RE - ENTRY FROM THE DARK SIDE OF THE MOON

It was the last time at the rodeo.

It is a fait accompli.

Ring the bell.  Close the book.  Extinguish the candle.

It's a wrap.  Strike the set.

Oh, the many ways can one describe the ending of an era, and  re-entry into a life interrupted.

How about likening the re-entry to the story of the Apollo 13 mission?

You remember the Tom Hanks version.  There they were, three astronauts in space, just minding their own business, which was a trip to the moon, in a vehicle that looked like an inverted pyramid with a riding mower thing trailing along behind.

And....and....BANG!  "Houston, we have a problem."

And then the hearts pounding part, and the breathless part, and the scrambling part and the throwing all the  things on the table and Gene, the mission control guy says, "This is what we got to get these guys back."

And the things they had were the entire contents of everybody's lunch bags.

Or something like that.

Anyway, there they were,  the three astronauts just minding their own business, and the guys at mission control cleaning their finger nails. All of a sudden things changed and everybody on the Earth knew their  business, and the guys at mission control were biting their fingernails, and  knowing there was no way back. 

And the guys on the spacecraft which somebody had thoughtfully named Apollo 13 for heaven's sake were all alone up there and they were running out of oxygen, and then they went to the dark side of the moon.

And for a while, nobody knew if they were still in the inverted pyramid thing, or stuck sitting on the riding mower, thing or splat, somewhere on that big ole' orb which looks an awful lot like a big moldy cheeseball.

Then, they emerged from the dark side of the moon, and then they flew back with the help of all those fingernail-less guys at mission control who had figured out, with the help of the contents of their lunch bags, how to get them to within a mile of New York City in time for that big confetti parade.

Exciting stuff if you were watching the movie. 

Pure hell if you were living it. 

And this, this Homeless Nation thing hasn't been any picnic either.

But , like Apollo 13, and that Lost in Space story, it has been an adventure, lived either minute by minute, or week by week, with that heart pounding, that fingernail biting, that sitting on the edge kind of adrenaline pump wondering if the things you have in your lunch bag will be enough to bring you back home

Or will that trip around the dark side of the moon -or into Homeless Nation - be the sling shot force that will send you spinning out of control into space for all eternity....or until the oxygen runs out.

Kind of a Zen thing. To be on the street, but not of the street.  

Chop wood.  Carry water as the Buddah said.

There are so many memories it is impossible to remember them.  (My turn to emulate Yogi Berra)

There are so many people it is hard to remember them.  Except for the great ones.  And I do.

There are so many secrets that will never be told about the dark side of the moon.

So many lessons, and revelations and and heart aches and laughs and wonderment and angst and grief and puzzlement all wrapped up in one  orb like big old moldy cheeseball thing.

So, let's keep this brief.  Before I get all teary eyed and my makeup drips down my nose.

Always remember, the past is not always  prolog.

And the number one lesson Streetpuppy will take away from Homeless Nation: 

There's no such thing as a free haircut.

                                                                        -30-

STRONG AT THE BROKEN PLACES

The world breaks everyone.
And afterward, some are strong
at the broken places.
              Earnest Hemingway, "For Whom The Bell Tolls"


Perhaps you believe that life in Homeless Nation does not make a change in the phyche of a Streetpuppy.

And if you believe that, then you have not lived here, and are only reading this because you are interested in how Streetpuppies really do live, or you downloaded the wrong column onto your Amazon kindle. or you googled 'puppy' because it is time to give your two year old  kid something to do that will build character.

Or you may believe that living in Homeless Nation , and navigating all of the perils and ill will and savagry and heartache here will build one's character.

Au contraire. Living in Homeless Nation will reveal  one's character. But nothing that happens to a Street Puppy in Homeless Nation will help to build their character. 

One's character is pretty much wired in by the time one has navigated the other heartaches and perils in life, like getting through the first broken romance, without chewing off your own eyebrows, or deciding what you really want to do with your life that your parents don't want you to do, and then doing it, come hell or high water, or wasting a lot of money on some foolish piece of automobile, then realizing you really don't care for the kind of women who are primarily interested in your car, and then doing something about it, like  selling the spicy money trap and buying a beater and saying,'to hell with it, it's just a car.'

