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I'm expecting at least 50% off...

Me, explaining to the neighbours after our St. Patrick's Day celebrations.

this is me with Rusty, my 13 year old Belgian Malinois/Labrador mix. He is good, but has problems with his pancreas, so only special diet food with medicine from pig's pancreas made can eat. If he gets too much meat or treats, he won't do well. Unfortunately he doesn't understand that, I can't give him sausage, meat or anything else as a reward without his medicine. Until we found out what was wrong with him, he would have starved to death while we were eating. But with the medicine and the special food, Rusty is doing well, despite his age.

I was driving with my family on a hot, steamy Texas road just after a rainstorm, and we saw a rainbow. As we followed the road around a curve, the rainbow came to the ground on the road in front of us, and in the area where the rainbow hit the road, the mist was a golden color. It remained that same golden color as we drove through it, and then we drove out of it. We were all marveling at the golden glow. We had found the gold at the end of the rainbow! Alas, no pot of coins. Happy St. Patty's Day!

Did not make sense, I thought it was a rat. My lady explained it to me, and explaining a joke ruins it.

Excuse me, I know this is about dogs, but did you know that the Russians simply copied the BMW and Kreidler motorcycles of the German Wehrmacht in WWII, which were identical at the time and which they had lost to Russia? So a Ural is actually a copied Nazi bike. But I still think these are beautiful. But I don't want to get political now, just for info.

