Halloween XXIII: The Return Of Michael Myers’ Cousin’s Roomate’s Cat

…insert spooky piano music and meow here

I did not plan for this to go up on Halloween, as it is neither spooky or funny, but this is how things work out. I’ve been meaning to write about this for years.

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The Final Goodbye

Let me preface this by saying that I do not at all believe in the supernatural, from the existence of ghosts to God. I don’t believe in any of it. Dead is dead.

That being said, I do understand I could be wrong and would be interested in any concrete scientific evidence to the contrary. So far, none exists.

What I do believe in, backed up by mountains of scientific evidence and personal experience, is that the human mind deals with strong emotions in endless ways.

The emotion I’m going to talk about is grief and how my mind deals with it.

And I’m specifically talking about grief after losing a non-human companion.

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ROSCOE

In 2005, our first dog, Roscoe, died. He was old for a basset, nearly 16, and had health issues that only got worse in his last couple of years. His death was not unexpected, but still hit us very hard.

It was 18 months before we felt ready for another dog, at which point we adopted Daisy Ann (November 2006). A month later, we adopted Winker Sue (December, 2006). They filled a huge hole in our hearts.

In that 18 months before we adopted Daisy & Winker, I thought about Roscoe often, but I never had a dream about him or really felt that final moment where you really let go. I just sort of rolled along. After we got The Girls, I thought about Roscoe somewhat less often. I was dealing with two rowdy dogs and life and such.

But in February of 2007, just before I was due to go to Dundracon, I was sitting in the living room late at night when it happened. I was very tired and had just looked at The Girls sleeping in front of the TV when I saw something out of the corner of my eye.

It was Roscoe. The front door was open a foot or so and he gave me a doggy smile and a little woof. Then I heard him say, “You’ll be okay now, boss. I’m outta here.”

Then he walked out the door, which shut behind him.

I jumped in my chair, no doubt coming fully awake. Everything was totally normal. The Girls were still sleeping, the tv was still on the Food Network and the house was otherwise quiet. At that point, I felt tears running down my face and said “Goodbye, Roscoe”.

From that point on I felt a weight lifted from me. I still thought of the old boy, but I wasn’t sad. Even on the first anniversary of his death, which is always terrible, be the deceased human or NHT, I was not as sad as I expected to be.

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DAISY ANN

Fast forward a bit less than two years and we lost Daisy Ann to cancer. She was just over 6 years old and Grace, Winker and I missed her. I had been taking nightly long walks, sometimes up to 5 miles, with Daisy and I called her My Old Walking Partner. After she died in early January, 2009, I stopped taking nightly walks. My heart was not in it and Winker was not inclined toward long walks.

But after about 3 months, I decided to start taking walks again. For a couple of weeks, I avoided the streets that Daisy and I walked, but one night I set off on our favorite walk, just to see how I’d handle it.

I got about 4 blocks from home, at the intersection where we usually paused to decide which route to take, when I got the very distinct feeling that a dog was beside me. I looked down and just for a fraction of a second, saw a black & white blur turn down one street. I did not hear a voice, but I got the overwhelming feeling that I was supposed to keep walking while Daisy went off on another route.

I walked for well over an hour non-stop, crying for the first few minutes. After that night, I felt okay about taking walks in that area.

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WINKER

Winker was born with a pretty bad heart murmur and when we adopted her at age 2+, the vets from UC Davis told us she would never live the average 10-12 years that bassets usually do. We accepted that and loved her very much. She was our little one eyed sweetie.

In 2011, she nearly died from congestive heart failure, but with medication and love, she pulled through. However, the vet told me that her time was limited, with maybe one more year. As it turned out, she died just a few days over a year later, going downhill rapidly over about 3 days.

When Winker died in February of 2012, we had had Lucy for almost 3 years and Sasha for 2 months. That and knowing that Winker was on borrowed time tended to lessen the hurt. Having been through what I now called “The Final Goodbye” twice, I waited for Winker to do hers.

