About Lugnut -- Patrick Malone

Mr. Frumkin has before been our good counsel. He takes the care of people that lesser people, like me, do not on our own. When he sounds a call to action, we best come running. Lugnut has peppered my threads many times and always with the care and attention we hope to recieve. I know that we will do what is needed.

Attaboy! Steer for the sound of the guns.

Mr. Frumkin, you have been a remarkable force in our extended circle. This is not the first time I have seen your attentiveness. Lugnut is a familiar voice. Tell us straight out what you understand his needs to be, and we will come a runnin

A long time ago, you wrote that it was time to admit that you are part dog. You mentioned fleas, but my dog never gave me fleas. Only my friend's brother home from Africa and the Peace Corps (remember them?). So I lived for months with these monster African fleas. Thank God they never rose above my ankles, which I do not understand because I rarely sleep standing, wittnesses to the contrary.

And you mentioned dog toys. My dog has never acknowledged a toy. Her pal comes over and I am forced (via special dog guilt) to throw his ball (brings his own) and sticks until he colapses for a minute or so. And she just looks at him as if " You big dumb galoot. " And when I give up she pokes him with her nose, which he does not at all get. But she has no notion of toy.

And if her water dish is empty she tips it upside down with her paw. Failing that, she noses it noisily untill you catch on.

But music! Now that is another matter! Because I live on a terrible slope (in several respects), I have four flights of stairs. The room with my stereo is on the bottom. My dog prefers the sunny top. I need only depress the power button and you hear the clatter of nails as she bounds across the wooden floor, crashing into the wall because she cannot turn the corner when running on wood, correcting course to the stairs and at my feet before you can say Sergei Vassilievich Rachmaninov. She yips and runs in circles until I put on the record. Soon as the tip hits the vinyl, she settles down exactly between the speakers. After four years, I got her another bed, so she echoes my couch. When the inner loop is reached, she is up and resumes yipping. The VPI 17F makes her howl, though.

My daughter was just home from college, and was looking at the dog bounce the cabinet door with her nose repeatedly. She said, "Dad, have you not been playing records lately?" Well, my turntable was out getting a new arm. So she said, "Come girl" and went into her room to play her set. She has an old decal of Nipper across the back of a wooden chair, about the size of a dinner plate.

So it seems that as you claim to be part dog, I claim my dog is part you. You ended by questioning your bravery. Acceptance is bravery. Dogs know this. Not the acceptance of bad government or other ill treatment. Not surrender or fatalism, but acceptance that you have bravely allowed us to see at great length in great detail. You help me through my trials. You will never know how many you turn from cowardice as the alternative to acceptance.

And the redoubtable Frumkin ain't no slouch neither. This frayed thread goes back to your page 2.