Protests: Then and Now: History Matters

Reflecting on the recent surge of protests on college campuses regarding the Israeli-Gaza conflict, I’m struck by the echoes of past demonstrations. Having been both a participant in earlier protests and now an observer of current events, I can’t help but draw on my own experiences to shed light on the similarities and profound differences between the two.

Protest movements start with a belief and idea, challenged and changed by special interests and ultimately hardened by money, mobs and weaponry.

In the 1970s, I was actively involved in protests against U.S. Foreign Policy during the Vietnam War. At that time, like many others, my understanding of the conflict was shaped by what I was taught in high school and what I saw in the media. The prevailing narrative portrayed Communist Vietnam as a dire threat to Southeast Asia and the American way of life, invoking the Domino Theory to justify U.S. intervention.

However, my perspective shifted when I entered college and was exposed to different viewpoints, particularly through the teachings of professors at New York University. They challenged the credibility of the Domino Theory, pointing to evidence that contradicted the official narrative. This newfound knowledge had profound implications, especially for those of us who were of draft age, as it exposed the true motivations behind U.S. involvement in Vietnam: financial gain for military manufacturers and the perpetuation of the military-industrial complex. 

Moreover, my involvement in protests during that time exposed me to the harsh reality of government suppression and violence. Instances like the infamous clashes in Chicago and Washington D.C.(where I had a serving of tear gas)  served as stark reminders of the lengths to which those in power would go to quell dissent.

Fast forward to today’s protests on college campuses, and I can’t help but draw parallels and differences to what is occurring now.  As a former student of USC Medical School and a prior employee at Columbia University, I know and experienced the historical Jewish influences in both institutions. Given this background, it is disquieting, witnessing the alarming rise of anti-Semitic rhetoric and the uncritical support for the Palestinian cause, often coupled with indirect endorsements of Hamas, a terrorist group defined by the U.S. and neighboring Arab nations.

This shift in discourse is puzzling, especially given the historical significance of Judaism in intellectual and collegiate life. It seems that the true history of Zionism, born out of a response to European colonialism and centuries of Jewish persecution, has been conveniently overlooked or distorted. Similarly, the violence perpetrated against Jewish communities in Palestine during British rule has been swept under the rug, along with Israel’s defensive actions against relentless attacks by neighboring Arab states.

One cannot ignore the role of financial interests in shaping these narratives. Arab states, particularly Qatar, have poured significant funds into academic institutions, influencing discourse and faculty appointments and fostering pro-Palestinian sentiments as well as funding the underground tunnels and offensive weapons used by Hamas against the State of Israel.. As a result, Israel, once seen as a beacon of hope born out of the ashes of the Holocaust, is now portrayed as an oppressive state in the eyes of many on college campuses.

Yet amidst the rhetoric and polarization, it’s important to remember the human cost of the conflict. Innocent Palestinians suffer due to their leadership’s prioritization of weaponry over education and development, while Israel faces constant threats to its existence and is forced to adopt a more conservative approach, including rejecting the two-state solution.

Ultimately, what’s needed is rational governance and a commitment to dialogue and compromise from all sides. Only then can we hope to pave the way for lasting peace in the Middle East, where the safety and well-being of all its inhabitants are prioritized above all else.

Bison and Bullets: A Tale of Conservation at Camp Pendleton

In the tapestry of my passions, woven with threads of American history, fascination for large North American mammals, and a penchant for irony, a unique story unfolded during my visit to Camp Pendleton. It was there that I discovered the intriguing tale of the bison project, a narrative that spans decades and involves the resilience of a species nearly brought to extinction.

For decades, I have harbored a profound respect for bison. From childhood encounters at the Bronx Zoo to thrilling wildlife sightings in Yellowstone National Park, I have always been captivated by their strength and resilience. However, their journey in America has been fraught with hardship. Once roaming the Great Plains in millions, their numbers dwindled to near extinction by the late 19th century due to excessive hunting and habitat loss.

Fortunately, the 20th century witnessed a concerted effort towards bison conservation, leading to their gradual resurgence. Yet, California was not typically considered part of their natural range. This is where the story of Camp Pendleton’s bison takes an unexpected turn.

In the 1970’s the San Diego Zoo partnered with Camp Pendleton to establish a breeding program with the introduction of Adam and Eve, a pair of bison. Despite the seemingly incongruous setting of a military base, this program proved immensely successful. Over the years, the herd has flourished, with over 150 bison now roaming the hills and mesas of Camp Pendleton.

