Maddie's Gone, first chapter

Hello everyone: Here is the first chapter of Maddie's Gone, which is available on Amazon.com, Barnes&noble.com, etc.

Chapter 1

Maddie finds her freedom, then loses it

Maddie pushed the screen door open with her paws.The young Jack Russell terrier had tested that door a hundred mornings but it never popped open—until now.
She stepped onto the front porch, lifted her nose and sampled the riot of smells in the moist air. It had rained all night and now it was tapering off in a drizzle.
The blue sky was pushing aside the rain clouds, allowing sun rays to start drying the streets and wet grass.
Maddie smelled aromas --bitter, sweet, earthy and rotting things, all mixed into a pot of grand adventure.
She hopped down the porch steps and sniffed around the tiny front yard until her nose bumped the bottom of the chain link fence. Maddie glanced back at the front door to make sure the man wasn't around, then launched herself like a spring. She sailed over the fence, using her rear paws to guide her down the other side. She took off at a trot down the sidewalk, her nose just a few centimeters above the pavement. Heading up her own street--Catherine Street--she picked up the smell of garlic, chicken, beef, and the robust scent of steaming coffee as she passed the Cuban restaurant less than a block from her home. She took a left at the corner and moved into new neighborhoods.
Winding through the small, tree-lined streets of Old Town Key West, Maddie found herself in unknown, but comfortable territory: tightly packed homes much like her own--small front yards, small concrete front porches and large, spreading trees with roots breaking through sidewalks. An alley ran the length of each block behind the homes, where families put out their trash and recycling bins. She passed early risers out for a stroll as she made her way through the streets. She'd stop for a moment to greet them before continuing on.
An hour after she left the house, she found herself sniffing along the base of a short wall that bordered the sidewalk. The wall was slightly taller than she was and marked the edge of a large front lawn. She picked up the strong scent of a cat, a large cat by the smell of it. She looked up and froze. Just above her on the wall, a fat, gray cat stared down on her, its eyes wide with surprise. Maddie backed up a few steps, tightened into a spring and leaped at the cat, which had already turned and fled toward its house. Hitting the top of the wall and the lawn, Maddie charged after the streak of feline and followed it as it dashed through a break in the lattice and under the porch. Maddie, her terrier instincts in working order, didn’t apply her brakes but shot right into the darkness under the house.
The cat, which had parked itself just inside the dark, struck out with a heavy, lightning-fast paw that struck Maddie’s face and sent her tumbling in the dirt beneath the porch. The dog quickly recovered her stance and again charged the cat, but the feline was already gone, having run the rest of the way under the house and into the bright sunlight of the back yard.
Emerging into the daylight, Maddie saw the cat sitting on a brick wall at the end of a garden path. The cat gave Maddie a bored look, a look that drives dogs crazy and Maddie was no exception. She growled, but caution postponed her charge. Something wasn’t right. Thirty paces away, her adversary doubled down on her boredom by yawning. Maddie scanned the backyard with her eyes. She saw no doghouse, no chain, nothing to indicate she was on property claimed by another dog. Nor was there any obstruction between her and the cat. Maddie and her adversary stared at each other across the gulf of lawn and garden, sizing each other like prize fighters before the bell. The cat’s tail flicked with growing irritation.
Maddie--no longer contain herself--charged. She bore down and when she reached the base of the wall, she leaped up at the cat, aiming for its midsection. The cat jumped out of the way and Maddie landed on the top of the wall, tried to brake, but she couldn't prevent the skid and slide over the other side. The world disappeared as she fell into a deep hole, landing on her stomach in water. The water wasn't deep, but her head went underwater for a moment until she could regain her footing.
Surprised and frightened, she leapt upward but the water, which came up to her chin, weighed her down. There was no hope of escape. The wall was much too tall. She bounded through the water along the wall looking for an exit point. She ran in circles, splashing inside the cistern, hoping to find a door, something through which to escape. High above her, the sky appeared as a large circle of blue with puffy white clouds floating by. Chin deep in the water, she had no dry place to stand. She was inside a brick cylinder, out of view of the world.
The cat’s face came into view, peering down from the heights.
Seeing the cat, Maddie exploded in a wet, barking frenzy, launching herself again and again at the cat over her head. She jumped and jumped, barking furiously. Exhausted, she stood panting, as water dripped from her bearded chin.
Evidently pleased with itself, the cat batted its tail twice and dropped from view. It walked slowly back to the house without a concern.
Maddie’s heart sank as fear rose from the water into her limbs. She whined, understanding that she was in a fix. She stood in dirty water inside a smooth, brick wall. High above her, the circle of sky now contained anvil clouds. As the morning progressed, the sun rose higher and its power grew stronger, warming the interior of the cistern. At noon, it was at its hottest, and the heat became uncomfortable. In early afternoon, the sun moved out of view, providing some relief.
Into the afternoon Maddie struggled to think of what to do. She barked for help but when no one appeared, she'd be reduced to whining. Tired of standing, she nevertheless could not lay down to rest; the water was too deep for that. So she barked some more, hoping for human help, then whine when no one came.
Then she thought of Julia. She would wait for Julia. She would come for her. She always had.
　
Julia Harvey awakened to loud and wretched snoring.Turning her head on the pillow, she discovered its source.
Her mouth opened in silent disbelief. It was Jim, the man she’d ordered out of her home two weeks ago. Now here he was, sounding like a pig in all his snorting fury. His mouth hung open, releasing rum vapors into the bedroom with each grating exhalation. He must have come in the house during the night and got into her bed as she slept. It didn’t matter that he was on top of the blankets and fully clothed. His presence was incredibly creepy.
Julia slowly slid out of bed slowly to keep from waking him. Better to let him sleep. It would give her some peace as she drank her coffee. Then she’d kick his ass.
Screw waiting.
"Get out of my bed, you idiot!" Julia screamed. "Who do you think you are, you creep! Get up!"
Jim’s snoring stopped and his eyes fluttered. He rolled away from Julia and went back to sleep.
"I said, get out of my bed!"
Slowly, ever so slowly, the tall young man stirred. Moaning, he sat on the side of the bed and put his feet on the floor. He put his head in his hands and rocked back and forth, moaning some more.
"What’s going on Julia?" Jim said in light greeting, his voice hoarse. He wiped the dried drool from his face and rubbed sleep dust from his eyes. He put his head in his hands and stared at the floor, waiting for his head to clear.
"What’s happening?"Julia cried out. "How dare you come into my home while I’m asleep and lay down in my bed? That’s breaking and entering, you creep! I told you not to come back here. I made myself clear when I kicked you out of here. Now I’m going to call the police."
"No, Julia! Don’t do that," Jim said, now fully awake and on his feet. "I’m sorry, I had nowhere else to go."
Julia has lived in Key West for four years and knew the answer to that excuse. This guy was bad news. She didn’t consider him evil, just a loser. She wasn't going to call the police, but still she’s no fool.
"That’s not my problem," she snapped. "I told you when I kicked you out of here that I don’t like you. I don’t want you near me. This is worse than stalking. I’m surprised Maddie didn’t ..."
She paused. Maddie should be in the bedroom right now. Jumping on the bed and waking her up. She looked at the clock on her side table. It was 10 a.m. She had slept longer than she wanted. Maybe Maddie was in the living room, avoiding Jim.
"Maddie, come here baby!" Julia called, heading from the bedroom to the living room. "Come here, sweetie!" Nothing. No bark in greeting; no toenails clicking on the hallway’s wooden floors, no jingling of her dog tags.
"Maddie?" She walked down the hallway toward the living room, stopping to peer into the bathroom in case she was drinking out of the toilet again; no Maddie. In the living room, she saw Maddie’s toys, including her favorite little rubber ball, but no Maddie.
Julia saw that the heavy front door was ajar. She pulled the wooden door inward and pushed on the outer screen door. It swung free. Un-latched. Dammit! She looked outside. Maddie wasn’t on the porch or in the front yard. Running down the steps in her pajamas, Julia went through the front gate and gazed hopefully up and down the nearly dry street.
She turned on Jim, who had emerged from the house to stand on the porch.
"You left the front door open when you stumbled into my house last night, didn’t you? You let Maddie get out! She’s gone.This is why I told you never to come around here.Whenever you come around, things go to hell."
Julia is so angry she begins to cry. She’s not weak; it’s just her way of relieving tension. Standing on the porch, looking so confused and dumb, Jim is at a loss for words. He wasn’t intentionally an ass, it’s just the way he is. She crossed her arms and looked up into the sky, calming herself.
"Look, Julia, I didn’t even think about Maddie getting out," Jim tried. "I came here because I miss you and I ... just miss you."
"It’s OK, it’s OK," Julia said, ignoring his entreaties. I have to go look for her. She’s got to be nearby somewhere. You have to leave. I am sorry you don’t have anywhere to go, but you have to go."
"I understand, I’m leaving. Thanks for letting me stay over, Julia."
"I didn’t ..." she stopped, trying to control her anger.
Jim walked up to Julia, started to give her a hug, but thought better of it when he saw the look in her face. He walked through the gate and got on his scooter. He drove off down the street.
Julia ran inside the house. In her bedroom, Julia pulled on her shorts, sat on the side of the bed and put on her tennis shoes. No time for socks. She pulled on her T-shirt, grabbed Maddie’s leash, and headed out the door and down the street. She must get her baby back. Jack Russell terriers can cover a lot of
ground and in Key West anything can happen to a pet, including getting hit by a car, getting mauled by other dogs ... Julia didn’t want to think about it.
　