Those life trials, and others like them build character, and by the time you've hit Homeless Nation, you are probably old enough to have had the rite of passage through just about every seemingly earth shaking event that stands in your way to Nirvana.

And how one handles the truly life shaking events which will occur in your time in Homeless Nation will not only reveal your character to yourself and to others, but will determine how you come out at the other end of the journey.

So, let's say you have built up some character in your life account.

You had a master plan and it seemed to be working before you got here, and now the whole world fell onto your head, and a lot of things in your life are broken.

You will be tempted to succumb to the most devious and harmful and spiteful ways to navigate through the Nation, they will, be the seemingly easiest and fastest way out of it. 

And you will observe that so many of the residents of Homeless Nation use those devious and harmful and spiteful ways to navigate through the Nation, and then you will notice that those ways don't seem to be getting them out of it.

So you don/t go that route.

You stick it out, and you are honest and you avoid the drug and alcohol trap and you don't steal even if your life seems to depend upon it.  And you don't hurt anybody for the sake of building your own ego. Or betray the few real friends you may make here.

But.

You have been damaged.  No doubt about it, the experience of Homeless Nation will bruise your very soul.

You have been broken, and eventually, the bone of life will grow over that wound and whatever part of you that broke under the sometimes unbearable pressures here, will stand up to future assaults in the same place.

No, you will never be the same person.

You will be the person who has learned that nothing in life is certain, including life itself.

And that knowledge alone will make each and every day after the experience in Homeless Nation priceless, and worth the price of the ticket you punched to get here.

And who ever told you that giving a two-year old a puppy would help to build his or her character???

DATING FOR STREETPUPPIES

This is not about hookups, friends with benefits, or the occasional one night of ecstacy behind a dumpster.

This is about straight out dating.  For Streetpuppies.

You may not remember much about dating, and what you do remember will depend upon your age, and the era you lived in when you first started to feel that ping in the area of your heart where the love lever is located, and started to look at some guy or gal, and think to yourself....hmmmmmm.

Or maybe you looked at some guy or gal and thought..."Hey, what a coooool  car, I want me some of that." Or, "Hey, what a coooooool set of pins on that babe, and you know, same thing.

In fact, what with the advent of singles bars, then dating services, then the internet, then internet dating services for people who were too busy with their blackberries and iPods to take care of the love lever thing, actual dating protocol has morphed into something unrecognizable to a guy with a coooooool car, or a babe with a coooooolll set of pins.

And if you're living in Homeless Nation, well dating has probably morphed into the hook up, and one night of ecstacy behind a dumpster thing.

But Street puppies need real companionship and affection, and they get pings in the heart, too.

And the whole ritual of dolling up just to spend a few hours with somebody you will probably sit across from at a table filled with food and tell lies to each other for a couple of hours, though abhorent on the face of it, is probably worth the time just to take your mind off  tomorrow's struggle with the food stamp agency.

Now, there are some barriers to actually dating, here in Homeless Nation.

First, we don't have singles bars, unless you count the corner outside the convenience store where they sell the nasty four-packs. 

And there is no dating service on the planet, i.e. Match.com or e-harmony, and the like who would let a Street Puppy past the first line on the application.,  or making that awful video you have to make so somebody can look at it and wonder if you are the one.

The internet dating services present another set of problems, first you have to have more access to a computer than the couple of hours a day you are usually granted at the public library, and you don't want to cut into your Japanese animation watching time.

Then, the internet is clogged with perverts, con men -and women - and Fabio and Angelina wannabes who will e-mail a photo to you which has been airbrushed with a staple gun and a whole bunch of lies about their jobs and incomes and even their names. 

Which brings us back to the actual dating scene where you sit down from each other across a table for a few hours, as a curtain raiser on a situation which could blossom into a wedding on the beach at Maui.

Now, the first thing, is choosing the person you really want to spend some time with, both before and after the table thing.

Not many Street puppies are actually presentable enough -what with all of the tattoos and rings through the nose and stuff - to actually set off a vibe which says, "Hey, let's us two go off together and talk and laugh and spend time together," instead of "Whooooaaaa.....let's boogie 'til we puke!"

