potential battlefields of the future

There’s a lot to unload here. Who are the Devil Raiders? (The Air Force’s 621st Contingency Response Group.) What is a kill chain? (A military concept related to the structure of an attack.) The article describes how robotic dogs or UGVs (Unmanned Ground Vehicles) assist soldiers by scouting for threats before soldiers engage an area. Pretty cool, right?

The post was shared to me thinking of Cadaver Dog. Five years ago I wrote a book about dogs and robots hunting zombies in the mountains of Colorado. This year’s Ghost Dog includes the Battle of Moses Bayou, where the dogs and robots fight alongside local law enforcement combating a horde of zombies. Since I wrote Cadaver Dog, I’ve watched the great work at Boston Dynamics evolving robots that could one day aid humans untethered. I’m excited by this technology. Robot dogs crackle in my mind. I loved dreaming up the headless robot Wolves that appear in the Zombie Dog series. Of course, the Wolves are used primarily in search and rescue operations (but that may be biased because the books lean that way). I’ve always tried to keep the series near-future science fiction with realistic robots and some auto-driving cars, especially in the big city of Houston. I will tell you one more way that I’ve thought robotic dogs could be used, and that is as sight-assist dogs. We’re not there yet because the technology is still too expensive and the number of tasks is too many, but one day it will be possible. I look forward to that day when robots can assist people more directly and their efforts move away from the battlefield.

If you see more news like this, please send it my way. I’m always excited to read about robotic dog progress. If I find anything, I will post it, too. Maybe that way we can get our fix of robotic dogs until the next Zombie Dog book comes out.

The Fireman

They call me the Fireman, that’s my name. Making my rounds all over town, putting out all flames. -George Strait

Most people don’t realize it, but I co-habitate with a Fire Marshall. He is the unauthorized, unknown Fire Marshall of Kemah Oaks. He seeks out all fires, whether they are barbecues or fire pits, and he tells people they should put out the flames. It’s hot! It’s dangerous! You could get hurt!

He doesn’t yell or shout, either. No, he isn’t the kind of fire marshall who is going to raise a ruckus about codes and dictates. He will walk around you back and forth and stare at you, and if that doesn’t work he will whine. The whine can be annoying, but it’s better than kicking the fire over or barking at you.

Yes, my fire marshall is Koda. All dogs have eccentricities. Some dogs don’t like the touch of grass on their paws. Mine doesn’t like fire in any sort. I’d say something bad happened with his previous owner, but my brother is his previous owner, and he never burned the dog.

Still, my fire marshal is willing to help out the neighborhood at any time, day or night. He has warned me about the dangers of every brisket I’ve ever smoked, even when it was pecan wood and he was slathering over it.

My wife’s fire pit is the worst. He HATES and FEARS the fire pit. I think it’s the open flame. Smoke is one thing, but those yellow and orange tongues are another. Last year I was able to buy birch wood. It smelled really good, and it made this beautiful crackling sound. I wanted to sit outside every night burning birch. Koda knew that was against code and fought me on it. Poor guy. His owner’s too dumb to know the danger of a fire. I’d remind him I once earned a Fireman Chit in Boy Scouts, but he can’t read printed language.

Today is no different. Our backyard neighbors are burning something. They don’t realize how lucky they are. The top photo shows him doing his duty, protecting them from the confines of our backyard. This one is even better:

[image error]You know he means business when he sits down. That’s not irony or sarcasm. Things get important to him when he sits.

I bet he’d love to go over and stare and whine at them until they put out their fire.

So if anybody needs me to bring Koda to their house to check on a fire, let me know. I won’t charge anything, but if you want to repay him, he really likes mint dog treats.

Lessons Learned from Hurricane Rebuilding

Last week in Galveston County, we got lucky. Some people say we dodged a bullet, but I think that metaphor is ill-fitted for something as gargantuan as a hurricane. Perhaps we dodged a napalm blast or a MOAB explosion. Perhaps worse. Anybody who’s entered a community directly in the hurricane path says the same thing: it looks like a war zone. Like something out of a movie. So perhaps the more appropriate metaphor is dodging numerous napalms and MOABs.

Unfortunately, the hurricane had to make landfall somewhere, so it is with deep sympathy that I post today ten lessons learned from my experiences rebuilding after Hurricane Ike and Hurricane Harvey. You may find that your lessons and experiences are different than mine. I can only speak for rebuilding the one property.  

