Breathing a little easier tonight.
TACO Tuesday
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Monthly Archives: April 2026
Starting a New Category: Foster
The failure of our nation to take care of the people living here leads to an inevitable crisis for animals. Around here shelters are overwhelmed, and people who have lost their homes sometimes have no choice but to turn the animals loose on the streets.
Even if a family manages to retain their home, they can’t afford the cost of spaying and neutering their fuzzy companions, and suddenly they have a litter of puppies to deal with.
The solution to this problem is a fundamental shift in the way wealth is distributed in our society. In the meantime, there are wonderful dogs that need homes.
I wrote here about Winston, a pup we were fostering (and marketing) who has found his forever home. That road was bumpier than we thought it would be, but he is in a good place now.
After that we started working with a local rescue, Adopt My Block. Dan, the frontman for the operation, is a tireless lover of dogs who genuinely understands that helping your neighbors is a good thing. He spends his days delivering help to people who need a boost to care for their beloved pet, and to providing financial support for getting the dogs fixed. It started on his block in San Jose, and has grown to be a terrific force for animal welfare.
They are a rescue, as well, and they pull at-risk dogs from the local shelters, and help bring dogs into a safe place before they even reach the shelters. If you want to support boots-on-the-ground animal welfare, you can’t do much better than Adopt My Block (503(c)).
Riding shotgun with Dan right now is a chihuahua-pug named Billy. He lived chez Muddle for a while and I have no idea why he hasn’t been adopted yet. He is lanky and tan, with glam eyeliner and a curly tail.
His energy and love cannot be reproduced by science. He loves children, he loves other dogs. There’s a ten-year-old kid out there who will love this guy so hard it hurts. And he will pay it back double.
We hosted Billy for a couple of months, and while we did not get to experience the final hand-off to his new home, we got to see him develop from a dog who is afraid of the sky (long story) into a fine and happy pup, ready for anything.
That transitional period may be our role, and I’m down with that, Giving stressed-out dogs with behavioral issues a place to just relax and learn to trust agin. Probably when they are ready, like Billy, they go back into the focus and promotion that Adopt My Block provides.
I’m telling you right now — Billy (you don’t have to retain the name) is an exceptional dog. Just adopt him already!
But now we turn to Stripes. (You really don’t have to keep the name.)
He comes from the same overwhelmed home Billy did. He is smaller; he tips the scales at about 8.5 pounds.
What a handsome fellow! It’s been a month and the little guy doesn’t trust me fully yet. On the couch after dinner, he will flop over me and wriggle in delight to the scritchens and rubbins. At pretty much any other time, I am not allowed to touch him. This is an ongoing thing, and it’s how we can help him.
One thing in my favor: I can throw a ball. This guy loves fetch. Chasing down the ball, maybe catching it in the air(!), and bringing it back for another throw is what life is all about. Some dogs are coy when they get back with the ball, playing possession games, but Stripes just drops it in the location he would prefer the next throw to come from and leaves the rest to me. He is the most pure fetch machine I’ve ever met.
We rented a space through SniffSpot to give him more room to chase, and let me tell you, that little guy can motor.
Today we took Stripes to a local park and there were many people and many other dogs and he was great! He’s still cagey about people getting too close (except for Francisco), but that is OK. You could adopt him today if you are all right with the gradual trust process. Honestly, that might always be a thing with this guy. But when you have that trust, you have a little buddy who will be by your side through thick and thin.
Sometimes a dog who is a problem in the shelter just needs a little time and space to remember what it means to be a dog, and how awesome that is. I think, for now, that is our role. Giving pups protection and love until they are ready to meet their forever family.
If you want to follow the dogs we foster, on instagram it’s Gilfoyle’s pack. Tune in, root for the dogs, and help spread their message. Especially the latter part – anything you do to expand the reach of the channel will put you squarely in the running for sainthood. If you’re into that kind of thing. Either way, it’s for the good dogs.