And I waited. And waited some more.

It was 6 months later, in August, that it happened. It was a Saturday morning and I was sleeping in. Grace was out on some errand and Sasha & Lucy were asleep in the living room. Then I felt a dog lick my hand (which was hanging off the edge of the bed) and I heard Winker’s distinctive whine. I was waking up when I heard her happy bark. Of course, she was not there, but I still cried a bit.

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LUCY LOUISE

 

Lucy was a mental mess when we got her. I have written about that before, so I won’t go into it here, but by the time she died from lymphoma, in August of 2013, she was much better. She had issues with most other dogs, but she loved Grace and I like crazy.

We had about 4 months to come to terms with her impending death, but of course, it is never easy. The fact that we adopted Daisy Mae just a few days after Lucy died did a huge amount toward healing us.

About two weeks after she died, I saw a dog that looked very much like Lucy at the dog park. For a variety of reasons, I had taken Sasha and Daisy there early in the morning and for even more reasons, I was about 3 days into some seriously shitty sleeping at night. I was pretty tired and a bit punchy and I still missed Lucy.

Turns out, that was the perfect formula for that dog to sort of morph into Lucy, but a happy and unafraid Lucy. She was running and barking having a great time. It lasted maybe 30 seconds and then I blinked and that dog was not Lucy, but I felt pretty happy. Sad, too, and still punchy, but happy. I took The Girls home and had a 5 hour nap.

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Silky Dawn
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It took just a bit less than 10 months, but early in the morning on September, 8^th, 2019, Silky said her final goodbye. It was around 4:45 in the morning and, like all weekday mornings, Grace was up and tending to Sasha & Luke. As often happens, the dim sound of her talking to them in the living room woke me part way up. I was in that sort of hazy state of not quite sleep when I felt my hand on her head. Silky’s fur was longer, thicker softer than any of our other bassets, and the fur I felt was hers. I rubbed her ear for a moment, then heard her say, “I’m sorry about Daisy, Daddy. I love you.”

Then I woke up, crying and missing my girls terribly. After a few minutes, I fell asleep again. When I woke up at 9:00 am. I felt a bit sad, but also glad to know I had dealt with Silky, at least partially. In 5 days, it will be the first anniversary of her death, and I think maybe it will go somewhat easier than previous first anniversaries.

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So that leaves Daisy May. I’m not sure I’ll get a final goodbye from her before the one year mark. Unlike any of the other dog’s, I feel guilt over her death. It is almost certainly unwarranted, but it’s there. I feel pretty certain that her goodbye will help with me getting over the guilt, but it’s going to be a battle of two sides of my brain until then.

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Update from November 16^th, 2019
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Luke died about 2 weeks ago, on November 2^nd. His health had declined rapidly due to Cushing’s Syndrome, so our vet did the right thing by him. Losing three dogs in just shy of a year has done a number on Grace & I, so I have no idea how long it might be before our boy says his final goodbye.

Crazed Paramecium Tickled My Rotifer

…those of you who didn’t major in biology can look it up

Life On The Magic Bus

Chapter: REDACTED due to being out of temporal order

Winker’s final bow
Things go cattywonkers

Winker Sue Clay was a month past her 18^th birthday and knew her time was up. 18 was old for any dog and especially old for a basset hound that had been through the adventures she had been through. Now, her life was near it’s end and that was ok. One of the good things about being a dog, and there were many, was that you knew when your life was coming to an end from old age or illness. You felt the weight of it, your appetite decreased and you found that your energy was seriously diminished. You looked forward to the Long Sleep, as some humans called it. But unlike humans, you did not fear it, even if, like Winker, you were as smart as a human. One of the advantages of never having invented religion.

She had spent that morning saying goodbye to Sasha & Daisy, who, like all dogs, were sad to see her go, but would not grieve overly much. Daddy, by contrast, had cried and said goodbye at length. You’d think that a man who had terminated several humans as part of his spy job would have been more pragmatic about death.