But, hey, the people with the tats and rings and stuff need companionship, too, just not your companionship.

Now, in order to get a date,  you have to find somebody first, and if you look around the bus stop, or the park you hang in, you'll  probably find somebody as lonely and as loving and as lost as you are.

Now,  you  have to ask that person something, like...'Hey...you wanna go out sometime?"

That will do for now, because if you said "I was wondering if you would like to dine with me on Saturday Night?" they would probably flee.

Now, after the guy/gal says, "Hey, yeah, let's go out," this is where the going gets tough. And the tough get going.

Set a time. And a Day.  Nobody in Homeless Nation lives their life according to the Blackberry.

Ask what kind of food she/he likes, and hope it is not French.

Actually, hope it's something at a local feed, because you don't have the dough to go to the movies or a concert or dinner, and she/he probably understands that, unless they are a total gold digger and thought you were good for a Wendy's burger, a bus pass and a couple packs of little cigars.

Now, arrange for a pick up time.

That's right, pick her/him up at a designated site, preferably near the feed you have both decided will be a good idea, and within walking distance, because you don't even want to get into the transportation problem of providing two bus passes.

When you pick up your date, make sure you are showered or cat-bathed, clean clothes, and smell nice.

Make sure the pick up time is oh, about an hour before the feed starts.

Now, you have to make the decision, do you stop at the convenience store and get two cold beers and sit around under a tree someplace and drink and talk and get to know each other...or do you get in line as soon as possible at the feed so you won't end up having to fight off the inevitable bully who will cut the line.

Do the beer thing.  Maybe a few beers.  You will both probably need to relax a bit, because neither of you have done this in a long time instead of just hanging out.

Ok, dinner is over.  And it wasn't that bad, five or six casseroles and old bagels and fruit cups with peaches and syrup. 

Now, the inevitable awkward question on even a first date. Your place or mine?

Neither of you have a home.  Even more awkward.

You're going to have to drop her/him off at their spot, or part company  at the best neutral place, like the bus stop, or the park.

And then say, "I'll call you."

Perfect. 

You've just had your first real date in a long time.

Next week, you can have another date, and not necessarily with the same person, and on and on, and pretty soon, you will be looking forward to Saturday nights again, just like you did back in the day.

Saturday night, when you can spend time with another person who set off that ping in your heart.

Who knows, one of those Saturday nights may even wind up on the road ahead on a beach in Maui, with candlelight and the whole disaster.

SLINGER

Slinger is flush today.

He's got three quarters he just talked out of a passenger who was rushing across the bus terminal which serves as his home office.

He asked her for "57 cent."

That's Street puppy speak for "I'm going to ask you for an odd amount because you won't take the time to count it out, and you probably have quarters in hand anyway for change for the pop machine, and I won't ask for a whole dollar because that would sound like I'm extravagant with your money, which, when you see the smile on my baby face and my gentle voice, you will part with because it's hard to turn down somebody who says to you, "Please, ma'am', do ya have 57 cent for me to get something to eat, I'm real hungry."

With those three quarters he now has enough money to buy a pack of cigars both for his day's supply of smokes, and to sell for a quarter apiece, and that revenue, turned over several times as he acquires enough quarters to buy more cigars will feed the beast of his 3-pack a day habit he has had since he became homeless twelve years ago.

The rest of the quarters and dimes and nickels he will needle from bus passengers, neighborhood passers by and acquantances will be spent mostly on his crack head girlfriend who will sleep all day at their "spot" a couple of blocks away under a highway underpass, and then will rise mid-day and stumble down the short path to the bus station and demand her usual egg sandwich lunch, a soda, cigarettes and enough dough to buy a couple of vicodin to keep her nerves straight until she can score more rock tonight.

And at some later time in the day, which neither of them will know, she will make the excuse that she is going to the john, or to the corner for a paper, or across the street for a soda and then disappear, for hours, or days at a time, and spend all of  Slinger's money on her rock of crack.

All of the money for all of that will  have come from Slinger's day long entreaties for the loose and/or small change his 'customers' , these strangers,  give him as he snares them on their way through the bus terminal.

