My birthday was Sunday, January 24th and I was looking forward to a quiet and relaxing weekend. The only item on our “to do list” was a dinner invitation with some close friends. Friday afternoon I finish up at the fire department and head to the ranch, arriving home about 5:30 p.m. One of our horses, Mr. Ace, is running back and forth between the front pasture and the orange groves. This is not unusual behavior for him. Every now and then he will be grazing and will look up and not see the two other horses. This will cause him to panic and he will run around until he finds them. I think nothing of his antics and go inside to change clothes before calling them all up for feeding. I had no idea that a few minutes later my entire weekend would be redefined - as is often the case here.

I come out of the house and Mr. Ace is still running back and forth hollering. The last time this happened was when Dan’s horse had opened a gate with his mouth and gotten into the “house yard” to graze on our front lawn. Dan’s horse, Thunder, has a nick name of “Houdini”. I check the yard for any unauthorized animals. It’s all clear. I start to look for the other horses wondering if they have escaped into the neighbors pasture (that happened last year when the wind blew a gate open). I look across the middle pasture to the front pasture and see Dan’s horse standing over Beauty. Beauty is laying on the ground and rolling from side to side. Horses have two distinct ways that they roll. One way is when they are itchy and they roll from side to side to scratch their back. The other way is when they have abdominal pain, also known as colic, and the back legs are rolling to one side while the front legs are rolling to the other side. This type of roll can be deadly for a horse, since they can twist their colon and it is the roll that Beauty is doing.

I run almost 1,000 feet up to the front pasture. Beauty is laying on the ground drenched in sweat and is curling her bottom lip. These are also classic signs of severe colic. Untreated, colic will kill an animal in a few hours. I dial Dan on my cell phone and tell him to come home as fast as he can. I run back to the house and grab our drug box, which is a fishing tackle box filled with various medications that the vet recommends you have on site. There are several goals in treating colic, including giving the horse some drugs to take the pain away, rehydrating them, giving them something to help pass a blockage, and - perhaps most importantly - getting them up and making them walk. I am mentally running down this checklist of issues as I throw equipment and the tackle box into our pickup truck and drive back up to the front pasture. I dial our horse vet and leave a message on his answering machine. He is the only large animal vet in our area but is stationed in the next County. Under the best of circumstances it will take him over an hour to get here.

I reach Beauty and start to do a more thorough exam. She is laying on her side, wet with sweat and - to make matters worse - her heart rate is 80. A horses normal heart rate is about 30 to 40 and 80 is a sign of pain and stress. She has grass in her coat and main and I am wondering how long she has been down. There has been no change in the last 24 hours with their food, with the environment or temperature, or other factors that contribute to colic.

Banamine is one of the preferred drugs to use for pain control in a horse. Dan arrives and helps me hold Beauty so I can give her 5cc’s of Banamine IV push in her neck vein. I know I can give much more than 5 cc’s, but I need to get confirmation on the proper emergency dose. I have memorized the emergency dose of another drug called Dexamethasone which we give to Ace for breathing trouble. That dose if 30 cc’s IV push but I have to make sure I don’t give too much Banamine. We have to balance pain control with the need to keep her awake enough so she can stand up and start walking. Dan is a bit upset that I don’t have the Banamaine emergency dose written down on a piece of paper in the drug box. I call our back up vet (who is two counties away) and leave a message and then text him. I then call our next door neighbor to confirm the drug dose. Fred answers his cell phone laughing and there is a party in the background. He is at High Tide Harry’s restaurant in Orlando. I ask him the dose and do not get a clear answer. Next, I call Pat, one of our other neighbors. He is not sure of the full emergency dose and says he will call me right back. I am both impatient and worried that we are running out of time and that every minute is going to make a difference in the outcome. I then dial a good friend, Bill, for the same information. Bill tells me there are several factors to consider and starts to ask me some questions. As we talk, my cell phone beeps with an incoming call. I tell Bill I have to go, it’s the vet calling back on the other line. I answer the ringing line but it’s my neighbor Pat, who is telling me that he called Fred, and they both agreed that the emergency dose is somewhere between 20 and 30 cc’s. Pat also mentions that Fred is leaving dinner and coming out to help us. It will take him about 40 minutes to reach us.

This entire time, Dan and I have been struggling to get Beauty to stand up. She weighs more than 1,000 pounds and will not budge. She keeps rolling on her side and her eyes are rolling up behind her eyelids. I start tucking blankets under her to keep the damp ground from absorbing more heat and worsening her shock. The phone rings and the vet is returning my call. But, it isn’t our normal vet, it is a vet who is covering for him, and is someone we have never dealt with before. I explain the situation and advise him that I have already given 5cc of Banamine IV and was about to give more. He tells me to give 10 more cc’s IV push now and try to get her up. He is finishing up with another emergency and will call me back in 30 minutes for an update. It will take him more than two hours to reach our ranch.