Well, actually, he was pragmatic about humans dying, just not about animals. To this day, he felt bad about the time he had to kill a huge killer guard dog in a Chinese secret chemical plant. Later, he found the man who trained the dog to be so vicious and dropped him into a tank of acid after telling him “this is for the dog”.

Anyway, once she had finished with Daddy, Winker got in the car with Mom for a drive way out into the boonies. She had told everyone that she wanted to die in the old way, alone and out where nature could return her to the earth. So now, she and Mom stood beside a trail that was about half a mile from where the car was parked on an old logging road. It was a pretty area to do this thing in. She sat down and looked up at Grace.

“I can feel the Energital wearing off. Won’t be more than a couple minutes now.”

Grace looked at her, sorrow and something else showing on her face.

“This reminds me of Roscoe, when he left us after 22 years. I can’t help feeling sad.”

Winker nodded.

“I just wish it wasn’t so damned hard on Daddy. He stayed drunk for a week after Roscoe went.”

Grace petted her and said, “Well, I don’t think he’ll do that this time. He’d had Roscoe with him since he was 17. He’s older now.”

“And wiser?”

“Hey, let’s not go all crazy here.”

They both laughed at that.

A few seconds later, Winker laid down on her side. Her breathing became shallow.

“Here we go, Mom. I love you.”

A tear rolled down Grace’s cheek as she said, “I love you too, sweetie.”

Five seconds later, Winker stopped breathing. Grace took a deep breath, then looked at her watch. It was 11:38 and 40 seconds in the morning. She looked back down at her girl and started counting off seconds.

18 seconds later, Winker started to glow. Within a few seconds, she was glowing so brightly that Grace had to look away.

It took a minute longer for the glow to fade so Grace could look back, much longer than it had taken with Roscoe. What she saw caused her to gasp, then giggle. Oh, this was going to be fun to watch.

The creature formerly known as Winker opened it’s eyes and blinked twice.

“That took way too long. Why are you smiling? I feel smaller? Collar is WAY too large. Am I a chihuahua? No…feel fluffier. A Pomeranian? I’ve wondered about breed switching. Sex switching was bad enough, even if bitches are superior. Wait…is that cat I smell? No! Kitten! Did you bring a kitten here?”

Jumping up, there was a quick visual and nasal inspection.

“I’m a fucking CAT! A CAT! No, not even a cat yet…a kitten. Oh shit! It must have been those gene samples Sasha and I spilled. Well, could be worse. Could have been an echidna or an opossum. Don’t think I could stand being an opossum. Uglyass fuckers. Hey, look Mom, I have testicles and a penis again! Welcome back, boys! I knd of missed you. Ooh, look, retractable claws. Handy!”

By this time, Grace was laughing pretty hard. The kitten kept talking.

“Nice colors…not a ginger, but I look like a little tiger. Short hair, too. I’ve never much liked long hair. Sense of smell is moderately crappy. So is hearing. Oh well, maybe the improved night vision will make up for it. Wait, I’m going to have to learn to use a cat box, aren’t I? That sucks.”

Grace picked up the kitten. She had thought to bring several sized collars with her. She chose a small and rather butch looking one and put it on him.

“So, sweetie, cat body aside, how do you feel?”

He looked thoughtful for a minute, then said, “Less sciencey, more adventurey. Rather badass, actually. Probably turn out more narcissistic because I’m a cat. Feeling pretty male again, which is kind of like going home. I suppose the rest will gel over a few days or a week. How old do I look?”

Grace studied him. “I’d say 10 weeks or so. Old enough to be on your own. So how do we play this?”

He thought for a minute. This was the tricky part. Grace had shown up two weeks after Roscoe had “died” with a 9 week old basset puppy that she told Doc she had seen in the local shelter. She had said the pup was due to be euthanized. In reality,Winker had been hiding out in a neighbor’s barn. Despite it being so soon after Roscoe, Doc had taken to the puppy immediately.

