Thoughts of a Common Man

Rick Reilly has published a book about Donald Trunp and how he cheats at golf. I imagine that it’ll be pretty funny because Reilly writes humorously most of the time. He’s one of the first columnists that I ever read back when he had the back page of Sports Illustrated. He’s going to be getting some really nasty tweets because there’s no way that Trunp is going to take this without comment. How does he lie? 1). He doesn’t count all his strokes. 2). He moves his ball out of trouble. 3). He moves his opponents ball! 4). He drives the cart on the green! 5). He claims to be the tournament winner at his own properties, even if he doesn’t play in the tournament. As Reilly noted, you can tell a lot about a man by the way he keeps his own golf score. Years ago, I cared a lot more about my score and I’d get pissy when I didn’t think I deserved a stroke. I was playing on a Saturday morning once and I swung and missed. “That’s a stroke!” The guy I was playing with yelled.

What a week it’s been. Mueller report, sickness, opening day, coverup of Mueller report, Talk of defunding Special Olympics, Zicam, college hoops. “At least the weather is breaking,” I said to the convenient store clerk. “It’s going to be a high of 30 on Sunday,” she said. You have got to be kidding me! The other day I passed a golf course. There was a single guy on the green. He didn’t look like he was having fun, but he was out there! “I’ve been sick,” another guy on the site said. “Me too.” And it lingers. The cold, the political nastiness, the lousy weather. “Man, I’ve had enough!! Longest winter ever.” The clerk laughed. “In a few weeks, it’ll all be forgotten.” That is how life goes. Eventually, it will warm up. The Zicam will probably work. Baseball will be on every night. We’ll know what Mueller wanted to say... ...”hot enough for you?” I can’t wait for someone to ask me that!! 33 freaking degrees! Hoodie un

The 27-Time World Champion Greatest Franchise in the History of Organized American Sports opened at home against the hapless, putrid Orioles. This should be a fun year! The Yankees didn’t sign the shiny, high-priced things and I was good with that. They have enough young talent to get #28. It won’t be easy, but winning titles never is. (Right Bills, Orioles, Sabres and Indians fans?) National League will shake out like this: NL East - Washington Nationals NL Central - St. Louis Cardinals NL West - L.A. Dodgers NL Wild Cards - Chicago Cubs & Philadelphia Phillies I like the Nationals over the Dodgers in the NLCS The Phillies, Mets, Brewers and Rockies will all be good. I just think that the Nationals will be better without Harper. I’m probably wrong....been waiting for them to win for years! In the American League, it’s all about the big dogs. AL West - Houston Astros AL Central - Cleveland Indians (with 86 wins - putrid) AL East - The Yankees AL Wi

I’m all done with the news... ...have been for quite awhile. It appears to be a soap opera being sold to everyone in a package. I don’t know what to make of the Mueller report and can’t possibly have an opinion until it is summarized by anyone other than someone who is part of the cover up. William Barr? Donald Jr. Trump himself? Sarah Sanders? Nope. I can’t take their word for it. My feeling on all of it is that sooner or later it will all come out... ...we will learn the truth. Maybe in a movie, ten or twenty years down the road after all the characters have exited the stage. “Trust none of what you hear and less of what you see.” That Springsteen lyric has been buzzing around my brain since I heard the “exonerated” claim. There was no Trump Tower meeting? Flynn, Manafort, Gates, and 10 Russians weren’t charged? “I fired Comey cause of this Rusher thing?” Wasn’t actually part of the Lester Holt interview? I just don’t know... ...and it’s painful

About a month ago, I got an email from a client... ...they had booked me a room at a nice place called Geneva On the Lake. For the next few weeks, Facebook showed me photos of the place. I hadn’t made any posts! I got one email about it! Then I got a text. “Meet me at 263 Elm Street.” I went to Google maps and entered a 2 “263 Elm Street popped up.” It gives me the creeps. My phone knows what I’m doing before I do. I suppose that my phone has a targeted profile all set to go on me. The ads that hit me are for: Yankees tickets, Bruce shirts, a new golf wedge (they obviously haven’t figured out that I’m not replacing chippy). It’s all too weird. That’s how they know how to target who to chase for a vote, and then they send the news that might matter to me, right? Creepy, right? Makes me wonder what the future might be like. Can I throw them off the path a little? Maybe I should browse some photos of power tools or something. I’ll tell you something, th

