This is a re-posting of a blog I wrote last year. I just wanted to have it on this blog instead of the old one.
My Hutchy 24.Jan.2007
Last night, just after sunset, I worked my way outside to feed my horse, Butch and my dog, Hutch. It was truly a California night. In late January, when most of the country is suffering through cold temperatures and snow, on this evening, we were basking in the glory of another beautiful night. I thought to myself as I walked outside; "Man it sure is nice out". Temps were in the mid to lower 70's and there was a gentle, hardly noticeable breeze coming from the north.
Usually I am greeted first by Hutch, who would playfully run out ahead of me, and show me where his food bowl is. As if without him, I would never know where to put his kibble. Tonight, the lazy dog didn't run out to greet me. I noticed that the gate to the six by twelve chain link dog kennel that I converted into a shed to keep the feed in was open. I figured old, crazy Hutchy was in there hunting for mice or trying to get into his food bin. It was getting dark, and I couldn't really see if he was in the kennel or not. As I got closer, I discovered that he wasn't there.I fed big Butch, and topped off his water. Still no sign of Hutch."I wonder if he got out through the gate", I thought to myself.
I visualized him carelessly running around, watering the neighbor's flowers. I knew he would never attack or do anything to anyone. He's 10 1/2 years old, and really grown into such a mellow, loving dog. But still, when people see a rottweiler running around loose, they tend to get a little nervous. No thanks to the media, and bad image that has been associated with the breed in recent years. If he was out, I'd have to make sure to find him before someone else. They might call the police, and who knows what an officer might do to protect the public from an "unsecured man eating rottweiler".
I focused my attention on the gate that leads to our yard. It looked closed. I walked closer. Then, I noticed a dark object lying in the dirt against the side of our home. "Hutchy, come on..." He was motionless. "Come on buddy. Hey Hutch..."He was dead. He looked like does when he sleeps, his jaw resting on his front right arm. I touched him, and felt his side. He was still somewhat warm. His extremities moved freely and without any signs of stiffness. He had just passed. Probably at the exact moment that I was enjoying the warmth and beauty of this gorgeous Southern California night, he was taking his last breaths.I wonder if he heard me at the door, got excited, tried to get up, then had some kind of heart attack. I wonder if he got into something poisonous. What could have taken him so quickly.
Earlier that day my wife and kids gave him a bath and played ball with him in the warmth of the day.His last day was full of doggie treats and playing fetch. He didn't suffer, which is a good thing I suppose. His sister (yes, you guessed it "Starsky") was diagnosed with bone cancer last summer. She suffered with pain for months. We had her on pain medication that made her feel better, but sucked all the life out of her. We lost her in mid December. For ten years, since the day he was born, Hutch had Starsky with him every single day. In the days after she was gone, I caught him standing where she used to lay. He would sniff around the area, then howl. He would sniff the air with his nose up, and howl some more. There is not a doubt in my mind that he missed her. Their whole life Starsky and Hutch were a "pack". Now, he was a pack of one and his mourning was more than clear.
Anyone who claims that dogs don't have feelings or emotions, has never owned a dog that they loved.I had a rotty of my own before I met my wife. On New Years day 1996, I found "Junior" as a stray in south central Los Angeles. He was hungry and scared from a rough night dodging the hail of bullets falling from the sky, fired from the guns of drunk and careless revelers. I fed Junior a chicken sandwich from the vending machine at work. We became instant pals.
Junior was the best dog that ever walked the face of the earth, period. I loved that dog. He was my buddy.
I met my wife, who had two rotties of her own. Starsky and Hutch were still pups when we met. After a somewhat bumpy start, the pack of three rotties was happy, balanced, and healthy.
Hutch was young and strong, and ended up being the alpha of the pack, but that was ok. Junior was older, and so mellow, that he really wasn't interested in being the "leader". He was my dog, and he didn't care about anything else other than me. In return, I protected Junior, and unknowingly or unintentionally was a better "dad" to him than the other two.
Star and Hutchy belonged to my wife, and it showed. They were always more like step-dogs to me.