Their primary habitat lies near the artillery range, offering a stark contrast to the sounds of military exercises. As a Marine soldier and fellow golfer shared, “We often have to stop shooting practice while the bison graze through the area. They have no natural predators here, except for the occasional golf ball or shell fragment.”

This observation resonated deeply. Witnessing these majestic creatures thrive under the protection of the very institutions that once played a role in their historical decline served as a powerful reminder of our evolving relationship with nature. The story of the Camp Pendleton bison serves as a beacon for hope, reminding us that even in the midst of human activity, nature can find a way to adapt and thrive.

“A Journey Through Israel: Reflections on Past, Present, and Hopes for Peace”

In the summer of 1972, at the age of 19, I found myself in Bror Chayill, a kibbutz in Southern Israel, tending to cows, cleaning chicken coops, and working on the floors of a ceramic factory. The kibbutz was located several miles away from the Gaza Strip, where recent unspoken atrocities had taken place. At that time, the kibbutz was a melting pot, attracting travelers from Japan, Europe, and Brazilian Jews seeking solace from the horrors of the Holocaust and embracing a multi-ethnic experience.

Among the residents were Sabras, Israeli-born natives, who had recently completed their service in the Air Force during the 1967 war when Israel was attacked by Syria, Egypt, and Jordan. A year later, a similar conflict erupted, claiming lives both in the kibbutz and beyond.

In 1999, I returned to Israel with my family and had the opportunity to explore the region with an Israeli guide named Gaddy, who had Palestinian friends. We visited various Islamic sites, including the Dome of the Rock, where a Palestinian caretaker pointed out the shared historical origins of Judaism and Islam. We also ventured into Hebron in the West Bank, dining at a Palestinian restaurant adorned with a portrait of Yasir Arafat. The owner spoke of ambitious plans for Hebron, envisioning a bustling town with hotels, casinos, and religious sites to attract millions of tourists from around the world.I calculated the short distances to Hebron from the population centers of Europe, Asia and the Middle East and the billions of people across the planet that identified with the great religions: Christianity, Islam and Judaism and nodded my head that his predictions were likely to be true. Sadly, these dreams were shattered by the eruption of the second intifada a year later, resulting in loss and suffering on both sides.

A decade after that, my son pursued medical education in Tel Aviv, and we endured tense moments during Scud missile attacks by Hamas from Gaza. By then, Hamas had solidified its control over Gaza and continued to threaten Israel, particularly the areas near Bror Chayill.

I find it ironic that Palestinians and the American Left lay claim to the moral high ground of repatriation against Jewry without acknowledging the persecution Jews have endured over two millennia. the Persian and Roman exile from Israel, the deportation of Jews from England in the 14th century, the Inquisition, murder and displacement of Jews from Spain and the Iberian Peninsula in the 15th century, the pogroms, forced servitude and murders in Russia and the Austrian-Hungarian Empire in the 18th and 19th century and the Holocaust in the 20th century. The story repeats itself ad nauseum: a minority (Jewry) confronting a majority who needs a scapegoat (i.e. reason for the Black Death in Europe in the 14th century, loss of World War I and runaway inflation in Germany in the 1920’s) who can intimidate, suppress, murder and steal their culture and physical goods without repercussion. 

 The cycle of minority persecution, scapegoating, and violence against Jews repeats throughout history, from ancient exiles to the Holocaust. It’s a sad reality that in the face of radical religious factions driven by zealotry, defense of Israel becomes a necessary course of action.

My heart aches for the innocent lives lost on both sides of this enduring conflict. As a student of history, I believe that countering religious zealotry, which seeks the annihilation of Jews, necessitates defending Israel. I remain hopeful that one day, reasonable minds will prevail, allowing Hebron to thrive as a peaceful and prosperous destination for people of all religions to enjoy.

Use It or Lose It: Keeping Your Youthful Gait

Ah, behold the epic saga of my grandson’s adventure into bipedal glory! With all the charm of a circus performer in training, he struts his stuff at a mere 1 ½  years old. From daring steps to mind-boggling acrobatics, he’s the superstar of our grandparent galaxy. We bask in the glory of his feats, as if his milestones were gold medals, and we’re the proud fan club on the sidelines, waving oversized foam fingers.

