Sept 3

I have been monitoring the situation in my motherland for a week now and worried about the dissidents or protesters. Although I have seen a similar crisis many times in my life, I will never be accustomed or inured to it. As far as I know, my people love peace; therefore, to try to overthrow or topple their government with no good reasons is out of their characters. Not having followed the political situation there for several years doesn’t help me much. The only source to check what’s happing or what triggered the protest is from on-line newspaper. After having read the news for a week now, I decided not to cast my opinion on this crisis though I could make a comment. Since I have vowed not to criticize or to say anything bad about my motherland and my people here, I will have to keep my own word and hope that both sides will reconcile and come up with the best solution for the sake of the country.

Oliver, the dog from a horse farm, comes to visit me once in a while and scares the day light out of my chickens. Since he is a border collier, his nature or perhaps his job is to herd animals. The very first time he followed me home, he saw my chickens. He was curious still didn’t know what to make of them. He was sitting and gazing at them. A month later, he came on his own. Oliver brought with him a lot of burr all over him and he was soaking wet with dew. David said, “Your dog is here.” Having a door crack open, I saw him sitting in front of my house. “What are you doing here, girl? Did your master know you’re here?” I stepped outside and rubbed his lean body lovingly; he seemed to enjoy that magic touch from me. Stupid as it may sound; I still assumed that he was a girl. Though he was more curious than the first time he had first set his paws on my property, he was obedient enough to listen to me. I said to him, “You stay right here, young lady. I will grab my socks and will take you home.” A half way to his house, Oliver disappeared from my sight. I saw him running toward the soybean field opposite to his house and gone. The very next time he came, I finally convinced myself to check if he was a boy or a girl. “Ah..ha. You’re really a boy. No wonder you like to come here. I bet you have fallen in love with me, hah?” He acts like a beagle, the breed that can’t be kept inside a house. Beagle enjoys hunting and roaming around. In fact, ‘Buster’, my next door neighbor’s dog used to come around to play with my dog. The first week after she had gone, Buster made his usual round and barked - a signal to call her out to play. They were good friends, I surmise.

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