A Beagle Named Sammy

It is fitting to write about Sammy right after Mandy.  They were siblings.  Separated in age by many years.  No, there was probably no genetics shared between them, but those two misfits loved each other one minute, then fought to blood the next, exactly like human siblings.

Sammy came from the same humane shelter as Mandy.  I was working and going to school full time so the right thing to say was that it probably wasn't the best time to have one dog let alone two.  Instead, I thought Mandy would be happier by not being alone all the time I was at school or work; besides, I really wanted another dog.  I was away a lot, but my hectic driving schedule made it pretty easy to stop at home frequently.
The shelter again had several beagles available.  One was a very sweet beagle mixed with a little bit of basset.  She was scheduled to be in the newspaper as one of their ad dogs in the near future.  The policy of the shelter was that dogs in the news paper had to be available for a few weeks after being in the paper and then if there was multiple parties interested, there was a complicated choice system.  Net, it would be many weeks, if I would have gotten her.  Sammy on the other hand was the runt of a litter of sickly beagle pups that came in.  All the other pups died shortly after being brought in but somehow Sammy did not, even though she was very small and had a hernia.  I'm not sure how I could have said no to her.
After the usual hoops to jump through, I was able to pick her up on a late Friday.  I didn't want her to have another weekend in the shelter, so I picked her up on the way to school for a night class.  The temperature was such that she would be fine in the truck while I was in class, and it was scheduled to be a short class.
On the way to school, Sammy squirmed her way out of her cardboard box and jumped all over, the puppy that she was.  Distracted by this, I locked my keys in the vehicle as I leaving for class.  I had a friend who was a police officer at the school, he stopped by after I was able to call the security office. He made short order of the door with a slim jim and I got my keys.  Luckily, Brandon did not see that I had a puppy in the car.

After class, I got back to my car.  Not surprisingly, Sammy was not in her box.  She had pooped in my truck as well.  Luckily, it was a pretty awful truck with a plastic interior so clean-up was not an issue.
I went home and after the typical dog smelling, Mandy and Sammy quickly bonded.  Sammy was probably the easiest dog to house train, likely because Mandy had learned the rules, and helped.  I'm not sure if this is actually possible, but any time Sammy had an accident, Mandy barked like crazy, "Don't do that in the house!  It makes 'em mad!"

Mandy and Sammy quickly became best friends.  They slept most of the day in a small bed; there were actually two beds, but they were always in the same one.  They shared food, but only out of different bowls.  They fought about everything.  Both dogs had split ears (Sammy's were far worse) from the fights, those long floppy beagle ears are very vulnerable.  The fights only lasted a few minutes and were followed by dog-apologies.  In one notable case after moving to Ohio, Sammy and Mandy were with me on the way home from running errands, with a stop for pigs ears at the pet store.  The pig ears in the bag instigated a fight that ended up under the brake pedal.  Luckily, it didn't turn out as poorly as it could have.

Sammy was definitely the trouble maker.  The dog gates meant nothing to her.  Two dog gates on top of each other meant nothing to her.  There was nothing she couldn't find her way around or through.  She learned to open cupboards to extract toys - blender, a full container of Crisco, dog food.  I had to put child locks on all the cupboards for years because of her.  Any door that was ajar was completely open to her deft paws.
In the apartment after moving to Ohio, Sammy and Mandy had to be tied up in the kitchen when home alone.  Sammy found a way to open a drawer, climb on the counter, share the dog treats and go to the other side.  Her leash was just long enough to not hang her and she dug through the drywall, creating a shelf to get a paw on, back onto the counter and to the correct side.  Imagine the surprise when I came home to the dog treat jar talking (Snausages, Snausages...) a hole in the wall, and two innocent looking beagles.  It was never a dull moment with her.
She loved the squirrels in the back yard.  She would spend hours stalking them, wanting to come in and peer out the back door until they returned from the safety of the trees, to be let out and stalk them again.  I don't remember her ever catching one, but she never tired of this as a young dog.  Even as she got older she had a lust for all small mammals.  I tried a couple times to take her to hunt bunnies, but she had an innate fear of guns.  I let her run around while I unsuccessfully hunted.  She was happier that way.