In this age of constant noise, I’m giving you permission to be a little bit louder about something that matters. Be a little louder for the creatures (and people!) who can’t be loud for themselves.
And adopt one of these great guys. The link again: Adopt My Block. If you don’t have room right now for a new dog, you can still slide them a few bucks to acknowledge that what they do goes far beyond an ordinary rescue. They are on the streets supporting families so their canine pals are secure and fed.
Animal welfare begins with human welfare. If you don’t feel inclined to support a dog-related cause, maybe find one that helps humans directly. There are plenty! For the love of Jesus, for the love of Buddha, for the love of the capitalist illusion that a rising tide that floats all boats, find a way to be good.
Be good. And adopt one of these fine fellows, already.
62 and Counting
It’s my birthday today! I’m 62. Just look at the awesome Dino-age volcano cake the Official Sweetie made!
There was a while where birthdays didn’t mean so much. Another day older and closer to death, as the kids say. A wise friend of mine refuted that idea a long time ago; he reframed the idea not as getting closer to death, but to chalking up another day of life.
I appreciated that outlook, and I mostly lived it, but having incurable (but under control) cancer makes me appreciate each day, each week (as Official Sweetie and I reload my meds) and especially each year as gifts to be celebrated.
I am here. The barbarians are far from the gates right now, but they are out in the woods somewhere. My outcome from the cancer therapy puts me way out on the good end of things. I’m busting the curve. Just yesterday I saw that my PSA remains undetectable. One of my doctors said he hadn’t seen numbers like mine before, when the cancer was in the bones.
Birthdays mean a little more now. The medications I take guarantee that life will never be what it was before. But this morning I said “Elevator Ocelot Rutabaga” and welcomed another muddled year.
Thank you all who have wished me well. I hope the new muddled year brings you happiness. Your support, from near and far, means the world to me.
Artemis
To say that the Apollo missions were formative to who I am now is an understatement. Of course the visceral response to a mighty rocket taking off was cool, but the tension of the first landing, imperfectly conveyed over the television, taught me lessons about technology, engineering, and bravery.
I had One Small Step pajamas; I had a banner with Snoopy on the moon, arms stretched wide, declaring “The Moon is Made of American Cheese.” I was stupid to the jingoism in the banner; I was super-stoked by the idea of my favorite cartoon dog being on the moon.
I watched today’s launch with similar wonder and anticipation. There was a shot, at roughly T minus 2:00, where they showed the nozzles of the four engines pivoting, that my preteen-space-geek and my jaded-engineer self met in a moment of wonder. They can adjust the trajectory! It would be like steering with the rear wheels of a car. Can you imagine how that moving mount can operate while under eleventy-billion meganewtons of thrust? The friction must be insane! Can you imagine software needed to control it?
I remember that same shot, back in 1969, of the engine nozzles, ready for 120 seconds of glory (don’t quote that number). I was almost vibrating with the anticipation of those mighty rockets blasting off the pad. I’m older now, but apparently I have not lost that joy.
Honestly, compared to the space shuttle, this was pretty simple. But the countdown was frozen at ten minutes when I tuned in, I think by design. I listened as each lead said “go”. I felt the excitement build in the control room. That excitement can be toxic; it will make people who want to say no say yes instead.
All the team heads said go, and the clock began ticking down. At about 33 seconds before launch the commentator said, (something like) “control has been passed to the vehicle.” The rocket was now in charge of launching itself.
It did.
Just as when I was a child, I watched the massive rocket ride a pillar of fire into the sky, and when it was a mere fiery dot, I wished for better cameras. Cameras on the rocket itself, sending data back to Earth in a way not possible last time, helped to fill that hole.
Thousands of rockets have launched since back then. Probably over a hundred with people on them. But this one is going to the moon. It’s different. Apparently the moon is not interesting enough for intrepid robot explorers like the ones we set loose on Mars. It a place for people to go, for humans to leave footprints that will outlive humanity itself.