A cat I called Sugar

When you train racehorses and hang around barns you see a lot of things that others don't. This story is not about all those crazy things or stories that I could tell you.  I will save those for another time.
Growing up I have always loved animals. All animals. But I had a phobia about cats for whatever reason. I always thought they would scratch and bite me. I even had dreams about it. I have been bitten by dogs,  which I have loved as long as I can remember,  but I have never had a dream about it. And I have never been scared of any dogs. I don't know where my cat phobia started but I avoided them at all cost when I was very young.
As the years went by I just seemed to encounter the odd cat here and there,  and as they all seemed friendly, I got over it. Cats are just like any other animal.  if you let them come to you they will be very friendly and loving. There are exceptions to that rule and those ones let you know to back away.
By the time I got my first "real" job running my Uncle's factory I had completely gotten over the cat phobia. I liked cats. Even loved cats. At that time I also had my dog Minnie, a big,  lovable black Labrador retriever, and she would come with me to the factory everyday. Sometimes she would follow me around,  while other times she would just lie around and sleep in my office. Minnie loved all things, no matter what. But she was enthusiastic and did not understand that other living things could be scared of her.
There were times in our backyard at home that Minnie would chase a cat just to play with them, corner them and then get scratched on the nose. Many a time she came back in the house with a bloody nose. That never stopped her from doing it again. She was just lovable and carefree like that.
In my Uncle's factory, they had an old cat they called Maria. The sweetest and most lovable cat you ever met. And very tame. Nothing fazed old Maria.  She would just make her way around the factory, and most times just lie around. She would stand up if you went to pet her,  but otherwise she was very quiet and old. She had to be 15 by the time I met her. Minnie,  being Minnie,  went right up to her and sniffed her out. Maria,  unlike most cats just lied there and let Minnie feel her out.  Minnie licked her on the nose and they were best friends. After a while,  Maria and Minnie hung out together in my office and I got to love cats after knowing Maria.
A few years later I began to train racehorses and my first stop was the barn of Joe Gasparro. I only knew of this place because a co worker of mine, Don Altman, knew Joe from way back. They were both in their 70s while I was barely 30. Joe was different. Very different. He kept the barn although there was no one using it for a few years. There was shit all over the place. Cob webs everywhere. Old junk and vehicles everywhere. When I brought my horses there to train I was the only tenant. Most of the time I was there by myself. Joe had some horses,  but they lived outside and didn't really need any care. He put one big bale of hay out for them and they ate that for weeks before he had to replace it. Other than that there was one cat,  they called her "Mama". In the days when that barn was full of tenants,  she had quite a few litters of kittens.  Hence her name.
Mama was also a very sweet loving cat. But she was scared of dogs.  Many a late night after I had worked all day and trained the horses until dark,  I would be alone in the barn. Just me, the horses, Minnie and Mama. Minnie would chase Mama but she could never catch her. Mama was older but she was very fast and she was not about to let Minnie or any other dog eat her. She had survived barn life where most cats maybe lasted a year or two. Mama was a very sweet cat, and when Minnie was not there she would also follow you everywhere and fall asleep on your lap.
After a few more stops I ended up at a barn just north of where I lived.  It was a good place to be, in that I knew a lot of the people there and cut down on my travel time. When I first arrived one thing was very plain. There was a lot of cats. More than thirty. The female ones were constantly becoming pregnant. There was also varying degrees of friendliness. Some cats were very friendly, others gave you the time of day but mostly because you fed them, while there were a few who were very feral and would not ever let you touch them.
I have always been the type who could relate to any animal and get them to come to me. There was one cat in the barn,  a cream colored female, who had lived longer than the average cat would at a barn. She was about 3 or 4 years old. She was pleasant enough but no one had ever touched her and she was very careful to make sure you never did. It was commonly held that no one would ever touch this cat. I maintained I would get her to sit on my lap while I petted her, which sounded like a pipe dream to everyone else.
Most barn cats have trouble staying clean and their coats become dirty..or matted..or unsightly. Not this cat. She was immaculate. It was as if she was a house cat and was brushed every two hours. Unlike many barn cats she was also very healthy and maintained a nice healthy weight.
About 3 or 4 months went by and still I had not touched her. She would come up close to me and it was clear she wanted to be friendly, but she was not trusting enough and had a fear of humans. Because I was very animal friendly,  she felt safe to live in my tack room, which really was just a stall. That is what we used for tack rooms. When I was in their tending to my equipment or feed, she just lay there, comfortable enough to just relax. But if I got too close to her, she got nervous and if I got within petting range she was set to scurry out of the room. She would never hiss or threaten you like some barn cats who didn't want to be handled would, but she definitely was not going to be handled.
As summer approached it was very hot and we got to sitting down more, both in the barn and outside in the shade. At times this cat, which I had now named Sugar because she was so sweet, would just about brush up against my leg. As long as I didn't touch her, she now had a comfort level to do that. At times I would have my hand inches from her back and she would not move. However as soon as I made the slightest contact she would still scurry off. This went on for about another month. Winter was now approaching and smart barn cats that stay alive learn to find warm blankets to sleep in at the barn. Sugar had learned it was okay to sleep in my tack room on two or three blankets. I never gave her a hard time like other guys in the barn who did not want the cats in their room or messing up the blankets.
Each morning I would see Sugar and she would now brush up against my leg. Still no contact with my hand,  but as I got closer now,  each time she would not shy away.  I knew it was a matter of time until she would let me pet her. Her guard was now down and she trusted me.
As I was sitting in my tack room one winter day, Sugar was rubbing against my leg and my hand was loosely on her back. She was not moving. All of a sudden, she just hopped on my lap and sat there. Complete trust. She let me pet her and she moved her head into my hand. The barriers were completely gone. The cat they said no one would ever touch was now friendly. Not with everyone, but with the ones she knew she could trust.
For weeks she was the friendliest and most loving cat in the barn. I went to race out of town for a few days and when I came back I noticed she wasn't around. I asked others what had happened to her,  but of course they didn't know.
Being that it is a barn any number or things could have happened. Hit by a car. Killed by a fox. Just run away. Anything could happen. Usually though, you would find a body somewhere. That never happened with her. About two weeks went by and I was cleaning my tack room and I lifted up my blankets, the ones I was not using.
Deep under the blankets I found Sugar. She had died about 2 weeks earlier. I suspect she froze to death. It was a sad ending after all we had been through to gain that trust.
The cat I called Sugar. At least she died having learned to trust. Many barn cats came and went over the time I trained horses. Many were friendly and nice, but she is really the only one I remember. She will never be forgotten. I hope,  wherever she is that she didn't forget me.