I got more beagles through the years, to a total of 4 for quite a while.  Sammy got crabbier as she got older.  Her perfect world was the two people in her life and Mandy, that's it.  She tolerated some of the other dogs, notably Dixie, but had an obvious distaste for Lucky and Soda.  She really didn't even like other people very much.  In one case when there was a house full of people, Sammy broke the rules to go upstairs to get away from all the people.  Unlike most of my dogs, she hated the vet, and kenneling was terrible for her.
Through all this Mandy and Sammy had a bond none of my other beagles have ever had.  When Mandy  died, I hung her collar from the rear view mirror in my truck where it remains today.  A few weeks later, Sammy was in the truck and craned her neck to put her nose on the collar and smell it.  A beagle always looks a little sad and Sammy was more expressive than most, but there is no doubt she missed Mandy.

Sammy aged like us all.  She pursued small mammals less, and looked more for opportunities to sleep in a comfortable spot or sit by the kerosene heater in the winter.  She started to go down hill quickly.  A trip to the vet concluded her liver and kidneys were not acting normally.  There were three options, expensive treatment which was likely to do little, put her down, or do nothing.  She still had that Sammy spark, so I couldn't put her down.  She hated the vet, so I didn't want to let her live her last few months as a permanent patient, I believe that is selfishly cruel to do to any dog.  She went home and we tried to make her as comfortable as possible.  A day or so before she died, she curled up on the couch with me, something she didn't do very often as getting on the couch was not easy for her.  I'd like to believe it was her goodbye.

Sammy was the only dog I've gotten as a puppy.  She and Mandy were best friends, and in many ways my best friends; they were both with me through some rough times.  She was probably the most mischievous dog I've ever had, but never in a deliberate way; she was a total free spirit.  Anybody would be lucky to have had a dog like Sammy in their life.  I know I was.

A beagle named Mandy

A week ago I took a quick trip to Michigan to see an old friend.  This weekend, a different Michigan friend stopped by on his way home from a trip to Deal's Gap and the Blue Ridge Parkway.  Our various dogs came up while talking with both friends, albeit briefly.
This led me to want to immortalize all my dogs here.  I have previously said I could write my autobiography based on my dogs, when I had them, their timelines.  Since it is doubtful I will ever have a need to write an autobiography, I trade on this exercise.

I bought my first house when I was in college.  I was looking at what I was paying in rent and saying, 'this is crazy.'  As long as I don't mind living in the not-so-good part of town, I can own a house for a lot less than rent.  I bought a very old house in a quiet blue collar section of town.
Shortly after moving in, I really wanted to get a dog.  It had to be a beagle.  Having just moved in, money was short, and I was somewhat opposed to the idea of "buying" a dog anyway.  A friend called the local Humane Society animal shelter and found out they had several beagles available for adoption. I was stunned; what kind of idiot gets rid of a beagle?  Other dogs yes, but a beagle?

A few days later I went to the shelter and they did have several beagles.  I looked at all the beagles as well as a few other dogs.  I had no intention of getting anything but a beagle, but there is nothing wrong with looking at the cherry cheesecake even if you know you are going to get the giant chocolate chip cookie with ice cream and caramel sauce.
The dogs fell pretty cleanly into two groups.  On entering the cage, one group tucked the tail between their legs (if it wasn't there already) and scurried to the back of the cage.  The other group ran up to me, tongues out of holsters ready to jump and lick, desperate for any attention.  I can't imagine what it must be like for these animals.  Being in a shelter already suggests life has not been sweetness, but these cacophonous places are animal stress exhibits.
One dog was different.  She was sitting in the middle of her cage and on entering, she held her ground, looked at me and gave a low growl.  The shelter volunteer started to say something to the effect of, "well, I guess we don't want to look at this one."  Before she could finish I said emphatically, "I want this one!"
She exhibited some hound curiosity once she was let out of her cage.  After filling out the application, the shelter volunteer, who was a new recruit, gave the application to the supervisor.  Immediately, the supervisor said they had a policy against giving dogs to college students.  Before I could say anything, the volunteer complained and pointed out I owned a house with a yard and would be a great owner.  I was upset, but the volunteer seemed more so.  The supervisor relented.