Using a soft voice asking Beauty to get up, mixed with some yelling, Dan is able to get Beauty to stand up. The time is 6:40 p.m. This is a major accomplishment. I need to give her the additional drugs but am having trouble finding her neck vein probably due to dehydration. Horses have a large vein in their neck that is literally the size of a garden hose and usually very easy to palpate. After several minutes of feeling her neck and missing with the needle, I finally hit the vein, get a good blood return in the syringe and give her the additional Banamine. The sun has almost set and Dan is now walking Beauty in a large circle. He decides to walk her back to the barn where we will have lights and more equipment. I gather up all of the gear we had brought up front and drive the pickup truck to the back.

Beauty is now in her stall, lip curling and soaking wet with sweat. Her heart rate is up to 100, her temperature is 99, and I don’t hear any bowel sounds with my stethascope. The vet calls me back to check in. I tell him her current status and he advises me that the heart rate can’t be 100. I tell him I used to work as a firefighter paramedic and that I double checked it am sure that is the correct number. He still sounds doubtful of my report. He is just leaving the office in St. Cloud (Osceola County) and is heading our way. It will take him about an hour to reach us.

A few more phone calls are received from the vet to confirm the directions to our ranch, to confirm the gate code and to confirm that he missed his turn and went too far up Fort Christmas Road. It is now 8:55 p.m. and he is arriving. He does a quick but thorough exam, confirms her heart rate is 100, and decides to give Beauty a combination of two very powerful narcotics to relieve the pain, including Torbugesic. This should bring the heart rate down as well. Dan takes Beauty for another walk. The doctor is very worried that the problem is a torsion, where her bowel has twisted on itself. The only remedy is emergency surgery and the only hospital that will perform surgery like this is up in Gainesville at the University of Florida College of Vetinerary Medicine. That would be a 2 hour drive by trailer and she can’t be moved until we can control her pain. There is a small chance that she has a blockage that will respond to conventional treatment. A large NG tube is placed down her throat into her stomach followed by an oil treatment and an electrolyte fluid boost. I place the first of what would be three painful calls to Beauty’s owner to advise that we are in the middle of a crisis and are doing all that we can and that things don’t look good. Audrey is in North Carolina and is devastated by the news. We are asked to do everything possible.

It’s now 10:00 p.m. and Beauty’s heart rate is down to 48. I view this as excellent news, but the vet says it should be 30 or lower based on all the drugs she has in her system. We continue to take turns walking Beauty around the back pasture. She seems more relaxed and is walking without difficulty. The vet says that the pain meds need to last at least six hours. We can’t give her any medication sooner than that, or we will risk creating a different kind of emergency. The vet expresses worry that the medication is not going to last very long at all. His original plan was to leave us with additional pain medication to treat her overnight and he would probably have to leave to go get ready for the next emergency. Fortunately, his beeper is quiet, there are no other calls and he decides to stay with us until at least midnight.

It’s now 11:30 p.m. and Beauty’s heart rate is back up to 80, her lip is curling again and she is trying to lay down. The vet is now convinced that Beauty can’t hold out long enough for the treatment to work. We have dried her off with a towel and she is now wet again from sweat.

I place a phone call to our back up vet for a consultation. He had text’ed me earlier in the evening to apologize for missing my earlier call. I tell our “on scene” vet that we are facing a life and death decision and I need to make sure that I am clear about what we are doing. The vet does not seem upset by my need to get a second opinion. Our back up vet listens as I review the symptoms, vital signs and treatment plan. He concurs that we are doing everything we can do and the odds are very poor, given Beauty’s age and current condition and response to the treatment. Beauty is 28 years old, which is about 70 in human years. She is a very poor candidate for surgery - which he adds would cost between $8,000 and $ 10,000.

Beauty looks sleepy and worn out and Dan is having trouble getting her to walk. She keeps stopping and putting her head down and wants to roll. We take turns with the walking and offering her water.
As we approach 11:00 p.m., Beauty’s heart rate is picking up. It is now back up to 80, which is almost the equivalent of more than 200 beats per minute in a human. I place another call to Beauty’s owner to update her on our lack of progress.

