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Send a letter to the editor to P.O. Box 1600, Dawsonville, GA 30534; fax (706) 265-3276; or email to editor@dawsonnews.com.
DawsonOpinion
WEDNESDAY, October 10, 2018
This is a page of opinion — ours, yours and
others. Signed columns and cartoons are the
opinions of the writers and artists, and they
may not reflect our views.
Importance
of journalism
to be celebrated
In case you haven’t noticed, this is
National Newspaper Week. The theme this
year is “Journalism Matters.” Yes, it does.
I wouldn’t be doing this if I thought other
wise.
You will read a lot of things in this paper
but not “fake news.” You can’t get away
with that kind of stuff locally. You will
catch us at the
grocery store or
gas station or a
football game
and make us
explain our
selves. That
keeps us on our
toes to get it
right and should
give you the assurance that what you read
is accurate.
We are not the “enemy of the people” as
Donald Trump harrumphs. That is a dan
gerous thing to say in a democracy.
Thomas Jefferson mused that if he had to
choose between “a government without
newspapers or newspapers without a gov
ernment, I should not hesitate a moment to
prefer the latter.” I think we need both. I
guess that is why I am not president.
Not everybody loves us, nor should they.
We have the right to express ourselves and
you have every right to agree or disagree. I
have been at this for over 20 years now.
Most of my mail is very gratifying.
Nothing is more pleasing than to get a
“thank you” for something I said that had
great meaning to you. But just when my
ego is about to soar out of control, I get a
note from a reader who wonders if I got
my journalism degree from a box of Cap’n
Crunch or a Crackerjack box. (Actually, I
got my degree from the Henry W. Grady
College of Journalism and Mass
Communications at the University of
Georgia, but, for some reason, they chose
not to put it in a box.)
One of the concerns I hear these days is
that the newspaper business is dying. Not
so. The way the paper is delivered to you
may be changing as many papers offer an
online option, but nowhere else are you
going to find in one place road closings,
school calendars, county and city commis
sion meetings, funerals, sports reports and
the musings of a modest and much-
beloved columnist than right here.
The Woman Who Shares My Name
reminds me that it is here where you find
positive news, too. Good people in the
community doing good things. Civic club
projects, student achievements, fun runs,
festivals and fairs. Try finding that in the
gloom-and-doom national media.
Lest you think National Newspaper
Week is a just an excuse to pat ourselves
on the back (well, OK, maybe a little), you
are a part of the equation. It is our job to
give you all the relevant information and
opinion we can gather together and present
it to you. It is your job to do something
with it.
We have an election coming up in a few
weeks and will be selecting a new gover
nor, several members of Congress, state
officers, legislators and assorted others.
Read the paper. Gather the facts. Make
your decision and then go vote. In these
turbulent times in which we live, igno
rance is not bliss and apathy is not an
option.
Once we get them elected, it will be our
collective job to keep an eye on them and
see how they do with keeping their cam
paign promises (I think we both know
where that one is going), spending our tax
dollars and what decisions they make and
why.
One of the challenges we have is to
remind our intrepid public servants that
they work for us, not vice versa, and to do
our business out in the open. That is where
the newspaper comes into play. We can
even the odds a bit by shining the spotlight
on them and their lizard-loafered lobbyist
friends and the deep-pocketed, out-of-state
special interest crowds with whom they
share drinks, dinners, ballgames and out
ings but who never, ever influence their
political decisions. Oh, barf.
But it’s not all politics. We can have a
little fun, too. I have found that humor is
in short supply these days. I like nothing
better than pricking the thin skins of the
politically correct. They have the sense of
humor of a tree stump. Bless their hearts.
As we celebrate National Newspaper
Week, let’s make a pledge. If you will
keep reading, I will keep writing (assum
ing that’s OK with the editors, of course.)
We are a team.
Journalism does matter. I am glad to be
a part of it and I’m glad you are, too.
DICKYARBROUGH
Columnist
You can reach Dick Yarbrough atdick@dickyar-
brough.com; at P.O. Box 725373, Atlanta, GA
31139; online atdickyarbrough.com or on
Facebook at www.facebook.com/dickyarb.
/I GROUP PHOTO OF THE STATE'S UNDECIDED VOTERS.
We’ve been fat-shaming the dog
Ava, our German Shepherd,
has put on some weight.
It’s not her fault.
She’s been on steroids.
Even before the steroids,
she has always been a big
boned girl, with the vet com
menting quite frequently on
her size.
“She’s big boned,” I insist.