“I think I need to test this body out for a bit. How about if I meet up with you all in Milwaukee during GenCon next month? You can find me in the alley next to The King and I. Sneak me out some softshell crab.”

That seemed like a good idea to Grace. This whole regeneration thing always seemed to require a shakedown cruise. She had no doubt that this time it would take the next five weeks.

“Ok, sweetie. We’ll see you at the con. Take care of yourself. Make sure you lose that multiversal translator before then.”

She hugged the kitten, then set him down on the path and started to walk to the car as he went in the other direction. After about 5 steps, she turned and called out, “Hey, pick out a nice new name, okay?”

The kitten turned back to her and said, “I already have. Call me Flash.”

R.I.P. Winker Sue Cross (2004-2012)

…our sweet little Winkerdog

Yesterday, February 23, 2012, at 9:30 pm we said goodbye to Winker. After pulling through from congestive heart failure brought on by her enlarged heart almost exactly a year ago, she had a relapse that we could do nothing about. She died at home, on the floor next to Grace’s chair, not long after Grace had petted and talked to her.

Even though, from the very day we adopted her 5+ years ago, we knew this day would come, it still came way to soon.

The best veterinarians in the world, at UC Davis, had looked Winker over back then so the Yolo County SPCA could put her up for adoption. They determined that she had a pretty severe heart murmur, which besides precluding ever putting her under anesthesia also meant that she had slim odds of living the average Basset Hound lifespan of 10-12 years. Besides all of that, she had slightly deformed front legs and her skull was not up to Basset standards. Also, she had lost one eye as a puppy. A pretty hard life for a dog who was barely 3 years old.

But when Grace and I saw her picture online, we knew we had to give this sweet little girl a loving home. We adopted her knowing that she was living on borrowed time.

Winker turned out to be one of the sweetest tempered, friendliest and most loving dogs I’ve ever known. She liked everyone and was always wanting to say hello to people, animals, whatever. She did not have a mean bone in her body. Everybody liked her.

She was our little comedian, our rowdy little wrassler, our little sneak thief and our baby.

She was our Winkerdog and we will always love her and miss her.

Goodbye, Winker. You were a very good girl.

The Mysterious and Tense, Yet Somewhat Psychedelic, Story Of Mostly Purple Patty And The Meatloaf Of The Damned

…co-starring her best buddy, Orville Sweetcracker

Doc Update

Time for an update about life here at the D&G Cross Home For Wayward Basset Bitches. I haven’t been doing these as regularly as I used to, so maybe this will be the start of renewed personal updatage. Or not.

Healthwise, I’m now taking blood pressure meds due to my previously excellent BP going a bit high recently. I’m only taking half a pill a day, so I guess I’m not in danger of keeling over any time soon. I’ve also been told that my blood sugar is “nearly into the pre-diabetic range”, which pretty much means “lose some weight, fat boy!”.

Grace’s low level diabetes has cranked up a notch, so she is taking pills now and keeping a much closer eye on her numbers with twice daily tests. She has lost something like 75 pounds over the last year or so, but will keep on losing until things improve.

Winker is still taking her blood thinner and her diuretic, so she is doing pretty darned well for a dog who was so close to death just about a year ago.

Lucy and Sasha are as healthy as can be. In fact, our efforts to fatten Sasha up just a bit (she was very skinny when we adopted her) have not been as successful as we hoped. Being a “sporty” basset, she just burns off calories at a hell of a rate. Still, we have gotten her to a point where you can’t see her ribs.

Jobwise, things are still the same, which means we will be on our Adventure In Poverty until we either get fat raises or win the lottery.

One speed bump in our financial road will come when I am off work after my shoulder operation in March. That will be about 6 weeks, depending upon how well my physical therapy goes. Things will be very tight on the money front for awhile.