Once I got Mandy home, it was clear she was not house trained.  She had beagle obstinance and she was terrified of stairs.  It seemed like it took a long time to get her house trained, but in reality it was probably only a couple weeks.  Once house trained, she was the alpha dog that helped train subsequent dogs about the evils of eliminating in the house.  In short order, she conquered her fear of stairs and followed me everywhere.

Mandy was a source of pure joy.  She loved car rides and went everywhere with me.  Her pully-dog run was eventually supplanted with a full fenced in yard.  She was absolutely, 100% loyal to me, and only to me.  Although she was not a a trained hunting dog, she did hunt bunnies with me on occasion.  In one hunting adventure, she had kicked up a rabbit or two before running to the back of the field which bordered a pasture containing cows.  The cows where right by the fence.  When she saw them, she ran up to the fence and howled like a mad dog.  She seemed to be saying, "I got the biggest rabbits in the world, shoot now and we're set for life!!!!"

During college, I had an out-of-state internship for one summer.  A friend stayed at the house and took care of my dogs.  When I got home from New Jersey, glad to be out of that state, Mandy saw me at the gate and went ballistic.  My dogs have almost always been glad to see me, but never like this.  It was like her life was back where it should be; things were as they should be.  There was much joy in beagle-ville.

Mandy would not eat when I first got her; odd for a hound.  She got over that quickly.  While she was never a chewer, she would eat any food she could get her mouth on.  In one example, I received a pizza delivery, put it on the kitchen table and went to talk to my neighbor next door.  When I got back, the whole pizza was gone and Mandy was back on the floor with a rock hard belly.  She skipped a meal or two for a day after that.

She moved with me to SW Ohio into the horrible little apartment and then into my second house.  More dogs joined but Mandy was always alpha.  I've hear parents claim they love all their kids equally, but the honest ones admit to favorites.  There was no question Mandy was special to me.
She got sick just before the second Christmas in the house.  Our usual vet was gone on a trip south to family.  A different vet saw her and said she was a very sick dog, but he too was going out of town, referring Mandy to a third vet.  That vet kept Mandy overnight, giving her fluids and medicine before releasing her.  I made the mistake shortly after that of taking her on a brief Christmas trip to see family.  The trip was cut short when Mandy's condition deteriorated.  I recall driving home very late at night in terrible black ice conditions to get her back to her usual vet.  The next morning, she had past.

I've had several other dogs and I've loved them all, but none like Mandy.  I still regret, still feel guilty about that Christmas trip even though I know on an intellectual level that there was likely little that could have been done even if I hadn't taken it.  I still miss her today, all these years later.

I bought a camera shortly after I got Mandy mostly so I could get pictures of her.  Many are not of good quality, blurry - the result of buying a camera from a pawn shop.  But, I'll never forget her.  All of my dogs have had unique personalities.  But, Mandy was my first dog, never to be copied.

From that first growl, thanks for being my friend Mandy.

Which Camera? Too Many Choices

Choice can be good.  The apocalyptic future of everyone wearing a grey v-neck jump suit isn't for most of us.
Choices can be bad.  There are almost too many options for too many things.  This isn't a big deal when choosing a brand of toothpaste, but for larger purchases it can be annoying.