It is now midnight and Beauty looks tired and uncomfortable. Her heart rate is increasing and there has been no response to the treatment so far to resolve her abdominal pain. The vet cannot give her more pain medication because it may kill her. We insist that she be given something to make her comfortable. We have to sign a form that acknowledges that the additional pain killers may prove lethal, but there is no choice. Around 12:30, the vet gives Beauty an additional shot to ease the pain in her abdomen. Beauty seems to relax and then rolls over on her side. It takes me a few seconds to realize that she has stopped breathing. The vet takes a look and informs me that her heart has stopped. She is gone.

Miss Beauty passed away at 12:41 a.m. on Saturday, January 23rd. Dan and I get a large tarp out of the barn and cover her with it. The two other horses have been with us the entire evening and are standing there, sniffing at the tarp. I place the third and final call to Audrey informing her that Beauty did not pull through. Everyone is physically exhausted and emotionally drained.

The vet completes his paperwork and gives me some drug bottles to replace those that we used this evening. He expresses his sympathy for how this turned out, packs up his gear and leaves to start his hour long drive home. As we head into the house, I find myself wondering what the cost will be for an after hours emergency call out with more than four hours of treatment. I also find myself wondering how we are going to dig a hole big enough to give Miss Beauty the proper burial. Our tractor is broken.

IT’S NOW SATURDAY MORNING and sunlight is streaming in the bedroom windows at 6:55 a.m. and one of our German Shepherds is tapping his paw against the door to signal his readiness for breakfast. This is the way every morning starts on the ranch. After all the animals are fed I start to again ponder the burial options for Miss Beauty. I wait until 9:00 a.m. and place a call to our trusted neighbor Fred. I ask Fred if he can come over with his tractor, telling him I need a dig a large hole. Fred says sure and asks me how my horse is doing, and I just repeat my original statement, telling him I need him to come over and dig me a large hole. “Oh” Fred says, realizing that the two questions are the same. Fred arrives a short time later with his large yellow tractor with assorted digging implements and in just a few minutes has carved a large crater into the earth. Beauty is gently lowered into the hole and covered up. The other two horses are watching us but are staying back a few hundred feet.

By 10:30 a.m. it’s all over and there is a fresh mound of dirt signalling Miss Beauty’s final resting spot. Fred and the yellow tractor are heading out our driveway. As the noise of Fred’s tractor subsides, I hear my cell phone beeping to tell me that I have a missed call and a voice mail message. I play the message back and chuckle. It’s from my other neighbor Pat, “Hey, I was just driving by and saw a big mound of dirt in the front pasture, so I guess things didn’t go so well last night…sorry about that”.

Today, the Lake Douglas Ranch announced the winners in this year’s Christmas Card competition.  There are four categories of award:
Christmas Scene,  Family Photo Card, Funny Christmas Card, and Animal Christmas Card.

Christmas Scene
First Place Award
From Tom and Jim in Denver, Colorado

Christmas Scene
First Place Runner Up
From Sarge and Spike in Orlando

Family Photo Christmas Card
First Place
From Eddie in Altamonte Springs

Funny Christmas Card
First Place
From Anonymous Sender

“Next Year, Ask For A Puppy”

Funny Christmas Card
1st Place Runner Up
Bruce from San Francisco

Animal Christmas Card
1st Place
Daniel & Joseph in Lady Lake, Florida

Animal Christmas Card
1st Place Runner Up
Jenny & Tom in Aurora, Colorado

Last week, we all saw stories where a man was arrested for planning terrorist activities in the Boston area.   The Boston Globe reported that suspect Tarek Mehanna was arrested on charges of planning attacks both inside and outside of the United States. The media reported that the man had tried unsuccessfuly to get into a terrorism school:

“Mehanna, Abousamra and a cooperating witness set out for Yemen in 2004 to find a terror training camp but were unsuccessful. The cooperating witness backed out and saw Mehanna at a party a few weeks later. Mehanna told him “nothing happened in Yemen.” Abousamra was also unsuccessful in signing up with a terror training camp in two trips to Pakistan in 2002″

So, what’s up with that?  There was no other information or explanation about this failed attempt to graduate from Bomb Making 101.

How does one get rejected from entry into the College of Terrorism?  Did he fail some equivalent of the FCAT?  Was the school already full with other more qualified terrorism students? Was he deemed unacceptable on the basis of age, race, national origin or sexual orientation?  Or, perhaps the schools assets were frozen and they had to cut back on the number of semesters they can fund.

How does one actually get into Terrorism School?  I can only imagine what the application looks like.  “Please list prior experience with bombing, killing, and plotting…”  Do they ask if you have ever been convicted of a felony?  Do they do a  background check?

How much does Terrorism School cost?  Is this a semester based program? Is there a Bachelors Degree in explosive techniques and a Masters Degree in Poison Gas Logistics?