Anti-tax whackos invent own language

The humor on the man's face on the right is misplaced. He's mentally ill and a follower of a man called David Wynn Miller, an anti-tax activist whose followers have adopted a bizarre language in court to avoid punishment for not paying taxes.

The smiling man, Jared Lee Loughner, also follows 9-11 conspiracies that state the World Trade Center was brought down with controlled explosives or was an intentional false-flag operation designed to convince Congress to tear the Constitution to threads. That's a mixed metaphor because the Constitution is written on parchment, so the operation on 9-11 was designed to shred the Constitution. That's better.

Miller, the subject of this week's "In From the Cold", is a former tool and die welder who belongs to a bizarre group known as the Sovereign Citizen Movement.

The Movement has convinced the same people who believe Obama is not American to adopt a language he calls "QUANTUM-LANGUAGE-PARSE-SYNTAX-GRAMMAR when trying to convince judges in the United States and Canada that those governments have no jurisdiction over them. In other words, no court under either nation's constitution can legally force these crazies to pay taxes because the courts have no jurisdiction over them.

Wynn, of course, holds seminars all over the U.S. and Canada and charges money to people who want to learn the tricks to not paying taxes. And to stay out of jail for not paying taxes. Talk about bad syntax--that was my fault.

Anyway, here's an example a stupid person, after paying 50 bucks to attend one of Miller's seminars, might tell a federal judge who wants to know why he hasn't paid taxes for 10 years.

"FOR THE FORMS OF OUR PUNCTUATIONS ARE WITH THE CLAIM OF THE USE: FULL-COLON=POSITION-LODIO-FACTS, HYPHEN=COMPOUND-FACTS =KNOWN, PERIOD=END-THOUGHT, COMMA-PAUSE, AND LOCATION-TILDES WITH THE MEANINGS AND USES OF THE COMMUNICATIONS WITH THE FULL-COLON OF THE POSITION-LODIAL-FACT-PHRASE WITH THE FACT/KNOWN-TERM OF THE POSITIONAL-LODIO-FACT-PHRASE AND WITH THE VOID OF THE NOM-DE-GUERRE = DEAD-PERSON."

