It all began when I was 11 years old. That day, my mom was taking us (the kids) to Arnold's Hey and Grain, a food store for animals. As we were approaching door, something caught my eye: a little dog (4 months old). The puppy was situated in a cage and was lying down on his tubby little belly. He looked at me with BIG, HUGE, BUG-eyes and whimpered. He looked so sad…so lonely…so isolated. I got down on my hands and knees and said to him, "Hey there, little puppy. You sure look lonely." Then dog looked me straight in eyes and said, "Well duh. I'm stuck in this freakin' cage sleeping in my own business and eating nasty doggy kibble. How about getting me outa here, you mental midget?" I replied with, "Sure thing, dude. I'll buy you or something like that." He rolled his bug eyes at me and stated, "You humans are all same…" I smirked. Well, a few minutes after my encounter, my mom walked out of store with rest of brats. She noticed I was looking at dog and commented about how cute he was. Then I remembered how much I wanted a dog and asked her if I could buy this one (as if I bought a puppy every day). To my astonishment, she said, "Maybe." YESSSS!!!!! She looked in to matter a little more and she decided to ask my dad whether or not we could get a dog. Again to my astonishment, he said, "Maybe." Before I could purchase my furry friend, he made me promise him that I would feed him, brush him, walk him, burp him, change his diaper etc…. Of course I agreed not realizing mess I got my self into. "Yeah whatever." I said, "I'll feed him, brush him, walk him, burp him, and change his diaper etc…" So, we bought little punk. It would take a day before we could actually pick him up. When that day came, I was more then ready to feed him, brush him, walk him, burp him, and change his diapers! When we got him to car, he completely freaked out (I guess he was never in a car before). He jumped over seats, he ran between our legs, he barked at oncoming cars, he screamed, he shouted, and he used words I would never use on this blog. When I asked him why he executed such juvenile behavior, he replied with, "Because I'm a dog, stupid. Plus I was told it's great therapy - you should try it some time." I shrugged and told him I had given that practice up a week ago. It was really difficult to find a name for this dog, so I went through lists of names common to a dog. "Zip, Butch, Rover, Cretan?" I thought to myself. All those names seemed too….stupid. So I named him "Richard." He loved it.

We even categorize this stress, enabling us to compare our stress with people we meet. Some fear they will one day meet someone with same kind of stress as they have and will not know how to label him or her. Imagine stress this would create. Or, visualize a situation where someone meets someone who has no stress at all.

PHS finds its way into every area of our culture, even religious. Nobody in these days of labeling madness can just be a Christian. Are you Protestant or Catholic?

If you are Protestant what kind? Baptist? Methodist? Presbyterian? My question is simply, why can't we just be Christians?

I was behind an elderly lady at post office recently and could not help overhearing conversation. The lady wanted stamps.

The Postmaster asked her, "What denomination of stamps would you like?"

The lady paused for a moment and then replied, "Presbyterian."

I guess a Presbyterian doesn't need as much water as, say, a Baptist.

Cataloging people into convenient groupings is not bad. In fact, it can be helpful in many ways. I attended a conference last year where 97 percent of people were of non-male persuasion and believe me when I say classification is important.

Following one session I followed crowd; not paying too much attention to where we were going - and ended up in ladies restroom. To say they labeled me is putting it mildly.

Women, regardless of what you may have heard to contrary, are quite cruel to any man (meaning of course, Yours Truly) found in ladies restroom.

During last days of this election, politicians and pundits alike are making much of undecided voter. I like to refer to these elusive people as UDVs of our country.

Who are these people and where do they live? Moreover, how long did it take them to decide where they were going to live?

If UDVs exist at this point in game, I would not want them voting for me. Personally, I do not believe in UDVs. In my mind, it is something news media invented so they would have something to talk about, especially these 24-hour cable news programs.

Having something fresh and interesting to say 24 hours a day, seven days a week is a lot of airtime to fill. Not to mention that most (if not all) on-air personnel are full of hot air.