Not only am I a user of Facebook, I am also an administrator for a group dedicated to what is generally regarded as the peaceful season of the renewal of life known as Yule. Community and family are celebrated as the days begin to grow longer, if not quite yet warmer. Once again, the long season of cold and darkness is passing, as the signs of Spring and the coming abundance of resources are being seen everywhere. That being said, there always have to be flies in the proverbial ointment.
As an administrator for the group, I help fashion rules designed to protect not only the individual members of the group from each other but the group’s overall atmosphere of community and general reputation as being free from drama and ill behavior towards the greater Facebook community and vice versa. Social media being what it is, everyone has an opinion, and they have the right to express that opinion. However, as it is in our Constitution, the rights of the individual end when those rights bump up against and infringe upon the rights of other individuals. Sometimes distinctions are a little fuzzy about when member opinions may be detrimental to the overall health of the group, but other times the line is an obvious and insurmountable wall. One such insurmountable wall is the expression of hate.
In the world of a Facebook group meant to hold values of peace, goodwill, the celebration of life and providing education to folks of like mind, or those who are simply curious and want to learn in order to enrich their own lives, hated of others who look or think differently is just not healthy for the group, not for its individuals nor for the group as a whole. Sometimes the hatred is obvious (as in the overt images/words put forth by White Supremacists). Other times, it is more insidious. It’s the hate inside of the mind of someone looking for something to hate, looking for an opportunity to attack something because they are so intolerant of the opinions of others. It doesn’t even matter if the opinion expressed is actually for their benefit. They don’t take the time to think about what is being expressed. They hear/see a few words, make a misinterpretation based on their own wildly biased assumptions, instantly attack, and they attack viciously. They are so blinded by their own biased hatred, they cannot hold even the shortest amount of reasoned discourse without resorting to vulgarity. They wield their words as if swinging a verbal frying pan with the intent of battering the other person into a mush puddle on the ground.
Being a group administrator in this current atmosphere of intolerant intolerance can be quite stressful and very much like walking a tightrope. Every group needs new members, but you cannot be indiscriminant of who you welcome when your belief system, as the consensus of the group follows it, is the polar opposite of others who claim to follow the same belief system. Names overlap. Terms overlap. It appears you are of one belief system under one umbrella, but you are not. Not even close. Bear with me as this becomes very important, as you will soon see.
In an effort to maintain group cohesion and a welcoming atmosphere, you may choose to screen who you let into your group. One of the most common methods is to ask people questions about their interest in joining your group. If your group requires the answering of questions to apply for admittance, you examine those answers carefully. No matter how well stated the answers, you take a look at the applicant’s profile to see if anything jumps out at you as a red flag. If they haven’t answered the questions at all, you take a look at the applicant’s profile to see if there may be a language barrier. If their entire profile is in another language, all you can do is message them to please answer the group questions and hope they figure it out. (You also have doubts, as a caring admin, about how a non-English speaker will fair in an English speaking group.) Sometimes people merely think they are the exception to the requirement, and it is necessary to gently inform they are not. Then there are the times you check a profile only to discover it is the bane of not only your personal belief system, but it also goes against the core values of your group. It is the profile of a White Supremacist. The place where names and terms overlap. The belief system which makes the uninformed think that you, also, are a White Supremacist.
Now is when the real fun (read that as stress) of being a tightrope walking admin begins. Remember when I mentioned this age of intolerant intolerance? Well, here is where it pops up to take a bite of well padded buttocks. I have been an administrator of this particular group for a few years now. I have denied people based on the fact that they were strictly spam merchants or even because they were sex profiles, but this was my first, full on, White Supremacist. I do not capitalize the term to lend it dignity or respect of any kind. I do so because of the gravity I feel for the situation. At first, said looked so innocent.
“Innocent?”, I hear you ask. Yes. It looked innocent. I saw a picture of two lovely little girls, but then I noticed behind them a typical, self serving, white pride slogan of only three words with the number 14. If you don’t know, the number 14 refers to the 14 words of the white survival manifesto about preserving the white race for the future of white children. For the sake of the group, I had to deny this person entry. If I had allowed him in, and he had begun stating his views, it would have been pandemonium. I knew that in the ensuing chaos, more than one member would have been lost, quite possibly banned for life. I wasn’t having it. Not. At. All. With a heavy heart that it had now become necessary to protect the group from further attempts by White Supremacists to gain entry into our group under the mistaken impression we are like minded in philosophy, I wrote a new rule designed to prevent conflict within the group. I wrote it. I announced it. Little did I know what was coming my way. Remember that verbal frying pan I mentioned earlier? (There is a White Supremacist manifesto referring to 14/88. If you wish to know more about this hate filled hot mess, you can Google it. I give it no respect.)