The Power To Stop

 hey hey hey it's a beautiful day.

It was a nice sunny day and I had chores to do. One of them was mowing the lawn. I had weeded the grass on the weekend, so now it was time to cut it and make it look polished.

I have mowed the grass hundreds of times in my life. It is the same every time. Back and forth. Nothing special. One end, then turn around, and back the other way,  until it is done. I love the look of a freshly cut lawn. It is just pleasing to the eye. It is one of the reasons I love golfing in the spring.
 
The birds were lurking all around. Chirping and flying all over, it was a feast for them. We just had the first hard rain in months and the worms were rising to the surface.
As I mowed the grass that day, I noticed the dew on the tops of my running shoes.  Because it was August and the heart of a very hot, dry summer, the ground had sucked it all up and the grass was mostly dry. But, the worms were rising to the surface. They always did on days like this. Of course, I am not stupid. I know as I mow that I am killing all sorts of things. Little bugs, ants and, of course, worms. What I didn't get, the birds would. It is a jungle out there,  survival of the fittest,  and all that.
 I am sure that I step on thousands of worms as I mow my lawn. And, I have killed many thousands of ants, worms, flies and mosquito's in my lifetime. But this one time,  I stopped to adjust the cord on the mower. As I did that, I saw a tiny worm, squirming as it rose to the surface, the dirt that lay cover to it now unfurled. A tiny worm, who's brief and totally insignificant life now hung in the balance. 

