Author: Mark Alexander

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An Observation

People are still apparently asking if 45 can be disqualified from office via the 14th Amendment. At this point I see no way of that happening unless the person who is designated to swear the bastard in refuses, citing that same 14th Amendment…and even then it's highly unlikely.

In my heart-of-hearts fantasy, 45 is at the podium and about to take the oath (which we know means nothing whatsoever to him) and the FBI arrives on scene, handcuffs him, and carts him off. I know it will never happen, but it's nice to fantasize.

"People" say something has got to be happening behind the scenes that we're not privy to; that there's some master plan in the works to prevent Trump from taking office. While that gives short-term emotional comfort, I seriously believe anything is happening.

No my friends, I fear we're stuck with 45 until the Grim Reaper shows up to take him away. Whether that means President Vance or President Musk afterward remains to be seen, but it doesn't really matter. We're fucked regardess.

The small solace I take in this whole clusterfuck is that the Republicans are already refusing to kiss the ring, are infighting, will hold the absolute slimmest of majorities in Congress, and basically can't pull their heads out of their asses. The Democrats—at least for now—seem to have grown something resembling spines, and are standing up for our Democracy using all the tools at their disposal.

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R.I.P.

Sammy
May 5, 2009 – December 14, 2024

Sammy entered our life on May 3rd, 2014 via The Dumb Friends League in Denver. He wasn't our first choice; the staff warned that the doggo who brought us into the shelter was a handful and required 24/7 supervision. After hearing the details Ben and I agreed that we couldn't provide the level of care the boy needed and asked who else they had available. They suggested Sammy, and brought him in.


It was love at first sight, and Sammy came home with us that afternoon.

We don't know his history with any degree of certainty before he became a member of our family, but I do seem to remember being told that he was voluntarily surrendered by an older gentleman who couldn't keep up with or care for him. He was a little skittish at first—not really sure of what was going on—but he soon warmed to us and became integral to our lives.

While he loved us both, over the years I very much became his human, and later in life he was always by my side (or at least at my feet) whenever he could be. Sometimes I swore he was trying trip me so I'd fall and end end up being home with him all the time.

But these past few weeks have been difficult. He developed a horrible honking  cough last month that became chronic. While there was no direct x-ray confirmation, based on his symptoms the vet strongly suspected a collapsing trachea (a pretty common malady for small breeds) and coupled with his age and the fact that no evidence of anything else was ever spotted it was the diagnosis we ran with. While the collapsing trachea could not be cured, we nevertheless tried various ways to lessen the symptoms; the only thing finally bringing some brief relief was a combination of Trazadone, Gabapentin, and Hydrocodone. The coughing was generally controlled on this regimen, but he still had breakout periods (usually happening at 2-3 am) that were horrific. The downside of this drug cocktail was that for a pup who was so full or energy and vigor up until this time, he was either sleeping all the time or so out of it when he was awake that his quality of life was non-existent—and that was no way to live. As much as we were reluctant to let him go, after one final trip to the vet last week, Ben and I talked it over and decided it was time to let him cross The Rainbow Bridge.

To that end, we contacted Angel Veterinary, who came to the house today, and while I was holding him, lovingly helped him on his journey. Ben and I are both devastated, but we know he'll come back to us in a new body when he's good and ready—and if he misses us half as much as we're missing him now, that won't be long.

Godspeed, Sammy.