Dear Diary, Monday, October 28, 2019

The dog, a hound who bays at will, rode in the back of the van baying, baying, baying. Kahena, 6, yelled over the top and between the dog's howls that humans have eleven fingers. I told her that I would be happy to read the paper when it was published upon which she recounted her fingers and announced that she'd been wrong, that there are only ten fingers.

They really are little scientists, aren't they?

I try to shy away from oxymorons but Megan made an amazing vegan soup.

Walker, the dog, who we should probably start calling him yeller, or loud, just walked by the snare, hitting the sticks and tumbling them to the ground. He didn't notice. Perhaps he's deaf.

Henry, who aims to learn drums for civil war reenacting, aims mighty well at the center of that drum most days. Boom, boom, boom, silence, boom, boom, boom, silence, in the slow walk cadence of battle not yet met, soldiers solemnly taking the field.

I've caused a few rows, lately. I published some podcasts on local political races as well as a police blotter. I had fun with the blotter. But, I've been hit back hard. Apparently, degendering and not naming people in injury free fender benders is not enough to keep people from seeing past a bit of humor.

I can't imagine doing the blotter if I can't make jokes about some poor soul having to call the boss after driving their truck and trailer into a muddy field.

But the real insult were made by a City Councilor I did not endorse because I questioned his judgement. He replied in his public comment online that I lacked intellectual integrity, had personal demons, and some other degrading stuff, even implied he'd sue me for slander.

I should have replied only, 'you have proved me right.'