Getting honest objective help is also a problem.  Most commercial sources will never say, "This product is horrid and should be avoided at all costs unless you want to be screwed."  This is partially because most products out there are reasonably good and have been tested well enough to do what is advertised.  No manufacturer wants to recreate the Apple Newton.
Most consumer sourced advice is a threat.  The complainers will always scream louder than those who are comfortably happy with an individual purchase.  Real world advice from message boards must be read through the lense of allowing some people to complain.  There is also a subset who will insist after a purchase that what they spent so much time researching and so much money purchasing is the end-all product and anybody of differs in thinking is an idiot.
Sorry Consumer Reports, your one-size-fits-all approach to reviewing products is lacking, and I'd take it for free, but refuse to pay for it.

Many years ago, I had significantly more interest in photography.  I bought several student-grade 35mm SLR cameras, lenses and accessories and took reams of pictures.  I loved the overall mechanicalness of the purely manual SLR.  Firearms that shoot film.  In the end, I settled on two Pentax K-1000 bodies, one for color, the other black and white film.  This allowed me to share my lenses between the two.  I also have an old Fujica St-701LED camera.  This was an innovative SLR that used LEDs in the light meter.   However, it required very special lenses.  I keep it as much for nostalgia as anything else since it was my first SLR camera.
I really enjoyed interacting with the small photography shop where I got my prints. I liked the surprise of seeing how a specific shot turned out when it was surprisingly good.  I was only rarely disappointed that no pictures of any specific even turned out.  It did happen though.
In the end however, I bought two digital cameras before a motorcycle trip to Alaska since I just couldn't justify the room that an SLR camera would take with a couple lenses.  A Kodak super-zoom camera made much better sense (and in retrospect, I believe this was a good choice).  The price was right, on clearance at Wally World.  The other mini point and shoot camera broke half way to Alaska.  Fred Meijer sold me a replacement in Fairbanks.
Since then, I've rarely used either Pentax K-1000.  The small photography shop is gone and getting prints of every picture made is not worth the time, effort or money.  For much of what I do, my Kodak is more than adequate.

I've decided it is time to get a new camera however.  This really isn't that big of a purchase, but it is worth spending at least a little time researching.  I like the idea of going with an SLR camera.  However, most of my pictures are taken on vacation and most travel is by motorcycle.  I still have a hard time justifying the room the SLR will take up with spare lenses.  There is a fragility in all the moving parts of the SLR camera.  The newer switchable lense non-SLR cameras are very intriguing.  For the average hobby photographer, I do not think the additional complication of the mirror really has an advantage in the full SLR.  Both of these also have more potential to get dust/dirt/grease on the internals of the camera causing degraded performance or worse.
Since I want more than just a point-n-shoot, that leads me back to super zooms.  These are a good compromise (read trade-off) and some of the newer ones have great features nearing the capabilities of the SLR.
With that as background, here were my options:
Pentax K-01:  This is a a neat option, a switch lense camera that I can use all my existing K-1000 lenses with (some with stop-down metering, but that is not difficult).  However, this is a large camera as necessitated by the focal length of the older 35mm lense.  The form over function advertising on this camera ultimately scared me away.
Sony A37-SLT:  The semi-translucent lense on this SLR camera allows both an eye piece and a decent viewing screen.  This camera also has one of the fastest auto-focus mechanisms by nature of the semi-translucent mirror.  I've opted not to go this route due to the previously mentioned personal limitations that an SLR camera brings.
On to the super-zooms.  There are many similar options to choose from.  Many of the major manufacturers make very good consumer choices here.  Surprisingly, the two that I like the most both come from the same manufacturer, Fuji.
Fuji X-S1:  This is a fixed lense super-zoom that actually has a large CMOS detector as opposed to the tiny ones most manufacturers use (which is also part of the reason the super-zoom idea works).  The negatives with this camera are size and weight as an indirect result of the large sensor.  I still might go this route, but cost is also a factor.  And, although I haven't seen build quality be written of as an issue, I don't like the idea of it bouncing around for weeks in the saddle bag.
Fuji HS30-EXR:  I'm pretty sure this is what I'm going to get.  It has a reasonably sized CMOS sensor.  A very good zoom (frankly too long), good optics and enough features to keep it interesting.  It is also relatively well regarded for macro photography, which I find terribly interesting at times.