I lost Junior right around the time the school shooting happened at Columbine High in Colorado. I think it was May of 1999 (does that sound right?). He had developed stomach cancer, and no matter what we did to try to extend his life, it took him quickly and without mercy.I miss Junior even to this day. He was my Old Yeller, Rin Tin Tin and Lassie all rolled into one.
Over the years, Hutch and I grew closer. As he matured, he became more reserved and mellow. He developed a lot of the traits that I enjoyed about my Junior. He would come over and nudge your hand in an attempt to get some lovin'. He loved playing ball, and swimming, and chasing squirrels. He was a good dog.
He was the strongest and most invincible out of the three rotties. Nothing could get him. He got into a pack of disposable razors once when he was a puppy. He ate the entire pack, blades and all. He didn't so much as even get a scratch in his mouth. Nothing ever happened to him. Hutchy was crazy.
He lived a great and full life right up to the end. He was happy, healthy, big and strong. And just like that, he was gone. I'm glad he didn't suffer like Star did, but I wish I could've been there for him. I regret that he wasn't in the house on his bed when it happened. I wish I could've held him when he died like I did for Junior and Star. He deserved that. He was a good boy.
He'll be missed, but I truly believe that he has moved on. I believe in my heart that the Lord does allow animals into Heaven. Don't ask me why I think that. I just feel it's true in my heart. I don't base it upon any particular Bible verse or anything. It's just a sense of peace that I feel about the topic. What would heaven be like if we couldn't enjoy the presence of your loved ones, including our beloved pets? I know Junior and Satrsky and Hutch are running through fields of grass, playing and happy. Together again as an in-tact "pack".
You're a good boy Hutch.
-13 Under The Gun
9.17.2008
9.09.2008
Beer, Guns, Rednecks And Poker. Why They Don't Mix Well
Yesterday was one of those rare days when I was actually off from work. The first Monday night football game of the season was coming on, and in the second game of the double header, the Denver Broncos were in Oakland to kick the crap out of the weak Raiders. I've been a fan of the Orange Crush since 1984, and never miss an opportunity to witness the Broncs prevail over the boys in silver and black. I am a huge "Raider Hater".
So my great friend J.Z. called and told me that he was going to be passing through town and wanted to hook up for lunch. Sounded great. Lunch turned into a few beers, and a few beers turned into buffalo wings and a sports bar, where we were met by another friend from work who lives nearby (in the name of good taste, we will call him "Bubba").
I'm not one for big crowded bars when I'm trying to watch a game or fight. More often than not the volume on the monitors in the bar isn't turned up loud enough to drown out the loud voices in the bar. The more people drink, the louder they become. The louder they get, the less I can hear the game....
Why spend money on beer, pool and a big screen when I have all of that at home for free?
I made my case, and back to my place we went.
By the time we got there, Denver was up 17-0 and they were going into halftime.
We hung out and had some more drinks, and talk shifted to my personal favorite topic, poker.
The three of us decided to play a short handed cash game in the front room.
I set up the chips and chairs, and opened a fresh pack of Bikes. I set up three stacks of 40 chips thinking that the buy-in would be $40, and we'd play 1-2 blinds.
J.Z. talked me into keeping the game friendlier, so we settled on $20 bucks for 20 chips. I cut away one stack from each of us, and set them aside in case anyone wanted to re-buy.
We got to playing No Limit Hold 'Em and having fun. It was a real loose, non-serious game. Each of us were playing way too many hands. We were talking about our hands, and showing our cards after the hand was over.
After seeing our buddy "Bubba" show down hands like 7-4, and J- 3, I opened up my starting hand requirements to pretty much any face card with a decent kicker, any pocket pair, and suited connectors. Both of my opponents would rarely raise more than 3 pre-flop, no matter what they were holding. They were what I would consider loose-passive that occasionally tried to be aggressive. I felt comfortable seeing a lot of flops. If I missed, it was easy to fold because there wasn't a lot of chips getting put into the middle. It was also easy to get them off of their hands with well-timed raises and re-raises.
Needless to say, I was doing ok until I got down to about 11 dollars at one point when my set of 8's ran into a rivered straight with my opponent holding 5-9 off in a big pot, calling my bets the whole way...
