Nothin but a Hound Dog

     I checked my blog email this morning and found that I’d received several letters.  Sorry I haven’t responded; I hope to do so tonight or whenever I can go home.  If you have written to me, please don’t take my lack of response personally.  Things have been WEIRD the last few days.  

      I caught one of my students plagiarizing.  Thank God I caught him before he turned in the essay.  Now I’m in between a rock and a hard place because the student doesn’t want me to talk to his parents about it, but his parents are paying my fee and if the kid flunks his summer school course because he plagiarized wikipedia, Mom and Dad are going to sit me down and ask me–with all justification–“What the hell are we paying you for, Miss Margo?”

     This situation cannot be resolved to the mutual satisfaction of all involved parties.  I anticipate I shall be terminated.  Everyone pays.  Even for the things they didn’t do.  If I have learned anything on the great toll-road of life, it is that. 

      It’s not the end of the world, of course, but I’m not looking forward to it, and I’m used to the $100 a week.  

       Speaking of the great toll-road of life, remember that photo of my father I wrote about in my Father’s Day post…?  The one of him as a little kid…?

         Here it is–I took a photo of it.  I’ve re-discovered many interesting photographs recently because I’ve been Spring Cleaning and reorganizing my household.  Maybe I’ll put some of them on my blog.

     Anyway, this image should be safe to post–I believe it is the only one in existence. 

      I noticed something new in the photo…something I’d never seen before.

      See the dog underneath the porch…?   You can see the nose and bright eye peeping out just underneath the second step. 

     My father remembered that dog, a mixed-breed hound.  He felt compassion for it (to his credit, I never saw him treat any animal with anything other than friendliness and respect).  Like most dependent and vulnerable creatures, that hound’s experience with my grandfather proved to be wretched and invariably lethal. 


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