SCENE NINE

To bring you up to date, Rusty is still the apple of my old man eye.  I raised two of the finest kids ever to live on this planet.  Life continues and you encounter events and people (and animals) who change your life.  As we move on, evaluation of success and the repercussions of your life are the only issues that matter as, in death, you leave this planet.  Sorry, I am ranting!

Rusty and I have developed a habit.  Our habit is to walk/run a four to five mile route every night.  We begin between four and five o’clock in the evening.  We vary the route daily, but ultimately end up near five miles.  This habit is very healthy for both Rusty and I, generally!

Last week end, a huge thunderstorm was off to the east and I saw no reason to cancel our daily routine.  Storms in the Temecula area, generally move northeasterly.  Rusty and I jumped in the pool, as the temperature was near 100 degrees.  The water dump usually helps for about an hour.  For you who think, dog abuse, Rusty lives for our daily adventure.  We departed in our normal direction and all was well.  I unleashed Rusty, thirty minutes into our journey, as we were off the main roads and our only control; areas were crossing two to three streets, as we continued into an undeveloped area of fields and trails.

We heard a distant thunder and Rusty slightly accelerated our hike.  This is not uncommon, as Rusty accelerates and decelerates according to the senses sucked into his little nostrils.  Soon, I woke up to the fact that Rusty was aware we were being chased by a dangerous enemy.  As soon as I woke up, we changed route, and headed home.  Pouring rain began several minutes later and the war was on.  I had leashed Rusty, when I sensed his uneasiness.  Under leash control we were still accelerating forward.  Rusty’s goal was to get us home alive.  He dragged me two miles, with short cuts, all the way home.  Needless to say, thunder and lightening, as well as pouring rain is a time to be at home under the damn roof (Rusty’s thoughts)!  An Omen occurred the next day, when someone very close to me said, “Did you pick him up and carry him home?”  I thought, Huh!

The next day, the thunderstorms were distant and Rusty was excited about the afternoon adventure.  Apparently, the shock of the on slot of the big storm a day earlier was forgotten.  We departed the house with plenty of water and emergency supplies.  It was four-thirty in the afternoon, the temperature was 103 degrees.  We did our pool, jump and headed out.  Two miles into our journey, after several blasts of Rusty getting an errant gopher, we began to slow down.  Our usual stop every hour for water and a short break was somewhat abnormal.  I shut us down and tried to give Rusty a drink and he did not want anything.  We continued for several more yards and Rusty decided he was going to take a break under a bush.  Now remember, Rusty is black and more influenced by the solar effect.  I am not dense, but my love for the heat and sun tends to taint my perspective.  I realized my best friend was willing to stay under that bush while I went home.  In our pack, I have a wet towel wrapped in plastic wrap.  I pulled out the towel and wrapped it around my friend, rerouted our trip and carried him, wrapped in a wet towel the two miles home.  At home hibernation in the bathroom was the goal of the next few hours.  Once the thunder was past, life as we know it came back.

I apologize if you are a new listener.  Any of my followers understand, I am a long winded story teller.

This afternoon, we began our northerly route through the badlands.  As we turned toward the open meadows, we passed a home with an open garage.  Two, large German Shepard’s bolted from the open garage.  As they approached Rusty and I several yards away, with orders from their handlers telling them to return, I pulled Rusty close to me.  When the enemy arrived, I picked up Rusty and held him to my chest.  As the dark Shepard dove toward me and Rusty, his teeth barred, tight in my arms Rusty met his teeth with the enemy’s.  After the noise of gnashing of teeth, I kicked the dog, and the handler finally got control of his piece of shit animal.  I carried Rusty for a few yards, made sure he was not injured and we moved on to the remainder of our daily journey.

I told Rusty, it is fact of existence, things happen in threes!  We should be able to enjoy our journey’s uneventful for the next few trips.  As we returned home, I could not help, in perspective, but review our nation’s destruction.  Third time is a charm is far from the facts of events we have allowed.

Rusty is fine, by the way and we still are carrying out our daily excursions into the field.

Please stay tuned.

Get informed: www.infowars.com

The information war will continue.

Signing out,

West Coast American Imperial Resistance