The Final Chapter In My Book Of The Chow

The impetus for starting this blog was the passing of my last Chow Chow about a month ago. Everyone expresses their emotions in different ways, for me the best way to work through these feelings is to write about them. The dilemma is that nobody wants to have the first thing they write about be depressing, the world will kick you in the stomach every chance it gets. So I guess as it was once said the best place is to start at the beginning. I grew up outside Sacramento, California in a suburb called Carmichael. We moved their from Southern California when I was two, so for all intense and purposes that was my hometown. Carmichael was a great place to be a kid especially darning the summer. Long, hot days with nothing to do except get into trouble, and play baseball every day. Every day at the elementary school a few blocks from our house was where we met to play baseball in one form or another. Some days there would be a full game, other days there might only be enough people to have batting practice but there was always someone willing to play. One day just before it was time to go home for dinner I was shagging fly balls when I saw a something that would become an my obsession for the next year, and then in turn become part of my life for the next thirty years.