Assumption

We’ve all seen the images by now.  Everyone knows who these folks are.

But several days ago, when this story first broke the news, I didn’t see those images.  I saw bits and pieces of headlines, with no images.

I was busy. I just sort of glanced at them.  It was about a day before I actually read an article about it.

What I gleaned from those bits and pieces of headlines was this:

First, the moron in the White House hadn’t bothered to call the surviving family members of the soldiers who died in the incident in Niger.

Second, he was being criticized for not having done so and responded with his usual Twitter-tantrum about how no other presidents ever called anyone either (which of course, as everything he tweets, is not true).

Third, he then finally called one of the family members and insulted them.

Fourth, the conversation was overheard and a congresswoman, whose name I did not recognize, repeated part of it to the media.

Fifth, the president then called the congresswoman a liar.

And that is all I knew for a fact.

Seriously.

All I knew that I had confirmed.

I didn’t know which soldier’s family he had called. I didn’t know the soldier’s name.  I didn’t recognize the congresswoman’s name at all. And I had not seen the images.

But there is something else that I suspected without any kind of confirmation.  I just knew.  I didn’t have to look.  I didn’t have to read it.  I just knew.

I knew that the soldier and the widow and probably the congresswoman were not white.  Not white.  I didn’t know if they were Hispanic, or black, or whatever, but I knew they weren’t white.

This has been followed, of course, by Trump sending one of his flunkies out to clean up his mess.  It’s what he always does, and this time he chose John Kelly for the job.

I know why he did.  Kelly is a sympathetic character. He’s lost a son to war.  He is a former general.  What he says carries weight as a result.

 

John Kelly had the bully pulpit and could have smoothed this ridiculous gaffe over.  He could have stopped it all cold.

He chose instead to sacrifice his own personal integrity to defend an ego-maniac.

It’s a very sad thing to see.  But it’s not the saddest thing.

By the time I saw Kelly’s lying tirade about the whole thing, I had seen photos of Rep. Frederica Wilson.  I knew that she’s a black woman.  I had assumed she was and my assumption was correct.

But had I not seen them, I would have known my assumption was correct.  Kelly’s tone and words confirmed it.

From where I’m sitting, that fact—the fact that I knew just by the behavior and demeanor and tone of the messages sent out by Trump and Kelly that the victims in this story are all minorities—is the saddest part of it all.

The video below is well worth watching.

Here’s a link in case the video gets wonky.

Georgia

This is Georgia.

Here she is with her mother, Cheney.  Georgia is the larger, darker one.

Georgia and Cheney were the first farm animals we got when we moved here nine years ago.  We were told that they were mother and daughter, and we really have no idea how old they are, except that they are more than nine years old.  The guy said he thought they were something like four and six or six and eight and I knew he probably was lying and they were more like fourteen and sixteen.

The farriers have told us that they are well into their teens and probably in their twenties.

Anyway, they have always been our bad, naughty donkeys.  I’ve written a bit about them.

We have loved them.  We love to hear them bray.  I used to worry that their braying would bother the neighbors and then I found out that our neighbors love it too.  Braying donkeys make me smile.

Except tonight.

Dave was out at the barn after milking tonight, filling water buckets.  I had come back to the house to deal with the milk and clean the machine.

And Dave heard Cheney braying.

He knew something was wrong, just by the way she was braying. So he went looking for her.  He found her with Georgia.

Georgia has died.

She was lying down near the back fence, and Dave said that she looked like she simply dropped.

She’s been doing poorly for quite some time.  She foundered, we had two different farriers out to fix her feet, she’d be a little bit better for a while and then she’d start looking ill again.  When the vet was out here with Frances that day, we had him take a look at her.

He said that donkeys sometimes get adrenal problems and that it looked like that might be the problem. I asked him if it was treatable and he said, well, yes.  Sort of.  It was the “sort of” that stopped me.  He kind of shrugged a little and said, “You know she’s pretty old.”  And that was my answer.

What he was telling me was “Yes, we can treat it, if that’s the problem, but she’s old, it will cost a pure fortune and it probably won’t give her much time anyway, and maybe no quality of life.”

Georgia was sweet and we loved her, but she and Cheney were and are farm animals. They have a job. They aren’t house pets.  We can’t run an old folks home for farm animals.  If we try to do that, we’ll go broke and not be able to have any animals at all.

We gave her nine very good years.  She was petted and pampered, as far as the average farm donkey is concerned.  We provided shelter for her in winter when the weather was bad.  Most don’t get that.  She and Georgia have their own stall, which they always shared.

We will miss her.

But not as much as Cheney will.

I suspect we’ll have to find another donkey soon.  They are herd animals.

You were a good one, Georgia.

And now I’m going to go cry a little bit.