I've got a short trip coming up with a longer vacation near the end of summer.  On my short trip, I'll bring my ancient but perfectly adequate Kodak camera (alongside my 10-year old GPS).  This will give me a chance to ponder whether I really need a new camera; I probably do not.
In the interim, I have an online shopping cart already filled with camera, UV filter, spare battery and 32GB memory card.  All I have to do is press the check-out button.

On Quitting Drinking

It has been two years since I drank any alcohol.  I'm not sure if that is an accomplishment or not?

Despite attempts by various recovery groups to change this, the labels associated with overindulgence of any kind are pretty heavy.  So I personally reject them.  Suffice to say, I enjoyed my beer.

This whole thing started several years ago.  Stopping drinking was a lot like knocking over a Pepsi machine.  It couldn't be done in one push.  You don't just walk up to one of those things and push them over.  You have to get it rocking back and forth, and then with one more heave, over it goes.
A little over two years ago, work was getting very stressful.  That was also around the time I was thinking I really wanted to move, which can also cause some stress (the housing market was far from rosy).  Between these two things, it was too easy to get home after a long day and use inappropriate (and frankly ineffective) coping means.  For far too long, alcohol was a distraction.  Some health issues came up as well.  This was not something caused by alcohol, but definitely exasperated by it.  That was the shove that was needed to push over the Pepsi machine.
How did I stop?  I'm not sure, but I just did.  I didn't seek out help, although I threatened myself with it.  Too much of my work life is spent in painfully long meetings, and the thought of doing that in my personal time frequently seemed at least as bad as the alternative.  I also didn't want to trade one problematic habit with another one.

Some of the time, this wasn't easy.  And, it was a significant adjustment, but I like where I am.
I have never approached this as some do with the zeal of a convert.  This was my Pepsi machine to vandalize.  My deamon to slay on my own terms.  This was not something to be shared.
I have one bottle of Bear Republic Red Rocket Ale on a high shelf in the kitchen.  I half-jokingly tell myself that that will be the next bottle I will drink, so all I have to do is not drink it.  Simple...

I'm not sure whether to talk the good or bad about this so I'll start with the bad.  I do miss it at times.  I miss the social lubrication of alcohol.  I'm not the most outgoing person, and alcohol helped as a personal aid.  I can be walking my dog home after a long week on a blazing hot afternoon and think there could be a big bottle of a Belgian Triple in the refrigerator, or a few 6-packs waiting for me.  But, no more.  Alcohol involves all the senses.  I miss the smell of cooking wort when making my own beer.  The clink of beer bottles in the grocery store reminds me of it.  The spray of opening a bottle or can and the glug of liquid being poured over ice.  There is something lost.
I have never woke up on a Saturday morning and wished I had a hangover.  Never.  Not once.  I wake up early in the morning and after a few creeks from getting older, I feel good, refreshed.  My morning coffee is a happy ritual, not something I feel I need to survive.  In social or semi-social situations, I still blunder or say the wrong thing, but I at least have a chance of catching myself first and make instant corrections.  I don't wake  up the next day with vague recollections of being an ass, or incomplete memory of why my arm hurts so much.  I have more time to do things I really enjoy doing; sometimes too much, but true boredom is very rare.  The amount of money I have NOT spent on alcohol is pretty fantastic.  My blood pressure is lower, almost too low.  I've lost weight.  Life's lows are not nearly as crushing; the highs can be diminished as well, but that could leave more room for the creamy middles.  I am happier.