But wait, as the years stack up like pancakes, so do the struggles at the other end of life’s conveyor belt. Enter the geriatric experience – where once-easy skills now play hide and seek with our memories. Picture me, preparing to enlighten some young medical students about the art of “falls in the elderly.” Little did I know, my own walking escapades would become the star of the show.

“Decreased proprioception,” I declaimed, feeling quite the wise sage. “Ankles that flex like uncooperative door hinges and a big toe clearance that screams ‘trip me if you dare’.” But that wasn’t the end of my aging acrobatics; oh no, there’s more. Numbness, tingling, and muscles that have taken a sabbatical joined the party, making sure my gait resembled a comedy skit more than a dignified strut.

Still, I fancied myself quite the septuagenarian athlete. Treadmill trekking, skiing (albeit a bit more ‘controlled falling’ these days), hiking, and golfing – I had a fitness arsenal that could make even a personal trainer raise an eyebrow. Then came the showdown in the Utah golfing arena. Another septuagenarian, a golfing legend in his own right, launched a golf ball into the stratosphere while mine stuttered like a reluctant rocket. My ball decided to take a scenic route through rocks and pine trees, like it was on a woodland adventure.

“Lost ball,” I mumbled in defeat, dropping another on the fairway. But behold, my fellow septuagenarian turned out to be a real-life action hero. With the agility of a mountain goat and the fearlessness of a squirrel on caffeine, he bounded up the hill, leaping over boulders and obstacles with the grace of a ballet dancer. “How do you stay so spry?” I gasped, amazed. His answer? A casual, “Oh, just thirty years on the search and rescue team in Salt Lake City.” In other words, decades of extreme skiing, hiking to the moon (or at least 10,000 feet), and kayaking through rapids that could give a roller coaster a run for its money.

Ah, let’s talk about the great divide in our mastery levels – I, the illustrious explorer of New York City sidewalks and conqueror of Florida bar stool acrobatics, and he, the daring daredevil of Wasatch Mountain’s icy slopes and altitude-extraordinaire. It’s like comparing a slightly mischievous squirrel to a high-altitude superhero with extra red blood cells for added oomph. Yes, I was grounded at sea level, while he practically lived in the clouds.

So, the big question arose – could practicing the fine art of pedestrianism in quirky situations bring back the glory days? Armed with my trusty hiking poles, I embarked on an epic quest: the Stewart Cascade Trail in Sundance, Utah. A mere 3 ½ miles, you say? A paltry 617-foot elevation gain? Well, let me regale you with tales of fallen Norway Spruce that wanted to trip me, streams that seemed to play tag with my feet, and mud that had a vendetta. Each step was a calculated gamble – like a dance with destiny. Will the limestone rock be a solid partner, can my hip flexors outsmart this tree branch’s sneak attack, should I leap like a gazelle or wade like a water buffalo through that stream?

Three hours later, I emerged – battered, not broken, weary as a sloth on a Monday morning, and feeling like a 21st-century version of Kit Carson (minus the wild frontier, plus the determination to conquer nature’s hurdles). And guess what? A few more trails later, I discovered that maneuvering stairs, sauntering on sidewalks, and even the most mundane urban escapades were suddenly a breeze. I had transformed from pavement pauper to sidewalk swashbuckler!

So here’s the grand revelation: practice, my friends, is the enchanted elixir of youth. Venture to the mountains, ponder each step like it’s a piece of a grand puzzle, and who knows? Someday you might just be the sprightly counterpart to your gravity-defying grandson. Until then, let the sidewalks tremble at the approach of your rejuvenated footsteps!

Ode to the Hot Dog

Oh, savory delight, the humble hot dog,

A taste that transcends time, an American emblem.

In Times Square’s bustling scene, I savored you,

Nathan’s masterpiece, as I toiled on Broadway’s stage.

As a part-time employee in that bustling space,

Where documents flew and deadlines gave chase,

Amidst the chorus of keys and whirring machines,

I found solace in your presence, your flavors serene.

But it was on July 4th, in Dobbs Ferry, I recall,

My first encounter with you, a revelation, overall.

At my uncle’s house, laughter filled the air,

As I sank my teeth into a grilled Hebrew National, rare.

I listened to Mel Allen’s voice on a transistor radio,

His iconic commentary filled the air with a vibrant glow.

As the hot dog sizzled on the grill, a symphony of flavors,

His voice painted the scene, enhancing the savors.

Amidst family and friends, laughter filled the space,

The transistor radio playing, a joyful embrace.