I laughed it off, and kept playing. I busted Bubba out in no time. He re-bought with another twenty. J.Z. hung around for a while, and ended up getting railed when his A-Q ran into my pocket Aces.
The whole time Bubba kept drinking. J.Z. and I drank too, but not as quickly or as much. I've found that when I'm playing cards, especially at a donkey table, and shorthanded, I can't drink because I'm so preoccupied with the game and the money I'm about to win. The can just sits next to me, and the beer gets warm.
Bubba didn't have that problem. He kept tossing them back.
At one point I noticed a change in Bubba's demeanor. He went from joking around and laughing to quiet and stiff. A definite tension came over the table. I sensed that Bubba was going on tilt from losing nearly $40 bucks, and was getting angry at the ever increasing size of my perfectly stacked chips. I was killing them.
J.Z. decided he had enough and sat out, he became our D.J. as he took over controls of the jukebox.
Bubba ponied up another 40 bucks. I recommended that we just play for fun, but he was tilted, and wanted to win back his money.
After a few hands, I asked him if everything was ok. He indicated that he was angry at J.Z. for making him feel inferior earlier in the evening. He was mad because J.Z. spoke about the university that he went to in New York. I guess that made Bubba feel dumb since he hadn't been to college. He said that he didn't care about his job, and when someone provokes him or disrespects him, he won't hesitate to "Clean his clock".
I told him I was slightly relieved because I thought he was mad at me for taking his money.
That's when he said, "Don't look at the discards".
"What?" I replied. "Don't look at the dis-cards." he slurred.
I asked him if he meant the mucked cards. He nodded in the affirmative. The whole while he was very tense, staring me right in the face.
"Whoa, whoa, I don't know what you're talking about, I don't remember ever looking at anyone's mucked cards." I told him.
"You did. Just admit it, I'll have more respect for you if you just admit it." He said.
"When? What are you talking about dude? You're drunk" I told him.
It felt like a surreal scene from an old western movie. The feeling of an impending fight came over the table. It felt like I was playing against the Russian dude from Rounders.
We were playing on my pool table. I was sitting in the middle near the side pocket. He was sitting across from me. I actually began thinking of a game plan. Was he going to jump across the table at my throat? Was he going to get up and challenge me in my own home? It was almost one o'clock in the morning, my wife and kids were in the bedrooms. I actually thought I was going to have to pick up the 9 ball that was in the pocket next to me and knock his teeth out with it.
I asked him to explain to me what it was that he thought he saw. I tried to reason with him by continuing to speak in a low, calm voice. I don't know him real well, and I'm not sure what he is capable of. All I knew was that he was drunk, he was on tilt, he was armed, and he was looking for a fight.
Not a good situation.
I told him to think about it, why would I cheat in a loose, fun, home game against friends for twenty bucks? When everyone is showing down a lot of hands, bluffs are common, and we are playing half-assed poker. What benefit would come from looking at mucked cards when everyone already knows that everyone else is playing ultra loose?
I wasn't' really angry at the allegation until later. At the time, I was more taken by surprise, it came out of the blue.
That's when he said something disturbing.
He said, "I know you have kids here, so I'm not going to take this any further."
So he's is implying that if this were another place and time, I'd be in a fight?
What the hell is going on?
I'd expect this kind of behavior at the 40 no limit table at The Commerce from a total stranger. But not from a person that I've invited to my home.
We went back and forth for a while longer, I tried to reason with him, and diffuse the situation. He added that he was angry because there were chips off to the side that were not "in play". I tried to explain to him that those were the stacks of twenty that were peeled off when we decided to make it a 20 dollar buy-in event, and those were being used for re-buys. He didn't understand.
At one point he asked me in a very cryptic manner, "How did those pocket nines look?"
See, earlier in the game, I had pocket nines. I raised pre-flop to 10. He called, and J.Z. folded. The flop came J 2 10 with two hearts. I had black. I tossed in a continuation bet, and he re-raised all-in. Even though I was getting about 2-1 odds to call, and I was probably ahead in the hand, I decided to fold. There were two over cards and straight and flush draws on the board. I didn't want to risk it. I had a feeling that I was beat. When I folded, I tossed my cards on their backs right over to him to show him the nines. I wanted to try and get some information from his reaction. I told him "nice bet".
