Don't shoot a police dog in South Carolina

You better not shoot and kill a police dog in South Carolina.

Not convinced?

Ask the 24-year-old man who recently pleaded guilty in Columbia, S.C., to five counts of attempted murder (on police officers who pursued him for nine hours). He also pleaded guilty to one count of unlawful killing of a police dog.

He escaped going to trial and risking a sentence of life in prison without parole.

But now the dog killer has to do 35 miserable years in prison. They should hold him in his cell on a tight leash.

Seems that during the police pursuit of the gutless, heartless dog killer, Fargo (the police dog) bit him and tried to hold on to him.

Fargo was a tough, determined, fearless dog—devoted to helping protect the public—but even he could not sustain two gunshots.

And what did the thoroughly useless, soulless piece of human flesh say about Fargo when (sniveling) he faced the judge who sentenced him?

“Being bit by a dog, I did freak out and I did shoot at the dog. I just ask that you accept my apology. It was never my intention to go out that night and shoot at officers and have a shootout.”

And then there’s the sad, intriguing story about a dog gunned down at a residence in Rock Hill, S.C., on New Year’s night.

And guess who did the gunning down?

A police officer.

I wasn’t there, so I don’t know exactly what happened.

But it appears to be a he said/they said situation.

The “he” (the police officer) said he responded to a call that evening of some sort of disturbance/loud noise at a private residence.

The officer said he walked around to the back yard because that’s where he thought the loud music was coming from.

In his defense, I’ll bet it was dark back there and the officer was tense.

Two pit bulls charged toward him, he wrote in his report. One of the dogs ran away from him when he began yelling, he wrote, but the other canine charged him, causing him to shoot it twice.

People at the New Year’s Eve party at that house then became upset and started yelling, and the officer became even tenser. He called for backup.

Picture the scene.

Rocky, the 85-pound red nosed, loveable pit bull that had been shot, is yelping and squalling and writhing in pain from his gunshot wounds. He is clinging to life. People are kneeling next to the dog—petting it, whispering words of encouragement for it, praying for it.

And some are downright angry that the dog had been shot in the first place. They put down their champagne and pause in their merriment and give the police the evil eye.

“I think the officer was afraid that he would get bit,” one man there that night said. “He could’ve reacted a whole lot different.”

Family and friends scooped Rocky up and rushed him to a veterinarian in Charlotte. But it was to no avail. Rocky, severely wounded, was too far gone. He had to be euthanized.

His owner and the family are devastated.

How much so?

“I would have taken the bullet for this dog,” said the heartsick owner, who buried Rocky in his backyard. “My dog did the right thing.

“I would just like see him stop shooting animals,” he said about the officer. “I’m sure he’s saved more lives than he’s taken, but this was a life that did not need to be taken.”

Meanwhile, the police say they regret what happened but that the officer had no choice.

An executive officer in the department defends what the officer did that tragic night: “He (the shooter) feels bad about it. We don’t want to (shoot dogs), but our officers don’t want to get hurt deciding if the dogs will bite or not. We don’t let dogs bite us.”

I have a feeling this isn’t the end of this sad dog story. But however it ultimately plays out, that family will never get over having their dog shot in cold blood.

By Rock Hill’s finest, no less.

Rest in peace, Rocky.

Note: Some material from this blog post came from stories published in early January 2014 in The (Rock Hill, S.C.) Herald and The Charlotte Observer.

Jesus and Dirty Harry

Random thoughts about Christmas:

Parking lots incredibly jammed.

Ridiculously long lines in all the stores.

Sales clerks haggard and overworked and tired of answering stupid questions.

Cashiers numb with exhaustion. Sick of ringing people up or dealing with their unswipeable cards.

People everywhere shopping, and when they’re not, they’re eating or punching numbers on a small screen.

Husbands in tow while their wives or girlfriends spend all their money.

Chirpy Salvation Army bell ringers greeting you with “Merry Christmas!”

