This is Maggie, a three-year old Cockapoo rescued from the shelter by my mother.

Weighing just 11 pounds, Maggie is little pooch who gives my Mom big attention.

Maggie is very social, rarely barks and only on occasion will do her business on the floor.  Otherwise, she is the perfect companion!

Hey wait, I thought this was about MS!  Where’s the MS connection?  If I want a dog story, I’ll watch “Animal Planet!”  Now get to the MS, you Lassie-lover!

Pardon me.  The MS.  Yes, of course.

My most visible MS condition…..is foot drop.  I’ve always thought it should be called “foot-drag,” because that is how I walk.  Step…drag.  Step…drag.  Step…drag.  (It’s pretty obvious when I’m in the vicinity of the beach or there is snow on the ground as I leave a distinctive trail!)

It was a usual overnight visit at my Mom’s house…dinner, hanging out, talking and watching TV.

I excused myself and went upstairs to bed around midnight.

Nature called several hours later (I’m a middle-aged man, my bladder is the size of a dixie cup).  I rolled out of bed and did my usual step-drag across the hall to the powder room.

The accused.

Half way there I dragged my right foot into a wet spot.  “Oops, Maggie?” I wondered.

I pulled my foot back and felt around with my hand.  Nothing.  I chalked it up to a weird MS sensation and continued my “step-drag” into the bathroom and then back to bed.

The hours that followed were a restless slumber of tossing, turning & flopping.

In the morning I arose, walked into the hallway and froze….shocked by what I saw before me.  The sight made the Sharon Tate murder scene look tame.

It was fecal carnage.

Brown streaks were sloppily smeared into the light colored carpeting like a Jackson Pollock painting.

All the way into the bathroom, and all the way back into my bedroom.

Upon further “CSI” investigation, I found a turd bit just inside the doorway of the adjacent bedroom.

Piecing together the crime scene, I speculate the events happened as follow…

 

“I stepped in the sh&%.  Upon feeling the wetness, I pulled my foot back and felt the carpeting with my hand.  I felt nothing because the doggie-dung had fastly cemented itself to my instep.  Then, because I must throw my right foot forward to step, I used “kung-poo power” to kick a turd into the next room.”

 

But it was a small bit.  Where might the rest of Maggie’s dung be?

You wouldn’t think?

I step-dragged back into my bedroom.

I took a deep breath to collect myself.  Throwing back the sheets, I thought only of the horse-head scene from “The Godfather.”

There, between my bedsheets was the remainder of Maggie’s product.

My God, it looked like a rohrshock test.  I’ve seen cleaner baby diapers.  The sleep number of this bed was definately number two!  How could this tiny, 11 pound Cockapoo inflict such “Cujo” like damage?

So it goes.  Life with MS adds character to everyday situations.  To be sure, it’s tale wagging fun!

And now, five years later in Peru, this goof-ball struck again by beating another young woman to death, supposedly because she looked at his laptop computer.

Imagine what he might do if you were his roommate and you ate his leftover pizza!

You, like most, are bored by the overworked, over-hyped, Nancy Grace-like publicity this guy has mustered.

Yet, here I sit fascinated by this dumb Dutchman.  Here’s why…

My Odd Sock vacationed in Aruba just a mere month before Natalee Holloway vanished.

In fact, I stayed in the very same hotel—the Holiday Inn of Aruba.  (Yes, I am a high-class traveler….”Kids, steal a couple little soaps from the maid’s cart as you walk past.”)

When the Holloway case first broke, I recognized many of of the background shots taken by reporters in and around the hotel.  Plus, one of the early suspects was a security guard from the hotel.  I recognized him on the news because he gave me the evil eye during my stay as I rolled thru the lobby in my wheelchair.

From day one I thought van der Sloot was guilty.

I wanted to personally beat him with wooden shoes.

(Do the Dutch wear wooden shoes?)

Joran claimed to have buried Natalee Holloway’s body.  I never believed that either.  For one, Aruba is a volcanic desert.  You can only dig a few inches before hitting petrified, volcanic lava.  And two, the Slootmeister was 17 at the time—what teen carries a pick-axe capable of cracking lava rock?

Aruba is a small island off the coast of Venezuela.  It’s only about 17 miles long and 7 miles wide, so you can drive around the entire place in about an hour.

The Aruba Holiday Inn sits on the southern side (facing Venezuela) and has a beach with a waveless, smooth-as-glass waterfront.  But on the other side of Aruba (facing the Atlantic Ocean), the waves are vicious, forcefully hitting the rocky shoreline causing sprays of water to go 30 feet in the air.

In my opinion, Slooty never buried Holloway’s body—he dumped her into the ocean on Aruba’s wild side where she quickly became shark chum.

This is a cheery story—ain’t it!  And timely too!  My Odd Sock has become a “CSI” for morons!  Maybe next time, I’ll offer my thoughts on Amelia Earhart.  Holy crap, I can hardly wait!

So there you have it….a long post to simply say I am glad Wunder-Sloot has been put behind bars—finally.  Unfortunately, it took another young woman’s life to make it happen.

What will helmet-head-hair Nancy Grace yak about now?