Can you fail Terrorism school?  I am sure it would be frowned on if you accidentally blew up the school during a lab class.  Is there a written and practical skills test?

So there are more questions than answers, as is usually the case.

I have just wrapped up a long weekend visit with a great friend in Seattle who has just dropped me infront of Terminal 6 (Delta) for a flight down to LAX.  I am about to get a crash course in Code Sharing between the airlines.

I walk up to the Delta counter and swipe my credit card.  The kiosk hums and comes back with “RESERVATION NOT FOUND”.  I try again and get the same result.  I enter my Delta ticket confirmation number into the terminal.  More humming and yet another “RESERVATION NOT FOUND” message.  I flag down a passing Delta agent and tell her I am on Flight 9143 to LAX and she responds, “…oh, that’s a code share with Northwest Airlines.  You have to check in with Northwest..”.

I look at my Delta e-ticket and while it says it is a Code Share with Northwest Airlines, there isn’t any comment about going to the Northwest counter.  However, I exit the Delta Terminal and walk down three terminal buildings to reach Northwest.  I wait in line and finally reach a Northwest kiosk and swipe my credit card.  The Northwest machine hums and the displays “WE CAN”T FIND A RESERVATION WITH YOUR NAME”.  I try entering my Delta confirmation number.  Still no luck.  I get in line and wait 20 minutes to reach the counter.  The Northwest agent looks at my ticket and says, “Oh,,,I am so sorry….this is a Delta/Northwest code share with Alaska Airlines, and you can only check in at their terminal.”   This is not amusing.  Alaska Airlines is at Terminal #1 (I started with Delta at Terminal 6 and am now at Northwest at Terminal 3).  I thank her for her help, since my primary mission is to catch my flight and not to solve the systemic problems with the nations airlines.  I have now burned through the one hour safety margin I give myself when arriving at the airport.

I walk down to Terminal 1 and hand my ticket to the agent at Alaska Air.  She smiles and says, “..my, you sure waited to the last minute to check in”.  I told her where I have been for the last 45 minutes and she apologized and moved me into an Emergency Exit row.

So, please check your ticket to see what, and how many, Code Share statements you have and make sure you show up at the right place.   I am sure that the airlines will eventually find a way to print helpful statements on their tickets, perhaps using all of the revenue they are getting from us for bags, headsets, and fees.

It is 7:00 a.m. and I have just arrived at the LAX Continental Terminal to start my trip back to Orlando following a four day business trip to the lovely beach side city of Santa Monica.  As I enter the Check In line I am thankful that there were no earthquakes on this trip.  It is quite uncomfortable to be on the 15th floor of your hotel when the room starts shaking.

I reach the Check In kiosk and swipe my credit card.  The computer finds my reservation and then flashes an alert telling me that there is a change with my connecting flight in Houston.  Instead of boarding a 1:00 p.m. from Houston, I will now have a 5 hour lay over there with a 6:00 p.m. departure.  I look for a button labeled “NO” so I can get back to my original flight, but that option is not available.  I press “OK” and then the computer tells me that my flight out of LAX has been delayed from 0900 to 0920.  I can feel the “Domino’s of Doom” starting to fall around me.

I print my boarding passes and head over to the Security Check Point.  The line is short but the man infront of me appears to be Middle Eastern and immediately undergoes additional scrutiny by the TSA agents as they check his passport and ticket.  I then see the TSA agent pick up a portable radio from underneath his podium and make a quick transmission.  This is clearly not a good sign.  The passenger in question waits quietly and then two other TSA agents appear from no where and lead the man away.  My ID and ticket are checked and I am sent upstairs for the security screening.  This terminal at LAX usually processes people quickly through the line.  The word “usually” however did not apply to today’s travel experience.   Security lines are very much like the line at your local grocery store.  It does not matter which line you enter, it will be the wrong one.  The Expert Traveler Line is similar to the “10 Items Or Less” line at the grocery store which creates an immediate false expectation of speed.   The agent operating the scanner was a trainee.  While the designation “trainee” was not on his name tag, it was clear from his actions.  He was staring intently at the scanner screen and checked each piece of luggage for almost a full minute before allowing it to continue down the conveyor belt.   Every other bag was stopped while he called over a supervisor to “clear” the item following his detection of some suspicious object.   I finally load my items onto the belt and pass through the detector after announcing my two artificial hips that I know will trigger a total red alert on the agents screen. I am sent into the penalty box and get an additional “wand treatment” and pat down.

