Rambo, my son’s GSD (as distinguished from an original German shepherd; you know, the dude or dudette (Mary, Mary, quite contrary . . .) with a long stick with a crook on the end, maybe a large long-haired white dog who thinks it’s a sheep, and a flock of medium sized white or black woolies), has a very faint whine that I cannot hear even when it’s close, but my son can when the dog is across the room! N____ has super-sensitive hearing; so bad that I’m on the other side of the living room at the computer and he can hear the music coming out of my ear buds when they are lying on the desk. I’m close and I can’t hear them, but he can. I only took them off because he was staring at me. You know that kind of stare. Well, anyway, N____ has this talent, he claims, from not toasting his hearing apparatus when a teenager. He listened to soft music on the radio; soft so as to not bother his mother who sent him to his room because as he has told me, she was a mean bitch when he was growing up, especially when I was at work. Nice!

I wish he’d get some glasses because his vision is atrocious; he simply can’t see. He couldn’t see as a child, but we were so poor and, therefore, didn’t have vision care until he was in second grade. We wouldn't have then, but his teacher sent a note home. He wore glasses until he found out only wussies wore those things. Now, he has very good vision care, but refuses to get glasses even though he admits to not being able to see worth a shit. It is strange, though, that he has extraordinary night vision. He takes Rambo out for walks at night and generally doesn’t take anything to aid his poor vision. He does have a small LCD lantern that he will use sometimes, but Rambo (who we swear thinks he’s a cat, for reasons to be explained sometime later) likes to chase the light beams and tugs at the leash. N____ says we should make Rambo a backyard dog, but he keeps taking him out at night when he gets home from work, as he did before we decided to start keeping him in the backyard. Nearly 39 years old and still acts like the kid he used to be. Or am I just getting to old to care?

I’d like to walk Rambo when we’re alone while N_____ is at work, but Rambo is too strong for me and has pulled me to my knees on more than one occasion. I take him out to the backyard to do his business, but he stills wants to go out the front door, which we (at least me and the dog) can’t use because the front deck is gone.

As a result of my fall on September 28, my son decided it was time to install a ramp that he says I will need in my old age (he’s like that). So I trip over my own feet, that certainly isn’t a federal crime (or, is it?). (Did you hear about the strange Medicare law that says if there isn’t a COLA increase in Social Security the premium for Medicare goes up? Nice ol’ federal government treating old people with such niceties.) Anyways, he’s removed the front deck to be replaced by my son’s childhood friends R_____ and B_____. It’ll be smaller because it’s just going to be a front porch with the ramp attached. My son wants room to park his Crown Vic (police interceptor), but if he does that, I showed him the ramp will go over the septic tank. He said, “No, no, no, there’s plenty of room.” I informed him that the ramp needs to be wide in case I’m forced to use a walker (or, heaven forbid a scooter). I haven’t told him yet he should go down to city hall and check with the building department about handicap ramps. If he doesn’t, he’ll run the risk of a stop work order. Plus, having read instructions on a number of sites and watched a YouTube vid of how to build a ramp, he needs to check with the building department for local specs, anyway.

So much for news from the home front (door). . . .