I really wanted to battle through this little illness without complaint. I know of some dear friends who are truly sick and facing some life and death situations. They are handling it with strength and grace.... ...but my nose is all stuffed up! We’ve all been there. Just feeling lousy. Tired of feeling that way, even sleep is troubled, and the boredom sets in. “I just want to feel better!” “You really need to stay home tomorrow,” Karhy said, on Sunday night. “I can’t,” I answered. “I have scheduled events where employees of the company are showing up for training that’s been scheduled for months.” “Well, you’ll be fun to be around.” I know I won’t! I don’t want to be the martyr... ...I wanted to just stay home until I felt better... ...but I didn’t. And despite my uncomfortable hours, it wasn’t a life-threatening event. I kept my distance from everyone. Muddled through and survived it. “You’ve hardly whined at all,” Kathy said, as she rolled her eyes.

My brother works hard. His home is impeccable and people wouldn’t know it, but he’s more OCD than me. In his home, everything is in the exact right place. He has taken on a specific role in our family dynamic too... ...he cooks dinner for 50... ...even when there are only 10 of us there. He can really cook too. And today is his birthday and he’s actually taking a break. I’m not sure what my Mom and Dad did to us, but none of us are really great at taking breaks. “I’m waiting for the sun to come up,” he said, on his first day of vacation. It was just ten after four. “Can’t even get a coffee yet.” Who wakes up at 4:10 on vacation? “Try and get some rest,” I said. “Yeah. That’ll work. Thanks, I didn’t think of that.” I’ve been in his shoes. By day three he’ll be trying to work around his condo. He’ll put up some shelves or build a bookcase or something. “Eat, have a few, lay on the beach. It’s your birthday.” Hopefully, he listens. Happy Birthday, brother

As previously stated, was all fired up for the weekend. It’s been a long winter!!! I waited for the NCAA Tournament. Was all fired up! Felt the sickness coming on, on Thursday. Was absolute garbage on Friday and had to speak for hours in front of about 100 people... ...can’t exactly call in sick. Battled through. Plenty of time to feel better. Felt worse on Saturday, but just watched the games. Then God really decided to yank my chain. My phone pulled up lame. I couldn’t turn it on! So sick, can’t move, and no phone! I couldn’t possibly be more agitated. Missed all the news. Couldn’t check the NCAA pool standings. (I was in first all weekend. Imagine not being able to see your name in the #1 slot). So, there has to be a lesson here somewhere... ...I finally arrived at a fun weekend... ...and poop! Ah well. At least I’ll return to work still feeing horrible!

One day not too long ago I came home and noticed that the carpets had been vacuumed, the garbage was empty and the laundry was done. Jake was home, But was leaving for work. Sam was at work, so was Kathy. “Who cleaned up?” I asked Jake. “Not me. Sam, I think.” Weird. I sent Sam a text asking him if he did it. “Yeah. Just grinding.” And that’s the word for it when work shifts come quickly, and things need to be tightened up around the homestead. It’s a good word because life is a grind. It seems like it takes a month for Friday to get here. I have two very distinct kinds of weeks: Pre-massage and post-massage. There’s a real routine to how my muscles tighten up, and the week following the massage is a lot more loose than the week leading up to another one. I’m really grinding it out the last couple of days. Kathy grinds hard when she works 3 straight. The boys, thankfully, are still around on most days to serve as our legs late in the bad days. Sam went b

I didn’t watch a ton of college basketball games this year. I would catch one now and again, but I knew who was good because I would quiz Sam on the top 25. He would name them in order as we all laughed. He lives for the tourney and loves it as much as my brother Jeff did. On Tuesday night, my buddies came by and we picked names out of a hat. (That was a Jeff creation and I love that we have kept doing it. Yesterday I had work to do, but as I was getting the dogs their breakfast I glanced at Jeff’s photo. “Day one,” I said. I started getting fired up when I knew the games were under way. I stopped at the grocery store and bought snacks, including what is about a 55-gallon drum of cheese balls. “Pizza and wings for dinner,” I said to my beautiful wife, “and I’ll spring for bingo if you want to go so we keep the big television.” “I’m good with all of that,” she answered. Finished my paperwork with the television on. Then it was on! One game after another. The Belm