Don’t panic. It is easy to feel overwhelmed when your home is damaged/destroyed in a hurricane. I know it’s a cliché to say “take things one step at a time,” but here it holds true. Unless you have large wealth and resources behind you, rebuilding will take time and effort as well as blood, sweat, and tears. But there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Hurricanes teach resilience. You and your family will recover.Insurance really helps. We got very lucky. I’d dropped my insurance for years. I only put it back on in April, about four to five months before Hurricane Harvey made landfall and threw a couple thousand gallons of water into my first floor. But say you don’t have insurance.Talk to FEMA and seek help. There is lots of assistance out there to help get you at least some of the money you will need to rebuild. I don’t know the particulars for Louisiana, but in Houston there were opportunities to seek assistance from state and Federal programs as well as local charities.Don’t forget your charity assistance. Food Banks, Red Cross, etc. They are there to help, and especially if you don’t have insurance, every dollar counts. Lean into these organizations. They want you to. For example, don’t worry about water. There will be plenty of water everywhere. Every time Houston has been hit with a hurricane, it seems we get inundated with half the world’s bottled water supply, which I find ironic when a tidal surge has swarmed through your town. So many cases of water were available, we started turning it down.Hurricanes bring communities together. Lean on your neighbors. Hurricane response is first and foremost neighborhoods and communities responding and helping each other out. For Hurricane Rita, we evacuated to my parents home in the tiny town of Hemphill. We were young and didn’t know better. The eye of the hurricane went over the house. The next day, we were one of the families moving downed trees from the middle of the dirt roads so that the community could access the local state road. Even with disaster areas declared, which should improve Federal and state response time, the initial response is from neighbors. After Harvey, people with big hearts did my family huge favors by delivering to us home cooked meals. Those meals meant the world to us because we lost our kitchen and our stove. So cooked food (as opposed to microwaved meals) was rare. But people came in to help with that, and I will be forever grateful.Don’t trust contractors, and don’t be afraid to challenge them. Look, some contractors really are there to help out the community and rebuild. After Ike, we had two great contractors, one a fly-by-night that had me worried we were getting scammed on roof repair (but the roof is still up ten years later), and the other a local man with a local business who did exceptional work. Harvey was a different story. We hired a different contractor who came highly recommended. But they were horrible. We were fighting with them to get them to finish the work they promised to do, and their initial two-week schedule took them almost two months to complete. In the end, they dropped the price 10 percent because they’d done so poorly. I remember the supervisor came out personally to meet with me and review all the problems. She fought every problem, cussing and swearing and not happy with us because we’d called them on some of their misses. Where they could, they tried to add cost. Where they could, they tried to cut corners. They were ticked that I was catching them on it. My point is, don’t be afraid to tell them to do the work they signed up to do. At the end of the project, they were happy as punch and trying to sell me on the kitchen counter work.
The kitchen contractor may have been worse. I remember her throwing a fit like a two-year old after we’d fought them again to do the work they set up to do. She all but was stamping her feet and crying out that I was trying to take advantage of old people. I had to calm her down and we eventually worked it out. This was just a tactic to try to get her way. The lesson learned is that contractors will try to make you uncomfortable if it will give them leeway on schedule or increase their profit.Be patient and don’t give up. Rebuilding is a marathon, not a sprint. We needed about 8 to 9 months to fully recover from Harvey. I think Ike was 4 to 6 months. At times it will seem endless. For me, it helped to break the rebuild down into projects. The interior drywall was repaired first. Second was the kitchen. Third was the bathroom.The way to save money is to do it yourself. Hurricanes develop our self-reliance. The good news is that a lot of this stuff is online, specifically on YouTube. It is up to you how comfortable you feel making the repairs and how much time you need. I’ve known several engineers who wouldn’t dare let anyone else do the work for them. They saved a ton of money doing it themselves, and they loved every minute of coming home and rebuilding their house. I don’t have that same knowledge base or drive, but I remember after Ike I replaced the entire fence line. With Harvey I did some of the painting and caulking. Not much, but every little cent counts. Along these lines, remember safety first. Watch where you nail, mind your fingers when you saw. Don’t overexert because that’s when accidents happen.You don’t have to wait for the adjuster to get there to begin working on your house, but document everything. Take plenty of photos.Be kind and help each other out. It is difficult to assist others when you are the one needing the help, but remember the kindness that you receive, and when you are in a better place, return the favor. Maybe it is somebody else who needs help like a meal or a bit of extra money. Maybe it is a homeless person you see on the side of the road who you could give your donuts to. I don’t know. Hurricanes teach humility. Remember the humility you learn coming out of this. (You may have always been a humble person, but there is a whole other level of humility learned when a bunch of volunteers show up to help demo your walls.)