I have now reached Gate 60 and have a full hour before my flight departs.  Surely the drama for this trip is done.  As we approach the 8:30 boarding time I notice the Continental Gate Supervisor looking somewhat anxious.  Dressed in her red blazer with perfect hair and scarf she keeps looking down at her watch and looking up and down the hallway.  I then realize that no flight crew has arrived at our gate to get the aircraft ready.   The supervisor sees two flight attendants walking down the hallway and intercepts them.  As they huddle, I can see the supervisor explaining some problem and the two attendants start shaking their head “no” and continue on.  Undeterred, the supervisor stops another set of flight attendants and gives them her story.  These flight attendants both laugh and nod “yes” and head over to our gate and head down the ramp to the aircraft.  The Supervisor comes on the PA system and tells us that our flight crew is running late, but in order to have an ontime departure two other flight attendants have agreed to go onto our aircraft which will allow the passengers to board.   I totally applaud her proactive thinking and also appreciate the willingness of the two flight attendants to help us out.

At about 8:45 our flight crew arrives and relieves the volunteer crew who was watching over us.  Both sets of crew members seem to be in a good mood which is (a) somewhat rare and (b) always insures a good flight.  It is now 9:00 and all 230 passengers are on board, everyone is belted in, the overhead bins are closed - but nothing is happening.  The forward boarding door is open and we are just sitting.  I am sure I feel the presence of “Tragica”, the Greek Godess of Travel Tragedy near me.  At about 9:15 the pilot comes on the intercom to make the following announcement, “Ladies and gentlemen this is the captain speaking and I am sure you are all wondering why we are sitting here at the gate and not moving.  Well if you are sitting on the left side of the aircraft and you look out you will see a missing hatch cover over the engine.  We are waiting on maintenance to replace that hatch cover and there will just be a slight delay.  The needed part was flown in by Continental and is here and it should just take a few minutes. I apologize for the delay”.  Well, I certainly did appreciate the explanation.  However, what happened to the original hatch cover that is now missing?  Did is snap off during flight and went flying through the roof of Mrs. Jones house somewhere over rural Texas?  These answers were not forth coming.   At 9:30 the pilot comes back on the intercom for another announcement, “Ladies and gentlemen, I wanted to give you an update, maintenance cannot find the box with the part and think it was sent to baggage claim with the passenger luggage.  They are checking for it there and we should only have a slight delay.”  Well, just as I appreciated the actions of the gate supervisor, I appreciated the actions of the pilot to keep us informed.  It is now 9:45 and another announcement comes from the cockpit, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have determined that Continental sent the needed part to the wrong City and there is no hatch cover for our flight.  Maintenance is asking the FAA for permission to fly one time to Houston.  I will get back to you as soon as we hear from the FAA.  Thank you for your patience”.   First, the pilots honesty is refreshing, telling us that his airline sent a needed part to the wrong city. Ouch!  Second, they are asking the FAA to fly a few thousand miles to Houston with a hole in the engine?  I ready my laptop bag, hat and coat for an immediate exit as I know how this story will end.  The time is now 10:00 a.m. and the final announcement from the Captain, “Ladies and gentlemen, I am sorry to report that the FAA will not let us fly to Houston, so this flight is….uh……canceled I guess…..please exit the aircraft in an orderly fashion and Continental representatives will be available to help rebook you to your destination.  Again, our apologies”.   There is a mad scramble off the aircraft and a huge line forms at Gate 60.

I do a quick count and realize that I am about number seventy in line to reach the Gate 60 desk where three depressed Continental agents are working to rebook 240 passengers.  Our flight was completely full as are many of the flights out of LAX.  I realized my only hope was to call Continental on my cell phone and beg for help.  I dial the 800 line and reach a live, human operator in about one minute. I am shocked.   I tell her my sad tale of woe and she immediately offers to rebook me on the 1230 flight from LAX to Houston.  I will still have time to get my Houston to Orlando connection.  She tells me to stay at Gate 60 and ask them to print my boarding passes once they get start to load the flight.  I thank her for her total efficiency and announce to those around me in line that they should try the 800 number.

I grab a soda and take a seat in the Gate 60 lobby.   As the displaced passengers reach the desk they are given good news (the 1230 flight), followed by OK news (the 6:00 pm flight), followed by bad news (standby is the only option for the 9:00 flight). 

It is now 1200 noon and Continental is starting to board my new flight to Houston.  Two hours have passed since our flight was canceled and there are still more than 50 people still standing in line trying to reach the desk for help.  Clearly, there is no hope for them.