Dobbs Ferry’s charm, the hot dog’s savory bliss,

A symphony of summer, a moment not to miss.

In the sweet voice of Mel Allen, the stadium would sway,

As he announced a Mantle home run, “going, going, gone,” he’d say.

Toasted buns, untoasted buns, a debate so grand,

A choice that divides, across this great land.

Yet, as I bit into your warmth, the bun held you close,

A perfect union, each flavor enhancing the other’s dose.

Oh, hot dog, your history we must embrace,

From street carts to ballparks, a cherished place.

A symbol of immigrants’ dreams and endeavors,

Your origins intertwined with American treasures.

From German immigrants’ humble sausages, they say,

You were born in the streets of New York, they portray.

From Coney Island’s Nathan’s to Times Square’s allure,

You’ve become a culinary icon, timeless and pure.

So, let us raise a bun, a condiment-laden cheer,

To the hot dog, beloved, let its legacy be clear.

In each bite we take, a taste of history is found,

A culinary masterpiece, forever renowned.

Hiking the Dawn to Armstrong Trail: Where Nature Meets Tech in Perfect Harmony

My hiking boots and poles touched down on the Dawn to Armstrong Trail in Park City, Utah, my absolute favorite hiking destination! Picture a trail where snows and rains have conspired to create a floral paradise, painting the landscape with an explosion of colors. And guess what? This trail has a little something extra to offer besides Mother Nature’s charms – modern technology! So, lace up your boots, charge your devices, and join me on this tech-infused adventure through the wonders of the Dawn to Armstrong Trail.

Blooming Wildflowers: As I set foot on the trail, my eyes widened with delight. The recent snows and rains had cast a spell, and the wildflowers responded by bursting into bloom with such enthusiasm that even the most seasoned botanists would be envious. Golden Columbine, Woods’ rose, Common Pacific Pea, Sticky Geranium, Wasatch Penstemon, and Pacific Ninebark paraded their colors, turning the trail into a living tapestry. Thankfully, I had my trusty sidekick, the Picture This app, to help me identify each flower. With a snap and a click, I became a botanist extraordinaire. Move over, Fremont and Ogden!

Symphony of Bird Calls: As I ventured deeper into the trail, a delightful cacophony of bird songs enveloped me. The Yellow Warbler, Chipping Sparrow, Western Tanager, and Black-Headed Grosbeak took center stage, performing their avian concert with gusto. How did I know who was who? Well, I whipped out my virtual maestro, the Merlin Bird ID app, which analyzed their melodious tunes and provided me with front-row seats to the avian symphony. I couldn’t help but imagine President Theodore Roosevelt himself tapping his foot to the beat, although I doubt he had access to such technology back then.

Tech Guides the Way: Amidst the lush scenery and melodious serenade, I realized that staying on track was crucial. Enter AllTrails, my digital hiking guru. With its comprehensive maps, trail descriptions, and weather updates, it kept me from getting lost and even warned me about the occasional lightning risks. AllTrails had my back, ensuring I wouldn’t end up as a character in a survival reality show. So, armed with my smartphone and a good sense of humor, I embraced the harmony of nature and tech.

Conclusion: The Dawn to Armstrong Trail is a testament to the beauty of nature, but it’s also a shining example of how technology can enhance our experiences. As I strolled along, Picture This transformed me into a wildflower expert, Merlin Bird ID made me a bird whisperer, and AllTrails guided me with the wisdom of a seasoned explorer. Who knew that 19th-century explorers and President Roosevelt could be upstaged by the likes of an app?

So, dear hiker, don’t hesitate to embrace the wonders of technology while immersing yourself in the wonders of the Dawn to Armstrong Trail. Let modern-day explorers like you use apps to become botanists, ornithologists, and expert navigators. Laugh, learn, and indulge in the perfect harmony between nature and tech as you create your own unforgettable adventure on this enchanting trail. Happy hiking!

Timing, Tempo and Rhythm

As I sit in front of the piano with its 88 keys, I feel challenged to produce a musical tune with my novice fingers. My online instructor keeps repeating: “Timing, tempo and rhythm.” How did Mozart and Stevie Wonder manage to master these skills? As I hear the NBA playoffs on TV, I realize that timing, tempo and rhythm are essential for many aspects of life, not just music. 

Timing, tempo, and rhythm – three little words that can mean the difference between life and death. In the twisted game of existence, they’re the cogs that turn the wheels, propelling us forward or leaving us behind in a trail of dust.

