Something Nasty In The Woodshed

Murphy takes over Tim´s favourite place in the world

Yesterday, having drawn water for various mundane purposes, like washing the crap off dogs, I went up the yard to hew wood.

We do that kind of rurally whimsical stuff at The Peacable.

Murphy was curled up in the woodshed, just where any falling log I was sawing would bean him, so I suggested he move. He didn't, he couldn't, and he gave an agonised yowl when I tried to pick him up.

Yes, he'd managed to get himself run over again, making twice.

The first time was about two years back, resulting in three broken legs, extensive surgery by The Veterinary School of  Leon University, and ultimately a starring role in a movie entitled, "How To Mend A Cat's Three Broken Legs When No Expense Is Spared,"  produced and directed by Dr. Mateo, and financed by the Scott-O'Gara Non-Profit Foundation, and which, it seems, did boffo biz, playing to packed houses of student vets in Italy.

Murph has, of yet, received no residuals.

This time round, although expecting the worst - it seemed to us his back was broken - things are not quite so bad.
Murph's back is inded very badly knocked about, but our local vet thinks that he (Murph, that is, not the Vet)  might be back on his already battered feet within a week.
Not doing triple saltos, with tuck and twist, but at least tottering about and bullying the dogs.

He has already comandeered Tim's dog bed to recuperate in, beside the stove.

Tim made no complaint, just patiently shifted over onto the carpet to sleep.
He is an amazing, saintly dog, because he loves his bed second only to sausage.

It's high time Murphy considered giving up being run over by cars.

It's not doing him any good.

Inconsequential balderdash

Below is an entire answer to a comment on a blog called "joyfulpapist"
I run it here because - I dunno, it might throw some light on something.
But then, it might not.
The topic on Joyful's blog is, (sigh) gay marriage - the most sinister and civilisation-threatening setback to decency and morality to blight the planet in the last thousand years. Or, some seem to think.
Another contributor (Srdc by avatar) as you see, accused, (if that is le mot juste,) me (AKA Toad) of being: old, cynical and in despair.

“Old cynical and in despair eh?”

I assume you mean Toad, here, Srdc.
Well, let’s see. “Old,” certainly, “Cynical,” most probably, (though I’d say “skeptical” is nearer the mark) but “in despair”?
I had to think about that one.
If I can be content, cheerful, amused, absorbed, and keenly interested by life, and yet still “despair” of the perennial imbecility and folly of the human race, then, yes I’m in despair.
I think maybe “resigned,” is nearer the mark.

But you are young, at least I get that impression.
Some unasked for geezer advice: Try to hang on to your optimism, but be aware that it will gradually fade away over the years of its own account. And you won’t miss it. In fact, you’ll be glad to see the back of it.
People are very predicatable. You can always count on them to act in their own interests, as they see them, no matter what noble noises issue from their mouths.
It is well to be aware of this. By all means keep on trying to improve the human condition, but be aware that you won’t, and neither will you be thanked. Not that that matters.

(What a lot of pompous tripe, Toad. Shut up!) 
That bit is unanswerable.

Apres Sandy, le Deluge et le Moslim?

Something of unusual interest to report today.

Namely that a major hurricane named Sandy is headed for New Jersey, where  it threatens to make several million dollars worth of improvements.

Not only that, but its side effects may well wreak havoc in neighbouring states, such as Pennsylvania and Ohio, both of which are crucial to the outcome  of the upcoming presidential fiasco.

In fact, I suspect this is why The Lord is apparently chosing to wield His terrible swift sword Over There at this time.
He is clearly distressed at the less than dim prospect of a full-blooded Mormon seizing  the reins of power in The Land of the Free, even more so than by the prospect of another four tiresome years of The Nigerian Muslim.

It is salutary that He is energetic enough to go to these rather extreme lengths to avoid it, but He's a little too late for some voters, I fear.

I read an American on Facebook bemoaning that, in his own words, the only choice was between "A Morman and a Moslim," which was, he opined, no choice at all.
Voting for a decent, God fearing "Christion" was not even a option. Pretty shabby, it seemed to him. What is the world coming to, and all that.
He had a point.

Strange though, that the Avenging Metrological Angel, should rejoice in the rather anodyne name of "Sandy." I have known a few Sandys in my time, and not one of them would ever dream of trashing a trailer park in New Jersey.
Not even during an Election year.

THE REASON WHY

Now I remember why I quit blogging for over a year. Because apparently nobody was reading DOWNHILL.
Or, at least, was interested enough to comment on it.
Which also seems to be the case now I've started up again.
Can't say I blame people, either.

LIFE WILL BE THE DEATH OF US

Interesting little exchanges on Catholicism Pure & Simple, regarding DEATH.
A subject seldom far from my mind these days. And then a copy of "Mirror Pensioner," the world's finest newspaper - being the only one with its priorities right - arrived  yesterday chock full of obits of old friends and colleagues.
This following on the recent news of a close friend's demise. (Whisky and cigarettes, said the Doc. Very old fashioned. Fleet Street to the end, in fact.)

Still what is to be done about it?  Death, that is. Best turn to Michel de Montaigne, as usual:

“If you don’t know how to die, don’t worry; Nature will tell you what to do on the spot, fully and adequately. She will do this job perfectly for you; don’t bother your head about it.”

And then, also on CP&S, someone called Metropolitan Anthony is quoted as saying:  “All life is at every moment an ultimate act.” Can’t argue with that.

And strikes me it could equally well be Sartre speaking, as a man oddly named after a Tube line.
We must wonder what Bakerloo Fred would think.

Someone once said to Montaigne:
"I’ve done nothing all day.”
“What! Did you not live?” said M.

Don't know what's that's got to do with anything. But I like it.

BULLY FOR OBAMA!

Missed a day already! Doh!

However, Reb is back from her errand of mercy, and I hope we can get some sense into the layout of the blog now, and proper spacing.
Spacing
is
good..
 
I have been banging heads on Facebook over Obama. I'm not violently Pro-Obama, (he has disappointed me too often), just anti the pathological Anti-Obamas. One "Facebook friend" in question has been relentless in her attacks, accusing him of everything bar child molesting. That will be next, no doubt. True, I've been a bit hard on her, too hard, no doubt - but she is bullying the man, and I can't stand bullying.

Unless I'm the one doing it, of course.

SPEAKING FRANKELY

Well, Frankel The Wonder Horse got it done at Ascot, didnee? Workmanlike rather than imperious, most spectators agreed. Fourteen straight victories, no defeats. A great horse, for sure. But the greatest ever? Not for me. The greatest horses win the greatest races - in Europe the Derby and the Arc de Triomphe, in the U.S. the Triple Crown, and nowadays The Breeders Cup Classic.. Frankel didn't. So he's only potentially the greatest. Sea Bird was the greatest European, Secretariat America's greatest - whose 1973 Belmont Stakes win must be the the most amazing performance by any horse, any time, anywhere. Ever. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V18ui3Rtjz4 (You can see it on Youtube, anyway, if this doesn't work.)