Gardenwise, I don’t know if we’ll have a veggie garden this year. Between the goofy ass weather (as in NO WINTER!) and my surgery/recovery, we’ll probably just have a couple of tomato plants and maybe some green beans.

In gaming news, I’m looking forward to my annual trek to Dundracon. It will be good to be immersed in geekdom and hang out with my tribe for a few days. Beyond that, I’m planning on getting my gaming group together in late April for some regular roleplaying again. I’m not sure what genre we’ll play in, but some sort of Pulp Era game sounds good.

Hark! I hear certain hounds telling me that it is time for walkies. More bloggage soon!

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After The Change Came: Series 2

Sin On Horseback

Once again, I haven’t written in a week. This time, the reason is that Doc and I have been drafted by several Wizards to go off on some cockamamie road trip looking for, as they put it “signs of something troubling”. Did they know what the signs would be? No. Did they know what the troubling thing might be? No. Did they know who the hell was behind these signs of troubling crap that Wizards didn’t know anything about? Hell no! They just told us to head northeast from Sacramento starting at noon on Tuesday, which we did. On horseback. Well, actually, muleback, since Doc prefers mules to horses.

Not that these are just any mules, don’t you know. Sirroco (Rocky) and Bellflower (Belle) are, Smart Mules, born of the first Smart Horse and Smart Donkey. Unlike many brothers and sisters, they get along very well. Unlike most mules, they are both fertile, so one day if they find mates, they could produce more Smart Mules.

So far, our trip has taken us way up into the Sierras, where besides freezing our asses off, we happened upon the remains of an abandoned lakeside village that had burned to the ground some months ago. After a bit of sleuthing, we determined that it had been torched on purpose, almost certainly by magical fire.. Doc, ever the Nature Boy, also noted that there was a very faint trail leading west. We followed it down into the foothills, passing areas that might have been camps last summer. At one of these camps, I found some large footprints in what had been mud, but was now nearly hard as rock due to our dry winter.

The footprints were nearly as large as Doc’s feet (which means long and very wide) and whoever made them probably weighed in excess of 200 pounds and wore soft leather footwear. Doc looked at those footprints a long while, then went to a pond about half a mile away. When he came back, all he would say is that his spider sense was tingling and we needed to pick up the pace.

That was yesterday and this morning we lost the trail after coming to an intersection of two paved roads. After thinking a bit, Doc decided to turn north for a bit, which is why tonight we are staying at a small hotel in Chico. I am so glad to have a hot shower and a real bed to sleep in. Unlike Old Yellow Eyes, I’m a city boy. Camping out is fun about once or twice a year…in the summer. This winter camping and riding all day is nuts. My poor ass feels like it has been hit by a truck after six days in the saddle. I’m also not too happy to have to dress all butch for a week or more.

Unfortunately, my complaints would fall on deaf ears even if I could find a Wizard to bitch at. Doc understands that this isn’t my preferred lifestyle, but we appear to be onto something big and he’s all in thinking mode, so it would be wrong to bother him. I guess I’ll just slip into the nice warm bed and sleep until the inevitable too fucking early o’clock wake up call.

More bloggage soon.

The Way Funny, Yet Also Deeply Insightful, Story Of Mostly Purple Patty And The Giant Popcorn Ball

…co-starring her pet jerboa, Dennis

Holy Crap, Batman, An Actual Blog Post!

Hopefully, this will get me back to regular posting. First up…

New fiction up over on the fiction blog! It’s the Second Series of After The Change Came and it’s not written by the alternate Doc Cross who did the first one. Of course, anybody who hasn’t read the first series might get all confused, so that one will be available in it’s entirety on the Dociverse web site (http://www.thedociverse.com/#axzz1fDhhS3mH) in just a few days.

Healthwise, the injection of steroids that the Orthopedist gave me a week ago seems to finally have taken effect, since my arm/shoulder is much better now. Still not 100% and I had to postpone an MRI today due to a panic attack, but I will be back at work as soon as this work restriction is over on Tuesday. A good thing, too, because cabin fever was making me crazy.