In sports, timing can be the difference between winning and losing, between victory and defeat. But it’s not just about being in the right place at the right time. As basketball coach John Wooden once said, “Be quick, but don’t hurry.” It’s about knowing when to make your move, when to strike, and when to hold back. Elvin Hayes, who played for the Houston Rockets in the 1970s, was known for listening to Smokey Robinson’s “Second That Emotion” before games. Hayes believed that the song’s upbeat tempo helped him get into the right mindset for the game. The late, great Kobe Bryant listened to Jay-Z, Beethoven and Journey to syncopate his court skills. 

Timing is a key ingredient that makes the jokes of Seinfeld, Chris Rock and George Carlin hilarious and transform a sigh into a belly laugh.

Tempo, on the other hand, is the heart of music. It’s the pulse that drives the beat, the speed at which we move through life. And just like a well-crafted melody, the tempo can evoke emotions we never knew existed. The faster the beat, the more frenzied we become. The slower the tempo, the more melancholic we feel. It’s a delicate balance, and one that can be manipulated to great effect.

But rhythm is the true master of our fate. It’s the pattern that underpins everything we do, the driving force that gives us purpose and direction. Whether it’s the rhythm of our breathing or the rhythm of our footsteps, it’s the metronome that keeps us moving forward. As writer Maya Angelou once said, “Everything in the universe has a rhythm, everything dances.”

Timing, tempo and rhythm are the foundations of our existence, the elements that shape the mysterious maze of life. Whether we’re making jokes or scoring points, playing music or dealing with our feelings, it’s these three little words that can lift us up or drag us down. So let’s harness the power of timing, the core of tempo and the master of rhythm. For by doing so, we’ll find the groove that leads us to success and keep us forever young!

AI (Artificial Intelligence) meets 21st Century Dog Blog

I took my canine blog piece this week to ChatGPT and asked to convert it into Shakespearean sonnet and then write it in the New Yorker magazine style. All of four seconds passed when I received this output. It did not “red line” my original nor summon me to the English office after school hours. After a few minutes of sadness about the state of human creativity, I realized that we are doomed to the only job in the future: pushing a button like George Jetson working for Spacely Space Sprockets. Comments welcome.

Oh, how quaint and retro I may seem,

A lover of dogs from a bygone dream.

Gravy train and kibble, an old soup bone,

A shag rug for my faux dog throne.

Lassie, dear Lassie, my model of canine grace,

Saving grandpa from that mine shaft, what a race!

Rin Tin and Airbud, oh how they shone,

Snoopy, that smug dog, his charm never gone.

But now, in the 21st century, a grandpuppy has come,

A blend of beagle, pug, and a touch of Old Yeller’s gumption.

Watching stress-reducing videos on YouTube,

Meeting rodents in the forest, the views reaching 13 million, oh how true!

His bones, oh what a vast array,

No longer just bovine, they come in every flavor and day.

Rawhide, nylon, rubber, antler, oh what a delight,

Calcium phosphate, magnesium, salt-poor, salt-rich, what a sight!

Improved mouth health, jaw strength, tartar removal, all for the taking,

Supplemental vitamins and minerals, turning a dog into a Kennel Club sensation.

A Frisbee, an old treasure, the grandpup found,

But a new one from Amazon, a Kong, we quickly found.

Durability and universal love of dogs, oh what a claim,

Over the desiccated Portuguese Man o Wars, our pup was not the least bit tame.

Doggie health insurance, oh how grand,

Medicare coverage at 65/7, that’s a plan!

But what of fame and fortune, oh what can a pup do,

Hollywood is not the only path, I never knew.

Dog entrepreneurs, with their grooming and accessories galore,

Supporting animal shelters and having patents and trademarks to adore.

Manny The Frenchie, with a non-profit and a net worth of a million,

Walter Geoffrey, with his clothing line and sass, and a rap album in the making, how thrilling!

Loki The Wolfdog, co-founder of a travel app and a movie deal with Netflix,

Tuna, the Instagram celebrity, with an overbite that always smiles, and a book deal with Penguin Random House to fix.

Opportunities are endless, for the new century pup,

With improved nutrition, emotional adjustment, and love, they can really strut.

If only our grandpup would watch that instructional video on Frisbee catching,

The next Super Bowl halftime show, he’ll be ready, dispatching.