Fat people everywhere. Fat people eating as they shop or work their phones or talk. So fat, some of them, that they more wobble than walk.

Wide-eyed, bothersome, money-hungry people trying to flag you down from their kiosks in malls.

Massages--$90 for 45 minutes.

Men salivating in Victoria’s Secret.

Knife peddlers.

Fragrance peddlers.

Okay, enough of the dreariness or mundaneness of this special season.

So easy to forget the true meaning, as they say, of Christmas.

Christmas marks the birthday of Jesus, the Son of Man, sent by God, and born in a lowly manger in a smelly stable in Bethlehem, to rescue all of us.

What an unlikely beginning!

Everyone on the planet wanted then, and still craves today, access to God. Jesus, who shared a barn at his birth with horses or camels or whatever other livestock they had 2,000 years ago, is our open access. The Son of Man is the great key to making our life complete and full of joy—not only on this Earth but also in Eternity.

Dirty Harry said “Make my day.”

Jesus said (I’m paraphrasing) “Make my day by coming to me. And in return, I’ll give you the promise of Eternal Life.”

Jesus—the great, stunning, empowered rescuer. The one and only savior of humanity.

A Christmas song captures the magic of his birth and life:

“Fall on your knees.

“Oh hear the angel voices!

“Oh night divine.

Oh night when Christ was born!”

Lest we forget what Christmas is REALLY about.

Merry Christmas, brothers and sisters, daughters and sons, mothers and dads.

Dr. Jacob Mbuga Matovu

We said good-bye a few days ago to my good friend, Jacob Matovu. He fought hard the last few years to stay alive, but finally, on Nov. 16, 2013, could fight no longer.

As he lay dying in Watauga Medical Center in Boone, N.C., I am told he had a priest and his family by his side. He was serenaded by the music of Celine Dion and Reba McIntyre.

Not a bad way to go out of this world.

I had visited him a few days earlier in ICU and he squeezed my hand, mumbling "Hello Larry."

Jacob was from Uganda, Africa. He had taught mass communication at Appalachian State University for 25 years before retiring in 2010.

He and I met in the graduate program at the University of Iowa.

Ironic how it works out.

He went to school and I connected with him in cold, snowy Iowa. I reconnected with him several years ago in cold, snowy Boone.

These are some of the things I remember about Jacob:

1. When I arrived in Iowa in 1981, I knew not a soul in the entire state, save for Ken Starck (previously at the University of South Carolina where I earned a master's degree). Ken, always a good friend/colleague, had become director of the School of Journalism and Mass Communication at the UI. It was scary and unsettling being way out there in the Midwest--pretty much all alone with no family. And then I happened upon Jacob. If he could live and work in Iowa--so many thousands of miles away from his family and loved ones in Uganda--so could I!

2. Jacob once presented a research paper on African drums as a form of mass communication. It was part of his work toward his Ph.D. I sat there entranced as he spoke about something I knew absolutely nothing about. (I had heard drums beating in Tarzan movies years earlier, but Jacob definitely expanded my understanding of this vital form of communicating on the African continent.)

3. Jacob loved to eat. He shared many meals with my family in nearby Tennessee. My Dad (who passed away in January 2012) had never met anyone from Africa, and he was especially intrigued by Jacob's stories. Dad knew a bit about the vicious Ugandan dictator Idi Amin, and he always wanted to know more. Jacob obliged, and Dad loved it.

4. Jacob once took a group of Appalachian State University students with him for a "study abroad" experience in Uganda. He wanted me very much to join the group and teach journalism in his home country, but I declined, saying: "What on earth would they think of a little white man in Uganda?" Jacob's response: "They would love you, Larry."