I board my flight and have an uneventful trip to Houston.  I grab a burger at Wendy’s on my way to my connecting flight.  What was originally a five hour layover in Houston is now only a 20 minute layover.  The Orlando flight departs on time and I reach Orlando at 11:00 p.m. that evening.  Finally, to be home!

It is now 11:40 p.m. and all of the luggage from the Houston flight has spun around the carisol and been claimed and the now empty conveyor is turned off.  Of course my suitcase was not on that conveyor.  I walk over to the Continental Baggage Claim office and announce that I am here from Houston but my luggage is not.  The agent tells me that her computers are down so she can’t tell me where my luggage is, but she is sure they will find it and get it back to me.  I fill out the lost luggage form describing my basic black roller bag.   The agent thanks me for being so pleasant about the loss and I tell her that it was really not the low point of my trip.  She smiles and does not ask for any details. 

I arrive home some time after midnight.   My luggage was located in the Houston airport, having missed the connection and was delivered to my house about 2:00 the following day.

I hope Continental found the missing box with the needed hatch cover and that it has been securely bolted down to the air frame.   At least in time for my next trip to LA.

Last month we were told of the passing of CBS news anchor Walter Cronkite, who is perhaps one of the greatest media reporters ever. While watching the funeral I reflected on what the news was like in his era.

The nice thing back then was that the national media just reported the news. They did not tell you what to think, they did not analyze the information to death, they did not tell you what may happen in the future. The news was the reporting of factual and verifiable information. The citizens were deemed “competent” enough to receive the information and form their own opinions.

Todays news is a never ending circus of sensational tidbits with very little depth. The majority of the news cast is “analysis” where talking heads tell us a little news and then tell us what it means and further go on to pontificate about what might happen next. In a never ending effort to “one up” a competing station, we are now bombarded with blinking text boxes, trailers of information scrolling along the bottom and split screen images. I guess if I was born in the video game era, I might appreciate this more.

I have to wonder how we got to where we are. What was wrong with just giving us the factual news and reporting more stories, instead of telling us what we should think of what we just heard?

Perhaps the TV news is facing some of the same challenges as the local city newspaper. Our paper, The Orlando Sentinel, keeps shrinking in size. I used to haul the Sunday paper back to the house in a wheel barrow because of all the inserts. Today’s sunday paper is half the size it was a few years ago. The front page of the paper now has advertising on it! Most of the front section is full page ads from furniture stores. The paper makes extensive use of large pictures to take up space. The Local section is called “Local In Depth” which is absolutely hysterical because it is seldom more than 5 pages. The pages that are there do not really report news stories, they report on blog surveys and “50 Word Rants”. I think this Section should be retitled “Local Lite” to apply more truth in advertising. And the paper they use for printing seems to be even thinner, if that was possible. It is harder to thumb through the pages on some days.

So, many of you are saying, “he still reads a paper, paper?”. I know that many of you have opted for the online version of the news complete with embedded videos, advertising, and links. How does one relax on the sofa each Sunday with a cup of coffee and scan through the paper? I guess you could do it with your laptop on your lap? OK, so I am old fashioned. However, I do still find the local and national news quite irritating and I am sure I am not alone.

Dateline:  July 19, 2009 at the Ranch in Fort Christmas, Florida.

Without wanting to debate the entire issue of global warming, holes in the ozone, or the true effect that cow methane has on our atmosphere - I must say that last Winter was much colder than normal and this summer is shaping up to be much hotter than last year.

Every afternoon, the mercury reaches about 98 degrees and the thick humidity makes the temperature feel like about 105.  By bed time, it is not unusual for me to have taken three showers.  The cows modify their schedule and eat an early lunch and then lay down in the shade of the giant oak trees where they hope to soak up an occasional breeze while they chew their cud. The horses find some shade and stand motionless as they wait for the expected afternoon rain showers.

In periods of extreme heat, like this summer, you will find other behaviors indicative of an animal melt down.  One of those is when the cows and horses go wading to cool off.  Throughout the day you will see a horse or cow standing in knee deep water to help them cool off.

This summer, however,our bull has decided that his entire afternoon should be spent swimming.  This is a new behavior and one that I must attribute to the excessive and oppressive heat.  Every day around lunch time, Bull #2824 will head up to the cattle pond and wade in until the water is up past his legs and half way up his chest.  He will then stand there for hours, occasionally moving from side to side as he sinks into the mud floor of the pond.

When our afternoon thunder storm arrives and large rain drops start pelting the surface of the pond, he will exit leisurely and walk over to the wetlands to lay down or eat some grass.

If we had electricity at the cattle pond, I would be glad to install some type of water fountain for him, so he could enjoy a sprinkler spray on his back.  But, for now, he will have to do with letting the cool water soak into this skin.

