Guantanamo Bay

The question is, are we a nation of laws or are we not?

Long ago it was decided that our system of jurisprudence would lean toward protecting the innocent. That's the way Americans are used to thinking, whether we like it or not. Miranda rights, no search and seizure without a warrant, etc, these things are all to protect us, the vast majority of Americans who are innocent of any crime, from persecution. Most importantly, our system is designed to sometimes let guilty people go free, in order that no innocent person is ever wrongly imprisoned. Of course this happens anyway, and that is a tragedy in every case, and we should try to keep this from ever happening again. But that is the way it is.

So Gitmo. There we have lots of different types of people: as the recent Wikileaks documents reveal, some were held simply for their intel value, and without real regard for their guilt or innocence. This too is a tragedy and a black eye for America. A deep gash in the flesh of our core values.

That's why I say close Gitmo. Anyone who has committed crimes that can be proven in a court of law, try them. Those that haven't, let them go. I know this means some of them go back to being terrorists -- but this can't be helped. Obama et al would say they are enemy combatants in a war -- but if so, it's a war seemingly without end. Are we really going to hold these people without trial forever? That's not America. That's Soviet Russia. I don't want any part of it.

Close Gitmo, Obama. Like you promised.

Memories of Louie

As Louie got very old, he got pretty deaf, mostly in one ear, so when you called to him from his right side, he would turn to his left see who was calling him. It was funny the first few times, but after a while it was just sad and counterproductive. You had to go grab him at dinnertime and lead him to the kitchen.

His sight also suffered, so he could only really see things right in front of his nose. Also mostly sad, but at least one time funny. You be the judge.

One night several months ago I was in the kitchen fixing dinner. Was it Chateaubriand, or Trout Almondine? I cannot recall. Anyway I decided to give the dogs a mini Milk Bone. They're smaller than regular Milk Bones, and multicolored, and at least look tasty, though I've never tried one. Elliot was in the kitchen, so I just handed him his, but he doesn't like them very much, so I think he just let it sit there, trying his hardest to look pathetic. He's just a little off. Louie, on the other hand, was resting comfortably in the living room, as was his wont, just lying face down on the carpet, sleeping, dreaming I hope of running in grassy fields. I called his name and he looked up, but couldn't really see me due to his blindness, nor could he tell where I was calling from. Lazy and a little cruel, I decided just to toss his Milk Bone to him.

Well I was on my game this evening because it landed right between his paws, right under his nose. Strike one! He didn't see it coming, but he sure heard it land on the rug, and startled he looked down and saw it, with -- I swear -- look of surprise on his face. I suddenly got a very clear view into his doggy mind. As he sniffed it, grabbed it, and happily bit down with a crunch, I realized exactly what he was thinking. A dog biscuit just magically appeared in front of me! Oh benevolent dog Gods above, what have I done to deserve this? Usually, I must remain alert for when my master goes into the dog biscuit closet, but this one just incorporated out of thin air right in front of me. What alchemy is this! Actually, who cares, may I have another?

Now he didn't actually look to the heavens, but I know he was thinking this, and I am pretty sure that he wondered for the rest of his life why it never happened again.

Memories of Bill

First in a series of however many I can remember.

Maybe 20 years ago, my brother shared with me that he had gone duck hunting. (I think he was hanging out with clients, or potential clients.) I was slightly horrified. Not that I really have anything against hunting: I'm a meat eater, and I believe that if you eat meat you can't be against hunting, at least hunting that is as humane as possible and hunting that is for the purpose of eating the meat. But hunters are certain types of people, I felt, perhaps erroneously in retrospect, the kind who can watch an animal die without sadness. I didn't think my brother was one of them.

I asked, taken aback, "You shot ducks?"

Without a moment's hesitation, Bill responded, "I shot at ducks."