Slinger doesn't travel far during the day's trawling.  He doesn't fly a sign, or sell papers on the street.  He sticks to the area he knows best, the bus terminal, his "office,"  and the people who will give up their change.

People he can spot fifty yards off he knows he can hustle, sometimes just by the way they are staring at the ground, or straight ahead, or right at him. 

And he's no fool.  He knows he has to give something in return, so he has become a walking font of information regarding directions...so long as the information you want extends to a couple of square miles around the bus station.

That and the free newspaper he snaps up from boxes within the two square miles around the bus station, then piles next to him and hands them out to customers...many of who, for years, have thought the paper costs a quarter.

But, hes an honest man.  He wouldn't steal -except for the free papers - he's not an alcoholic, or a drug addict.  Once a year, on his birthday, he goes to a Karoke bar way up on Nebraska Avenue and sings songs in his beautiful and soft voice and drinks three beers.

And when his crack head girlfriend disappears for hours or days on end, he misses her, cries for her, and is always happy to see her return. 

You know this, because you can see the light in his eyes, and the tender smile that spreads across his face when he first sees her step off the bus upon her return.  No matter what shape she's in.

Slinger's life wasn't always this way.

He lived up North.  He had a family...parents, and siblings all part of a middle-class life he cherished and never thought would change.

He married.  A woman he loved so much he tried to commit suicide when she died suddenly on their 14th wedding anniversary of a disease neither of them even knew she had.

He loved her so much because she was a woman so worthy of love.  She was loved so much that the father of one of her students at a tony private school where she was a teacher, a father who was a famous movie star paid thousands and thousands of dollars for her funeral and a huge party afterward.

After the funeral, the party, and the suicide attempt, Slinger just simply closed the door to their home and walked away and never looked back.

He ended up in a deep Southern state, as far away as you can get away from Upstate New York. and survived on odd jobs and dishwashing gigs he could do even on days when he was terribly hung over or just plain blind drunk.

He ran out of odd jobs a long time ago, and settled for life at the bus terminal, where he knows everybody, and everybody knows him, and he gets all of their change and knows how to give them all directions to anyplace they need or want to go.

Anyplace that is, within a two mile radius of the seat he perches on at the bus stop.

Slinger has made a home in Homeless Nation, right there at the bus stop.  His bus stop.  Slinger's bus stop.

Slinger made a couple of attempts to leave his corner of Homeless Nation.

He scrabbled together enough money to buy a bus ticket to Texas to live with a woman he had met on the internet on a computer at the library.

He ended up walking most of  the way back from the little backwater Texas town  after two weeks with the woman in her little house in the middle of nowhere with her six dogs and five cats and a drinking problem and bottles and bottles of meds for the bi-polar affliction.

On the  1,600 mile way back,  to the bus stop, he slept where he dropped from exhaustion each night.  He woke up one morning in the middle of a bear habitat

The next time he walked all the way to another town a couple of  hundred miles away for the promise of a job that didn't work out.  On the walk back from that adventure, he lost his shirt and ended up with the worst sunburn he had ever had in his life.

He doesn't take trips anymore.

Time has no little  meaning to him now, except for one day at a time, and enough of that time to gather enough quarters to take care of the crack head girlfriend he loves with all his heart.

And, someday, he will die here, within a couple of square miles of a bus stop where he knows everybody and everybody knows him.

But for now, he will scramble around every morning and snatch the free papers, and hustle for the quarters from his customers and other strangers, and wait for his crack head girl friend to step off a bus so he can love her with all of his heart.....no matter what shape she is in.

HELTER SHELTER PART TWO

Let's say you have been invited to stay in one of the aforementioned shelters, havens, harbours or ministries.

You have either submitted to a battery of tests asking, among other things if you have ever had homicidal tendencies; been taken there by the policeman who found you slumped over a red ant hill by the bus stop you slipped off because you were drunk or high enough to care less about being bitten alive by critters; you were caught sleeping outside under somebody's porch, and the policeman gave you the alternative of jail or the nice shelter down the road....or you just wandered into an office one day which was staffed by scrubby clean True Believers in matching t-shirts emblazoned with a rings of fire motif, and they talked you into joining their new spiritual awakening movement after you surrendered  power of attorney, and all of your dough including the loose change.