I do rarely go to bars or happy hour.  I don't miss the alcohol there, or feel some crazy craving.  I'm just out of place, like a band member in the middle of a performance, with sheet music in front of me, but my tuba was left at home.
I have tested myself a couple times.  I used to make lamps out of old bottles.  Drilling a hole in the bottom and running wires up to a fixture contained in the cap.  A few months after I stopped I found a bottle of Crown Royal with a few dregs in it.  I opened the cap and smelled it.  It was like being hit with a cinder block.  I still have that bottle.  A friend had a party not that long ago.  Literally, with the exception of one person, everyone was drunk, some very much so.  I enjoyed it (the party) though.  It was odd having nearly the same conversation with the same person a few times during the night.  And some really dumb things were said (by myself as well as those who were drinking).  Part way through the night I realized that in the morning, if any of what was happening was remembered by people other than me, it would likely be a scratchy movie at best.  That realization made the time even more fun.

Three books were pretty insightful as well as helpful with this adventure:
Pete Hamil's A Drinking Life is a great book.  One of the criticism's I've heard of this book is that it is very little about drinking.  Read with the right eyes (and history), it is there.  I actually have the last section of this book photocopied and reread it occasionally.  I've even used his explanation for not drinking, "No thanks, I have no talent for it."
Carolyn Knapp's Drinking was probably too close to my own experience.  Still, I enjoyed the book.  I don't know what this means, but it was written from a feminine perspective that I had a hard time relating to.
Neil Steinberg's Drunkard was also exceptionally good.  His writing style is engaging, and he relates strongly how personal this can be while writing about it publicly.

I don't know what will happen in the next two years, but I'm ready for it.  Drawing an analogy too far, there is a Pepsi machine on the ground, and I'm walking away from it.  This sounds arrogant and self-congratulatory, but I'm a better person now than I was.

Welcome to the Ohio Gyre

The doldrums are times and areas usually near the equator where winds subside to calm or nearly calm.  This traps wind driven ships until the wind picks up, which can be days, weeks or longer.  During this time, the sea is usually monotonously calm.
The Pacific Gyre is an area enclosed by normal ocean currents that experiences little to no macroscopic water movement.  As a result, water is "trapped" in this area and there is little biomass movement, resulting in little life.  Also as a result, our modern flotsam collects in these areas creating huge regions with high concentration of waste.

Colloquially, the doldrums has come to mean periods of boredom.  But, I think we are more in a time of gyre.  There is very little going on outside of the mundane work-eat-sleep-repeat routine.  Vacation is still a way off (people with kids take vacation now, which is a good reason not to).   The growth of spring is over, giving way to the summer heat and humidity.  A time where not much happens, but the refuse of daily life continues to accumulate.

This isn't so bad though.  Lots of little things can get done this time of year.  The lawn doesn't need very much mowing.  There is an event horizon somewhere out there where vacation will begin, or whatever the next adventure is.  And, excitement is not always good.  Excitement might mean something unthinkable has happened.
There is also a quiet contentment in pecan waffles early on a weekend morning.  Or reading a book watching the sun set through west-facing windows.  The doldrums should not be sailed into without expecting a little slow down.

Despite the garbage, the gyre isn't all bad.  Who knows what treasure might be lurking in all that trash anyway?

The sadness of Space

Venus passed between the Sun and the Earth this week.  This was widely publicized as a rare event that was a must see.  It was cloudy here on Tuesday.  With the vastness of the solar system, let alone the rest of the event horizon, every event is rare.
As a physical phenomenon, this was not very spectacular.  You can't look at the sun and see this (frankly, you can't look at the sun very long...).  And, the images of a spot on the sun are less than stellar, pun intended.  I realize people set alarms for all hours of the night to see other more mundane things in the sky.  For them, I'm sure this was thrilling.

In 1997, I will admit I traveled a great distance to see a partial solar eclipse.  Drive to Fort Lauderdale.    Fly to Puerto Rico.  Fly to Saint Thomas.  Boat to Saint Johns.  Camp two weeks on the beach.  There were obviously ulterior motives to this.  The wild donkey's were a nuisance but funny.  The other campers were a source of never ending entertainment.  Said one young vagrant to the other very late one night, "Dude, I'm just not used to drinking so much."
Pan Am went bankrupt while on the Island of Saint Johns.  The trip was a lot of fun.  The trip back not so much.