5. Jacob loved his family, his homeland of Uganda and his church (St. Luke's Episcopal) in Boone. And that's where he was laid to rest last week--just a few feet from the church's main entrance. It was cold and windy that day, but it seemed somehow fitting. I met him in the cold. We buried him in the cold. In the background, maybe a mile or two away, a marching band played merrily. It was "game day" for the ASU football team. My friend from Uganda would have smiled at the incongruency of saying last words over his burial site while the band played on.

Farewell, Jacob Mbuga Matovu. I will never forget you.

What happens to our time?

I'm retired now (have been for several months) but life keeps me busy. So where does the time go? A chunk of it is gobbled up by shopping.

I'm talking mainly here about shopping at Walmart. Today, I visited a Walmart in Johnson City, Tenn., and confronted, as I always do, a jam-packed parking lot, exasperated, tired fellow shoppers and long lines at the checkout registers. An aside: Why is it that Walmart has a dozen-plus checkout lanes but only two or three of them are active?

Here's an attempt at documenting what you must do to buy $67 worth of groceries at the big box store. Nothing scientific here; just my personal take, based on my shopping excursion today, on getting what you want done at Walmart.

Step-by-step shopping at Walmart.

1. Get in car
2. Start car
3. Drive to Walmart
4. Find parking space (not always easy)
5. Get out of car and lock it
6. Enter store and get shopping basket
7. Take out your list (if you have one) and traverse the store (can be several blocks of walking), and get your needed items
8. Find checkout lane where line seems manageable
9. Roll your cart into that lane and wait, wait, wait… Read trashy tabloids while you wait.
10. Watch others in line ahead of you slumping and moaning and sighing in frustration, waiting for their turn at the checkout register
11. When it’s your turn, extract your items from shopping basket and put them on checkout line conveyor belt
12. Watch tired, miserable checkout person ring each item up and put in bag(s) for you
13. Scan your debit/credit card
14. Choose debit or credit. If debit, enter your secret code. If credit, sign your name. (I just scribble mine. Who cares how sloppy or neat you are?)
15. Hit “Okay” at bottom of read-out counter where you scanned your card.
16. Get your receipt (and some useless coupons for items you'll never, ever buy.)
17. Smile when tired, miserable checkout person says “Thank you and have a nice day.”
18. Put all your bagged items in shopping cart.
19. Roll/push shopping basket to your car in parking lot.
20. Unlock the car
21. Load all your bagged items into your car.
22. Start car and pull out (carefully), exiting crowded parking lot.
23. Return home.
24. Stop car. You'll inevitably have an urge to hit the bathroom!
25. Unload all your bagged items from shopping trip, and try to assure your barking dog that he'll have your attention very soon.
26. Put stuff you bought on shelves or in cabinets or in the refrigerator or wherever…
27. Sit down and say (like George Bush famously did on that aircraft carrier) “Mission accomplished!”
28. And then, of course, you have to cook or otherwise prepare the food items you purchased, do the clean up and throw away leftovers. Days later, you’ll make YET ANOTHER trip to Walmart and repeat steps 1-27 above. Long as you're breathing, steps 1-27 are repeated over and over and over…

No need to be perfect

I heard an interesting sermon a few weeks ago at a church in Tennessee. The pastor, Tom Oyler, noted that Christians are not born on Krypton and therefore don't have superhuman powers.

Instead, Christians are weak, weary, flawed, imperfect in so many ways.

And when we become (in our view) hopelessly flawed and isolated, we run the risk of losing our faith.

But not to fear.

God welcomes us, pardons us, relieves us, heals us. We find God not just as bystanders sitting and listening in church but through connecting with small groups of caring others.

Bottom line: Join some sort of supportive group to help you get through your depression or flaws. Find sustenance and counsel from others. Don't fight the fight alone. As Oyler put it--and as Pastor Mike Lowery of Impact Community Church in Rock Hill, S.C. has frequently stressed: As Christians, we don't shoot our wounded. We welcome our wounded. We wrap our arms around them.

One caveat: Share your trials and heartaches with the right people and for the right reasons. Do not share your pain with just anyone.

