Pure "Animal" magnetism

Does the name George "The Animal" Steele ring a bell?
If you are a professional wrestling fan, it should. He was one of the most popular wrestlers on the circuit for years.
Still doesn't jog your memory? Let me help a little. Much more hair on his chest and back than his head. A penchant for eating the stuffing out of turnbuckles. A tongue as green as Kermit's complexion. A vocabulary that would lose in a spelling bee to a Cro-Magnon.
His battles in the ring were legendary.
He's had plenty of lesser-known battles, too.
What a lot of people do not know about George "The Animal" Steele is that his real name is Jim Myers. Despite his ring persona, he is a very intelligent man. He graduated from Michigan State University and went on to earn his masters degree. He spent decades in education as a teacher and coach at Madison High School in Madison Heights, Michigan.
He has also battled dyslexia his entire life. Attending school was a definite challenge. There were no gray areas in the classroom when Myers was growing up. You were either smart or stupid; intelligent or dumb.
He proved all of those teachers wrong. It took lots of time and lots and lots of hard work, though.
Something else that took some time was Myers' battle against Chron's disease. His affliction was so severe that they aimed the Last Rites his way on a couple of occasions. He whipped it, too.
Jim Myers and I are currently working on his memoirs. It's a very enjoyable project. He has led a fascinating life. There are many, many fascinating stories.
You'll be reading more of them soon.

Head games

Sidney Crosby is still out with a concussion.

That is hardly an extraordinary occasion in sports.

More and more players, it seems, are missing games because of blows to the head. Something more has to be done, especially in the NHL and the NFL.

At least injuries to the head are finally being taken seriously.

That has not always been the case. I went to high school in the early 1970s.  If you had a concussion, you got your bell rung.

That was the medical diagnosis, too.

The coach would keep you out of the game for a couple of minutes and usually not any more than that.

My bell was rung four or five times at least. Every time, it would take a little longer for my head to clear.

Some folks would say it never really did clear.

A handful of years ago, I had the pleasure of visiting Muhammad Ali at his place in Berrien Springs, Michigan.

It was a pleasure laced with some real pain, though. It hurt seeing what years of taking blows to the head had done to Ali. The human head is not supposed to take that kind of continued abuse. When the champ spoke, his words were mostly undecipherable. When he moved, it was deliberate and labored.

It was sad to see. Just like it was sad when Eric Lindros had to finally retire from too many concussions. Just like it will be sad if Crosby has to step down way too early.

That doggone Baxter!

Welcome to the Cuckoo’s Nest.

Only extricate McMurphy and insert Benji. Replace Nurse Ratched with Old Yeller.

Then you have a good approximation of life as it’s known in the Evans house.

Before we’re done casting this little tale, better grab a couple of cats, too. How about Garfield and Puss N Boots?

The current pet tally is two dogs and two cats.

Oops, almost forget to find actors to play the roles of four hapless humans.

Then again, they are minor characters compared to the high profile dogs and cats.

There is an alpha dog in the house. His name is Oscar and he is a five-pound Yorkshire Terrier.

There is no alpha male in the house. My name is Jim and I’m at about 185.

Let’s get this story started. A handful of months ago, our family was deeply in mourning over the death of our 12-year-old yellow Lab, Scooby.

That mourning period went on for about a month or so when I decided we needed to fill the void in our hearts. I began an internet search for a rescue dog.

I started with Labs but quickly figured nope, too much like Scooby. Then I segued to Mastiffs and my wife, Kim, just said nope. While she loves dogs, I am not so sure she loves 200 pounds of dog. From there I began looking at Shar Peis. There is just something intriguing about a dog that has more wrinkles than Don Zimmer.

In the meantime, Kim and I were at a local pet food store and a rescue group had several dogs there, and we met Baxter. He was maybe six months old and was a chocolate Lab-Weimaraner mix. We fell in love.

A couple of more visits and we were hooked. Baxter was ours.

As it turns out, ours has been sort of like a marriage. At least the for better or worse part.

We feed Baxter Pedigree dry food. Somebody has obviously spiked the recipe with caffeine. He’s got more energy that Charlie Sheen at one of his epic parties.

All right, who replaced Baxter’s water with 5-Hour Energy drink? He leaps from couch to couch and back again. Hit rewind and play about 50 times. He is a kangaroo on Mountain Dew.

Baxter is now plenty tall enough that he can put his front paws on the kitchen counters and help himself to whatever food has mistakenly been left out. What’s the proper way to say sayonara to a sirloin steak? He has eaten more doughnuts than a cop writing reports. I nearly broke into tears when I found out that an entire plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies had been Baxterized.

While Baxter wants to play 100 percent of the time, Oscar wants to reciprocate about 0.5 percent of the time. Not only isn’t Oscar playful; he can be downright nasty. Oscar spends half his waking hours launching himself off a couch or chair with teeth bared aiming at Baxter. He looks like a flying squirrel in need of orthodontics.

Actually, Oscar was fine until Baxter joined the cast. The Yorkie just cannot abide by another dog not named Scooby occupying the same space.

If I dial 9-1-1, can I ask for emergency obedience training?

That is the dilemma. Does anyone know of a good dog trainer? I mean, does anyone know the Yoda of dog training?

I was going to sign up for a community education class, but it’s being held at night and that is when I work. My brother told me of a doggie boot camp where they come and take the dog away for a couple of weeks, but the cost was exorbitant.

Another problem is that Baxter is not a good listener. When I get home tonight, I have no doubt that he’ll greet me affectionately at the door. Two paws will impact my chest with the adequate force to deploy my airbags. I’ll firmly but gently tell him “Down.” Only he will continue to jump for the next five minutes or is it five hours? Soon, my gentle, soothing voice will be Axel Rose-like.

Just another day in the Cuckoo’s Nest.

We still love Baxter. For better or for worse.

Just another day in the Cuckoo’s Nest.

If this keeps up, I’ll be putting a pillow on my own face.