EMERALDS, IN THE DARK The Abbott led the monastery by delegation, as does any administrator, but also by example. The Abbott, though Prior and the man in overall charge, could still be found tilling the earth, planting crops, weeding; he could be found taking confessions, as did any of the Brethren; he could be found splitting kindling, manning one end of a two-man saw, he was known to run out in front of a runaway team, staff held before him, a shaven-head warrior in an ankle-length robe in the middle of the dusty street, and at his sharp "HO!" and the upraised, wrist-thick staff, held in both hands in front of him, the team halted -- fast, skidding, dancing, throwing their heads, eyes walling, clearly wanting nothing to do with this figure in Cistercian white with a double handful of seasoned locust persuader! Abbott Wlliam often introduced himself simply as "Brother William," and so it was this day: a young man of his acquaintance asked an anonymous Brother for wise counsel, and a fatherly hand laid upon his youthful shoulder. "I am Brother William," he said quietly. "Sit with me and we'll counsel together." The red-headed son of an Irish fire chief sat down at a small table with a tonsured man in bullhide sandals and a simple, one-piece robe, tied at the waist with a common (but clean) rope. "You're asking wise counsel," the man prompted gently, and the young Irishman nodded. "Before engaging any important task, it is wise to talk to God about it," the Abbot said quietly, and they did: his address to the Almighty was spoken with respect, and spoken with brevity. Young Master Finnegan was especially grateful for the latter quality, for he'd had to suffer through excessively long winded prayers too many times in his young life. "Now, then," Brother William said, dusting his hands briskly together and looking very directly at his Celtic visitor, "what grand wisdom may I dispense this lovely morn?" "There is a girl," Michael Finnegan began, frowning. Brother William nodded, his eyes very direct, his expression intent: it was obvious to his young visitor that he was actually listening to him -- something the Abbott knew was important when discussing a matter of importance with an earnest young man. "Ma father," he said, damning his own hesitancy: "Ma father said he knew his Daisy was th' one, but he'd no' tell me how he knew." Irish-blue eyes looked away, blinking; Brother William knew that active mind was running like a runaway freight, behind those shining eyes. Brother William nodded. "Tell me how she makes you feel," he said quietly. Michael's grin was quick, bright: he sat up a little straighter, his eyes shining with memory. "She makes me ... I want to ... it's like ..." The Abbott nodded, once, patiently, his eyes never leaving Michael's. "I've no' kissed her, I've no' held her ... no' but her hand, an' I was ..." Michael took a long breath, his smile gentle, genuine, the smile of someone remembering a precious, a fragile, a truly beautiful thing. "I wanted t' fly. I was light. I could ha' floated like the Fae, only wi'out wings." The Abbott nodded again, smiling gently: he'd been young, himself, once. "I've no' been improper an' I want t' be wi' her, but I'm afraid I'll want t' ... be ..." "It is a powerful thing," the Abbott agreed in a quiet and gentle voice. "Abbott ... the Sheriff told me a priest once said you canna' bring fire an' straw t'gether an' forbid smoke, an' I know ... if she's th' right one, we'll ..." He looked miserably at the Abbott. "There's s' much I don't know," he whispered. "But if I'm t' be wi' her, I want t' be wi' th' right one, an' ..." His hands fisted, pressed down onto his knees: this handsome young man, torn with passions he had yet to really experience, much less master, hung his head, clenched his jaw, groaned with misery. The Abbott reached out, laid a comforting hand lightly on the lad's shoulder. "Let me tell you about mine," he said quietly. William bowed slightly to the beautiful young woman. She was beautiful, and she knew it: young men sought her out as bees seek out a nectar-rich flower. William placed his delicate glass cup of punch on the table, asked her to walk with him, for there was something he wished to show her. She took his arm. They walked out a side entrance and into the night, into the near-stifling warmth of a Louisiana evening, thick with ancient secrets and jasmine and the songs of ten thousand serenading insects: they walked in silence, her gloved hand wrapped around his forearm, his hand on the backs of her fingers. "There is something I would show you," he said, and she looked at him, her eyes big, dark, almost expectant. Her slippers and his boots were silent on grass, just beginning to gather evening's dew. They stopped. They were not terribly far from the mansion; far enough to be alone, close enough to be on familiar ground. William took her a few more steps, to where they a shed no longer blocked their view. "Elizabeth," William said, lifting his arm, "I give you ... the night!" Elizabeth looked out at his grand, sweeping gesture. Stars were bright overhead, thick and shining; below, fireflies looking like living jewels cast by a petulant giant's child on thick black velvet: a light mist, just moving in, trees and shadows, their margins softened by evening mists. Elizabeth looked at this living tableau, the stars overhead and living stars floating here below. Elizabeth turned and looked at William. She said not a word. She seized her skirts, turned back to the mansion: she lifted her nose, glided silently back to music and laughter and young men flocking about her, leaving William behind in a pool of disappointment. "It was the first time," William said slowly to young Michael Finnegan, "that a girl took my heart and threw it to the ground and walked over it on her way back to the party." Michael thought of his conversation with Brother William as he rode the steam train back to Firelands. That evening, after supper, he went to his red-headed Pa, before the man sat down after supper to read aloud from the Book, as was his habit. "Sir," he said formally, and Sean looked at his firstborn with honest surprise: he nodded, and Michael said, "I would ask your advice." Sean rose and he and his son walked through the house and out the back door. Father and son both had a serious expression; the other children drew back, uncertain whether this meant Michael was going to get a talking-to, or worse: none knew of any offense, but they also knew their father's corrections happened whether they knew what happened, or not. Sean chewed on his bottom lip as the pair stood behind the house, looking into the gathering night. "How can I know if ... Pa, I'm sweet on a girl and how do I know she's the right one?" Sean was quiet for a long moment, then he looked down at the ground in front of his brogans and smiled quietly. Father and son sat down on the back porch stairs and stared into the gathering dusk. "Daisy and me, we went t' a dance," Sean said quietly. "'Twas back in Porkopolis, on th' river, a soft summer night it was. Threatenin' t' rain but it hadn't yet started. "We walked a little an' there was somethin' I wished t' show her." Michael waited while his father rubbed hard and callused palms together, slowly, thoughtfully, his calluses whispering gritty secrets to each other. "I knew of a place. Uncommon beautiful 'twas, grasses an' wild flowers an' untouched, an' we come around a shed an' it looked like ten thousand stars fell t' earth an' gathered in this little run where a stream cut int' the river in a steep little hollow." Sean's hands sketched the river -- here -- the stream, coming in at right angles -- his palms smoothed something invisible, as if caressing the steep sides of the notch eroded by centuries of a stream running into the river from the fertile fields above. Sean's face was almost glowing; Michael marveled at his father's gentle smile, something he knew meant his heart was open, unguarded, and he was sharing something from his past, something precious in his life. "I gave a grand wave wi' m' arm an' said, 'Daisymedear, I gi'e ye the night!" an' her eyes went big, her hands clapped t' her mouth, she grabbed m'arm an' gasped 'It's beautiful,' an' we stood there i' the night, th' both of us grinnin' like idiots, watchin' what must'a been ten thousand lightnin' bugs i' th' dark." Michael tried to imagine it as it must have been: Sean, a strong young man standing beside the dark, oily river, Covington's lights reflecting off the Ohio, his beautiful young sweetheart on his arm; in front of them, a steep, grassy hollow, thick with wildflowers, hidden in the nighttime shadow; among these, greenish-yellow points of floating fires, living lanterns on beetle wings, looking like glowing emeralds cast on a fog-trimmed shadow-blanket. "I knew then, lad," Sean almost whispered. "I showed her somethin' I found beautiful, an' she found it beautiful too." In the fullness of time, Michael Finnegan would grow, and would find the right girl, a girl who found Colorado fireflies as lovely as he: like all young men, his heart would be offered, scorned, accepted, bruised, treated badly and treated well: the right girl became his wife, and he raised fine tall sons and beautiful daughters, and these sons and daughters of Erin would lend their blood and their strength to their land, and their songs would be sung by the generations that followed: but those are tales for another day, and may not yet be told, save only that every generation found again its love of floating emerald stars, magical in the dark, and most beautiful when shared.

No discount because there are no left over supplies taking up space on the store shelves.

I often tell people that I have reached two of the three major goals in my life. They are as follows. 1: I have lived long enough to amaze me friends . 2: I have lived long enough to piss off my enemies. 3: I have almost lived long enough to spend my kid’s inheritance!!!

Suzy came to the church in a see-through blouse leaving nothing to the imagination After the congregation,the priest called her aside and said " you can't come to church dressed like that " pointing at her blouse. "But I have a divine right" complained Suzy. " And you have a divine left too " noted the priest " still you can't come dressed like that "

Minus the helmets, using our mini-bikes and being in a field out of sight of Mom, that was pretty much every day growing up. Regards Gateway Kid

Thanks for the post

.... the diff seal is making a funny sound .......