"According to Miller," the Internet says, "the addition of hyphens and colons to one's name turns the person from an ordinary, taxable human into a non-taxable 'prepositional phrase.'"

So, Miller claims, if you write your name  like this, you can avoid paying taxes: 

: David-Wynn : Miller

Also according to Miller, only nouns have legal authority.

Now, if you are like me you are probably saying to yourself, "What the %&$# is wrong with this guy" or saying, like I am thinking, "I am so sick and tired of these Comma-pause=hyphen-JACK-tildesASSES who are creeping around out there in my country?"

Which brings us to Jered Lee Loughner, the guy in the photograph, who is smiling but in actuality, should be crying. He's the man who opened fire on a crowd of people, including U.S. Rep. Gabrielle Giffords (R-AZ) as she spoke to supporters outside a Tuscon shopping center. She survived, but six people did not, including a 9-year-old girl.

Miller said he is appalled at what Loughner did but says he does agree, however, with Loughner's postngs on government mind control and grammar, according to an Internet biography of Wynn.

Here are four cases in which people have tried to use Wynn's language to avoid convictions and the results:

In 1998 Miller assisted Illinois resident George Johnson in his legal defense against child molestation charges. Johnson was convicted and returned to prison in 1999.

In June 1998 Arizona resident James McCreary filed a federal lawsuit after being arrested in February for aggravated assault and possession of drug paraphernalia. In his filing, McCreary mentions the name of his apparent mentor. McCreary's actions in court got his conviction reduced by the judge to three misdemeanors, and he was sentenced to three concurrent 60-day sentences in jail.

In August 2001, Paul and Myrna Schuck unsuccessfully used Miller's language during a tax-evasion trial in Calgary, Alberta. They were later sentenced to jail after claiming postage affixed to their clothing and signed by them made them legally equivalent to royalty.

In October 2001, Andrew William Sereda, a naturopath (a believer in natural medicines), went to jail in Calgary, Alberta, for contempt of court when he addressed a judge in Miller's language during his tax evasion trial.

So, don't feel bad if you're a little late filing taxes. At least you're not these people, who have no hope of grasping any sense of normalcy. Let's just remember that there are people out there like this and we must thank the FBI for keeping an eye on them.

Cheers!

JOHN+HYPHEN-PREPOSITION =L.= GUERRA

A disturbing genetics experiment

You've met someone like this before

By John L. Guerra

Take a careful look at this photograph and tell me it doesn't remind you of that guy in high school who wore a light windbreaker in the middle of the winter and never changed his jeans.

Or perhaps he looks like the guy in chemistry class who came from an unhappy home but never complained, never let on that he walked the street all night because his parents were having one of their big fights.

This guy was always in a happy mood; he was the class clown. Receiving the largest applause and loudest cheers at graduation, he didn't stick around town that summer after high school ended. He hit the road for Colorado, Wyoming, someplace out West. Last you heard, he was working as a mechanic in Texas or had hitch-hiked up to Alaska to work a job on the North Slope.

It's the face of the guy who was honest, polite, friendly and respectful to classmates, especially cheerleaders, who shocked everyone but him when they greeted him in the halls with a big hug. His nickname was "Big Mike" or "Jumbo" or something like that.

Well, here's what you didn't know: "Big Mike" is a human-chimp hybrid--the result of welding human and chimpanzee chromosomes in a genetics lab far from the prying eyes of the National Institutes of Health. Also known as "humanzees," such animals have long been considered possible to engineer. Chimpanzees and humans are closely related (95 percent of their DNA sequence and 99 percent of coding DNA) leading to the theory that a hybrid is possible. So, here's how it's put in genetic terms, according to, what else? The Internet. or Wikipedia, which uses footnotes.

"Chromosomes 3, 11, 14, 15, 18, and 20 match between gorillas, chimpanzees, and humans. Chimps and humans match on 1, 2p, 2q, 5, 7–10, 12, 16, and Y as well."

 This level of chromosomal similarity is roughly equivalent to that found in equine species, which have successful hybrids between horses and donkeys (mules) and horses and zebras (Zorses). 

So why not create a humanzee?

People have tried, according to Wikipedia:

"In the 1920s the Soviet biologist Ilya Ivanovich Ivanov carried out a series of experiments to create a human/non human ape hybrid. At first working with his own sperm and chimpanzee females, none of his attempts created a pregnancy.  In 1929 he organized a set of experiments involving nonhuman ape sperm and human volunteers, but was delayed.  The next year he fell under political criticism from the Soviet government and was sentenced to exile in the Kazakh SSR; he worked there at the Kazakh Veterinary-Zootechnical Institute and died of a stroke two years later (As Bill Barry says, "I am not making this up.")

In 1977, researcher J. Michael Bedford discovered that human sperm could penetrate the protective outer membranes of a gibbon egg. Bedford's paper also stated that human spermatozoa would not even attach to the zona surface of non-hominoid primates (baboon, rhesus monkey, and squirrel monkey), concluding that although the specificity of human spermatozoa is not confined to man alone, it probably is restricted to the Hominoidea.
"In 2006, research suggested that after the last common ancester between humans and apes converged into two distinct lineages, inter-lineage sex was still sufficiently common that it produced fertile hybrids for around 1.2 million years after the initial split. However, despite speculation, no case of a human-chimpanzee cross has ever been confirmed to exist."

OK, so there aren't any human-chimp hybrids around, but that can't stop me from posting more images of what they could look like if the mating had been successful. Here are three such images:

Ape attacks tiki bar customers

Hello everyone!
It's been a month since I last posted a blog from Key West. I apologize for not getting one out until this evening.
The launch of http://www.absolutelyamazingebooks.com, a new ebook publishing site, was the last item I reported to you. It's been doing well, with new book launches and the availability of the books on Kindle, Nook, IPads, and other devices. It won't be long until those books are available on print on demand.
I suggest you sign up on that website for automatic notification when a new book is offered on the site.

