Different seat for a Windshield Hawker - shotgun. Was being chaperoned to Muncie for a late afternoon doctor's appointment, riding on SR 22 (to locals; most everyone else calls it [US] 35) between SR's 13 & 9, when the driver says "Look at that big hawk" on the top of a south power pole. I was in the openings of "Probably a red tail" when we both said, a sexagenarian chorus, "It's an owl!"

And it was, a fine big beautiful Great Horned Owl, at 2:15 in the afternoon, highly visible, in a moderate traffic area.

Okay, that doesn't happen.

Except he was still there, still facing north, when we passed three hours later. My friend said the same scenario played out for he and his wife a couple weeks ago.

Long, strange winter.

Strange days.

(Quiz for those into Music Appreciation: "Strange Days have found us / Strange Days have tracked us down". There's the title: band?)

My puppy went today to donate his tools to the campaign against canine overpopulation.

When I picked him up early this afternoon, he was making cuddly with the vet, who did the heinous deed, and ignored me, the obvious perpetrator of this sacrilege.

Eight hours later, and I'm still shunned.

Think I'll wear a cup to bed.

There was a bright glow in the eastern morning sky, and there were clusters of born-agains on their knees preparing for rapture, and much fewer knots of my fellow heathens, also on their knees, waiting to anoint the new god in the sky.

(MA challenge #2: "Little Darlin', it's been a long cold lonely winter / Little Darlin', it feels like years since it's been here".)

One morning a few years ago I was walking the dogs, well pre-dawn, at the fairgrounds, and the eastern sky was dominated by a light must have been the Star of David the Magi followed to Bethlehem. Later Bob and Tom made some ado about what was comet Hale-Bop (really, I think) and how it might not be the end of the world.

Well, for some it was.

Featured was a group, the Raelians, pictured in colorless, shapeless, hooded robes and wearing Converse Chuck Taylors, who had been waiting since 1973 for this vehicle to transport them to heaven.

About two dozen prepared for the ride by drinking "Jim Jones Kool-Aid" (all apologies to Kool-Aid, because this is now the popularized term for the arsenic-dosed powdered fruit drink at Jonestown, the same shit you drank at summer camp and called "bug juice".)

A few years later the sect's survivors were legitimized with a several-page nude layout in Playboy, the surest way to gain acceptability both in the eyes of the Lord and those of other new-age reborns for your whacked-out fucking belief system.

Bringing my little Sun back home from his ordeal (even now he is printing up "Give 'em back, asshole" signs) early this afternoon I stopped to visit Krystil's grave. Time heals all wounds, but all time has done is convince me someone made it impossible for her to go into her home once more for the horrors and degradation that awaited her, and she walked into a speeding semi instead.

Maybe it's better for her now, but I feel more and more guilty for not figuring it all out sooner and attending to her despair.

Her religion and familial structure failed this beautiful, sweet, wonderful little girl, who never thought or said anything hurtful or even negative in her life. As per the bible, the man rules the household, and by canon accepts no challenge to his authority. The family is isolated, home schooled, with minimal contact with the world, or even the neighbors.

Where can a 12, 13, 14 year-old girl turn, when her home is a house of horror?

To her mother? Her mother knew, but in this disgusting patriarchal religion and way of life, she must choose, and she chose faith, in a god that allowed the world's sweetest child to be tortured to death.

An irony: Christian religions consider suicides as damned, because they have completely abandoned the healing power of god. Krystil had no time to "repent" as death came at 60 mph.

The responsible person, a subhuman, has the rest of his life to "repent", and go to "heaven", as god forgives, and vengeance is his, so poor little Krystil is off to hell.

Fuck this shit. As soon as I'm absolutely certain (wait, that's been months now) I need to settle this up, maybe grab the most innocent, sweet little girl out of the clutches of some stupid devil.

Okay, just a bit more to slake my rage and impotence: Miami County calls for an autopsy in cases of accidental death. Krystil's death was determined "accidental", but the County Prosecutor did not order one, even after it was requested (guess who), in respect of the wishes of, and respect for, the parents' religious beliefs.

So a rapist and murderer isn't even questioned?