That was like an hour before this little stand off that we were now involved in, and right around the time he became quiet. So, when he asked my how those pocket nines looked, I replied, "They didn't look so good against the texture of the board, and I gave you credit for a better hand. I respected your raise. Why did you have it beat?"
He just shook his head in a disgusted manner.
After I realized that we weren't getting anywhere, I told him that what he was accusing me of was very serious, and that I took offense.
He told me to just deal the cards. Still sensing that a fight was coming, I told him that I was done. He said "Fine", and stood up.
I reached for the nine ball, and glanced over at J.Z. who was standing to his left, and about a fraction of a second from rushing him.
"I'm going home" Bubba muttered.
He turned and walked out the front door.
J.Z. and I sat around for the next hour and tried to make sense of what had happened.
It was so out of the blue. It was kind of scary.
Bubba is the kind of rough and tumble guy that will fight at the drop of a hat. Add into to the equation the influence of alcohol, and the tilting effects of bad poker playing and he turns into an explosive person.
At the end of the night, when I counted the money that was in the pot, I noticed that there was 60 dollars missing. Somehow, and I don't know how or when, Bubba had taken two of his buy-ins back.
Wow. Wow.
The next morning, I got a phone call from Bubba. He left a message apologizing for his actions, and asking if I would please call him.
I waited until that evening and called him back.
He said that he was drunk and sorry for how he acted. He told me that he doesn't remember what he saw, but he thought somehow that the pocket nines were his, and that I turned them over on the table. I reminded him of how the hand really went down, and he apologized again. He said that he was just looking to pick a fight, and it didn't matter what was really going on, he was just looking for anything to get angry about. He regretted how he acted and that he was embarrassed. He told me that he has been going through a lot of "stuff" at home, and that he wasn't being himself.
I accepted his apology, and made no mention of the missing cash. He, like many of us has been hit hard by the housing market crash, and has been going through some financial hard-times.
I forgive him, because I know sometimes people make mistakes, and I've always been taught that if a person takes responsibility for their actions, and is genuinely sorry, they should be be afforded some leniency.
Anyone who says they have never been drunk, made a fool of themselves and done things that they later regretted, is a liar.
I know I have.
I have learned a few things from this experience. I'll never again play for very long against drunk opponents. I'll never allow guns near the poker table, or in my home for that matter (I play against a lot of cops). I'll never show my cards unless it's a showdown, or someone specifically asks, and I feel like being kind enough to show. I'll keep the buy-in cash away from the action, or with a third party. The second I feel tension at the table from a person I don't know real well, I'll clear the air right away, and not let it "stew". If I'm playing against a player who is obviously on tilt, I'll ask if he would like to take a break, and get some fresh air, or at the very least, have a few extra pool balls close by.
It's nice to take chips from easy targets like drunk donkeys who don't know how to play, but I'm not sure it's worth the threat of violence that may come with it.
13 Under The Gun
So my great friend J.Z. called and told me that he was going to be passing through town and wanted to hook up for lunch. Sounded great. Lunch turned into a few beers, and a few beers turned into buffalo wings and a sports bar, where we were met by another friend from work who lives nearby (in the name of good taste, we will call him "Bubba").
I'm not one for big crowded bars when I'm trying to watch a game or fight. More often than not the volume on the monitors in the bar isn't turned up loud enough to drown out the loud voices in the bar. The more people drink, the louder they become. The louder they get, the less I can hear the game....
Why spend money on beer, pool and a big screen when I have all of that at home for free?
I made my case, and back to my place we went.
By the time we got there, Denver was up 17-0 and they were going into halftime.
We hung out and had some more drinks, and talk shifted to my personal favorite topic, poker.
The three of us decided to play a short handed cash game in the front room.
I set up the chips and chairs, and opened a fresh pack of Bikes. I set up three stacks of 40 chips thinking that the buy-in would be $40, and we'd play 1-2 blinds.
