The director of instrumental music at our church is, first and foremost, a drummer. I think he may be sensitive to the fact that most people don’t equate “percussionist” with “musician” so it is evidently his goal to learn to play most other instruments. In support of this goal, he has arranged for an instrumental concert at our church next Sunday night which will feature the orchestra he has created, along with some other smaller groups.

One of the other smaller groups is our guitar group. Now, not only do we have the stress of learning to play an instrument, we have the horror of displaying our talents (or the lack thereof) for public ridicule to look forward to. I’m prepared to admit that our audience will be a pretty benign one but still…one has reason to lose a bit of sleep over it.

I’m looking forward to a golf game to forget about such things. I’m all excited by the prospect of getting a new set of clubs in the mail at some point in the future thanks to a most excellent relative and so golf occupies a position of prominence in my mind. Another thing to lose sleep over although in a positive way.

Benji the terrier terror has made a name for himself recently and it’s a profane one. He likes to be in the house and when he is not in the house, he likes to sit at the back door looking into the house. He frequently jumps up in the air and ricochets off the glass door as an expression of his enthusiasm (which is considerable).

I get tired of this so I started putting him outside the screened-in patio only to have him claw his way through my screens and get back in. I patiently replaced them (twice) and added a barrier of chicken-wire which he promptly pulled off. He’s done it again and in so doing, has earned some nasty nicknames from Melissa and I. The retriever is way too smart to get caught doing this but I imagine she’s back in the background egging him on and smiling in her dog way whenever Benji catches heck from me. And he’s caught a lot of it lately including vinegar/water in the face, profanity, shouts, and swats to the bottom with “the enforcer” (a rolled up newspaper).

My last resort is to make use of the thermonuclear arsenal of dog training and install an electrified fence. By golly, he’ll think twice after I’ve shocked the *&^% out of him. And shock him I will since a friend has kindly offered to let me borrow his electric fence setup. (His dogs are apparently already trained.) This is war and I don’t intend to lose.

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