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On This Day

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On this day 154 years ago a small group of about 750 Cheyenne and Arapahoe people sheltered in the Sand Creek basin on their own deeded reservation 170 miles southeast of Denver. They lodged there after receiving instructions to do so from authorities at Fort Lyon, who were following the previous summer's dictate of Territorial Governor John Evans. Most of the indigenous men were absent searching for buffalo. Only women, children, the ill, the elderly and a few younger men slept. In the predawn cold, Colonel John Chivington, a former pastor (and ironically, an abolitionist), ordered his volunteers of the Colorado First and Third Cavalry to attack. Colonel John Chivington The initial idea had been for the soldiers to steal the people's horses so they could not "escape" to join other bands. However, morale was low in Chivington's new regiment, now only 100 days from the end of their posting. Ashamed because they hadn't killed any "savages,&qu
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# StartTheTrend #WhatIf  # RescueDogs   # AdoptDontShop

Florida Banned Greyhound Racing - Now What?

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Florida voters just supported Protect Dogs - Yes on 13 and banned dog racing in their state, an uncustomarily progressive move. For dogs who've suffered and/or died in this activity, it's a #GoodThing. The dog racing industry itself is still in the shock-and-outrage phase. In a statement posted on its website after the election, Jim Gartland, executive director of the National Greyhound Association (NGA) said voters had been misled on Proposition 13, and he worried about a "radical animal rights agenda" descending on the good citizens of the Sunshine State. Well, Floridian canines of the greyhound persuasion have been living their humans' racing agenda since at least 1922 when the first track was built outside Humbuggus ( nope, I'm not making that up ), so it seems fair that the dogs see a little karma in action. Either way you lean, the reality is: LOTS of dogs will need safe, stable foster homes quickly, and LOTS of animal welfare orgs will s

Memories and Mortality

A friend I've known for 20+ years is in hospice dying of cancer. She called me a couple of weeks ago to tell me goodbye. I whipped down to her hospital room to see her, not ready to let her go. We said nice things to each other; I mentioned common friends whom she hadn't seen for years and thoughts of them made her smile. She even joked. Cut to last week. She was moved to a hospice, the same hospice where my wonderful mother-in-law died nine years ago. It's a clean, well-lit place. Interesting artwork for sale by local artists adorns the walls. The staff is gentle. If I had to die slowly in one location, it would do. But could I go in? Not alone. No way. The building contained enough dense pain to fill every patient room, bathroom, refreshment nook, even the tiny chapel, and it all mixed, like a blueberry smoothie, with memories of my mother-in-law's -- my mother's -- dying. I would sit in her room with my father-in-law -- my dad -- and watch his elastic love st