A Dog Story

Those with an agenda will never hear the doorbell ring.

No gunfire is heard from the cemeteries.

A Man with a dictionary may still be a Man, but a pig with a clarinet is another matter altogether.

How is it that to a Revolutionist, a story can mean something, not mean something, and then mean something all over again?  Just for instance:  A guy who claimed to love his dog about as much as a human can love anything, always bought the same kind of food for his canine companion, and when asked about his insistence on this one particular brand of dog food, he said the he purchased it because it “looked yummy to him.”  And the questioner replied that such a reason was spurious inasmuch as a Man’s sense of the delicious was not necessarily the same as that of a dog, and even less so merely based on its visual appeal to the human, no matter HOW much he may cherish his pet.  And the dog’s master replied, “May be, but you missed the whole point,” which he had, didn’t and then some.  How is it, you reckon, that to a Revolutionist, life can oftimes mean something, not mean something, and then mean something all over again?

In the City, anyone who gives you personal advice of any kind, doesn’t know what they’re talking about.

J.