While visiting in St. Augustine, we passed a bill board:
The Light House Center, help for the vision impaired and the blind.  Log onto our web site at …….

At the Dunken Donuts on the Florida Turnpike, a sign says:
“Try one of our tasty flavored cream cheeses” and the list below displays “Regular” or “Low Fat Regular”.  Surely, there was more?

At the Orlando Airport last week, an announcement:
“If you have lost your child, please report to Gate 21″.  What if you just don’t want to?

While in Seattle boarding a ferry to the island…
We saw a very, very large man, at least 450 pounds walking to his truck carrying an ice cream cone, a large pop corn and a jumbo soda.  As he walked by, I saw the back of his shirt, which read, “This whole working out thing, isn’t working out”.

I am in line at BWI snaking my way up to the podium to have my ID and Ticket checked. The line is long - as it is everywhere these days - and there are two TSA agents who are doing a good job of keeping it moving. A third agent comes over and stands off to the side and starts also clearing passengers. I always appreciate when someone will just jump in and do whatever makes sense to get the job done. The third agent didnt have the little opera glass lense to check licenses or whatever other equipment might be standard,but he was doing his part to keep the line moving. I am guessing a part of this job was to be the expeditor - he was repeatedly announcing for passengers to have their ID’s ready,their tickets out,and for each passenger to be holding their own tickets. If a passenger would hesitate about which podium to approach, he would remind them loudly to “step up,step up, I’m open, step up..”

I made it through the line quickly, because of the help of the third agent, who offered to buy my cowboy hat by the way.

I then randomly selected one of the six security screening lines to enter. Security screening lines are just like a grocery store line selection. It does not matter which line you chose, no matter how carefully, or based on any number of factors, it will consistently and always be the wrong line.

This morning, I select a middle line. I make it to the conveyor belt and execute the usual routine, belt, boots,hat,suit jacket, laptop bag, cell phone, are all arranged and sent into the scanner. I step up to the metal detector and announce “two artificial hips” and step through as the alarms go off.

However, this would turn out to be quite a different secondary screening. BWI has one of those new “full body scanners” that zaps a picture of you that allows the agent to see everything - and I am told that the word “everything” is absolutely correct.

I step into what looks like a very large,circular phone booth. I stand with my arms out to my side. A TSA agent on the other side is holding a portable radio and he announces into the microphone “two artificial hips in the hole, go when ready”. A metal wand on each side of the booth spins once from front to back and stops. The agent asks me to turn sideways, and then announces into the radio “ready on six, go again”, and the metal wands spin again - this time front to back, looking like two super giant windshield wipers. The entire process took about 10 seconds. The agent asks me to step out of the booth but can’t let me go until he gets clearance from the other end of the radio.

The radio speaker announces something unintelligble and the agent asks me if I have anything in my front left pocket. I explained that I had a handful of Motrin there which I am about to take. He has me pull the pills from my front left pocket and show them to him, along with my pocket turned inside out. He announces back to the radio that it was pills and that he has seen them. I am given permission to leave and continue on to my gate.

I am guessing that TSA has deliberatly placed the display screen for the scanner in some remote location to prevent any embarrassment from the images that appear every few minutes. It is probably a quiet room far removed from the rest of the screening process where the on duty TSA agents can double over howling without worry that their howling will draw any attention.

So, TSA says in a press release that the new body scanner uses very low doses of radiation and that passengers do not need to worry. I must say that if the system was able to detect three Motrin pills in my front right blue jeans pocket, I am impressed. I might recommend that this TSA screening team give some advice to the team at Orlando International - following their “compliance audit” failure this week (see related blog, “A Failed TSA Screening Test”).

DATELINE: BWI Airport, Wednesday, June 17th

The Super Shuttle has just dropped me at the BWI Airport and I am ready to fly to Orlando after attending a Department of Homeland Security public safety communications meeting, called SAFECOM.

Since the federal government pays for the travel they require that you use their travel agency, which is likely the result of a long and protracted process which is obligated to select the “lowest responsive bidder”. The travel service handled my arrangements via email from India - which must fly in the face of President Obama’s “Buy American” policy.
In any event, in a continuing effort to save money, the travel agency will always book you on the most economical flight possible. And so begins the story of Air Tran.

