I just heard on the news that the Iraqi government is planning to go on vacation for the month of August. It seems that Baghdad gets very hot and uncomfortable in August and they want a little down time. Question: Are the American troops who are patrolling the streets of Baghdad carrying 30 to 60 pounds of gear, trying to keep Iraqis from killing each other, getting August off? President Bush, your original plan for Iraq has failed. You listened to the wrong people and now you are stuck in a no win situation. Revise your plan for the War on Terror. Finish the fight in Afghanistan, ask the military leaders, those who have the guts to tell you the truth, to create a plan to identify and destroy real terrorist threats, and tell the Iraqi government they have six months to get control of their country before we start a phased withdrawal of our troops. To Congress: The polls show that the American People don’t think your doing much better. Business as usual, meaning highly partisan bickering and fighting, isn’t working. Step up to the plate with a plan for real long term security for our country, a plan for the economy that doesn’t put all the burden on the lower and middle classes, and an energy plan that supports alternative energy research so that we aren’t constantly under the gun from the oil producers of the world. Can you guys do this, or is it also vacation time in Washington?

Today you get two posts for the price of one. Since one post is free, two posts probably means I owe you something for reading the second one.-----FIRST POST---Sibling Rivalry-Our smallest and oldest dog, Dallas, is a 14 pound Pekingese who had, until three years ago, the run of the house. Her toys were wherever she left them, her treats remained wherever she put them, and her greatest joy was munching for hours on a rawhide chew. Her teeth were bright white, she was happy and content to be the center of attention, and could leisurely eat her evening meal whenever she felt the time was right for dinner. Now she has bad teeth and doggy breath that I have to treat with a special doggy toothpaste, a twitch where here legs kick out when she sleeps, and a skin problem the Vet said is caused by nervous scratching. Old age and declining health? No, the answer is much simpler than that. Her slide from pampered pet to nervous wreck has been caused by her younger brother, Papi. Papi is a 55 pound pit/lab mix that we rescued, who has assumed the role of alpha dog in our house. If there is a toy on the floor, it is his. if a certain someone hides a treat under my desk, he finds it and scarfs it down. At dinner time he waits about 5 minutes after he finishes his meal before he slurps down anything left in Dallas’s dish AND the cat’s dish. Rawhide treats are banned from the house because he defends them like a mamma bear defends her cubs. My wife and I have adapted, we give Dallas special treats while Papi is outside or otherwise occupied, and a couple of times I have put her in the Florida room with a Prime Rib bone I brought back from the diner but, on the whole, Papi rules the roost. Dallas has her moments though. They usually interact quite well, but on the occasions where Papi pushes her too far she is not adverse to a little confrontation. If she really wants to berate him she gets up on the couch so she is face to face with Papi and gives the best impression of a crazy barking dog I have ever seen. I am not sure if Papi is intimidated by the fury of this tiny fur ball or awestruck that this little 14 lb pip-squeak is giving him lip, but he usually wags his tail, lowers his head, sort of smiles, and treats her like a lady, at least for a day or two. What about the cat? Baby Cat, being all cat, all the time, ignores them both and roams the house as if it is his private kingdom. Fussing dogs to Baby Cat just proves that Dogs Drool, Cats Rule.-----SECOND POST.....Deadly Dreams-You know that I have a problem with the situation in Iraq. If you have read Deadly Dreams you know I have a problem sleeping. Last night I fell out of bed. In my dream I was trying to pull a man out of a burning HumVee. He was wedged in by the seat and the flames were getting closer. I gave one final, desperate tug and he broke loose and fell to safety. I woke up on the floor with a bruised shoulder and leg, sweat pouring off of me. I have never been in a HumVee, never been to Iraq, but I have been to war. These things sometimes happen to veterans. The memories override your senses and you are transported back to a time when death was ever present and you did your best to protect your buddies, no matter what it took. I have dreamt I was in a forest in Germany with german soldiers approaching. I had a bolt action Enfield and knew I could not get them all before they got me. I have dreamt I was walking up hill on a dirt road in Vietnam, with dead soldiers walking down the hill past me. I have dreamt I was in a fox hole as a Russian tank approached, and all I had to defend myself with was an M-16. None of these things happened in real life, just in a place where my mind goes when I try to sleep. There are other dreams I will never tell anyone about. I do not know where they come from, only that I wake up screaming. All wounds are not visible. A wounded soul can cause as much pain as a limb ripped off by an IED. I hate war. I hate prolonged wars where men and women die while policy is decided, changed, and changed again. War should be total and complete. If you have to go to war use overwhelming force to destroy your enemy, and then get on with the peace. Every soldier hopes his war is the last war. If you have experienced war you have experienced the ultimate human folly, terror and pain beyond comprehension, and memories that are burned in your brain forever. I hoped my war was the last war. Alas, it was not to be. I grieve for every casualty, every parent who loses a child, the child who loses a parent, the spouse who gets a small folded flag as a bittersweet memory of their loved one. I hate war.

It is Memorial Day Weekend, the start of Summer, weekend of big sales, barbecues, and, oh yes, honoring those who have died in the service of our country. I do not begrudge the non memorial festivities of the weekend, it is partially a celebration of the passing of Winter and a return to the joys of the outdoors. I do hope that sometime between getting that great deal at K-Mart, and the last charcoal grilled hot dog of the day, that people take a moment to remember those men and women who sacrificed their lives for the freedoms we enjoy today. I know for sure that those of us who served will remember. Most veterans will participate in some local memorial service at the monument in town, the one that sits quietly and unnoticed most days of the year. Today there will be flags and flowers, and maybe a high school bugler giving his best shot at playing “Taps”. Those of us who have been to war will have special memories, burned in our brain by the intensity of combat. Not all the memories are bad, some are wistful thoughts of time spent far from home, in the company of others who shared the same burden. One of my memory triggers is a simple cheese sandwich. Here is the story. There were no chow halls near the section of the Tan Son Nhut flight line where my buddies and I worked, getting our RF-4Cs ready for their morning missions. We had water and some stashed C-rations in the shop, but those of you who have been there know they were a poor excuse for a meal. There was, however, a little stand run by some Vietnamese where you could get some basic food and a cold soda. I would get a cola and a cheese sandwich. The sandwich was two slices of rice bread and a hunk of cheese, hand cut from a block kept in a cooler. I have no idea what kind of cheese it was, it tasted almost like cheddar and was yellow, and that was good enough for me. I would take my meal and go out behind the hangers facing the flight line. There was activity 24/7/365, so I watched the night missions launch, munched my cheese sandwich, and for a few brief moments I was home, sitting in the kitchen with my family, quietly eating lunch. Silly, I know, but that is how you mentally cope with war. Someday I’ll tell you about the C-47 supply flight that made an emergency landing at our base. It involves chocolate milk. To the men and women we honor today, and to those still out on the pointy end of the spear, May God Bless You All. Peace, Sgt. Ken Melkun, Saigon RVN, Tet 68 survivor.

For all our older veterans. God Bless Them All. -----The Old Men----- The old men struggled to their feet. The anthem at the end of its first stanza, Leaning on each other as in years gone by. Caps off, held gently over their hearts, Hair thin and wispy, moving with the breeze, Bodies erect, they stand in silent reverence. Their caps bear names from long ago, Places where history was made, Normandie, Bastogne, Corregidor, Okinawa. They remember another time, another place. They gave their blood, their sweat, and their youth. Friends gave the last full measure. Asking not for praise, or thanks, Only that you honor their friends, Remember why, and never forget. -----by  Harmon Snipes