It is sad what has happened to the space program over the last few decades.  As a kid, I remember watching the first space shuttle launch in school and was mesmerized by many other launches.  I even had a model rocket in the shape of the space shuttle.  It was fairly heavy so not really the best flyer.  I painted it with what I had available, flat white house paint.  This finish may have been ugly, but was probably more realistic that a coat of pristine shiny enamel.

The NASA space program now is bipolar.  The manned space program is plagued with boredom.  The last several launches of the space shuttle seemed to be less about putting yet another ant farm from a middle school in Topeka into space (ho hum) and more about answering the question of whether the space shuttle will actually make it safely into and out of orbit.  The most critical mission was the backflip done to inspect the shuttle.  The space shuttle seemed to be more about discovering the limits of human fear over answering any scientific questions about space.
The unmanned program is more interesting.  The mars rovers were able to go places and do things humans are decades away from, if ever.  Some of the images from mars are captivating.  All of this is done with minimal risk to human life so more risk can be taken to achieve something more interesting.  It does not have the sophomoric glee of "astronauts," but that shouldn't be the goal of billions of dollars in research when little is accomplished.

In 2017, a full solar eclipse will be viewable within about 50 miles or so of where I am right now.  No risk of reentry.  No Pan Am.  With a bit of luck, I'll be able to make it.

The Big Little Nightmare

I recently stopped by the area where I lived until the age of about 12 after not having been there in over 20 years.  Predictably, some things had changed.  One of the bigger changes in the neighborhood was to a large field between the church and the Catholic high school.  The field was like a giant playground for a lot of kids.  It is now less accessible and has been "improved" to be athletic fields for the school.

Many of my childhood memories have faded into the ether, but I still remember vividly some things that happened while playing in that large field.  We built "forts" in that field one summer.  The forts where really just large and deep holes in the ground.  In retrospect, this was probably quite dangerous as some of the holes were deeper than we were tall, and there was at least one tunnel we would go through head first.  At the time, there was no fear in this at all, it was just fun.  Fun, until the holes were destroyed by bigger kids in the neighborhood.

In one hot summer memory, my older brother (and friends) created two enormous footprints in the sand in a remote area of the field.  He then proceeded to bring me to the area and show me the footprints of some giant monster.  It terrified me; I was afraid of that part of the field and afraid to sleep.  A few days later, an older neighborhood kid Jerry told me they were made by my brother.  With adult sensibility, I'm not sure how two footprints with no evidence of anything walking, just two foot prints, could be scary and anything but brother-made.  I was terrified.

Fear is a gift of childhood.  Fear is primal and there is a catharsis in it.  Fear is likely one of only a few emotions we share with our distant animal relatives.  Fear diminishes as we get older and it is replaced by stress.  Stress has virtually no redeeming qualities.

I rarely have nightmares.  I think this is true of most adults who lead typical boring lives.  Nightmares where a relatively frequent occurrence as a child though.  In a lot of ways I miss them.  There is still the occasional vivid or lucid dream where I may wake up in wish for the alternate reality, but nightmares almost never happen.

There is one nightmare I had recurrently while growing up.  I don't know why it was terrifying, but it was.  I've called this the "Big Little Dream" and I've known several people who after hearing about it remember (presumably) something nearly the same and always as frightening.  In this dream, everything is both very large and very small at the same time.  There is an overwhelming sense of texture.  Absolute terror that must be rooted in something deep in human history.  A tactile sense of loss.

I should probably consider the lack of fear as a blessing.  I imagine frequent nightmares as an adult is probably quite debilitating.  There are a lot of times when I'd be willing to trade some stress for some vivid fear though...