Been following all the crying lately? Trump wants to get the FCC after Saturday Night Live because they make fun of him. SNL has made fun of every president since Chevy Chase was falling down as Gerald Ford. If you go on Twitter, any time of day, any day of the week, every week of the month... ...you’ll feel the hate. The divide is absolutely ridiculous now. What is amazing about Twitter though is that it’s really funny. If something happens there are brand new accounts set up, instantly, to bash the rich and famous. There are a hundred Trump parody accounts. Yet, Obama gets bashed, Clinton gets hammered. Some of the keyboard warriors are downright nasty. Cindy McCain, the widow of John, posted a truly vile message that she received because her dead husband (the former POW) is being lambasted, 7 months after he died. Devin Nunes has spent the last two years running interference for Trump. He did a bang-up job of not investigating the corruption and then announce

I really thought that the Trump campaign should’ve ended when he made fun of the disabled reporter. Yet, they passed it off as ‘he always makes those sort of hand movements.’ Which was a lie. There really wasn’t a way to go lower than that... ...but he’s tried. He fought with a gold star father. He said the pope is a jerk. And while John McCain was alive he said that he ‘preferred soldiers who weren’t captured.’ Which was despicable in and of itself... ...but this past weekend he dug lower below the ground. He made fun of McCain again. How can you burrow that deep? He told lies besides. McCain didn’t finish last in his class. Yet, the man is dead!! Who does that??? I have tried to give up commenting on Trump for Lent, but even God thinks I should bash him for this. Three times! In two days... ...he’s told lies and figuratively pissed on the grave of a former war hero. I had my feelings about McCain. I didn’t agree with him on much... ...but h

I was scared to do it, but I have a shelf where I store the books that I’m going to read next, and somehow, one of my own... ...In Real Life was there. It was the first book I wrote as a married man, and that was monumental because I was deathly afraid that having a wife and kids and dogs and work was going to stop me. It was around then when I came up with the new formula. One chapter at a time... ...think about it all week... ...write it on Saturday. It worked. As I picked up the book, I contemplated reading it again. Was scared. I’ve grown as a writer. Was ‘In Real Life’ trash? Well, it isn’t! I have definitely learned some tricks since 2002, but ‘In Real Life’... ...is good! I don’t have to shy away! Yet, it’s funny. There are sentences I don’t remember writing at all, but there are also sentences that I actually recall crafting. It’s a book about a man who’s imagined life is better than what is actually happening to him. Fiction and reality me

I’m actually looking forward to a week! I haven’t seen my friends... ...family meetings have been scarce. We’ve all been trapped in the house... ...trying to not freeze our asses off. And here we are! March Madness! I watched a few games with my boys this weekend, and we chatted about who looks good... ...and last night, the brackets came out. Last year I won the big bracket pool I was in with about 180 others. I’ve been reminding as many of them as I can: “You’re all chasing the big red dog!” (I was roundly booed). On Tuesday we’ll draw our teams out of the hat. Fun! Meanwhile, it’s still 30-something degrees... ...but tourney this week... ...Yankees open next week! Maybe we will survive after all!

My life is one constant game plan. I wake up and try and visualize how the entire day is going to go down, each task clearly defined. My beautiful wife is pretty much my polar opposite in that regard. “What’re you doing today?” I’ll ask. “I have no plans.” Then I’ll bring up two or three things she said she needed to do. “Oh yeah. I have to do that.” “When?” “I don’t know.” And in a long marriage... ...the habits of your partner... ...can be aggravating as hell. Yet, here we are! Another birthday!! Years and years ago, Kathy wanted to go to happy hour on her birthday. We weren’t yet a couple. I had a couple of drinks with her, but then headed back to my apartment because the NCAA Tourney was on and my plan for the day was one game after another and circling the ones I got right with a black pen and the ones I got wrong with a red one. The doorbell rang. (I don’t think that doorbell rang 3 times in the 4 years I lived there and out of the ten doorbells in

49 dead. New Zealand this time. Same old, same old. The script hasn’t even changed much. Muslim hate and the killer is a young, white male. You’d think that the day would be somber and that all nations and all people would bond together to completely condemn the violence and would work hard and coming up with a solution. Haven’t we learned anything about how to live together? The answer, of course, is a resounding NO. Rush Limbaugh said that it could be a leftist plot, believing that the man wrote a white nationalist manifesto, even mentioned Trump by name, because he was a lefty looking to give right-wing, white nationalists a bad name. When I read that horrendous theory, I got a little sick to the stomach. That kind of rhetoric is dangerous and throws wood on the fire. Straight up lies meant to inflame have to be called out. “Democrats are for crime.” “Democrats want to kill babies after their born.” “Immigrants are on welfare.” “Illegal immigrants voted m