J.Z. talked me into keeping the game friendlier, so we settled on $20 bucks for 20 chips. I cut away one stack from each of us, and set them aside in case anyone wanted to re-buy.
We got to playing No Limit Hold 'Em and having fun. It was a real loose, non-serious game. Each of us were playing way too many hands. We were talking about our hands, and showing our cards after the hand was over.
After seeing our buddy "Bubba" show down hands like 7-4, and J- 3, I opened up my starting hand requirements to pretty much any face card with a decent kicker, any pocket pair, and suited connectors. Both of my opponents would rarely raise more than 3 pre-flop, no matter what they were holding. They were what I would consider loose-passive that occasionally tried to be aggressive. I felt comfortable seeing a lot of flops. If I missed, it was easy to fold because there wasn't a lot of chips getting put into the middle. It was also easy to get them off of their hands with well-timed raises and re-raises.
Needless to say, I was doing ok until I got down to about 11 dollars at one point when my set of 8's ran into a rivered straight with my opponent holding 5-9 off in a big pot, calling my bets the whole way...
I laughed it off, and kept playing. I busted Bubba out in no time. He re-bought with another twenty. J.Z. hung around for a while, and ended up getting railed when his A-Q ran into my pocket Aces.
The whole time Bubba kept drinking. J.Z. and I drank too, but not as quickly or as much. I've found that when I'm playing cards, especially at a donkey table, and shorthanded, I can't drink because I'm so preoccupied with the game and the money I'm about to win. The can just sits next to me, and the beer gets warm.
Bubba didn't have that problem. He kept tossing them back.
At one point I noticed a change in Bubba's demeanor. He went from joking around and laughing to quiet and stiff. A definite tension came over the table. I sensed that Bubba was going on tilt from losing nearly $40 bucks, and was getting angry at the ever increasing size of my perfectly stacked chips. I was killing them.
J.Z. decided he had enough and sat out, he became our D.J. as he took over controls of the jukebox.
Bubba ponied up another 40 bucks. I recommended that we just play for fun, but he was tilted, and wanted to win back his money.
After a few hands, I asked him if everything was ok. He indicated that he was angry at J.Z. for making him feel inferior earlier in the evening. He was mad because J.Z. spoke about the university that he went to in New York. I guess that made Bubba feel dumb since he hadn't been to college. He said that he didn't care about his job, and when someone provokes him or disrespects him, he won't hesitate to "Clean his clock".
I told him I was slightly relieved because I thought he was mad at me for taking his money.
That's when he said, "Don't look at the discards".
"What?" I replied. "Don't look at the dis-cards." he slurred.
I asked him if he meant the mucked cards. He nodded in the affirmative. The whole while he was very tense, staring me right in the face.
"Whoa, whoa, I don't know what you're talking about, I don't remember ever looking at anyone's mucked cards." I told him.
"You did. Just admit it, I'll have more respect for you if you just admit it." He said.
"When? What are you talking about dude? You're drunk" I told him.
It felt like a surreal scene from an old western movie. The feeling of an impending fight came over the table. It felt like I was playing against the Russian dude from Rounders.
We were playing on my pool table. I was sitting in the middle near the side pocket. He was sitting across from me. I actually began thinking of a game plan. Was he going to jump across the table at my throat? Was he going to get up and challenge me in my own home? It was almost one o'clock in the morning, my wife and kids were in the bedrooms. I actually thought I was going to have to pick up the 9 ball that was in the pocket next to me and knock his teeth out with it.
I asked him to explain to me what it was that he thought he saw. I tried to reason with him by continuing to speak in a low, calm voice. I don't know him real well, and I'm not sure what he is capable of. All I knew was that he was drunk, he was on tilt, he was armed, and he was looking for a fight.
Not a good situation.
I told him to think about it, why would I cheat in a loose, fun, home game against friends for twenty bucks? When everyone is showing down a lot of hands, bluffs are common, and we are playing half-assed poker. What benefit would come from looking at mucked cards when everyone already knows that everyone else is playing ultra loose?
I wasn't' really angry at the allegation until later. At the time, I was more taken by surprise, it came out of the blue.