You've made the leap.  You are now a 'sheltered' streetpuppy. 

However, Uncle Sam still views you as homeless because you are not yet at a 'fixed' address, so don't throw away that sleeping bag just yet.

Being a sheltered streetpuppy has advantages.  And disadvantages.  Let's go over some of those advantages and disadvantages.

You have a place to sleep at night that is not moving around under you.  You most likely have a sheet or a blanket to cover you.  You can take a shower...in fact, you are forced to take a shower.

 You can go to the bathroom without squatting under a tree.   You are assured of a meal...if it is a longer term shelter, you are assured of up to three meals a day.  You might be able to watch TV for a couple of hours a day. You will probably be given clean clothes to wear, and some hygiene materials.

 You may, if it is a longer term situation shelter be assigned a 'case manager' who will help you get an ID, or maybe a job or help you solve a legal problem, like that warrant for failure to appear, or open container charge.

 The kind of things that happen when you are on the street and looking the wrong way when Mr. Policeman slides up.

There is a sizable staff of underlings to the counselors, usually called associates.  The associates are there to tell you what is where, and when to go to bed, what chore you will be expected to do,  and when to change your underwear and so on.

You have companionship and understanding  from your shelter mates/street puppies, and a lot of nods of the head when you tell your 'story.'  After all, you are all in the same raggedy ole' boat.

The above fall into the category of advantages.

Let's look more closely at those advantages.

Depending upon the kind of shelter you have landed in, you will be sleeping either in a  large'dorm in a bunkbed on loan from a jail; a large room filled with either mats or single beds on loan from a jail; a smaller dorm with fewer bunkbeds from you know where, or simply sprawled on a large sofa filled with Gawd knows what kind of vermin, and it will be in front of a large TV which is never turned off. 

You can take a shower, but be mindful of the fact that most shelters have very little hot water to spare, and the showers are old and moldy and often open to the dorm area ditto the bathrooms which are old and moldy and very often broken down and downright aromatic. 

If there is food at all, other than donated sandwiches, you will be eating the chef-cook's idea of whatever it is that he happened to put together from the food left from the large pile of donations which went to his and his helpers homes, or sold to local stores.  Thus, you should take a supply of vitamins with you, as the nutritional value of most shelter food is far less than even the most meager food served at 'feeds'.

Don't bother with the TV thing.  Vicious fights break out over control of the remote control in these places, and you don't want to be around when the cops are called to arrest the guy who lodged the remote into the nose of the guy who wanted to watch something other than "Billy The Exterminator."

Generous people very often drop mounds of clothing at shelters.  Those clothes are picked over by the staff of the shelter so you will be getting the dregs of the mounds, but if you are patient, you will come up with something decent to wear at the job interview which your case manager will help you to arrange.

Ooops.  Case Manager.  Job Interview.  Help with an ID. 

Good luck with that.

Your Case Manager probably knows as much about job interviews as she knows about changing a tire on an 18-wheeler.  She/He doesn't belong in that job because they have no training for that position in the shelter other than something they have lied about on their own application.  And if they are responsible for giving you vouchers for outside supplies and/or bus passes...there will likely be a kick back situation, and if you refuse, you may find yourself back squatting under that tree real fast.

Ditto if you refuse any sexual advances.

Ditto if you report any of this to a 'higher up person.'

The staff of underlings who man the front desk and hand you stuff like the hygiene kits.  Now, we are out of Klingon territory,and are into Darth Vader territory.  Many of these people have been homeless.  And that experience has twisted their minds so badly that they now take out their previous suffering on street puppies who are under their, if not guidance, well, at least the key to the bathroom.

They will taunt you with trivial matters, implying that your IQ is no higher than your blood pressure reading, demanding to know where you are hiding the corn crinkles they know you are hiding in your bag..as they are the enforcers of the 'no contraband' rule in every shelter, that rule being the rule that says 'hand over everything you buy at the family dollar store on the corner, because I need it.

They will send you packing out into the cold or heat with everything you have on your back or your bags or suitcases, and if you don't make the exit curfew, which is usually around dawn, and lug that stuff around with you all day, well, they will just help themselves to your belongings and claim they threw it out and the police took it away.  And you have absolutely no legal recourse at all to prevent this from happening.