I saw a 64 on my outside temperature reading as I was driving. The heater wasn’t blasting! Had dinner with a couple of good buddies and we started talking about golf. It’s been months!!! “You going to be able to play?” I was asked. “I hope so. Seems like I’m good most of the time. Massage!” “Oh gross,” one buddy said. Then we got to talking about the time I birdied the 18th hole at a nice course in Syracuse. I announced it to all of the 15 other guys that were playing that day. Individually announced it. Multiple times. I had made a miracle putt to get it done. “Remember your birdie?” One buddy said. “Why did you remind him?” The birdie became legendary later that evening when I ran into an older guy at the clubhouse. The guy was a complete stranger to all of us. “You see that group of guys over there?” I asked the guy. He nodded. “Here’s what I need you to do.” The guy sauntered up to our full group (I love him for this!) “Hey guys,” he said.

Had a lifelong friend tag me in one of her posts: “Overheard one of my kids call the other a ‘Dopey Bastard’. Guess I’ve quoted you too often.” That’s awesome! I’ve seen that my willingness to refer to almost everyone as a ‘Dopey Bastard’ is starting to pay off. I’ve had 13 books published, have written a blog every day... ...and I’ll be remembered as the ‘Dopey Bastard’ guy. I’ve always had a love affair with the word ‘Bastard’. It’s a cool word, rolls right off the tongue. I know where the ‘Dopey’ part was added too. My Dad hit me with that moniker one day, and it’s a great story. We were living together in Connecticut. Dad was a project manager of the job, and I was working in the office, doing payroll, writing progress reports and beginning my safety career. We were working long hours, of course. 7 a.m. start and 5 p.m. quit - usually worked 6 days. Sunday I got to sleep a little later. Dad, of course, was up every day by 5:00. Sundays too. One Sunday

No one truly understands the plight of the wealthy. Medicare has to go because without the tax cut hardly any NFL owner could afford a brand new $50 million yacht. Try living without a multi-million dollar boat! “Should people be paid a $15 minimum wage?” That was a twitter poll question. If that happens how will the CEO be able to scratch by on his meager $12,000 an hour? And what’s amazing to me is that the rich have an army of poor people on their side. “We aren’t socialists!” Is the rallying cry of the people voting against their own interests. I don’t feel that those railing against the crazy wealth of a select small percentage of people has anything to do with socialism. We just need the rules to go back to the way they were. Men used to be able to put a roof over their kids heads, put some money aside for education and have a savings account. There wasn’t the threat of bankruptcy if one of the kids broke a leg. Those days are gone! Speaking of college

The roughest part about getting older is that you go to bed... ...feeling good... ...and you wake up 7 hours later... ...wondering... HOW THE HELL YOU TWEAKED YOUR BACK! That was Monday morning. Melky nosed up the shade and we both looked outside. STILL SNOW IN THE AIR!!! “Ah well, time to make the donuts,” I said to the Melkster. We headed out, got the Pair-Pair and the three of us went out to get the paper. I left for work... ...the dogs went back to bed. My phone rang instantly. As a safety consultant I don’t get a lot of “Everything is going great!” Phone calls. “We have an emergency roof repair,” the owner said. “Need you there as soon as you can.” (Remember the sore back?) I climbed a 40-footer and then a straight ladder.’ The wind freezing my freaking forehead. “Isn’t this lovely?” The first guy I saw asked. I just grunted. Walked the area, had a meeting. Returned home 8 hours later to get started on writing reports. Melky was still in

My teenage dog, Melky, is absolutely destroying my night of rest. We share the bed, of course, and lately, she’s been waking up for: 1). A drink of water and 2). A trip to the restroom. She just lets out a little cry and I’m awake and at her service. Brutal. The other night, as she headed outside, I grabbed my phone. “Antonio Brown is heading to the Buffalo Bills.” What??? Under the reporting for the story there was a comment by Antonio Brown. “Fake news,” he wrote. By morning, the story was alive. Depending on who you believe it sort of went down like this: The Bills and Steelers agreed to the parameters of the deal and then Brown and his agent told everyone that he would retire rather than play in Buffalo. Most everyone I saw who I know as a Bills fan was pretty excited about the possibility of Brown on the Bills. When it was discovered that he had dissed the city it turned into: “Never wanted him! He’s a cancer. We need solid citizens.” (Like Shady? We ha