In other health news, Grace has fully recovered from her broken arm and Winker is feeling better after a rather debilitating session of being in heat. Lucy is, as always, physically healthy while mentally she is our little Neurotic Nelly.

I am on Twitter as DocCross now, so you can follow me and stuff

I may well be on track to run two official games at Dundracon this year. I’ll know more in late January. If you come to the con, try to get in one of them.

Gotta go hit the sack now. More bloggage soon, my little hamsters.

The Secret War Between Refrigerators & Ovens

…it’s a very slow war, but full of vicious taunts

Still playing catch up on the Doclopedia posts. I think these two bring me current or maybe one ahead.

Winker is still hanging in there and mostly sleeping and mostly not eating on her own.

The Doclopedia #209

Lawmen: Deputy Mark Lindale

Deputy Lindale has been a sheriff’s deputy for 7 years, but he has been a mutant since puberty. He’s way faster, stronger and tougher than any normal human. As you might imagine, this has sometimes come in very handy on the job.

Even though he has been tempted to become a masked vigilante, Mark has resisted. He figures living one life is enough of a pain in the ass. Besides, masked vigilantes have a terrible benefits package and the job often ends in death.

Mark is 32 years old, single and ruggedly handsome. He doesn’t have any one steady girl, a fact his mother reminds him of frequently. His dad just gives him a thumbs up. When he’s not driving a police cruiser, Mark is riding his Triumph motorcycle through the Sierra Nevada mountains.

Mark has met exactly one other mutant in his life, the world famous serial killer Buddy Ray Cutter. Buddy Ray has the power to move at three times normal speed, which helped him elude the police and butcher people in record time. What it didn’t do is protect him from one of Mark’s punches. Now Buddy Ray is in prison…until he figures out how to escape. Mark knows this and has pretty much decided that if Buddy Ray does escape, he might have to go vigilante after all.

 

The Doclopedia #210

Lawmen: Chief Constable Wilfred Tilden

Wilf Tilden is the head cop in the small village of Bogsby. Located “a good two day’s walk from anywhere interesting”, Bogsby is the center for weirdness in Great Britain. Strange shit happens there with great regularity. Ghosts, aliens, strange animals, werewolves, mad scientists, monsters…sooner or later, they all visit Bogsby.

Fortunately for the locals, Wilf will have none of this supernatural carrying on disrupting things on his watch. With the aid of his 2 junior constables, Viv and Peter, he investigates things straightaway and sorts them out. In some cases, this can be as simple as helping an alien gas up their spacecraft with liquefied sheep dung. Other times, a foul creature from the nether regions must be captured or destroyed. All in a days work for C.C. Tilden.

When he first took this assignment, 20 years ago, Wilf would file reports to Scotland Yard, but after a few years, they asked him to stop. It seems they didn’t want to know what was going on if it involved anything paranormal. On the other hand, Wilf has struck up a very active email friendship with a U.S. FBI agent.

Wilfred Tilden is a man of average looks, standing 6′ 2″ tall and weighing 190 pounds. He has light brown hair, brown eyes and wears wireframe glasses. He is married and has 3 adult children and 2 grandchildren. In his spare time, he likes fishing and gardening.

It should be noted that Wilf, while not completely fearless, is very hard to scare. Additionally, after 20 years at this job, absolutely nothing surprises him anymore.

 

 

AFTER THE CHANGE CAME

A Day (Or Three?) For Wizards

I’m told that I’ve been gone since early in the morning on Tuesday, but it didn’t seem that long to me because I WAS IN WIZARD TIME! For those of you who have never been yanked out of your regular life and summoned to a Wizard’s home, time does not pass the same there. I would have sworn that no more than three hours passed.