Here's a story I wrote for a friend of mine, Jeff Brister who lives with his lovely wife, Maryann, in Maryland.

Don’t Say … Vivisection 
 Copyright 2012, John Guerra

Jeff Brister, tooling down U.S. 1 in his convertible, spotted the tiki bar through a hole
in the mangroves on his right. He slowed, checked his rear-view mirror and executed a U-turn.
It had been an hour since he hit the Keys; it was time for a drink by the water. He drove back up the road and made a left into the narrow driveway leading to the bar. After meandering down a lane to a small, gravel parking lot, he parked his car and got out.
He scanned the small, white-sand beach and blue water of the Gulf of Mexico behind the tiki bar and silently congratulated himself for discovering the perfect spot to have a beer.
Comfy little place, authentic in its rough wood framing and uneven, thatched roof. The front and back of the building were wide open, with solid walls on each side providing support for the roof. He walked up three steps to the cement pad that made up the bar’s floor. High above, ceiling fans rotated slowly to keep the air circulating.
The place had a predictable look for the Keys: old lobster traps, dented and paint-scarred buoys and rusty boat tackle on the walls and ceiling. Jeff felt himself relax as his eyes wandered over the old license plates, fishing poles, fish nets, anchors, and other boatyard flotsam decorating the place.
Photos of patrons holding drinks and mugging for the camera, apparently required by some law in Florida, were stapled to the wooden posts, as were framed photos of giant fish that anglers in the
1940s and 1950s never dreamed wouldn’t be that big again. Glassware hung from racks above the bar, and the old-fashioned cash register was silent.
Surprised to find the place empty, Jeff also could not hail a bartender, or anyone else who might be on duty. He sat at the bar on a stool with torn, green vinyl padding. The only hint the place might be open for business was the fishing show playing on the TV screen above the bar. He yelled "Hello!" several times, hoping someone would appear to serve him a drink.
He waited, taking in the beautiful blue water spreading all the way to the horizon. Glancing around the bar again, he noticed a hand-written sign over the TV:
"Warning: Don’t Say Vivisection," the sign read. Someone had drawn the face of an angry-looking monkey under the strange message. He chuckled to himself. He read it again, this time his lips moved.as he made sure he was reading it correctly. "Warning: Don’t say vivisection." He shook his head, turned on his stool to see if anyone was behind him, and pondered the sign again. That had to be a joke. Jeff, who might never have a reason to say the word in the first place, decided to play along. Nothing else to do. Can’t get a damn drink.
He cleared his throat, looked around to see if anyone was watching, and went for it.
"Vivi –""Don’t do it, mister!" yelled a man who suddenly appeared at a doorway just behind Jeff.
Jeff caught fast movement to his right and almost fell off his stool. A small ape was running down the top of the bar toward him.
"Barry, no!" the bartender screamed.
The ape halted. It had a crest of hair sticking from the top of its head. Beneath a pronounced forehead a pair of small, black eyes glared at Jeff with deep agitation. The ape wasn’t much larger than a big tomcat, but it looked dangerous. Though it had stopped advancing on the bartender’s command, it swung its head from side to side and bounced on little black feet.
The bartender commanded the ape again.
"Barry … Baaaaary. Caaaaalm down, Barry."
The little ape charged Jeff again.
"Barry!! No!"
Something got through to Barry because he slid to a stop about three feet from Jeff, who had jumped up from his stool and turned to run.
"Don’t run, mister," the bartender said evenly. "He’s stopped attacking. If you run now, he’s going to be on you before you can make it to the exit."
Jeff held his ground. The ape was sitting on the bar where it halted. A very human look. Even the way its arm rested across its knee--like a Greek philosopher. Then Jeff saw the small, razor-sharp knife in the hominid’s tiny fist.
"Don’t stare at him! Drop your eyes!" the bartender urged.
Jeff wanted to break and run for his car, but he remembered that the car top was down. Knowing how fast that little bugger moved, Jeff pictured himself carved like a pumpkin behind his steering wheel. He would be dead before he got the car started.

