Who Can Throw Away a Career in One Easy Step?

One sure fire way to lose friends, particularly in the South, is to be mean to a dog. Here are just a few examples of the reverence we have for our four-legged friends:

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Southern dogs in movies:

- Old Yeller

- Skip

- Hubert

Southern dogs in music:

- Big Dog

Southern dogs in literature:

- Old Dan and Little Ann

- Marley

- Hank

Vick is being vilified more than had he done something to an actual person. Even if he's cleared, this will leave more of a stigma than most of the nefarious activities of his contemporaries. People will forgive drug abuse. Steroids? No problem. Even worse, when a superstar beats up the wife it's usually forgotten with a public apology and a little counseling.

But drowning and electrocuting dogs? It's hard to imagine what goes on inside the diseased mind of someone who justifies this. And Vick is not alone. Unfortunately, the next time a public figure does this it will be less shocking. And before long it will barely get our attention. Gun charges and stints in rehab barely make headlines anymore, and I can't even estimate the number of times over the past five years when the words "NFL" and "strip club" have been spoken in the same sentence.

Somewhere Troy Aikman is helping an old lady to cross the street on his way to the grand opening of the Troy Aikman Super Fantastic Center for Disadvantaged Puppies.

The Exception to the 5-Second Rule

My friend Jeremy is the type of guy who can accomplish anything he wants by simply willing himself to do it. He’s run a marathon, written some cool songs and became a pretty good photographer, all basically because he felt like it.

One semester he decided he wanted to score a 4.0 GPA. Jeremy’s a smart guy, but like most liberal arts majors at SFA, not what you would call a stand-out student. But for some reason he decided to ace every class, a couple of which we were taking together. He disappeared that semester and resurfaced with a perfect 4.0.

Another time we were walking in the woods (something we spent a lot of time doing) and we came across a tree that was about 30ft. tall, straight up and down, no limbs or anything. I made a bet with him that he couldn’t climb it. About 45 seconds later he was standing on top of it. Jeremy made driving his car (or Wyatt’s delivery trucks) look like rocket science, but could take some of the most absurdly challenging tasks and just make them happen. That’s just the kind of guy he is.

But his most impressive feat took place in my living room at Lakewood Village, apartment #129. Jeremy lived way outside of town so he’d spend a lot of time at 129 between classes and in the evenings to avoid making the trip back and forth between Nacogdoches and whatever that Podunk town was called. Anyway, he was over one night and we were hanging out like we always did.

Because I lived with chick-magnet Jonathan, our kitchen was always full of goodies. Homemade cookies and other treats had a way of finding their way to our apartment. On this particular night, we were finishing off a plate of Rice Crispy treats. When Jerms showed up there was only one left. Sometimes a guy gets that look in his eyes when he’s so focused on something everything else kind of fades away. That’s how Jeremy was looking at this Rice Crispy treat. This Rice Crispy treat was about to make his day.

Unfortunately, before he could take a seat on one of our four couches, he fumbled his goody and it landed on the floor. Now, let me remind you that this was the carpet of an apartment that three guys shared, none of whom were passionate about cleanliness. The combination of our heavily trafficked carpet and the stickiness of the Rice Crispy treat was a recipe for disaster. This didn’t bother Jeremy. He picked it up for a closer look and we all knew what was on his mind.

Had it been my Rice Crispy treat that fell on the floor, I would have probably donated it to science. Not Jeremy, his cup was half-full. For the next 10 minutes or so, Jerms painstakingly picked every piece of floor matter off the Rice Crispy treat; carpet fibers, crumbs from other dropped foodstuffs and, of course, enough pubic hair to knit a sweater. When the Rice Crispy treat was picked bald, Jeremy enjoyed it without a trace of dimmed enthusiasm.

We all learned a little something about desire that night.