I actually watched Tom Seaver pitch a game at Candlestick Park back in 1983. He’ll always be that age to me. The perfect pitching form. Dropping to one knee on the follow-through. When your nickname is Tom Terrific you’re pretty good. On Thursday it was announced that he was retiring from public life because of dementia. Wow! That news came on the heels of the announcement that Alex Trebek has stage 4 pancreatic cancer. 1980’s icons. I got a call on Thursday from a co-worker. His wife just finished chemo and radiation. The guy he works with is retiring early. He has cancer as well. “I need some sunshine!” The guy said. “I’ve been surrounded by so much misery.” What can you say to that? “The worst part is that something is going to get us too,” He said. “Not me,” I said. “I’m immortal.” At least he laughed at that. “It’ll get better,” I said. “I know, but man, you live your life and get a brutal parting gift.” Cancer. Alzheimer’s. Heart attack.

When his presidency started I spent the first couple of months saying: “This pace can’t be sustained. Americans don’t want to spend this much time worried about politics.” I believed that things would even out and that there wouldn’t be so much drama. I wasn’t sure that he could grow into the job, I just figured that the grown-ups would stop it somehow. Hasn’t happened. We are in the 25-th month of instability. We’ve normalized paying off strippers from the Oval Office chair. The same guys who screamed about the loss of dignity associated with the office are shrugging off everything. Worried about emails causing problems with national security? How about just handing out clearances to relatives? Intelligence agents are dismissed... ...mad dictators are idolized. You’re bragging about record low number of immigrants presenting for asylum and then bragging about having the most? Which is it? Up is down and down is up. And I’m giving it up for lent. All of it.

The move these days is a group text between just the siblings. There’s a lot of ball-busting going on. Corinne and Carrie have to spend some time defending themselves from their stupid brothers, but the texts come fast and furious. So do the laughs. I’m sure there will be a good text chain today as it’s Carrot’s Birthday! I say it every year, but Carrie was the heartbeat of the house as we grew up... ...my boy Sam serves the same role here and you have to be a special person to pull that off. “Carrie!” She’d run all over the house, helping everyone. This past Christmas we recounted the: “Cry, Carrie, cry Carrie, cry Carrie!” Chant that we used to do... ...out of the blue... ...for no reason other than to make her cry. What a bunch of dopes. But the well-known secret is that we love our sister! Happy Birthday, Carrot. Don’t cry!

It’s March. That’s enough! The Yankees open up in 3 weeks and it’s freaking 10 degrees! Ah well, what can you do? I didn’t watch any shows that had Luke Perry in them but things get real when 52 year old men drop dead. He had a couple of kids, was famous and had plenty of money. Everyone came out of the woodwork to say he was a good man. Didn’t help him. That’s too young! Read a story about Kylie Jenner being declared a billionaire. Nice work if you can get it. Just need a half a billion start...then a sex tape. I couldn’t pick her out of a lineup. Good for her. It’s Girl Scout cookie time. I don’t like them. I’m a fan of cookies from time to time, but I never really liked the Girl Scout variety. I’ve bought plenty through the years, but lately I just order them and tell them to keep ‘em. I’m late to the party... ...like 8 years, but I’ve started watching Shameless. Crazy show. Frank Gallagher is an all-time character. “I bailed on season 4,” Jake sa

Michael Jackson was a huge superstar, especially in the early 1980’s as I came of age. It was all about Madonna, Prince, Bruce and Michael Jackson back then. I loved Bruce, of course, and appreciated the talents of the other three. Michael Jackson was impossible to ignore. I watched the premiere of ‘Thriller’ with everyone else. Every song was catchy as hell. The girls loved him. “He’s weird,” I would tell anyone who’d listen. I never bought any of his records, but I didn’t change the channel either. Talented, weird guy. The stories of kids staying at his amusement park home started to surface. Surely the parents had an eye on him. He was just weird, with the monkey and the oxygen sleeping chamber. “He didn’t have a childhood!” He had the soft voice, the skin color going from black to white. As my brother John once said: “Only in America can you be born a poor black man, and grow to be a rich, white woman.” But he was chased by the media. The pedophile w