Of course, this worm probably had no clue that it's life was now hanging in the balance. It isn't human and doesn't have the thought processes that we do. Or does it?

 Maybe worms, and other small creatures,  like bugs and ants, are capable of higher thought processes. Do they understand fear? Can they compute impending danger?
I started to think they could.
And then he spoke to me. The power of the voice of the worm spoke to me. He became a feeling, living thing. He just wanted to squirm, to toil in his soil. To exist. To have the life, albeit brief, that he was born to have. He asked me to spare him, to think of him, to be sympathetic to his feelings. He had a family to consider. I should think of that.
 I never had before, but now I was. I had all the power. He had none. I was a man, a big man. Big enough to just step on him, and end his life. So much power.
Men have so much power. When I say men, I mean humans. Men and women. We can so easily hurt, and kill with the power we have.

 "think it's time we stopped, hey,  what's that sound, everybody look what's going down."

 And that power isn't just brute force. We have the power to love, and the power to hurt with love.  We have the power to enrich hearts and to break them. We can destroy with war, or we can try to resolve with peace. We have the power to figure out a better way. Those are great powers, but most of us never think of the power we have within us. The power to stop. Yes,  I could easily step on this worm. What is one more worm?
 The power to stop. I realized my ultimate power was the power I had within me to stop abusing the power I had.

"war, what is it good for,  absolutely nothing." 

 The greatest power I had was not to kill, but the power to stop myself from killing. I had rarely used that power, the power of a thought process that aims to do good,  to create life,  to preserve life,  rather that to destroy it,  crush it,  take it.
So, I exercised my ultimate power, my greatest power. The power I had that day was not to kill a worm, but to save a worm. Just one worm, but one worm who would likely produce thousands of worms, and thousands of worms who would go on to produce millions of worms. My power was now creation, not destruction.

"think about it, there must be higher love."

 I let him live, and in some way, I am sure I will  reap the benefits that karma will bring me for that.  Maybe he will do what worms do. Whatever that is. Whatever their purpose is,  I am sure that I will get the benefit of letting him get that destiny.

How much power do you have?

How much do you want to have?

Would you reject it if it felt like too much? 

I know I have the power to do great things, now that I realize the power I have is not to destroy, but to enrich..and create.

 "All we are saying is give peace a chance."

