Hummingbirds Come Home, Miss Daisy The Water Dog, Republican Pit Bulls, Sophia And The Sailors

Greeting to all and welcome new friends to the EastWing.

WOW! I never knew there were so many hummingbird lovers in the world. Seems I’m not the only one who’s got little spring time friends. And not the only one who awaits the return of such friends when the weather turns to the warm side. Such special little friends of mine, those hummingbirds of summer. And for all those who’ve asked did my hummingbirds come back to the EastWing, they have.

They came back right on time, June 4th about 3:30 in the afternoon was the first time I saw ‘em looking for a meal out there in the south garden of the EastWing. It sure didn’t take me long to serve up the juice, and within 10 minutes dinner was being served to my little Brown Eyed Girls. The Hummingbirds were back in the valley, and life was good. Once again this year, we’re being blessed by their presence in the south garden of the EastWing. I love those little Brown Eyed friends of mine. Those pretty little hummingbirds.

That first day in the garden, she just drank the nectar. On day two the little feller came by and the dance was on. Don’t know if ya’ve ever seen the dance of the humming birds or not. If not, you’ve missed one of the more beautiful rituals in nature. It’s all in the air and it’s all at high speed, it’s at hummingbird speed. They’re both hover craft and jet plane combined into a small package, a little package the size of your thumb, and there’s two of ‘em, hover jets dancing in the air. To bear witness to the dance of the hummingbirds is truly a gift from God.

Four hummingbirds come to eat at the feeder all day long. Every fourth day, it’s a new jug of special hummingbird juice. That sugar and water and red stuff that hummingbirds eat, it’s what I put in the feeder. It’s what keeps ‘em coming back to the EastWing. That and the Maple Tree which affords such shelter for hummingbirds. Pretty little springtime friends of mine.

To me, it seems difficult to comprehend how anyone could observe the dance of the hummingbirds and not believe in God. But guess if ya only heard of such things, and never seen for yourself. Oh well, even Thomas doubted. And we all know how that doubting Thomas turned out.

For those who’ve been asking about the adjustments into the life of the EastWing for Miss Daisy James, thank you for your concern. I’m pleased to say, she’s a pain in the butt for me and the She, for the Gray Lady, Bentley and Sophia, and Spike The Man Cat. Yeah, Miss Daisy James is starting to fit right into the EastWing. If I scold her the least little bit, she runs and jumps on my bed in order to hide from me.

She’s a water dog, Daisy James, goes swimming most every day, sometimes two or three times, most every time she goes out, it’s smack in the middle of the swimming pool, just as far as she can jump. It didn’t take Daisy long to realize that I’d dry her off with towels after swimming when she came into the EastWing. She now thinks I condone swimming in the pool. and as such, I’m thinking this dog is taking advantage of my kind and gentle nature. She comes into the EastWing soaking wet and stays on the one spot of ceramic tile until dried off. Oh well, could be worse, she could shake water all over the house. She does not, just hangs out on the ceramic tile by the door, till the dry towels come her way.

Of late Sophia’s had a field day with both Bentley and Daisy James. First she convinced Bentley the president eats dogs, he said so himself, then when Daisy shows up and she repeats the story ‘bout the president eating dogs, and now Sophia has, what she considers to be, Staffordshire Terriers on the “R” side of the equation. The cat just never stops.

As many of you know, every Wednesday Evening I write a letter to the troops in Afghanistan. It’s different from anything I’ve ever said on Sunday Nights. A different language, a different crowd, a different world. Should I make a mistake and send you the Wednesday Evening letter, you’d be appalled. If on FaceBook, you’d unfriend me in a heartbeat. A different language, a different crowd, a different world. Young men and women that protect my freedom to live in the EastWing without fear of what I say or do. I point his out for a specific reason. Last week I received a most disturbing email from Afghanistan. It simply said “BobbyRay can you tell me why in the F*#@ we’re still here in this God forsaken place when our “Commander??? In Chief???????” has given up the fight?

Shewwww. I don’t have an answer to this email. I just don’t. I don’t know why we put young men and women in harm’s way and then announce when we will withdraw from combat and still leave ‘em there. The answer to the email wasn’t an easy thing. Sophia, setting on the back of my seat and reading the screen in front of me, recognized my struggles with trying compose a response, and volunteered her thoughts on the question from Afghanistan.

And ya can just imagine what the cat had to say. Sophia just said what Sophia had to say to the troops in response to the question, in the vernacular the troops could understand. Unabashed, the cat spoke to the young soldiers in their own language, using their terms, not mine. It was reminiscent of the opening sense from the movie “Patton” as Sophia walked back and forth across the computer table, ever gaining strength and momentum as well as volume. It was hard to keep up with the pace of which she spoke, but I think I got the jest of what she had to say to the troops.

She told ‘em what the F*&^ she thought of the current administration’s Afghanistan Policy and the abandonment of those still left in harm’s way in that God forsaken, arid part of the &^%$#@% world, in that piece of *(&^%$#@ crap called Afghanistan. She told the troops how she thought the %^$#(*& White House was leaking security information in order to make the@#$#%^& president look like a tuff guy, a (&*^%$# John Wayne, or General Patton kinda guy, but was in reality looking more like the $%^&*@^ Dumbo kinda guy he really is for being unable to handle the#@$%*&$ job of commander in chief, and for not knowing what the *@&% he was supposed to do to get the job done in the first f*^&%$% place.

Sophia told ‘em how, back in the day, when she operated the Cat House, there on the South Side of Chicago, and those convention goers who all came from the National Association of Community Organizers Convention, going on up there in downtown Chicago, there at McCormick Place, how they all came to the Cat House on the south side, how she was almost sure the president came to the Cat House, but how she can’t say for sure, if he came or not, ‘cause all those@&^%*&# community organizers look alike to Calico Cats.

Are you familiar with the old saying “Curse Like a Sailor”? I didn’t even know Sophia could swim, much lessen do the sailor talk. She can, like a Sailor. And not only can that cat talk the talk, she can walk the walk, ‘course we’ve all know for a long time, about that Sophia walk. Damn Republican Cat.

Stay safe in Afghanistan.

From the EastWing, Hummingbirds Come Home, Miss Daisy The Water Dog, Republican Pit Bulls, Sophia And The Sailors

I wish you well,