So how to know where to find that trusted person or persons?

Pray, pray, pray.

He suffered mightily

By now you may have heard about Thor the bulldog.

But in case you haven't, read the story below by my former student, Jennifer Arnold, a reporter for the Herald-Journal newspaper in Spartanburg, S.C.

Thor died from the effects of being left in a car (albeit parked in the shade and with the window cracked) when his owners visited a store.

They were gone only for a few minutes, but that's all it took.

The heat inside their car caused Thor to go into shock. He must have fought mightily to stay alive, but he was doomed when those car doors slammed.

He panted. He barked and whimpered pitifully. He struggled to keep breathing. And when officers freed Thor from that locked, sweltering car, the 57-pound bulldog was found with his tongue "lolling out," according to the story. He was too weak to drink water.

I am sure Thor's owners are devastated and that this had to be one of those accidents that'll haunt them for the rest of their lives.

Some folks in Spartanburg who read Ms. Arnold's story are not so quick to forgive or overlook. One reader, for example, commented: "The dog's owner . . . was present when the dog was left in the car. While she's now whining about how "horrible" she feels about this, she's not feeling a fraction as horrible as the poor dog, with its swollen brain, felt in its final hours. As the dog's owner and guardian, she's even more culpable in this than the owner of the car is. Have the Spartanburg cops charged her, and if not, why not?

"

Here's the complete story (published earlier this week in the Herald-Journal in Spartanburg, S.C.)

By Jenny Arnold — jennifer.arnold@shj.com
SPARTANBURG, SC — Lethargic and blind from swelling in his brain, his pink skin covered with small red dots indicating small bleeds under the surface, Thor the bulldog succumbed to complications from heat stroke early Tuesday.
The 18-month-old, otherwise healthy 57-pound brindle and white bulldog was found locked in a car at WestGate Mall Sunday afternoon. The windows were cracked, but it was still too hot for the bulldog, a breed that is particularly susceptible to heat stroke because of its shortened muzzle.
Thor was already in distress when found by Spartanburg Public Safety Department officers, his tongue lolling out and his breathing fast. He threw up as officers broke a window and worked to get him out of the car and appeared to be in shock, too weak to drink water the officers offered him.
Thor was treated by veterinarians at the Spartanburg Humane Society during the day, and by Care Animal Regional Emergency Clinic by night. He died at the Care clinic shortly after midnight Tuesday, said Katie Freseman, spokeswoman for the humane society.
But those at the Spartanburg Humane Society say Thor's death isn't in vain. Messages of hope and love for Thor came from as far away as the United Kingdom, and a donation toward his medical care came from Miami. Before his death was reported, many expressed an interest in adopting him. "The outpouring of support for this dog has been phenomenal," Freseman said. "He's helping us spread a very important message to our community."
The message, Freseman said: Even 5 minutes in a car during the summer is too long. Even with the windows cracked, the temperature inside a car can turn deadly for dogs in just minutes. "Five minutes in the store can turn into 30 if you run into a friend you haven't seen in a while," Freseman said. "It's just not worth the risk."
According to the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, symptoms of overheating in pets include:
• Excessive panting or difficulty breathing; • Increased heart and respiratory rate; • Drooling; • Mild weakness; • Stupor; • Seizures; • Bloody diarrhea or vomit; • Body temperature of more than 104 degrees; and • Collapse.
Heat stroke causes brain damage and organ failure and as in Thor's case, is often fatal. Pets with short muzzles, like bulldogs, pugs and Persian cats, are more susceptible to the condition.
Thor's owners, Tony Lee Davis, 33, and his girlfriend, Tonya Middleton, 33, of Fletcher, N.C., told police they were returning from a beach trip with their children and dog. They went into WestGate for a bathroom break, and were inside for about 45 minutes, according to police. Thor was inside a car parked in the shade, with the windows cracked. It was raining at the time.
There are no laws regarding pets locked in vehicles in South Carolina. Tony Davis was charged by the Spartanburg Public Safety Department with ill treatment of animals and released from jail on a $1,000 personal recognizance bond.
Ill treatment of animals is a misdemeanor, and since this is a first offense for Davis, he faces up to 60 days in jail, a $100 to $500 fine or both if convicted.
A second offense carries up to 90 days in jail and/or $800 fine and third or subsequent offenses carry up to 2 years in jail and/or a $5,000 fine.
Spartanburg Public Safety Capt. Regina Nowak has spoken to Thor's owners since Sunday and they are very upset about their dog's death. Nowak said the incident was a tragic accident.
"(Middleton) was just devastated when I talked to her today," Nowak said. "She said, ‘How am I going to tell my kids he died?' They know what they did was wrong. Did they intend to harm the dog? No. Are they remorseful. Yes. It still doesn't change what happened. All around, it's a bad situation." Thor's remains will be released to the family, Nowak said. The charge against Davis still stands but he is not facing additional charges.
For police and animal lovers, Tuesday was a sad day.
"We were all rooting for him," Freseman said. "But if there's any