I had a early speaking engagement on Monday morning. Late last week, my client texted me. “Did you get a room yet?” Bob asked. “No. Why?” “I’m getting you a room,” he responded. “You ain’t staying with me!” I answered. “Hell no!” He answered, “But we are paying for a room for you at Geneva Inn on the Lake. It’s a great spot. Romantic getaway, so bring your wife.” Because of work, of course, she couldn’t go. So, I was off on a romantic weekend for one!! I wasn’t even interested in romancing myself. Yet, it was great. A jacuzzi tub, the Sunday New York Times waiting for me. Basically, a full apartment. I spent two hours reading the paper. Used the tub for my aching legs. Wrote a few pages, and slept in a huge, really comfortable bed. I showed up at the speaking engagement and my first half hour of talking brought a lot of laughs. “Oh crap,” Bob said. “You’re too well rested. You’re going to be a problem today.” And I was. We laughed a lot. A whole bu

We were talking about my brother, Jeff, the other day. We do that a lot. “We were cheated,” Kathy said. I’ve thought about that a lot in the more than three-thousand-five hundred plus days since. Severely cheated. Out of love & laughter. I think about all of the things we lost that day ten years ago, but I don’t think about it long... ...because it’s still so unbearable and unbelievable. Jeff’s kids have done well. They make me laugh, and there are moments, when I’m in their company when I catch a glimpse, and I actually smile. Life is hard. A loss of a loved one is the worst. There are the days when it sneaks up on you. There are the memories. They aren’t enough. Yet, I knew Jeff better than almost everyone else in the world, and he would’ve been really angry had any of us quit. He wouldn’t want sadness to linger. Cheated? Hell yeah! The love hasn’t gone anywhere though, and that doesn’t matter if I’m here for ten years, or fifty or a hundred.

Was another tough week... ...lot of hours, cold, tired, aggravated. “We gotta’ do something other than work and sit in the house,” Kathy said. “Let’s go to lunch and then to bingo.” “Ugh,” I said. But it became the plan. We hustled through the line and I just kept handing over money. I had a stack of cards to play,  and we headed through a packed room. Everyone dressed in relaxed clothing... ...tee-shirts and sweat pants. A portly woman was shoveling in about a gallon of beef soup. She was alternating spoonfuls with a bunch of pull tabs. She was throwing the losers into a bag by her chair. We arrived at our seats and Kathy went off to the rest room. I was positioned next to a woman who had at least 10 cards for each game in front of her (I had three of each). This woman was frantically ripping off strips of Scotch tape and securing all of them together so she could mark them quickly, I guess. She had a bag of cheese popcorn, a cup of coffee, a liter of Diet Pepsi,

The boys were working, believe it or not, so we kind of winged it. We swung out to North Collins and invited Mom to 3-Star for dinner. On the way we called my sister and my brother. Took one step into the place and saw about twelve familiar faces... ...people that I’ve known for my entire life. There’s nothing like seeing people who you haven’t seen for awhile. The same guys, with slightly less hair and slightly bigger tummies. (Except Rick Dolepy Bastard who somehow, despite being about 70 still has a full head of jet black hair). We were served by the lovely and talented Mrs. Popple. My sister, brother and I all ordered the same dinner, the broiled seafood platter. We ate all of it. Good conversation, a little gentle ribbing, some reminiscing, and we all decided to throw in on the bill. I gathered the cash... ...didn’t have any on me, but no big deal... ...I’d slap it on the credit card. “We don’t take credit cards,” the cashier said. “Oh, geez. All right.

I’ve been excited all week. Today is Melky’s 13th Birthday! I haven’t had many dogs make it to their teen years, and while she moves a little slow, and as she cries constantly... ...she’s doing great. She has a wonderful appetite, she loves me as much as one being can love another, and she gets every bit as excited for her morning ride and bony time after dinner as she did when she was a puppy. “We’re having a party,” I announced earlier in the week. “For what?” The boys asked. “Melky is a teenager.” My boys get a tad frustrated with Melky. Mostly because of the farting. “She stinks. She weeps, and we have to beg her to go outside.” “I don’t care,” I said. “She’s having a party.” I’m thinking we go with a fine steak, a little tasty paws for dessert and the good bones. “I hope you make it to 20,” I told Melky the other night. She didn’t care. Yet, this is a dog who makes me go to bed early on the weekends. She cries until we go up. “Didn’t you tell your g