But the ape had calmed; it made a "chukah-chuk," noise, turned and raised its ass. It plodded back to its spot behind the cash register at the end of the bar.
"Sorry mister, but that sign’s there for a reason," the bartender said as he walked past Jeff and took his spot behind the bar. "Barry’s OK, he’s a great ape but there’s only one thing that upsets him, that gets him riled up, and that’s the word we have the sign up for."
"What the hell was that about?" the visitor said, still standing.
"Look, I apologize I wasn’t here when you came in," the skinny and weathered bartender said. He was missing a few bottom teeth. "What’ll you have?"
"A cold beer, please," was all Jeff could say.
The bartender pulled a draft beer and put it on the bar in front of his only customer. "This one’s on me for your … mishap."
"I’ll also have a shot of Wild Turkey 101 and a change of underwear," Jeff said, sitting down again.
"Ha ha! I hear that! My name’s Jimmy. Welcome to the Monkey’s Fist," he said, pouring the shot.
They shook hands across the bar.
"Jeff, and I’m pleased to meet you," he said. "I was at a seminar in Miami for a few days and decided to head down to Key West. Never been there." He tried to sound relaxed, but his eyes were trained on the cash register in case the monkey popped out from behind it.
"I gotta ask," Jeff continued, "what are you doing with an ape that’s not caged, or at least got a leash on it? And was that a knife in his hand? I mean, what the hell was that about?" He downed the Wild Turkey and took a sip of his beer. He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm and burped.
"I know how you feel right now, mister, but this is really Barry’s place," Jimmy said, hooking his thumb over his shoulder. "He was here first, long before me and my partner bought it. For years this bar was an empty shell under a leaky roof. There were weeds crawling up the side of the building and breaking through the walls. It’s hard to spot from the road now, but then it was completely hidden from sight by trees and shrubs, and a big, pile of junk. Barry was here then, and no one knows where he came from, except he’s a Barbary ape, the ones you see running up and down the face of the Rock of Gibraltar in Europe. He’s an old-world ape."
"With an inner-city attitude," Jeff added.
"That’s for sure. When me and my partner bought this little tag of shoreline, we had to
cut the Tiki bar out from under the vines and trees. It’s been here since the1930s but had
been abandoned. Barry was using the place as his home. It was perfect shelter for him because no one knew it was here. Also, he could climb inside the rafters when it rained and the yard had the avocado, Key lime, and star fruit trees for him to eat. And I guess he found plenty of food, because as you can see, he’s strong. But he had to be lonely all that time.
"He took to us like anyone who’s been living alone for a long time. When we walked the property with the real estate agent in ‘70, he must have hidden because we didn’t see him and the realtor didn’t know anything about him. After we closed on the land, we started clearing the weeds, vines and junk from around the yard, and that’s when Barry introduced himself. Made us jump. He just dropped to the ground from the top of the rafters and stood erect before us, rocking side to side."
"No, kidding!" Jeff said. This was getting good.
"He really is a cool, little dude, too," Jimmy said.
As we brought in lumber and began to rebuild the place, he hung around, chattering, chattering, chattering. He was glad to be part of something, real glad to do some meaningful activity with a group. We were his new tribe, or troop, whatever monkey families are called."
"It seems pretty lonely around here still," Jeff said, motioning to the empty bar stools surrounding the bar.
"Stick around. People will start coming in soon. We’re a real community; this is a neighborhood place."
"Why the sign? I mean, how did you figure out that he’s sensitive to …
Jimmy raised his hand to halt Jeff from continuing.
"... that word?"
They both stole a look toward the cash register. No movement.
"Because of his … behavior, we got the feeling Barry had been a lab animal or at least heard about …" Jimmy paused, pointing to the sign, "… the experiments where they hurt and maimed his fellow primates. There’s an island out in the Gulf called Lois Key, and it used to be full of monkeys on the loose. It was owned by Bausch and Lomb, the makers of eyeglass lenses. We think Barry swam from there. They didn’t torture monkeys out there, but it’s where they kept them until they were plucked from there and taken to a lab somewhere on the mainland. We don’t know how Barry made the connection to the ... V-word."
"But how the hell does he understand the word vi …"
Barry’s head shot up; Jeff saw eyes sparkle in the shadows.
"Mister, you’ve got to be careful!" Jimmy the bartender scolded. "I can’t always control Barry. He doesn’t put up with any bullshit."
Jeff decided that he’d had enough of this place. He’s got to hit the road anyway. Key West was still a long drive from this psycho monkey and his stoned keeper.
"Margot! Right on time!" Jimmy yelled past Jeff’s shoulder. Jeff turned to see who the bartender was hailing.
Margot was one of the most bizarre women Jeff had ever seen. She wasn’t very tall, but she carried herself like a princess. She wore a long, flowered skirt and a green, Danskin top. A long, gold necklace hung almost to her knees and though her arms were thin and elegant, her hands were large with webs between her fingers. She had ridden a bicycle to the bar. Jeff felt a chill crawl up his spine.
"Jimmy, I’ve had a tough day," Margot sighed. "Give me the usual, but make it a double. Where’s Barry?"
"He’s right here, honey. Grab a stool."
"I’ll take another beer, too," Jeff told Jimmy.
The woman glanced at Jeff with disapproval but gave him a grudging smile. She sat four stools away.
As soon as her derriere hit the stool, the ape emerged from behind the register and padded her way as sweetly as can be toward the new arrival. He carried a small jar of mixed nuts in one hand, so he was ungainly on three paws. But he made to Margot without spilling a cashew.
"Bar-reeeeeee!" Margot squealed. The little ape put the bowl on the bar in front of her and stood, opening his arms wide. As Margot leaned forward, Jeff watched as the damn thing wrapped its arms around her neck and pecked her cheek with little curled lips. He made a pleasant chucking and clicking sound as they embraced. Jeff noticed with disgust that Margot’s webbed fingers were spread wide on Barry’s back. His head swum in nausea.Jeff felt strangely ignored, however; neither the ape nor the web-fingered woman acted as if Jeff was present. Not to mention that Jeff got a blade with his greeting.
Jeff felt like an outsider. He was tempted to yell the "V" word right here, right now. Bring it on, you little bastard. He looked around the bar for a weapon, anything he could use to bean the little hominid next time he charged. But Barry did the unexpected, again. He released Margot and headed down the bar top toward Jeff.
Jeff froze in horror, but the ape seemed calm. It stopped in front of him, eyed Jeff calmly, then opened his arms for a hug.
"Hug him, for Chrissakes," Margot said. "If you want to be welcome here again, I’d do it."
"I met this sucker once already and it didn’t go so well," Jeff said, not taking his eyes off the ape as it stood before him with its arms open.
Jeff can smell Barry; it’s not a bad smell, but it’s the aroma of a little beast, like a raccoon or a
muskrat.
"Don’t hurt his feelings, Jeff," the bartender piped in. "If I was you, I’d hug him and fast."
"OK, OK," Jeff said as he put his arms around Barry. Barry did the same, but instead of kissing him on the cheek, Barry plants his lips on Jeff’s lips. He ambled off, leaving Jeff shocked and slightly disgusted. These things eat their own feces.
"That’s weird," Margot harrumphed. "He’s never done that before. Have you ever met
Barry before?"
"Nope," Jimmy jumped in again. "They had a little misunderstanding (he pointed to the
sign) and that’s Barry’s way of making friends again."
"Are you kidding? What the hell is your problem, dude?" the frog-handed woman asked.
"It’s Jeff."
"What?"
"My name is Jeff."
"Oh, well Jeff, you must not be very smart. That sign is up there for a reason. Why would
you do that when the sign says clearly that it’s dangerous to say what you said? I would
have taken you for smarter than that."
"Now that you mention it, I’ve got a question for you lady," Jeff snapped, pointing at the
sign. "That’s not a word most people pop off in normal conversation. Why the hell would
you have a sign that would create a dangerous situation for customers, not to mention the animal? That sign must cause more problems than it prevents."
"So you’re a smart guy, huh?" Margot sniffed. "It so happens that a lot of people know that word, with the sign up or not."
"What?"
"That’s right. I’ve seen it magazines, in animal rights ads, and I’ve even heard it on TV.
People use that word all the time, especially at animal rights rallies and stuff. The fact
that no one says the word around this bar with that sign up there is proof that it works."
Jeff shook his head and stared into his beer. He could not find a way to respond to this woman’s reasoning, or lack thereof. But he tried anyway.
"OK, I’ll humor you," he began. "Speaking of the TV, what happens when the news
comes on and they’re interviewing an animal rights activist or a veterinarian or a scientist
and they use that word on TV?"
"That’s our fourth TV," Jimmy piped in again.
Jeff laughed at both of them, a good long laugh at the stupidity of these people. An hour earlier,
he’d been driving down U.S. 1, heading to Key West for a much-anticipated visit and he’d somehow crossed into a simian Twilight Zone.
"You can’t be serious! Are you pulling my leg?" Jeff yelled.
"Nope, this one’s about ready to retire, too," the bartender said. He had the remote in his hands and switched from CNN to other channels until a Marlins game popped up.
As he watched the channels flip by, Jeff saw that the TV’s plastic casing was gouged; that the set’s been scratched, chipped and dented. He dared not ask, but did so anyway.
"Did Barry do that to the TV?" Jeff asked Jimmy. "Because there was a show on discussing the V-word?"
"Yep. About three months ago. Luckily I got the remote and turned it off before Barry
could smash the tube."
Jeff decided to order another beer and to drink it in silence. He would not engage these people further. No monkey, no bartender, absolutely no Margot.
More people arrived as the afternoon wore into evening, and before Jeff knew it, he was among a lively crowd and Barry’s no longer behind the register all the time. He’s fully engaged, hugging customers, lugging bar snacks, and walking around in confidence.
No one, absolutely no one, asked about the sign above the TV. As long as that subject was never raised, people had a chance, Jeff mused.
Jeff left the bar as sunset began and turned his car south on U.S. 1, headed to Key West. He thought about Barry and what he'd witnessed. That place had once been Barry's quiet home. Once humans bought it and began to change it, there was nothing he could do to stop them from opening a bar. Now, he was trying to go along to get along, exploding whenever someone read the dreaded word out loud. He was clearly unhappy. An idea began to form in Jeff's head: He would return and rescue Barry from the stupid bartender who didn't know that Barry was stuck. Jeff would give Barry his home back and make sure he never heard the V-word again.
That, dear reader, is a story for another day.
　