The underlings are also in charge of bus passes.  Good luck with that one, even if one has been approved for you, they will take it for themselves, deny they got the memo approving the pass, then accuse you of lying about getting the bus pass.  Force you to change your clothes if they think your pants are too tight, and to most of these people, everybody's pants are too tight because the underlings sit around all day confiscating and eating  all of those treats from the family dollar. 

Don't ever talk back to them.  They will call the police and say you have battered them.  Then they will go into your room while you are being carted off to jail, and take all of your contraband.

Do what they say, never mind the foam at the mouth as they break into uncontrollable screaming about the banana somebody managed to slide by them last night, you will find yourself right back squatting under that tree.

Ditto if you refuse any sexual advances.

Ditto if you report any of this to a...'higher-up' person.

Companionship, Understanding ears and nods  of the head  from other street puppies   are important, but you need to know, that you will be in the company of people who seem to  have been suckled by wolves.

You may be an anomoly.  A blip on on the Homeless Nation screen just sailing through on your way home.

Most of your companions in the shelter will be die-hard, seasoned street people who are looking at you with such understanding eyes and ears because they want to know when you will fall asleep and it will be prudent to take everything you have brought with you. 

These are not comrades at arms.  They will twist your head, twist your arm, and twist your soul if you are weak enough to dumb yourself down enough to be able to communicate with them in any meaningful way.

And they don't care about your story.  They are interested in you for one thing.  Their motto is, "What's mine is mine, and what's yours is mine."  And they are so skilled and charming, they can get away with giving you the shirt off your own back.

Now that we've gone through many of the advantages, let's see about the disadvantages of shelter living.

The main disadvantage of shelter living is that you may be off the street just long enough enough to lose your edge if you are foolish to stick around any of these places for too long.

And you need that edge to survive on the street. 

If we sound too distrustful, too harsh, way too negative.  It is.  But  in order to survive on the street, you need to be distrustful, and harsh and negative when dealing with the likes of many of the people you will encounter, be they  streetpuppies, counselors and underlings at shelters or the big shots who thunk it all up and will probably serve time some day for mismanaging millions of dollars which was headed for Homeless Nation, but somehow ended up in the Cayman Islands.  Or Vegas.

If you stay at any one of these shelters, it is about 80 percent likely that one early morning, you will load all of your belongings onto your back,  on the way out the door, sock the underling you hate most right in the nose, and never go back.  You'll get a new sleeping bag, and go back to squatting under that tree...and breathing free.

It happens.

HELTER SHELTER

Homeless nation is partially populated -some would say littered - with thousands of  structures, ranging in size from a Chicago style bungalow of the late 30's, to behemoth concrete structures sprawling over an entire city block.

These structures, sometimes called shelters, or havens or harbours or ministries are filled with street puppies seeking shelter from the elements, or havens from, well, each other, and/or food and and help with finding jobs and clothing and footwear,  and underwear, and deodorant and toothpaste and shampoo, and most important of all, a place to sleep every night without fear of rolling over and falling into a river.

Whatever they are called, and/or  for whatever purpose the streetpuppy has landed in one of these shelters, havens, harbours or ministries, these structures are not not to be thought of as any kind of permanent fix in the life of the street puppy who either walked through or was kicked or dragged  through the door behind which they will find a lifestyle that is more fun than a barrel of klingons. 

These shelters are merely a stop on the way -the hope is - out of Homeless Nation, indeed a portal through which shimmers the light which  beguiles every street puppy into thinking he/she can and will make it through this detour in the life and all will be well on the other side of that portal.

And in each and every one of these shelters, behind all of those doors, and through all of those portals, lies the crux of the whole problem with homelessness. 

For each and every street puppy, at some point in the trek through Homeless Nation, it must be determined if this journey is a detour, or was, in fact the destination.

And many of the shelters, havens, harbours and ministries are, er, staffed with people who are in charge of making that determination.  Kind of like a triage operation, except the victims are walking and talking.

Anyway, that is what the staffers in these shelter places are supposed to do, and some of them have even gone all the way through college to  study how to do this.

