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The ADVANCE, Morch 24, 2021 /Page 5A
OPINIONS
“I honor the man who is willing to sink
Half his repute for the freedom to think,
And when he has thought, be his cause strong or weak,
Will risk t’other half for the freedom to speak.”
—James Russell Lowell
editorials
Animals Are Smart
This morning,
as I stepped into
the closet to select
clothes to wear for
the day, I instantly
heard the sound of
our golden retriev
er’s paws clicking on
the hardwood flooring as she rushed toward
the closet to stare at me. She waited for me to
make my decision.
Let me explain.
Our dog, Cali, runs into the closet every
single morning and smells our pants while
we are dressing.
If I pull on a pair of worn sweatpants,
she sniffs them, wags her tail and trots away
knowing that I plan to work from my home
office all day long. She’s fine with that deci
sion.
If I choose a pair of dress slacks, she
takes a sniff, gives me a look of deep betrayal,
then retreats onto the bed and sulks. Dress
pants mean that I am leaving the house for
the day — without her.
If my husband puts on a certain pair of
jeans, Cali smells them, then like a locomo
tive, she charges through the house to the
laundry room door and repeatedly jumps
upward on her hind legs like a horse in a
motion we refer to as, “Hi Ho, Silver.” She
knows that when Gene dons a particular
pair of jeans that he is most certainly going
somewhere in the truck, and she almost al
ways gets to tag along — not in the back of
the truck like ordinary dogs, but straddling
the interior console of the truck like a child
riding a carnival ride. Riding in the truck is
one of her favorite things in the world, and
to say she gets excited is an understatement.
I’ve reported this strange behavior to
family members and friends.
“Cali smells our pants in the morning to
determine what’s on the agenda for the day,”
I’ve said.
They usually look at me like I’m in need
of mental health counseling, but it’s true.
Those of us who have pets know that
dogs and cats listen to our every word and
watch our every move, looking for patterns
in our behavior that will predict what we are
about to do. They have mastered the art of
interpreting our body language to forecast
what will happen next in the world.
In other words, animals are much smart
er than a lot of folks think they are.
Zot, a large male golden retriever who
died a few years back, loved to ride in the
truck, too. On any given day, I could sneak
into the kitchen, and gently pull out the
drawer containing our car keys as quietly as
I possibly could, and he would somehow
hear me and rush to the outside door. When
our nephew, Alex, visited, he’d stand in the
kitchen and pull the drawer open over and
over again, just to watch Zot dash by like a
wide receiver charging down the field with a
football.
Our little blind cat, Crash, can somehow
predict when he’s going to the vet for booster
shots or to be boarded. I’m not sure if he can
smell the cat carrier or if he has learned that
if I go down to the basement (where I keep
his carrier) and return a minute later, that it’s
probably bad news for him. He retreats to his
fort underneath our bed.
When I was growing up, we had a gray
cat named “Puss” who stayed outside most
of the time. Mom fed her canned food every
now and then, and Puss connected the sound
of the automatic can opener to meal time.
When she heard the grind of the can opener,
the cat ran across the yard and jumped high,
perching onto the screen of the door and
crying, which drove my mother crazy. Puss
eventually ruined the screen with her claws.
Two years ago when my sister-in-law
visited, I spelled out, “T-R-U-C-K,” in our
conversation, like I was teaching a toddler
how to spell.
She gave me a weird look and asked,
“Why did you spell out, “truck?”
Like a bolt of lightning, Cali ran to the
door and started her whole, crazy “Hi Ho,
Silver” routine before I could warn her not
to utter the word.
“We have to spell it out or Cali gets her
self all worked up,” I said.
And the truth is this — Cali can spell
now. I have to refer to the truck as, “that
big green vehicle in the driveway.” So far, so
good.
Cali will continue smelling our pants in
the morning and looking for cues about the
day ahead. Just because she cannot speak or
read does not mean she cannot think. She’s
an intelligent, remarkable being, and she
sure makes life interesting.
From the Porch
By Amber Nagle
LETTER TO THE EDITOR...
Community
Concern for the
Future of the
Wellness Center
Meadows Memorial Medical Center
Health Corporation of America
Although it is sad to lose our local
hospital as we have known it, the public
has been assured that there will be many
benefits to a large entity, such as HCA,
taking over. However, I have some things
on my mind which also concern several
friends. Giving credence to rumors and
speculation is a waste of time and only
brings resentment and confusion and is
not really my style anyway.
The topic here is Meadows Wellness
Center. Several years ago, I was referred
to the Wellness Center’s Physical Thera
py Center and have needed it more than
once. When therapy was completed, I
was told the pool in the Fitness Center
would be very beneficial to my joints and
spine. Arthritic problems that plague so
many of us at a certain age-and younger-
benefit greatly from water exercises. There
are many benefits and minimal, if any,
joint damage.
In the classes I attended, our instruc
tor didn’t let us stop one minute for a
solid hour with varied types of exercises
that targeted different parts of the body.
As a result of these classes and the special
camaraderie that flowed between us, it
was almost difficult to tell if the wonder
ful benefits were more physical or men
tal. Both are essential to the well-being
of seniors, especially. In addition to the
pool offerings, there were exercise class
es conducted sitting on chairs for those
who needed that, as well as other types of
classes. And, in the weight and track room
many Senior (and non-senior) men and
women worked out diligently. Some were
moving into Dementia, and the social and
physical benefits were clear. We were all
strong, healthy and happy.
