Rainy all day, but they need their exercise.
The park, emptied of everyone
except me and the dogs—
tails up, noses down,
Bella with her tug ball,
oblivious to weather,
or maybe made for it.
No voices. No cars.
Just the soft drip of water meeting earth,
and the rhythm of paws
in soaked grass.
We got wet.
We didn’t mind. Nothing a car towel can't fix.
The world had stepped out,
and left the silence to us.
It happened too fast.
My little dog Beatrice—BB—was ahead of me, doing what she always does in the park: sniffing, patrolling, trotting just slightly too far, like she’s got her own errands to run. I was trailing behind, letting her be her scrappy, independent self.
Then I heard it. A scream. High, sharp, unmistakable.
It was BB.
I ran. Not thinking, not planning. Just running. The kind of sprint your body invents when you hear someone you love in pain.
Two larger dogs had gotten her. I don’t know what set them off. I only know they backed off when they saw me barreling toward them. And their owner? Said nothing. Did nothing.
No apology. No concern.
Just… silence.
I had to yell—really yell—to get her to leash her dogs and put them in her car so we could have a “chat.” And we did. I let her know, in no uncertain terms, that what happened was not just unacceptable—it was burned-into-my-memory unforgivable. The owner is older than I by about 10 years. I'm not proud of what I said, but it could have worse. "You're too old to be this dumb! YOU are responsible for your dogs behavior. What the fuck is the matter with you". I felt like throwing a rock through her window.
Let’s just say: I don’t think I’ll be seeing her again. If I do, it won’t be a quiet reunion.
This is the second time BB has been attacked recently. And Bella—my other dog—was hit by a pit bull a few months back. So yeah, I’m thinking about carrying bear spray now. Not because I want to use it. But because I don’t want to be helpless again. And, as bad as it sounds, I believe in retribution.
BB is moving gingerly today, a little slower, a little sore—but she’s here. Still wagging her tail. Still showing more grace than I’m capable of.
Dogs are like that.
They forgive faster than we deserve.
I decided to test out some of Google’s newer AI tools—specifically, NotebookLM. I was curious about their podcast generation feature, and figured: why not throw something personal into the machine and see what comes out?
So I uploaded a story—one I’d written about a conversation I once had with my grandmother, Nana. A quiet memory, dusted off and given a slight narrative shine.
I fed it into NotebookLM, clicked the “generate podcast” button, and waited. It took about 15 minutes.
Below is the story.
And then—what the AI did with it.
Well, it happend, I’m back in another production at the West End Theatre in Quincy, CA.
This time it’s Shrek: The Musical—a tale of love, layers, and swampy redemption—and I’ve landed a small but mighty role as Papa Ogre. That’s right, I’ll be kicking off the show as Shrek’s dear old dad, paired up with my longtime friend and frequent stage partner, Michelle Pfingston, who’s playing Mama Ogre. In this go 'round, we have the dubious honor of sending off our 7 year old son (Shrek) alone into a hostile world while celebrating it in song. Ain't show business somethin'!
It’s a brief appearance, but it comes with something I don't mind doing: singing. In front of people. On purpose.
The show opens in May, just in time for Mother’s Day, and it’s packed with adorable characters, fairy tale chaos, and enough heart to fill a whole swamp. I’m keeping my time commitment light this round—just dipping my green toe back in the performing waters—but I couldn’t resist the pull of the stage. Especially with this cast, this crew, and this story.
Sometimes the best way to keep the joy alive is to take a small part in something big.
So… I’m auditioning for some kind of role in Shrek the Musical.
That’s right. Community theater has pulled me back in—this time with ogres, dragons, talking donkeys, and musical numbers that are catchier than they have any right to be.
I’m going for a small role. Nothing too demanding. Something fun, something weird, something I can do without torching my calendar or my sanity.
Why? Because the stage still calls, even if it’s just whispering now. And because saying yes to small things can sometimes keep the big parts of life moving.
I’ll share more once I know who I’ll be playing (and whether or not I have to wear green face paint).
Cue the fairytale fanfare.