"Maddie's Gone "

The amazing story of a lost dog in Key West

The dog to the right will become very familiar to readers in this nation in the next two weeks. The dog's name is Maddie, and she became famous in Key West four years ago after she jumped out of the back of a pickup truck in Old Town and chased a chicken under a house. The owner got out and looked for her, but the dog never emerged from under the house, which is near the Key West Bight. Puzzled, the owner launched a search that lasted for several weeks and suffered the fear and sadness that engulfs pet owners when their loved ones disappear. Yet the dog hadn't gone anywhere. When running into the dark, the dog fell into a cistern that was used to collect rainwater in the days before Key West had indoor plumbing, or "city water" as old-timers put it.

The dog was in that cistern, trapped in a place where no one could see her, where no one could hear her entreaties for help. Her owners put up flyers all over town that cried out, "Maddie's Gone!"

 I kept seeing that flyer and an idea for a novel began to form in my mind. What goes on in a dog's mind when it is trapped, when hope runs out? Does it think of its owner? What kinds of terror does it create for the animal? What is the spiritual link between pets and their owners? There is one, you know.

Thus, my first novel was born (by the way, because this is my blog, please forgive me if I give myself free advertising--but several editors who have read it say it's great).

The book is much more than about Maddie's plight, by the way. The human characters, which include Julia, Maddie's owner; Jim, the sometimes homeless troublemaker; Julia's sick and sadistic neighbor; and a cast of other Key West people (all fictional) search for the dog, but with different motives. The offer of a reward for Maddie's safe return creates a collision between characters that leads to murder, betrayal, and other untoward behavior. The cover may look innocent, but trust me, this is about adults behaving badly.
Maddie's Gone is nine chapters long; between each chapter, however, is a self-contained short story in which Maddie makes a cameo appearance. In "Honor Student," a Key West High School senior struggles to protect her little sister from her own boyfriend who is acting inappropriately, to say the least.
In "Dying Declaration," an old man on his death bed recounts JFK's visit to Key West in 1962; he tells his young nephews of his discovery during JFK's Key West visit that foretold of the slaughter in Dealy Plaza a year later. "Manny's Story" is a salute to shrimpers and fishermen of Key West in the 1940s. Manny, an old shrimp captain, describes to a younger man visiting the city how his young wife met her end in the Gulf of Mexico so many years ago.
Maddie shows up briefly in each of the short stories.  She walks down the street and into a scene in one story; in another short story, a homeless woman sees the "Maddie's Gone" poster at the Kennedy Drive baseball fields and embarks on a plan that ends miserably. Without giving away the whole book, the short stories carry the main tale of Maddie forward and in the end, the various plots come together in what I've been told is a great and satisfying ending.
So: Here's the pitch: As readers of my blog, I'm hoping you'll buy the book! It's not self-published, which means my publisher has vetted it (sorry about the pun on pets) and has declared it worthy of his stable of ebooks at http://www.absolutelyamazingebooks.com. Once you get to the site, go to "New Titles" in the menu bar at the top and click on "Maddie's Gone." The book is $2.99 and is downloadable on the various readers.
Now, a word about Absolutelyamazingebooks.com. It's the brainchild of Shirrel Rhoades, a pulisher for the past 40 years who wants to launch new writers from around the nation, though he also sells books by established Key West writers like Tom Corcoran, Michael Haskins, Brewster Chamberlin, William R. Burkett, Jr., Lucy Burdette, Jessica Argyle, and others.
He publishes mystery/thrillers. romance, science fiction, poetry, biographies, comedy, self-help books, short story collections ... you  name it.
He also has a great collection of science fiction titles from the 1930s (very cool) as well as a ton of other great ttles by great authors, including himself.
It went live today (Thursday) and will be very successful.
At any rate, I sure hope you'll buy my book; Maddie will appreciate it (if she's still around, that is).
This is a story that will inhabit your heart.