Anyway, I had breakfast and a meeting with four Wizards who informed me that I’ll soon be joining a couple of other Speakers for a diplomatic mission in a location I’m not at liberty to disclose just yet. I argued with them, but arguing with Wizards is like pissing into the wind.

Shit! So much for taking a few weeks off. Well, at least the breakfast was good.

A Night For Overdoing Things

Oh man, am I ever hammered! Also, filled up with tasty barbecue and pie. Our Community Center had a big wingding today/tonight (that would be yesterday, actually, cos it’s after midnight) and Grace & I attended. Actually, the whole family attended because Roscoe & Lily were there, too. Oh, and our friend Avis was there, cos she came to visit us for the weekend. Avis is a Traveler, which is a pretty rare type of mutant who can go through a door in one place and step out a door anywhere else on earth. If there is a door there. And if she knows there is a door there.

Anyway, we all ate and drank (ok, Grace doesn’t drink alcohol and Avis had like, one beer and Lily doesn’t drink alcohol and Roscoe only really likes single malt scotch, which there was none of) and danced and sang and did all sorts of fun stuff. Mostly, I’m so hammered because out neighbors Dave and Shelly (who are Brewer Gnomes. Surprise!) brought a couple of kegs of Dave’s Bad Dragon Porter, which is just about strong enough to get a troll shitfaced.

It’s great to go to these community things…much better that it was back during the pre-Change times. Nobody talks politics or any of that shit and all the food is organic and everybody is ok with everybody else, pretty much.

Ok, I’m off to bed. Any spelling corrections were done by my Computer Guide, Sin. Did I ever tell you that Sin (short for Sindell) was my school roommate for 7 years? And a swell guy? And a drag queen starting about year 4? But straight…hoo boy, was he straight…and the chicks dug him! Boy laid more pipe than a plumbing contractor. Women dig a hot looking guy who could rock their world AND give ’em makeup and fashion tips. Oh, and his real name wasn’t Sindell, it was Ian. Great guy. Sucks that he died, but at least he’s alive in cyberspace.

Ok, really off to bed now. More bloggage sometime soon.

 

Here, Hold This Jackhammer For Me

…it was a TOON game, so things went badly for the holder

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NOTE FROM THE FUTURE (November, 2019): I don’t know why I didn’t post about Winker sooner this month, but she really recovered well once the pills the vet prescribed kicked in. She was 90% her old sweet self and would live almost exactly one more year.

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Ok, I owe y’all (and myself) some Doclopedia posts, so here we go with Lawmen Week.

The Doclopedia #206

Lawmen: Marshall Galzea Ovir

Galzea Ovir is the daughter, granddaughter and great granddaughter of lawmen & women. So well known is her law enforcing family that many criminals just give themselves up if they hear that she is after them. Galzea has been Imperial Marshall of the Greenwood district of the Marposian Empire for 5 years now and the crime rate has plummeted.

Galzea is a 5’4″ woman of mixed human/elvish ancestry. She keeps her greenish blonde hair short and usually wears mithril armor. Her favored weapons are a longbow for distance and a broadsword for close up work. Besides being an extremely proficient fighter, Galzea is also a third circle wizard and a rather talented theif. She usually rides a well trained gelding horse named “Storm” who has been taught a number of useful tricks.

When traveling around her district (which is 200 miles across from east to west and 90 miles from north to south), Galzea is often accompanied by her deputy, Quilosh Dhuul, a Siriptan axemaster.  If she needs more backup than Quilosh can provide (and that is a rare event), she will bring along Kanday Blayze, her best friend and a wizard of the seventh circle.

 

AFTER THE CHANGE CAME

A Day For Returning To The Blogosphere

Yes, friends & neighbors, after 3 years of no blogging and precious little internet activity (or gaming or writing or anything not involving international/interspecies relations) at all, Uncle Doc is back with a new blog. Gaia willing and the creek don’t rise, I should be blogging a few times a week for the next few months. My old blog got lost in the web somehow, but my computer guide, Sin, tells me that he’ll get it archived again Real Soon Now. I’m not holding my breath.