thing positive to come out of this, it's that he's been able to reach hundreds of thousands of people."

Why did she die?

I never met Anne Doss (pictured with this blog post), but I'm sure she was charming, smart, and well liked. And, of course, she was extremely attractive.

She was a mother and a wife and a respected bank executive with Wells Fargo, and her husband said she was in perfect health and loved to exercise.

But she died the other day at the age of 56 in Minnesota.

No one knows why she died, just that she died apparently from "natural causes," according to a source in the medical examiner's office in Minnesota.

She went to sleep in a hotel room, but never woke up.

How does one make sense of this? Why did God take Anne Doss so suddenly and so unexpectedly?

How to reconcile this with our beliefs and faith in the Almighty?

So senseless.

So sad.

I didn't know you, Anne, but I'll say a prayer for your and your family tonight.

Maybe the message here is that when we go to sleep, there are no guarantees that we'll ever see the sun again.

Here, in case you missed in, is the story about Anne's death in a recent edition of the Charlotte Observer:

Wells Fargo exec from Charlotte dies unexpectedly


By Deon Roberts
droberts@charlotteobserver.com
Posted: Thursday, Aug. 15, 2013

A Wells Fargo executive who worked in uptown Charlotte died unexpectedly Wednesday in Minnesota, the bank has announced.

Anne Doss, who headed Wells Fargo’s personal and small-business insurance division, was 56.

“It is with great sadness that Wells Fargo confirms that Anne Doss, head of our personal and small-business insurance division, has passed away,” the bank said in a statement Thursday.

A spokeswoman for the Hennepin County Medical Examiner’s Office said Doss died Wednesday morning and that her death was being investigated. The spokeswoman said Doss died at a Sofitel hotel in Bloomington, a city south of Minneapolis. Her death appeared to be from natural causes, the spokeswoman said Thursday morning.

Doss’ husband, Herbert Doss, said Thursday that his wife had gone to Minnesota on a business trip. Her death took him by surprise, he said, because she had not been ill.

“She was in perfect health” and “very into exercise,” he said.

Her husband, who said he stayed in Charlotte while she went on the trip, said his wife had attended “numerous very important” roundtable meetings Tuesday. He said the last time he and his wife spoke was Tuesday night.

“I spoke to her as she was going to sleep,” he said, adding that she sounded fine. “She was perfect.”

Doss was named to the insurance division position in December. When the bank announced the appointment, it said Doss would oversee a team that provides small business and consumer insurance solutions, including for auto, home, renters, life, umbrella and property and liability coverage.

Prior to that, Doss led Wells Fargo’s insurance national practices and special risk group.

Doss had also worked for Wachovia, which Wells Fargo bought in 2008, as president of insurance services.

In addition to her husband, Doss is survived by a son, 30, and daughter, 31. The family lives in Charlotte.