I walk up to the AirTran ticket counter and there are three lines. Line #1 is reserved exclusively for passengers flying to Cancun. I pause at this line, but realize I do not have my passport with me, or more importantly a ticket to Cancun, although the latter could be resolved easily. Line #2 is for the Premier Business Class passengers and is empty, (a situation I would understand much more clearly in the next minutes). Line #3 as for everyone else - which included passengers who needed to buy tickets, passengers who needed to check in and check luggage and passengers who needed to check in with no luggage. Line #2 was very long and snaked out past the velvet ropes and into the concourse walkway. The line was moving ever so slowly. I can see growing agitation around me as other passengers -especially those with no luggage - are looking for some other way to check in, clearly believing that they do not belong in this line. To make the situation even more funny, or tragic depending on your view, there is a large blinking bannner above the counter that says “QUICK KIOSK CHECK IN, NO LUGGAGE, NO WAIT”. I am guessing that the kiosks have yet to be installed, because - despite the sign, they are no where to be found. They do serve as a constant blinking reminder to those in line that Air Tran has some efficency issues to work through.

Twenty minutes has elapsed and there are only about four customers ahead of me in line. I can see that the counter agents seem resigned to the fact that there is a constant torrent of customers and that everyone who approaches their counter will have some type of comment,complaint, or issue to be resolved. It is also clear that almost no one behind the counter has taken any type of Customer Service class in their recent memory.

A couple in line behind me are on the brink of a total melt down. She is telling him that this is totally unacceptable and that he needs to do something. He is telling her that the blinking sign is an insult and someone is going to get a phone call. The back and forth bantering continues as we all turn our attention to the customers who are at the kiosk and are the only thing standing in the way between us and a check in.

A mother and daughter are infront of me at the check in counter. Together they have three very large suitcases. There is a slight language barrier that is slowing down the check in. The two women are unfamiliar with how to use the kiosk and are just standing there, not tapping the screen or trying to look up their reservation. The counter agent finally starts to help them. She then needs to collect $55 in luggage fees for the four bags. The two women do not understand what that is all about, and keep saying that they have a ticket for the flight. Finally, a wad of cash comes out and the $55 is paid, and I am sure they are wrapping up and I will be next in line. But no, Tragica has plans (Tragica is the Greek Godess of Tragedy who specializes in travel related problems). The counter agent places the first suitcase on the scale and it comes in at 72 pounds! I tell myself that this is where the husband is stored, probably in Saran Wrap. The agent, in an attempt to be helpful, tells the ladies if they will open and rearrange the contents of their suit case, they can probably balance out the load and end up with 50 pounds in each.

Another traveler has cleared the front counter kiosk and I am called forward. I am stepping over and around the open suitcase game that has unfolded (literally) on the floor. I swipe my credit card to bring up my Air Tran reservation and the computer says “THERE IS AN ERROR, PLEASE SEE AN AIR TRAN REPRESENTATIVE”. I sigh and wait for the counter agent to realize that I am there. She is still busy trying to print out tickets for the two women who are swapping shoes and small plastic bags between their suitcases, zipping them up and then hauling them onto the scale. This time, the 72 pound bag comes in at 60 and the second bag comes in at 41. By my calculations, it will take them another seventeen attempts before they solve this math problem, what equals 50+50+50.

The agitated couple in line have decided that they must act and I am the object of their attention. Since I am standing at the counter and not typing into the kiosk, they have incorrectly assumed that I am one of those first time travelers who does not know how to operate the device. The man steps over and around the still opened luggage to reach me and says,”let me show you how the kiosk works…”. I smile and said that I had already swiped my card and it told me I had to see the agent, that there was a problem. He sheepishly said “oh” and walked back through the pile of clothing and shoes and bags to take his place in line.

The counter agent asks me if something is wrong, and I explain the error message. I tell her I am trying to fly to Orlando on the 10:30 flight and hand her my Drivers License. She starts tapping on her keyboard and a strange look comes on her face. I said, “oh no,I’ve seen that look before and nothing good ever comes from that look..”. She smiled and kept typing. Smiling is the single best indicator you can receive from anyone in the airline industry, and if you are able to make them smile, you will probably receive excellent service from them. She then said, “oh no…please dont’ go down on me now.” and kept hitting some function key over and over. I am thinking that while maybe she wants to help me, that the technology is going to thrwart her attempts. A few button presses later, she says, “Mr. Luke, I am so sorry…………I had to move you into the Emergency Exit Row…….. I hope that’s OK”. I smiled and said I would just have to make do and thanked her for her help. She swiped my credit card for the $15 baggage fee and I was cleared to go to security. As I walked away from the counter, I thanked her again and told her to “..be careful in the zoo today.” She laughed and I watched the agitated couple rush her station to be waited on. “You know, this sign is very misleading….” the woman said as she started a long diatribe on her thoughts of Air Tran.

It is now time for me to move on to the TSA Security Check Point……