Yup.  It's right there on the curriculum thing, all of the courses you need to get a degree in "Helping Street Puppies get off of my street, and your street, and onto their own street."  Or something like that.

Let's see, these are courses which the college attendee starts attending well into the Junior year when the attendee...or the attendees parents have figured out that junior or missy is going nowhere with a degree in "DJ spinning for dollars,"  or "Designing Apps for ordering gyros over the cell phone from another county," or "Making a killing in the trade of cheetah pelts."

Yup.  Every shelter, haven, harbour and ministry in Homeless Nation is filled not only with Street puppies who are -maybe- trying to find their way out of Homeless Nation, all of these places are cluttered with people who, armed with some social this or that diploma and a few months of internship in a hot dog stand, are there in the shelter for one purpose...to make the life of the street puppy so miserable, the puppy will, at  one point bolt, even though it has not been determined  if the puppy is indeed a visitor, or a future casualty.

They hate their jobs, the hate the people they are supposed to be serving, they hate the surroundings...bleak by any standard, and they hate the fact that they have to pretend to like what they are forced to do until that major job at K-Force or Bio-tech opens up.

So, having all of this hate and disdain for the puppies, brings out the worst in them, these care-givers, these guardians of the gate into Klingon territory, these master minds of the knife in the back trick, they turn to the practices which get a lot of them fired....when they are caught doing the things they do so well.

These guardians cheat the street puppies out of money intended for them;  they force them into personal liasions using the threat of expulsion from the shelter; they sleep with the husbands of the women street puppies; they sleep with the wives of the male street puppies, using the power they hold as a counselor to them both; they obtain a job as the "addictions counselor" using the guise of a recovering Heroin addict and all the while robbing the ministry of money in order to pay for an ongoing Heroin addiction;

They steal all of the good food which rolls into the shelter from kind and caring citizens and use it to allow them to feed themselves and their families high on the hog, while the puppies are scarfing up eight month old sausages;  They  unleash their hidden bigotries upon to young women who are struggling to learn to cope with a baby and the concept of working by brow beating them endlessly until the puppy is totally beaten down;  They use their power over the simple things, like, leaving a tooth brush in the wrong place as an excuse for a tongue lashing, and a punishment added if the street demurs.

In short, what you have staffing most of these so called, shelters, havens, harbours, ministries, et all are, largely a bunch of  misfits who do not have a clue as to how to guide a street puppy anywhwere, except straight into the hands of the many misfits and charlatans who line the streets of Homeless Nation waiting for new meat to stray out of those shelters, either in banishment or absolute frustration with the system.

Granted, most of the puppies who wander into these shelters, are not exactly flavor of the month.  In fact, many of them are what we, back in Chicago would call "Mean Motor Scooters." And they are lookin' to work the system, and victimize the rest of the puppies, and create the kind of mayhem which exists in most shelters.

But there are the innocents who are there out of absolute necessity and who are truly on a detour, and not at their destination, and are the butts of endless jokes of the Mean Motor Scooters for their pieties and grace.

 And there are some angels.  Once in a while you come across some angels in these shelters.  Seldom, but it happens.  And these angels should be given the National Legion of Honor Medal for their truly heroic and loving and charitable work and attitudes and care and guidance through the mean streets of Homeless Nation.

And, you never know...maybe one of those  Klingon staffers, one day, well...just two pay checks away from, you know where, and then, then you will see...were these staffers on a detour through Homeless Nation....or was that shelter,  their own destination.

It happens.

GET YOUR KIT TOGETHER

Joining up with the Streetpuppy corps is a little like joining the Marines.

Except that you don't have to go through a recruiter, or one of those goofy, teary going away parties with mom in the kitchen, wringing her hands, and weeping, "Oh, my baby is all grown up, and that nice judge gave him  - or her -the choice of the slammer or the Marines..."......and you don't have to get one of those high and tight hair things or get that ring thing out of your nose. Or eyebrow.  Or...wherever.

But, in order to soldier on in the Streetpuppy corps, you are going to have to be, or at least act like , one squared away Marine.

And that starts with the kit. 