There you go. Ten tips to help in recovery. Remember to hydrate and try to stay positive. Both times my house has been damaged by a hurricane, good things have come out of it. Hurricanes can’t drown the human spirit. It isn’t easy to see when you’re at the beginning of the rebuild, but you’ll carry these experiences the rest of your life. I will keep you and yours in my prayers.

Mr. Bunny II

With so many people working from home, our pets are starting to become coworkers. Lots of people have dogs and cats. In addition to my Nazi-fighting white shepherds, our house has a bun. As in rabbit. I, very originally, call him Mr. Bunny.  And actually he’s Mr. Bunny II. Our first Mr. Bunny was actually named Niall. As in Niall Horan (thanks 2011 thirteen-year old daughter). Like Mr. Bunny I, a.k.a. the OG Mr. Bunny, Mr. Bunny II has a different name. His name is Murdoch.

Mr. Bunny I died five years ago while my daughter and wife were in Amsterdam. We put away his cage and bought Charmander, Breaker of Worlds. Maybe two years ago we picked up Mr. Bunny II.

Mr. Bunny II was owned by the Reinagels, good family friends and animal devotees who own property and raise meat rabbits. They had one rabbit who was very cute and friendly and loved to hop around the family. They brought him indoors all the time. The problem was that this rabbit, as friendly as he was, never really grew that big. Maybe a foot, foot-and-a-half fully extended. He had small ears, too, but the real problem was that he also bred very small rabbits, which doesn’t work if you’re breeding rabbits for meat. It was time for Murdock to become food, perhaps a little snack.

The Reinagel daughters were not down with this idea. While they understood the value and the lifecycle of a meat rabbit, this one was different. They enjoyed having him around and did not want to see him sent to the axe. (I have seen that axe, by the way. It is very sharp and well-weighted – a superb axe.) So while I will always paraphrase this story as “we saved the rabbit from the axe,” I suspect that the family would have found a new home for him somewhere.

They remembered that we had once owned a rabbit and thought that we might like a new one. The crazy thing was, I was thinking about getting a new rabbit. We got Mr. Bunny I at the SPCA, and it turned out really well. I really enjoyed having the rabbit, even if he was large, skittish, and not really into people (I tried many times to lie down in the same room as him. He’d never hop into my lap, but he would eventually approach me and lay down up against me, but the second I turned my face or moved an arm or anything, he’d run away.)

Mr. Bunny taught me a philosophy, though – one that I still have to this day. Unlike Koda the Wonder Dog or Ryder who protect the house, the affinity for a rabbit is that they look cute. A-DOR-able, even. So paying up to $20 for a rabbit, and then up to $50 a year in food, water, and etceteras, they are worth the cost just to have them out and doing charming things like reaching up to the tallest parsley stalks or stretching out on a table.

[image error]Mr. Bunny II, doing some hard working from home. Told you he was a co-worker.

So at the same time that I was considering my philosophy and thinking “man, that rabbit cage doesn’t look good empty,” the Reinagels were thinking it was time for Murdock to find a new home.

So that’s how we got our Dwarf Netherlands rabbit. (I looked it up.)

For his name, I told Douglas he could name it whatever he wanted.

Douglas: Murdock.

Me: But you can name him whatever you want. Any name you want.

Douglas: But Dad, his name is Murdock!

I find this all very interesting. It’s like re-naming him, for my son, would have been taking something from the rabbit. So we kept his name rabbit, but as per my habit, I always talk to “Mr. Bunny” or “Mr. Bun.” Hence, Mr. Bunny II.

I really like that name. It always makes me think of Snowballs IV or II or whatever, the poor cat that in The Simpsons, Lisa is always owning, killing, and then buying a new one. I think as long as I have rabbits, I will keep naming them Mr. Bunny III, IV, etc.

Because, after all, what’s in a name? A bunny, by any other name, is still just as cute!