Speaking of someone to rescue, I had a weird moment yesterday.

I was in my kitchen, which has a window overlooking the alley outside my garage. This little road serves the garages of about 60 condos, so it gets plenty of traffic.

I ate a peach, or most of one; it was a little gone in spots. I wiped the counter to keep it nice and clean. Looking out the window, I saw a baby. Alone. My brain did a little hiccup. I wiped the counter a little more, looked down again and said, Oh God there is a baby toddling around down there alone. A little girl, about one year old, with very dark hair. All by herself, right in the middle of the road.

I hurried down the stairs. She was wobbling to the east, around the building. She saw me and stopped. I asked her “Where’s Mommy, Sweetie?” There’s nobody around, and I didn’t have a cell phone or anything. I’m hesitant to pick her up: what it somebody sees me now and gets the wrong idea? It’s a sick world, and people steal children.

Just as I’m about to pick her up, or at least try to take her hand, her big brother comes around the corner of the building, looking for her. He’s about nine or ten. I said, “This belong to you?”

He says, “Oh my goodness. Thank you.”

I said, “She was in the street.”

“Oh my goodness,” again.

Thank God it ended quickly and well. A weird little blip in an ordinary day of an aging peach for your afternoon snack can suddenly go so wrong. Everything that matters is so fragile.

Steve Lopez has some clear observations on the disaster. I disagree with him about the dog. God sends you a dog to rescue, you save it. That’s what I’d do. Of course, I wasn’t one of the people out in the boats, so I acknowledge very little right to criticize.

Fret Over the Dog? Kids Need Help First – Los Angeles Times

Michael Brown sent an e-mail to his family and friends this week, complaining about how he’s being treated by we the people, our elected reps and the media. Poor baby. It’s stressing his family too. I’ll bet we can find a few other families in the US who are going through some stress lately. You think?

It’s simple. He’s not a victim, he’s a guy with a good job he’s no good at. In those circumstances, one’s incompetence tends to draw the ire of others. Especially if you screw up and let people suffer and die. People get annoyed, and in the real world one might get fired.

This guy is just a self-centered asshat; it’s all about him, not about the countless victims of Katrina whose lives he failed to save or even slightly improve. But what is it with Bush? Why can’t he fire anybody? It’s easy, you call him into the Oval Office and say, “Heh heh. Look Brownie, we’re gonna hafta let ya go. You need a box fer yer stuff?”

Losers. I think even I could do a better job as president than Bush, and I’m sure I could do Brown’s job a whole lot better. And that’s saying something, since I’m not remotely qualified for either one. But that doesn’t mean much anymore, does it?

cookie time

Happy came to sleep over and keep me company last night. I’m gradually getting used to being alone, but it sure helps to have friends.

Today is the day I’m going to remove Tasha’s little blue bed — we always called it her boo-bed — from my bedroom, wash it and put it away. So here’s a poem by Tasha. She wrote it early in 2004, when Rascal ,one of her doggie friends and a Pomeranian like Happy, passed away. It reflects the passing of a dog into spirit and arrival at the Rainbow Bridge.

DOG SONG

My song begins at sundown
when the twilight wind comes up.
A cold wind, brushing
my hair and my tail.

Butterfly light is shining.
Butterflies lift me at nightfall,
and nothing hurts me now.
Look, the light is brighter than …

See the little dogs come running!
See the bigger dogs come running!
See the kitties and dogs come together,
and all the animals singing.

by Tasha
based on a Pima Indian song