You may call it the back pack, or that awful rolling wheel  suitcase thing that breaks down the first day you use it, or you can use a gym bag, doesn't matter, this will be the one piece of equipment which needs to carry the  few actual essentials required for life on the street.

It's the Brits who named the bag which holds the collection of articles necessary for survival the kit... so don't blame us that it wasn't named bag, or purse.

We recommend the back pack as the kit of choice.  gym bag too small, rolling wheel thing too noisy and cumbersome, and it breaks down the first day you use it.  Usually right in the middle of a busy crosswalk.

Don't chintz out on the back pack.  The cheaper packs are not built for wear and tear, we don't care how many cute things are hanging off the sides, or that Sponge Bob has endorsed it.

You'll want a plain, dark colored, thick canvass number with a whole lot of pockets, and durable straps, and industrial  strength zippers and snaps,  and the ability to carry up to 30 pounds without ripping apart just as you are trying to run from the person who has decided he wants the back pack....and everything in it.

 And everything in it, should be minimal and multi-tasking, and easily replaceable.

You're not packing a trousseau here -for the guys, that word is something that women used to call the collection of delectable lingerie and such that was put together for the honeymoon.

There is no use for lingerie in Homeless Nation, unless you have ripped it up in order to make hankies.

And you will be ripping up tank tops for hankies, so ixnay on the lingerie.

Ok.  First, a small baggie, into which you will place:  social security card;  birth certificate;  Photo ID required in your state;  health insurance card;  bus pass;  emergency notification card -unless you are really trying to get lost in homeless nation, in which case, pretend you have amnesia from the beating.
five bucks.  That's pin money, in case you are enough of a pin head that you let somebody steal the kit;
debit card, that's if you have one, and you should, and remember the pin number, and do not let anybody even know you have one of those things, it is an open invitation to kidnapping.

Now.  This small baggie does NOT go into your kit.  This small baggie is your life line.  Only an idiot would put it into the same bag holding things which are -though costly - not real hard to replace.

No.  That baggie goes around your neck, on a string -or piano wire -, or in the summer, around your waist, just under the pants line.  And do not ever, ever let anybody know this little bag exists. 

Okay.  Now the kit.  Socks.  Undies.  Flashlight.  Swiss Army Knife.  Toothbrush.  Toothpaste.  Washcloth, which will double as a towel.  Two shirts.  One extra pair of pants.  One pair of flip flops.
(that's because, and you can be sure of this...if you take your shoes off while you are sleeping, they will be stolen.)  Small pack of kleenex.  small spray cologne.  one small bug repellant. One light blanket. One sweater.   One poncho.  (forget the umbrella, too easy for an attacked to use against you as a weapon)  headband.  baseball cap.  Reading glasses..  Sun-glasses. Small bag of toiletries.  And we said small.

Don't overload with the hygiene bags at feed giveaways.  Nobody needs five bottles of shampoo.  Or hand and body lotion.  And the ladies should be allowed one lip gloss and one eye liner.

And just because the giveaways may include fabulous five year old designer jeans with the label intact, does not mean that you need them.  Who cares if Donna Karan or Calvin Klein once embraced the muscles in your butt?

The cell phone goes into your front pocket, and don't be stupid and use it in public, it is another thief magnet.

And no food.  Ants can smell that stuff five miles away, and bug repellent does not work on them.

Now, you may think all of this is too lite, even for lite traveling.

Wrong.  You are not going to need too much. And you will be replacing things as you go.  And, if it is not absolutely necessary to your survival, it's dead weight. 

And, you're not planning to stay here forever, anyway, and if you came into homeless nation with luggage, that's not a good thing.  Kind of like a trousseau.

And one more...and maybe the most important thing to put into your kit. 

We don't care if you call it the Lord,  God,  Allah,  Buddha,  or the Temple of the Blue Parrot.  Make room in your kit for the higher being who will stay with you through this perilous journey.

  And speak to and listen regularly to the Lord, God, Allah, Buddah, or the Blue Parrot, or whomever else you need to hang onto while you're in homeless nation.  The knowledge of, and the comfort of the love of that higher being will get you through what surely will be a time of hell.

And remember what Winston Churchill said at the onset of WW II  "When you're going through Hell...keep on going!"