Thanks! Next week, it's back to my normal writing about dinosaurs in the Congo and stuff like that.

--John Guerra

The age they were stilled

Kindergartners watch death delivered

When I think about the age of the kids shot to death in the Connecticut school, I tried to remember how new and strange the world seemed to me at that age. Adults staring down the barrel of a gun would be understandably frozen and confused, so how can a little kid understand why someone would execute other kids?
I reviewed my kindergarten year and what it was like for me in an attempt to understand the mental state of the poor kids in Connecticut.
I was a kindergartner in Rockville, Md. in 1963.
Rockville at the time was a small town on the road between Washington, D.C., and the mountains of western Maryland. The Cape Cod-style home my family lived in cost $13,000. The streets in my neighborhood were given World War II names because the homes on those streets were built with GI Bill loans. For instance, I lived on Crawford Drive, which was near Iwo Jima, Halsey, Ardennes, Nimitz, and Okinawa drives.
My mother was a landscape architect who designed many of the public parks in Rockville; my father taught piano in area homes. My job was to attend kindergarten, which I loved. We walked to school, my friends and I, waiting on the grass for the school safety guards to wave us across.
One evening, after the sun set and the darkness overtook the world, I watched with my family and neighbors from a hill as a blue-red vapor burst like a water balloon high in the heavens, then drifted silently over our town. The beautiful spray of color on the edge of space spooked me, because earlier that day Jean Dixon had predicted the world was to end the next morning. The light show was not the end of the world, as I feared it was. My father had done his best to calm me at bedtime, promising that the world was not going to explode. I spent a restless night until I finally drifted off to sleep. The next morning I awoke to a beautiful morning and ran in my parents' bed room, yelling "The world didn't end! The world didn't end!"
The Washington Post  also reported that the high-altitude explosion was Goddard Space Flight Center doing some weather experiments as part of the space program.
An old man would bring a pony in a horse trailer to our neighborhood so each kid could be photographed sitting on the poor beast. He was a kind, old man, and to a kindergartner, the pony was a romantic steed pulled from the wild herds of Montana.
The cowboy hat was provided but had to be returned to the old man after the photo was taken.
I remember hearing about a boy who lived across town who had killed his own parents; I was 5 and it was the first time I had heard of such a thing. The boy was put in Chestnut Lodge, an exclusive sanitarium for the mentally ill not far from our home. Who could kill their own parents? I pondered that in my little mind for a long time.
That also was the year that I learned what it was like to be shamed in front of a crowd. In kindergarten, each of the kids got a chance to care for some mice and guinea pigs in glass terrariums in the back of the classroom. During my day to feed and water the animals, I reached in with a bowl of water for the mice. One of the mice ran up my arm and I reacted, yanking my arm out and slamming the little gate on its neck, killing it instantly.
The other kids saw it happen and watched the mouse die. I remember them reacting, "John killed the mouse. John killed it!" I cried and bawled, explaining in vain that I had not meant to kill the mouse.
According to a counselor I told this to recently, to this day I cannot stand to be accused of doing something wrong if I am innocent. That I feel it necessary to explain myself all the time. That explaining myself makes people think I've done something wrong.
Hmmmmm ...
This is what it is like to be a kindergartner. Big world, the family its protective center, life lessons coming from every direction, fast and furious.
I remember the voice coming from the square, wooden public address speaker on the classroom wall above the chalkboard one November afternoon. The voice cancelled the school day and sent us home. On the walk home on those World War II streets, older students were saying the president was hurt. I followed the crush of students toward my home as the crossing guards hurried us across tiny intersections. When I got home, my mother was in the living room, crying as she watched the news from Dallas on television.
I remembered my parents talking about the president around the dinner table many times, and from their discussions I sensed the man was more powerful, more important than they were in the scheme of things. I had no real idea of what the president was, but his picture also hung on classroom walls and I knew if someone could hurt someone more powerful than my parents, then someone could hurt my parents. And me. It was the violence in Dallas, not the young man's killing of his parents in Rockville or the death of the mouse that turned my world into a very dangerous place. It was the assassination and the way the nation stopped.
I cannot imagine how the youngsters who watched the bad man kill their friends will put such evil as they grow into adults. Parents may try to calm their kids by holding them close, but the kinds understand that this crazy man was able to get to them when their parents weren't around. The gunman was more powerful than their parents. From now on, all adults will have the capacity to shoot them.
This is what kindergartners think about at times like this. At this age, they are spending entire days away from home for the first time. There is only home and school. Now that school is unsafe, they may only feel safe at home. I believe the result will be children with a diminished capacity for enjoying the world at large and the people in it. These children will need some very special help--as some of us have needed.
I also was struck by the way two kids rose to heroic action. One youngster told his classmates as the gunfire went on in an adjacent classroom that he would go and stop the man because he had taken karate lessons. Another youngster led his classmates out of the building when the shooting stopped. Unbelievable kids, I tell you.
By the way, school shootings are not new.
There was one in the news a year after I graduated kindergarten.
A school massacre occurred in a Catholic elementary school in the suburb of Volkhoven in Cologne, Germany, on June 11, 1964. Walter Seifert, born on June 11, 1922, killed eight students and two teachers with his handgun.

-- John Guerra

Giant sauropod alive in Africa?