The good times of the dark night

It was a dark night. I loved a dark night. You never knew what was out there. It was so peaceful, yet so dangerous. Rarely did you come across anyone, and you could really collect your thoughts. It was always my preferred time to go for a walk. It still is to this day.
I walked Minnie almost every night. Late. During the daytime, she was so friendly and had to stop to greet every person and dog she saw. The night walks were the only way to get her to walk continuously. Late at night, you could just walk and walk and hardly come across anybody. We used to go for an hour at least. By the time we got home, she was content and just hopped on the bed and slept.
She loved to be off the leash in the park. Late at night that was never an issue. During the day it always seemed to be.
She loved me so much, and was attached to me so much, that even though she wandered off to do her own thing, if she got too far away, she would come tearing full speed in the middle of the dark night to come find me. If she didn't, all I would have to do is call out her name and she would come running.  We had done this hundreds of times and it never failed.
Until this night, when it did.
I guess I was too overconfident.  You can get like that when you are younger. I had seen a lot of bad things in my day, but I still thought that no matter what I did, things would always work out for me. Because they always had. We made our way to the park,  which took about 20 minutes. As soon as we approached the opening to the park, she started to pull and swell up. She knew I was going to turn her loose. I barely had the leash off of her neck when she tore away and began to explore. I walked my usual circle around park, and she knew where I was at all times. Dogs have a very good sense of sight in the dark.
Of course, I had no clue where she was. She was a pitch black dark Labrador Retriever and could not be seen in the the park with no lights of any kind.
At the time, I was heavy into the writing of songs, and I had one in my head. As she was now a dog that was getting older, I wondered what I would think of when she was no longer there. It would only be 6 or 7 years at the most until that would happen. We had her since she was an 8 week old puppy,  so basically her whole life,  and most of my adult life. It was hard to think of my life without her. I had made several moves since I moved out of my mothers house, and she was always the constant. She slept on the side of my bed and pretty much made every move I made. She even came to work with me in most of the jobs I did. We were attached at the hip. Girlfriends came and went, but Minnie was always there.
How would I respond to her not being there? I thought that, as with most things I had lost over the years,  I would remember the good times. We had so many good times, that would be easy. There were also some very interesting stories that were attached to her, and some with not so happy endings, but even still, mostly everything about her was a good time. I told myself that when the time came,  I would remember the good times.
I even wrote and finished that song and have it in a drawer somewhere. But that was a song.  This was real life and she was still here,  live in the flesh with many good years ahead of her.
I continued my walk around the circle of the park.  I was more than 3/4 of the way around,  and as of yet she hadn't come tearing towards me. That was okay. I knew she would at some point. Anyway, how much trouble could she get into in a dark park at 1am in a nice secluded neighborhood? Not much, I told myself.
I reached the end of the park and still no adoring dog by my side. I called out her name. Still nothing. I did that 3 or 4 times and then I began to get concerned. So I began to walk the park, but much more briskly, and with a sense of purpose. But, if she was out there, she wasn't coming. This had never happened before, so I really had no clue what to do. I continued to walk and call for her, but there was no response. This went on for about 20 minutes. I started to think she got distracted somehow and maybe headed towards home.
Heading towards home meant going down the street.  Going down the street meant the possibility of cars. Even though it was late and there would not be many cars, it would only take one. She was used to walking down the middle of the street, and she was black as the night, so getting hit by a car was a real possibility.
I decided I would head home. She didn't seem to be in the park,  so there was no point staying there. When motivated, it was only a 10 minute walk for me to get home.  I took the route we always took, in the hope I would come across her. I didn't.
I knew one thing: She had not been hit by a car. At least there was that. I got home and got in my car and started to drive the neighborhood. Still no sight of her... either way. Of course by now my mind was racing. That song I had written was now starting to come true. She could be gone forever. For a brief instant at home before I got in the car I had thought to myself that I was fortunate to have had the 8 years I had with her and I would hold on to that if she was truly gone forever.
But that faded fast and I headed out to find her. I had driven the neighborhood 5 or 6 times and nothing. I was now back home, but she had not made her way there either.
Now what?
I thought maybe I would go out on foot again. It was now 2:30am and I wasn't giving up until I found her, one way or the other.
Minnie was always a happy go lucky dog and nothing really fazed her. I kept walking and then I heard a rustling. I moved towards it. And it was her. She was digging into a garbage can scrounging for food. She always did that.  No matter how old she got, or how much I fed her fat self,  she always had to dig up garbage. She was a sweet lovable dog,  but her manners were always very suspect.
I called to her, but she paid me no mind. Except to wag her tail. She was forever wagging her tail. That was her. That is one of the good times I always remember, her wagging her tail.
As I approached her, she turned towards me and gave me that look "Oh, Hi, look what I found in the garbage can". She stood still while I put the leash on her and we were on our way home. No big deal to her. She didn't seem to know or care how much danger she was actually in.
After that night, I kept her closer to me, but even still, I still let her off the leash to run free. She was a dog, and she needed to do that. We never had a close call after that night, and she was never lost again right up to the day she died, 7 years later.
I will always remember that night,  and all the good times with her. Even the bad times were happy memories with her.