15 miserable years

Bread line in New York City in the 1930s.

The last year and a half have been unpleasant due to the Kung Flu and political conflicts. And then I think of my parents’ generation. A year and a half would have been a godsend for them.

Their bad times were immeasurably worse, and they lasted 15 years, not our measly (so far) 18 months.

We have a pandemic that’s affecting fewer people than one would think, thanks to modern mass communication and the ratings-mad news media. The political situation, in my opinion, is worse if you consider the long-term.

In Mexico, we have a doofus demagogue who can hardly speak correctly. In the United States you have a senile old codger propped up by an oligarchy. In Canada, there is a metrosexual, politically correct fop of a prime minister who’s in office entirely for being good-looking and having his father’s name.

But all of this is a walk in the proverbial park compared to what my parents endured. First a decade of the Great Depression and then five years of world war. So far we have it mighty good. What’s down the line is another matter, but count your blessings. You’re not in a blocks-long bread line or lying dead on Omaha Beach.

1944: The sad casualties of war — husbands, fathers and sons.

Guts gets styled

Guts goes metrosexual.
Guts goes metrosexual.

THE DOG NAMED Guts got himself a haircut, a bath and a tartan cloak. Following this transformation, it was revealed that Guts is a schnauzer. Who knew?

We first mentioned Guts here a few days ago, including a photo. Guts’ life has changed a lot in the past few days. First off, my sister-in-law decided to keep him, which delighted my nephew immensely, and how not? Who wouldn’t want to keep a dog who’s a gentleman, a scholar, a football player and — now — a metrosexual?

First, a local fellow who trains and grooms dogs was called, and Guts was carted off for an afternoon in what might be considered a dog spa. He came back transformed, a new man. Alas, his bath apparently took place with frigid water, and Guts came down with a cold the next day.

But it only lasted two days. Guts is sturdy. And it resulted in his receiving a tartan cloak because Gus was not accustomed to being bald on so much of his body. He was a hairy, street mutt.

I have learned more of Guts’ story: Over two years ago, a relative of an employee in my sister-in-law’s business received Guts as a gift. The gift was unwanted, so the recipient gave Guts to the employee. But it turned out that the employee’s young son is allergic to dogs.

So Guts was put out on the street in front of their house. He was still fed and watered out there, but he was not allowed into the house. Guts lived pretty much alone on the street for two years, though fed.

Somehow Guts ended up visiting my sister-in-law’s business downtown last week. He got along so well with everyone, the employee said: Keep Guts. And they did.

I’m no dog person, but Guts is incredibly amiable. Even my child bride, who refuses even to pick up a dog because it gives her the willies, is partial to Guts. Guts has winning ways.

And now he has a new home, a haircut, a bath, a tartan cloak for warmth, and soon he’ll be getting his shots. He also has a doghouse cut from a big cardboard box. It’s just inside the business, next to the human bathroom.

Good for Guts.