That's when he said something disturbing.
He said, "I know you have kids here, so I'm not going to take this any further."
So he's is implying that if this were another place and time, I'd be in a fight?
What the hell is going on?
I'd expect this kind of behavior at the 40 no limit table at The Commerce from a total stranger. But not from a person that I've invited to my home.
We went back and forth for a while longer, I tried to reason with him, and diffuse the situation. He added that he was angry because there were chips off to the side that were not "in play". I tried to explain to him that those were the stacks of twenty that were peeled off when we decided to make it a 20 dollar buy-in event, and those were being used for re-buys. He didn't understand.
At one point he asked me in a very cryptic manner, "How did those pocket nines look?"
See, earlier in the game, I had pocket nines. I raised pre-flop to 10. He called, and J.Z. folded. The flop came J 2 10 with two hearts. I had black. I tossed in a continuation bet, and he re-raised all-in. Even though I was getting about 2-1 odds to call, and I was probably ahead in the hand, I decided to fold. There were two over cards and straight and flush draws on the board. I didn't want to risk it. I had a feeling that I was beat. When I folded, I tossed my cards on their backs right over to him to show him the nines. I wanted to try and get some information from his reaction. I told him "nice bet".
That was like an hour before this little stand off that we were now involved in, and right around the time he became quiet. So, when he asked my how those pocket nines looked, I replied, "They didn't look so good against the texture of the board, and I gave you credit for a better hand. I respected your raise. Why did you have it beat?"
He just shook his head in a disgusted manner.
After I realized that we weren't getting anywhere, I told him that what he was accusing me of was very serious, and that I took offense.
He told me to just deal the cards. Still sensing that a fight was coming, I told him that I was done. He said "Fine", and stood up.
I reached for the nine ball, and glanced over at J.Z. who was standing to his left, and about a fraction of a second from rushing him.
"I'm going home" Bubba muttered.
He turned and walked out the front door.
J.Z. and I sat around for the next hour and tried to make sense of what had happened.
It was so out of the blue. It was kind of scary.
Bubba is the kind of rough and tumble guy that will fight at the drop of a hat. Add into to the equation the influence of alcohol, and the tilting effects of bad poker playing and he turns into an explosive person.
At the end of the night, when I counted the money that was in the pot, I noticed that there was 60 dollars missing. Somehow, and I don't know how or when, Bubba had taken two of his buy-ins back.
Wow. Wow.
The next morning, I got a phone call from Bubba. He left a message apologizing for his actions, and asking if I would please call him.
I waited until that evening and called him back.
He said that he was drunk and sorry for how he acted. He told me that he doesn't remember what he saw, but he thought somehow that the pocket nines were his, and that I turned them over on the table. I reminded him of how the hand really went down, and he apologized again. He said that he was just looking to pick a fight, and it didn't matter what was really going on, he was just looking for anything to get angry about. He regretted how he acted and that he was embarrassed. He told me that he has been going through a lot of "stuff" at home, and that he wasn't being himself.
I accepted his apology, and made no mention of the missing cash. He, like many of us has been hit hard by the housing market crash, and has been going through some financial hard-times.
I forgive him, because I know sometimes people make mistakes, and I've always been taught that if a person takes responsibility for their actions, and is genuinely sorry, they should be be afforded some leniency.
Anyone who says they have never been drunk, made a fool of themselves and done things that they later regretted, is a liar.
I know I have.
I have learned a few things from this experience. I'll never again play for very long against drunk opponents. I'll never allow guns near the poker table, or in my home for that matter (I play against a lot of cops). I'll never show my cards unless it's a showdown, or someone specifically asks, and I feel like being kind enough to show. I'll keep the buy-in cash away from the action, or with a third party. The second I feel tension at the table from a person I don't know real well, I'll clear the air right away, and not let it "stew". If I'm playing against a player who is obviously on tilt, I'll ask if he would like to take a break, and get some fresh air, or at the very least, have a few extra pool balls close by.
It's nice to take chips from easy targets like drunk donkeys who don't know how to play, but I'm not sure it's worth the threat of violence that may come with it.
13 Under The Gun
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