So, to get everybody back up to speed, I’ll post an introduction this time and then on my next post I’ll tell the “Second Honeymoon Story”, mostly to let the younger folks know from my very personal point of view how we all got this way and also because most of my good friends really like hearing it.

Anyway, the inevitable Introduction.

I am…

…57 years old (but when The Change came, my body got reset to about 18, so I’m now looking 30)

…male

…a Mutant (I’m a Speaker)

…of Irish, Portuguese, Scottish and Native American ancestry, in that order.

…married (36 years now, to Grace, who is a Green Lady)

…a Dad to Roscoe, a Smart Dog and to Lily, a Smart Cat

…a brother (first to Rosie and Kelly, then after the Change to Hank, Bob, Violet, Pansy and Merle)

…a son (to Bill and Gerry, who are young Gnomes now)

…a graduate of the Hobart School for Young Ladies and Gentlemen (even though I’m neither of those)

…a native Northern Californian (a fact I am both proud and rather smug about)

…a gamer (all sorts of games, but mostly roleplaying, computer or board)

…a game writer/designer (but nowadays, isn’t everyone?)

…a writer (ditto)

…an Official Diplomat for a wide array of local, regional and continental governments (because there are like, only two other Speakers in all of North America. Also: not nearly as glamorous a job as you might think)

…a movie buff (all the movies ever made are on the internet now? See you in a year or ten!)

…a big fan of science fiction, the old pulp adventures, humor and horror (see the above statement about movies, but swap books for movies)

…an avid birdwatcher. I used to be an avid gardener, but when your wife is a Green Lady and your mom is a Gardener Gnome (NEVER call them “garden gnomes”!), you start feeling inadequate.

…an uncle (8 times over, not counting my honorary unclehood to friends children)

…a pretty damned good cook, when our House Elves will let me in the kitchen

…a tea drinker (especially Gnomish Gold and good old Oolong)

…a beer drinker (especially Guinness Extra Stout and Wild Wizard Ale)

…a redhead (lifelong, but now a really metallic red that sets off my yellow eyes, or so I’m told. Both are part of the whole Mutant package)

…a dedicated con goer (Grace and I go to at least one con per month, from the small & cozy local SacCon to the really big ones like GenCon and WorldCon.

…a pretty funny fellow (according to friends & family)

 

A Day For Hating Fools

Ya know, like most everybody, I like Gnomes. They’re helpful and hardworking and fun as hell to hang with. Also, much of my family gnomed out during The Change, as did pretty much everyone else’s families.

But April Fools Day is like their species holiday. They just go nuts with pranking. Simple pranks, elaborate pranks, just plain goofy pranks…they do ’em all and in my family and my neighborhood, I seem to be the Grand Prize Pranking Target.

This year, even my normally serene and earth motherly wife got in on the act (shoes glued to the floor, bathroom turned into a jungle), as did my supposedly loyal children (leaking tea mug, whoopie cushion)! I can’t even imagine what my parents, siblings and other relatives have planned for me.

And it’s only 9:00 in the morning.

I think I’ll start drinking early.

A Day For Recovering

I seem to have over indulged on the scotch yesterday, as I’m feeling less than 100% today. Around 34%, actually.

All of the April Fools wackery has been undone, including the spell that kept causing my pants to fall down to my ankles, so all is right again here at the farm. Hank even moved the chicken house to a better spot before he removed the legs from it. The chickens seemed pretty thankful for that. My mom swears all of my clothes will be their proper colors in a day or two.

Grace has some big mental conference with the Ten Thousand today and Lily doesn’t feel like going out, so Roscoe suggested that he and I go hiking. I think we’ll go walk along the American River and maybe cross over the Sunrise bridge into the oak woods to the south. I’m thinking I’ll take along some cheese and sausages for us to snack on. Plus iced tea. Gotta have iced tea.

More bloggage later.