The New Yorker Style

As a proud retro dog lover, I was content with the basics: gravy train, kibble, an old soup bone, and a shag rug for a faux dog bed. My 20th century pup had it made. Lassie was the epitome of canine responsibility (Timmy: “Lassie, grandpa fell into the abandoned mine shaft again, go get help) and Rin Tin Tin and Airbud oozed star power. And let’s not forget Snoopy, with his smug confidence radiating from the daily comics.

But my recent encounter with a 21st-century pup shattered my nostalgic bubble. Baby-sitting my grandpuppy, a 9-month-old Orlando Rescue pup, I watched in amazement as he relaxed while watching a stress-reducing YouTube video of a Labrador retriever strolling through a verdant forest meeting a variety of rodents. This channel had 13 million views, although it wasn’t clear if they were the human or canine type.

And then there was the bone aisle at Petco – a cornucopia of choices that made choosing a variant of Pinot Noirs from multiple continental terroirs seem easy. Rawhide, nylon, rubber, antler versus bovine, calcium phosphate, magnesium, salt poor and rich and anti-oxidants. Bacon and cheese flavors could be added for those picky “chewers.” The packaging touted improved mouth health, jaw strengthening, tartar removal, improved oral microbiome, fresh breath, and supplemental vitamins and minerals that could turn your dog into an American Kennel Club icon.

Our grandpup discovered an old Frisbee in the closet which he immediately bonded with. But thanks to the mass of dog owners and capitalist ingenuity, I found Kong – a natural rubberized Frisbee that had nearly 27 thousand 4 1/2/5 star reviews touting its durability and universal love of dogs for this flying disc. I ordered it on Amazon and it arrived seemingly a few hours later. Our pup was bouncing after it on the sand and over the desiccated, beached Portuguese Man o’ Wars on the South Florida shores. And with top-notch “doggie” health insurance, he had no worries about jellyfish envenomation. I couldn’t help but wonder – at what age would he be converted to Medicare coverage? 65 years? 7? The thought amused me.

But wait, there’s more. Who knew that dogs have become entrepreneurs and started their own businesses? Grooming, training, accessories, food, and treats are just a few of the products and services offered. And some dogs even have patents or trademarks for their inventions or innovations. Manny The Frenchie (@manny_the_frenchie) not only runs a non-profit organization that supports animal shelters but also has a net worth of $1 million. Walter Geoffrey (@waltergeoffreythefrenchie) sells his own line of clothing and accessories that feature his signature sass and has a rap album coming out soon. And Loki The Wolfdog (@loki) co-founded a travel app called Loki The Wolfdog that lets you explore the world with your furry friend and has a movie deal with Netflix. Dog influencers populate the internet and often have more subscribers than humans. Tuna (@tunameltsmyheart), an Instagram celebrity, has a distinctive overbite that makes him look like he’s always smiling and also has a book deal with Penguin Random House.

So the opportunities are endless for the modern-day pooch. With improved nutrition, better emotional adjustment, and plenty of love, our grandpup can be the best dog he can be. If only I can get him to watch the YouTube instructional video on Frisbee.

21st Century Dog

I’m an old school, retro dog lover. Gravy train and kibble, old soup bone, shag rug for a faux dog bed, a rubber ball for chew time and fetching and a 20th century dog had it made. Lassie defined my idea of canine responsibility (Timmy: “Lassie, grandpa fell into the abandoned mine shaft again, go get help)!  TV and movies displayed the star power of Rin Tin Tin and Airbud  and the smug confidence of Snoopy radiated from the daily comics.

My 21st century introduction to the modern dog occurred recently as I baby-sat my grand puppy, a 9 month Orlando Rescue pup. Part beagle, part pug and a soupçon of Old Yeller, he arrived with a prance in his step and some apprehension in his new surroundings. The latter promptly ebbed as he sat watching a stress reducing YouTube video of a Labrador retriever ambling through a verdant forest meeting a various assortment of rodents. This channel had 13 million views, although it was not clear if they were the human or canine type.

He turned his attention to his stash of bones. I had naively assumed a bovine bone was his only arsenal but the mass of dog owners and capitalist ingenuity had transformed this market into a cornucopia of choices. Looking for a bone down the Petco aisle was like looking for a variant of Pinot Noirs from multiple continental terroirs. The choices were endless: Rawhide, nylon, rubber, antler versus bovine, calcium phosphate, magnesium, salt poor and rich and  anti-oxidants. Bacon and cheese flavors could be added for those picky “chewers.” The packaging touted improved mouth health, jaw strengthening, tartar removal, improved oral microbiome, fresh breath, and supplemental vitamins and minerals that could turn your dog into an American Kennel Club icon.