“She’s extra-large, especial
ly for a female,” the vet will
respond.
“Big boned,” I repeat.
“She’s huge, no other way
to say it,” the vet states. “She’s
not overweight, but she is a
big girl.”
There you have it - Ava has
a medical diagnosis of being a
big girl.
Problem is, Ava doesn’t
know how big she is.
In her mind, she is still a
small puppy, yearning to cud
dle.
Granted, she wasn’t small
when we got her; she was 11
months old with a lanky, large
frame begging to fill out.
But she still thinks she
should be able to fit in a lap or
in the crook of our arm, not
realizing her massive size.
She was big before but like
the rest of us, specifically me,
she has put on a few pounds.
The steroids are actually to
treat a systematic allergic reac
tion that was triggered by a
gluttonous binge eating epi
sode of cat food.
She apparently dove head
first into a 16 pound bag of cat
food and only came up for air
to make sure we weren’t wak
ing up to catch her.
Two vet visits, steroid shots,
shampoo treatments, and a
prescription for steroids later,
u
SUDIE CROUCH
Columnist
she is still binging but only on
her specialty food.
“You get two breakfasts,
lunch and two dinners,”
Lamar tells her as she paws at
the feed bin.
Ava whimpers her protest.
It’s been two hours since her
last meal. Can’t he see she is
wasting away to nothing?
“No,” he tells her firmly.
“No more. You’re getting fat,
Ava.”
She lets out a loud wail in
protest and even flattens one
ear down as if to say they are
falling off for lack of food.
“Ava - you are huge. No
more food for you.”
She runs - well, ambles at a
somewhat fast pace for such a
big animal - to me, leaning
against my legs as she looks
up to me for support.
“Quit fat-shaming my dog,”
I tell Lamar.
“She’s fat. Look at her.”
I did. Her soft, big, brown
eyes begged me for food. Just
a kibble, a tiny nibble, maybe
a bite?
“She is not fat.”
“She is too!” Lamar said.
“She can barely jump up on
the bed now.”
True. But she has always
had to do a few laps like an ice
skater preparing for a triple
Lutz.
“She is just big-boned,” I
protested.
“Lat.”
I shush him. I don’t want
my dog getting some kind of
complex or feeling bad about
herself. She gets scared when
it storms and gets in the tub to
hide; as soon as she comes
out, she needs a snack. Maybe
the over-eating is just her way
to cope.
Even if she is happy about
something, she runs to the
bowl to ding it, as if she wants
to celebrate.
I can relate. When I am sad,
I eat. When I am nervous, I
eat. When I am happy, bring
on the cheesecake.
“You see how she came to
me when you called her fat?” I
asked.
“Yeah, because she thinks
she can hustle you for some
food.”
“No, she thinks us chubby
girls have to stick together. She
is coming to me for support.”
“You’re not he caught
himself before he said any
thing else.
He realized I was right. I’m
always right but this time it
sunk in before he said some
thing he shouldn’t.
“Every time you call her fat,
she runs to me. She probably
thinks my name is ‘fat.’”
I have probably called
myself fat so many times in
the last few years, the pup may
be associating it with me. And,
she has made the connection
that I call myself fat, then I get
upset, and to console myself, I
eat some chips and guac.
She thought Lamar calling
her fat meant I was going to
break out the snacks. Maybe
for both of us.
“I’m not calling you fat
though,” Lamar said, hoping
to clarify things before it went
horribly wrong and became a
huge molehill. “I am calling
Ava fat and she is. Look at her.
She is kind of a long furry cyl
inder.”
Ava looked back up at me
and wagged her tail, smiling
her doggy smile.
“She’s still pretty though,”
Lamar added.
“Next you’re gonna say she
has a great personality, too.”
“She does. She has the best
temperament of any dog we
have had.”
He completely missed the
point.
I sighed. “Just quit calling
her fat. She can’t help it; she
has a medical condition.”
A few hours later, she ding
ed the bowl again.
“No more food, Ava, you’re
he caught himself. “You’ve
had enough today.”
She dinged again, and
another time. After being told
no three more times, she
sighed and got on the couch.
Granted, it took her a few sec
onds to get up there, but she
did.
At least she wasn’t called fat
again.
Now, if I can stop calling
myself that, maybe she and I
both can feel better about our
selves.
Sudie Crouch is an award
winning humor columnist
and author of the recently
e-published novel, "The
Dahlman Files: ATony
Dahlman Paranormal Mystery."
"Remember when you said you didn't have time for a flu shot?"
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