The Congo's elusive brontosaur

By John L. Guerra

For thousands of years, tribes in the Congo have reported sighting a hippo-killing brontosaur they call "Mokele-mbembe."

This species of dinosaur lived during the Cretaceous period, which ended 65 million years ago when a large asteroid slammed the Earth near the Yucatan Peninsula, yet these giant plant eaters allegedly have found a way to survive in this remote part of the world. In fact, local fishermen build large fences to protect their catches from the beast.

So if dinosaurs have been gone for so long, why would villagers in the remote parts of the Congo River Basin fell trees, which they sharpen and sink into the river bottom to create a fence to keep a beast they called "Mokele-mbembe" from trashing their fishing grounds?

Consider this: the Smithsonian Institution took rumors of a dinosaur seriously enough to send a group of scientists to find it. As you'll read in a little bit, the expedition ended in tragedy.

Don't ask me, ask the natives
Is there a living dinosaur in the gigantic Congo River Basin, the enormous wetland system on the Equator in Africa.
The Congo River itself, which winds 2,900 miles through the Congo's and Zaire's thickest jungle, is surrounded by more than a million square miles of wetlands. It is an endless network of smaller rivers, lakes, and those wetlands, much of which has never been punched through by canoe. Which means the area is hot, wet, and judging by those 1940s dioramas of meat-eating triceratops I grew up staring at in the Museum of Natural History in Washington, D.C., the area is a perfect place to find brontosaurs.
Being a cryptozoologist, to write with any authority on the subject, I need only dig online to find people who have heard, and even seen, this "big-ass animal"--another technical term used by cryptozoologists.
I ran across a list of expeditions that have tried to find the creature and the results of their efforts. These lucky few have undertaken my dream trip.

The imprint is purported to be the footprint of a dinosaur that still lives in the Congo River Basin.

• In 1776, a French missionary to the Congo, Abbé Lievain Bonaventure claimed to have seen enormous footprints in the region. The creature that left the prints was not witnessed, but Bonaventure wrote that it "must have been monstrous: the marks of the claws were noted on the ground, and these formed a print about three feet in circumference."
• In 1909, Lt. Paul Gratz (of Germany) traveled to the Congo and heard Zambians speak of a creature known as the "Nsanga", which was said to inhabit the Lake Bangweulu region. Gratz described the creature as resembling a sauropod. This is one of the earliest references linking an area legend with dinosaurs, and has been argued to describe a Mokèlé-mbèmbé-like creature. In addition to hearing stories of the "Nsanga" Gratz was shown a hide which he was told belonged to the creature, while visiting Mbawala Island.
• When on safari in the Congo in 1909, big-game hunter Carl Hagenbeck noted a lack of hippopotami in the river; his native guides informed him of a large hippo-killing creature that lived in Lake Bangweulu, part of the Congo River Basin ecosystem.

•  In 1913, a German captain in the region, charged with conducting a census of German nationals living in Cameroon and Congo, wrote of how local tribes people described the creature:

"The animal is said to be of a brownish-gray color with a smooth skin, its size is approximately that of an elephant; at least that of a hippopotamus. It is said to have a long and very flexible neck and only one tooth but a very long one; some say it is a horn. A few spoke about a long, muscular tail like that of an alligator. Canoes coming near it are said to be doomed; the animal is said to attack the vessels at once and to kill the crews but without eating the bodies.
The creature is said to live in the caves that have been washed out by the river in the clay of its shores at sharp bends. It is said to climb the shores even at daytime in search of food; its diet is said to be entirely vegetable. This feature disagrees with a possible explanation as a myth. The preferred plant was shown to me, it is a kind of liana with large white blossoms, with a milky sap and apple-like fruits. At the Ssombo River I was shown a path said to have been made by this animal in order to get at its food. The path was fresh and there were plants of the described type nearby. But since there were too many tracks of elephants, hippos, and other large mammals it was impossible to make out a particular spoor with any amount of certainty."

• Finally, my favorite--The Smithsonian Institution in 1919-1920 sent 32 men to explore the region and study its ecology. The museum understood the natives had spoken of a brontosaur-type creature and included inquiry into the animal into the overall expedition mission. The expedition's African guides found large, unexplained tracks along the bank of a river and later in a swamp the team heard mysterious roars, which had no resemblance with any known animal." However, the expedition was to end in tragedy. During a train-ride through a flooded area where an entire tribe was said to have seen the dinosaur, the locomotive suddenly derailed and turned over. Four team members were crushed to death under the cars and another half dozen seriously injured

Mysterious roars

I love the part about the mysterious roars while the group was camping. I wish I had heard that sucker out there in the jungle at night. That would make my life complete!
Over the next century, at least one explorer claims to have seen Mbembe, though the animal was badly wounded as it stumbled into the water and swam off. Another account has natives explaining that the dinosaur is not a physical thing, but a spirit that can change the course of the rivers. Expeditions in the modern age include TV crews and documentary producers.
Cryptozoology is great fun. It's interesting to think that isolated pockets of unexplored Earth contain lost populations of dinosaurs or large hominids like Big Foot, Yeti, and their cousins all over the world. When people laugh at the idea of unknown species of ape, I point to the Bonobos.

A new find in the Congo

Again, we must go to the Congo. Though chimpanzees were well-known north of the Congo River, rumors spoke of a group of two-legged creatures, much larger than chimps, that lived south of the Congo River. Locals told explorers that the creatures had head hair parted in the middle and that they walked on two legs much more often than chimps did.
In spite of extensive searches for the creature, it wasn't until 1928 that German anatomist Ernst Schwarz is credited with having discovered the bonobo. Because chimps can't swim, it is believed the Bonobos were kept to one side of the river, and for some reason developed as a separate species from their northern counterparts. Scientists believe there are now about 50,000 of the creatures left. Deforestation, of course, being the main culprit for the animal's position on the endangered species list.

 --John Guerra