Since the Covid shutdown, we have
all gained weight, lost balance skills and
strength. There have been falls and other
injuries that didn’t happen while we ex
ercised in the pool. We are stiffer, slower
and feel more fragile; and, some of our
sense of purpose and fun are missing. We
have heard that the Wellness Center will
be closed permanently and are very up
set. In his letter in the paper several weeks
ago, Mr. Kent stated that HCA would be
very mindful of the needs and well-being
of the community, and that was reiterated
last week in another letter. The closure of
the Wellness Center is far from consider
ing the needs and well-being of the com
munity and will be detrimental to very
many.
If it is true that the Wellness Center is
slated to close permanently, please, please
reconsider and think hard about the Se
niors in the community. If it is not true,
that is great news.
Respectfully,
Hallie Leach Webb
Alley, Georgia
From Birdfeeders to Poets, There
Is Always Something to Celebrate
We are
winding down
the first quarter
of2021 andI am
holding my
breath. After all,
it was the first
quarter of 2020
when the world
as we know it
became a world
we didn’t know
at all and one we are still trying to come
to terms with.
So far in 2021, we have observed
Black History Month and Women’s
History Month. The emphasis given
these two observances have tended to
overshadow other noteworthy
celebrations such as National Bird-
feedingMonth - but not in mybackyard.
Move over, Harriet Tubman and
Bella Abzug. You have earned your
place in history, but don’t forget the
robins and bluebirds and woodpeckers.
Their lives matter, too.
It costs a king’s ransom but I
purchase a birdseed so hot that squirrels
won’t touch the stuff. It seems that birds
don’t have taste buds and squirrels do.
This has made the squirrels very angry
with me. I think they would like to chew
my nose off. Not only that, but given all
the flapdoodle over election results in
Georgia, I completely overlooked
National Squirrel Appreciation Day
(Jan. 21.) Maybe next year.
March is also Irish-American
Heritage Month. The first two weeks of
the month are dedicated to getting
ready to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, and
the last two weeks are devoted to getting
over St. Patrick’s Day.
April is a biggie. First, there is Arab-
American Month. For some reason, it is
not observed by the U.S. government,
just a few states and some school
districts. I had better leave this one
alone. Arabs don’t strike me as having a
funny bone. The last time I jerked their
hijab, they didn’t take it very well.
National Poetry Month is also in
April. The Academy of American Poets
said it was inspired by the success of
Black History Month and Women’s
History Month and wanted in on the
action. (“Blacks and Women have had
their due. Let’s now have a shoutout for
poets, too. Burma Shave.”)
Confederate History Month is in
April. That used to be a big deal in the
South with cotillion balls and Stephen
Foster songs, but not anymore. The
politically-correct police have pretty
much put the kibosh on that stuff.
Anyone caught whistling “Dixie” will be
sent to reeducation camps in the
People’s Republic of Portland. Truth
squads will comb the region looking for
statues of Jed Clampett and Boss Hogg.
Instead of Southern hospitality, we will
be required to talk loud, say
“Fuhgeddaboudit” and refer to each
other as “Meathead.” I am not looking
forward to April.
May is Asian-Pacific-American
Month, as well as Haitian Heritage
Month, as well as Jewish American
Month, as well as South Asian Heritage
Month. That about covers the gamut,
except for Kazakhstan.
Kazakhstan might want to take a
look at August. We’ve got LGBT Pride
By Dick Yarbrough
Month in June and National Ice Cream
Month in July, but nothing in August.
They need to move before Uzbekistan
finds out.
Gospel Music Heritage Month
occurs in September. Can I get an
amen? While the PC police and their
posse are trying to stomp out everything
Southern, they had best not mess with
gospel music. I know for a fact that God
likes Bill Gaither and Hovie Lister,
Vestal and Happy Goodman and the
Blackwood Brothers (Roy, Doyle,
James and Roy’s, son R.W.) a whole lot
more than He does a bunch of narrow
minded twits trying to rewrite history
to suit themselves. Can I get another
amen?
In October, we’ve got Italian-
American Heritage Month, Polish-
American Heritage Month and Filipino-
American History Month. If it is too
hot in August for Kazakhstanis, they
should check out October. That’s a nice
time of year, but they had better hurry.
We are running out of months.
November is Native American
Indian/Alaska Native Heritage Month
and, more importantly, the annual
Birthday Bash, when great-grandson
Cameron Charles Yarbrough and I are
saluted for our significant contributions
to personkind and snarf down a lot of
ice cream and cake.
December is pretty much wide
open. Maybe Kazakhstan and
Uzbekistan could split the month
between them. I doubt the rest of us
would know the difference.
That pretty much covers the year
2021. Looking ahead to next year, I am
hoping to find space on the calendar for
Humor-Impaired Month, a time to
recognize liberal weenies, Trump
grumps, overpaid and irrelevant
professional athletes, anybody who
chooses to live in Malfunction Junction,
aka, the City of Atlanta voluntarily and
British royalty. It is long overdue.
You can reach Dick Yarbrough at
dick@dickyarbrough.com; at P.O. Box
725373, Atlanta, Georgia 31139 or on
Facebook at www,facebook.com/
dickyarb.
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