Our grand pup discovered an old Frisbee in the closet which he immediately bonded. The plastic was going to be no match for his gnawing. I searched Amazon for a suitable dog Frisbee and found  Kong, a natural rubberized Frisbee that had nearly 27 thousand  4 1/2 out of 5 star reviews touting its durability and universal love of dogs for this flying disc. Seemingly a few hours passed when the Amazon delivery truck delivered the new dog disc. It was a hit with our pup: he was bounding after it on the sand  and over the desiccated, beached Portuguese Man o’ Wars on the South Florida shores. He had no worries about jellyfish-like envenomation, as our son had secured top notch “doggie” health insurance (at what age would he be converted to Medicare coverage? 65yrs/7,  I mused).

Was Hollywood discovery his only path to canine fame and fortune? Again my naïveté of 21st century dog occupations was exposed. Entrepreneurial  dogs have started their own businesses or helped their owners launch successful ventures. They offered products or services that catered to other dogs or dog lovers, such as grooming, training, accessories, food and treats. Some of them had patents or trademarks for their inventions or innovations. Examples of dog entrepreneurs include Manny The Frenchie (@manny_the_frenchie), who runs a non-profit organization that supports animal shelters and also has a net worth of $1 million; Walter Geoffrey (@waltergeoffreythefrenchie), who sells his own line of clothing and accessories that feature his signature sass and also has a rap album coming out soon; and Loki The Wolfdog (@loki), who co-founded a travel app called Loki The Wolfdog that lets you explore the world with your furry friend and also has a movie deal with Netflix. Dog influencers populate the Internet and often have more subscribers than humans. Tuna (@tunameltsmyheart), an Instagram celebrity,  has a distinctive overbite that makes him look like he’s always smiling and also has a book deal with Penguin Random House.

Opportunities are indeed endless for the new century pooch. Our grand pup with improved nutrition, better emotional adjustment and love, can be the best dog he can be. If I can only get him to watch the YouTube instructional video on Frisbee catching, I know he’ll be ready to perform in next year’s Super Bowl halftime.

Holidays, Families and Lionel Trains

As the holiday season approaches, my thoughts turn to memories of childhood adventures with Lionel trains. As a young boy growing up in proximity to Penn and Grand Central Stations I was fascinated by trains and the intricate and detailed world of these miniature marvels slaked my interest. My uncle, an avid collector and enthusiast who worked for the New York Subway system, had inherited a treasure trove of Lionel memorabilia. One of my favorite memories was a vintage Lionel locomotive from 1940, a rare and valuable piece that he had always coveted. The locomotive was intricately detailed and had the ability to blow smoke when using special pellets in the smokestack, adding an extra layer of realism to our adventures.

As a faux conductor and engineer, the enterprise did not alway run smoothly. As my brother was fixing a track, I couldn’t resist the temptation to engage the transformer and send the trains chugging around the tracks. However, in my excitement, I didn’t realize that my brother’s hand was still on the tracks and he was shocked by the sudden jolt of electricity. “Ow! What the hell are you doing?” he yelled, as he jumped back in pain. My penance was removal from any electrical equipment and I was delegated to the mundane task of snapping together the plastic diner and signs that lined the train route.

A nod to NASA was a rocket launching car, a special edition released in the wake of the Soviet Union’s successful launch of Sputnik. As a child, I was worried about falling behind the Soviets in the race to space, and this little train offered a glimpse into a future filled with endless possibilities

I remember grinning at a later addition to our Lionel train set – a cattle car filled with plastic cows vibrating on platform, mimicking the movement of live cattle being transported across the country. “This is going to be the best train adventure yet!” I had mused, as I placed the cows carefully in the car.

As we sounded the train whistle and the locomotive chugged around the tracks, our terrier mix dog, Domino, started barking at the cattle car and shivering with excitement. Whether it was setting up intricate tracks and scenarios, or simply watching the trains chug along, there was something timeless and special about the world of Lionel trains. And as we spent the afternoon lost in the world of these tiny locomotives, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for the memories and adventures that these beloved trains had given us.

It was moments like these that brought our whole family together, united by a shared love for these miniature marvels.