This was the post I made in the group which started the debacle of miscommunication and incivility:
This is the angry misunderstanding which came back at me, and the political poke at Person A disguised as defense of me (Notice my weak attempt at humor helped not one bit):
The very first rule in our group is about being polite and that there be no name calling. Person B is pointing out to Person A her misunderstanding of what I said while also goading her by placing her in what he obviously considers to be a derogatory category. He’s not actually calling her a name which is a nice sidestep of Rule #1. Unfortunately, under the guise of defending what I said, he’s actually trying to goad her, which he did quite successfully. I have tried to diffuse the situation with politeness and humor, but Person A is completely unwilling to reassess what I wrote in order to reach a reasonable understanding of what I actually meant. Trying to speak to her privately is where I was first nailed by the verbal frying pan.
The truly uncivil verbal assault went thus (and thankfully in private communication):
*1
*2
(*1 If you want to know what “orlog” means, Wikipedia has a fairly good explanation. Personally, I think she misused the term.) (*2 “GTFO” is an acronym I feel is easily understood. I do not feel the need to spell it out.)
At this point, I was going to quite happily remove her from the group and ban her permanently. However upon my return to the group, I found that the conversation had, more quickly than I could have conceived, continued it’s decent into uncivil hell. I have marked over names to protect privacy in this very public forum. My sincere apologies for the somewhat incoherent organization of the comments of the posts, but this is exactly as it appeared in the discussion. The other participants were responding faster than I can type. By this time, behavior control was completely gone on the parts of both Persons A and B. Neither was willing to acknowledge their own unreasonableness nor even entertain the possibility they might could have handled the situation or worded statements in any way better than they did. Both A and B preferred to take extreme umbrage at being brought to task by an Administrator of the group whose job it is to ensure the adhering to of the rules of the group. There are only 8 of them, and they are clearly written. (The use of the screenshots is the only way I could conceive of to convey just how quickly the discussion became so utterly ludicrous.)
In the end, both individuals did remove themselves from the group. Had either person put forth any effort to control their tempers and allow the misunderstanding to be resolved civilly and rationally, I actually would have been quite happy to keep them both in the group forum. I did actually reach out to Person B in hopes of possibly retaining him in the group once we had a discussion about where his behavior crossed the line as much as A’s behavior had, but he was unwilling to even acknowledge my attempt to communicate.
There is NOTHING about this group that is political. There is NO PLACE for politics in this group. There is NO REASON for members of this group to become so out of control of their behavior towards one another. There was more than one verbal frying pan in this free-for-all of anger, and quite frankly, I am still reeling even days later.
I have come to the conclusion there was nothing I could do about Person A. As far as I can tell, she was one of those who people looks for hate and things to be angry about, and she is probably finding those things everywhere, even if it doesn’t exist.
As for Person B, he appears to have anger issues regarding those people he deems to be exhibiting what he sees as “SJW” (Social Justice Warrior) behavioral intolerance. He did to her what he had just accused her of doing to me. Not only does this kind of finger pointing escalate bad behavior, but it makes the job of the people in charge of keeping the peace more difficult. All parties see themselves as either wounded or, as in this case, justified in continuing the bad behavior. Neither sees the other, or anyone with a differing view point, as being worthy of civility.
It this very perception of anyone as being unworthy of civility that is breaking down any attempts at profitable discourse in far too many aspects of our current society. It has somehow become okay to attack anyone and everyone who speaks in opposition of not only your beliefs or ideas but of your own bad behavior. Further, it makes no difference how much respect they are being accorded. Even being politely rebuked is cause enough for far too many people to feel incivility to be justified. Either way, there’s really no good reason for the horrible results of the hostile interaction.
I believe it comes down to a choice of personal behavior. If you choose to be uncivil towards others, you will receive the disrespect you deserve. If you choose to remain civil, far more people than you realize will take notice and keep you in higher regard than those being rude.
In summation, especially in the written format, the currency of the high regard of others has much higher investment returns than being unreasonable and unwilling to just talk to one another nicely.
Let’s keep the verbal frying pans to ourselves, shall we?

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When Milo Left Us
When Milo Decided to Stay, it was a funny and emotional event, and he did make it an event! The first few words are the title of the blog I wrote about that, so if you want to read that first, go right ahead. I promise. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait right here while you go read that. Have you read it? Good! Now I have to write about something much, much sadder.
It’s time to talk about When Milo left us.
Milo was a good Little Man. He answered to just about anything you called him, even if it wasn’t in English, as long as you called him in a kind voice. Sometimes it was as if he knew what he was being called just by his impish behavior. For instance, he really was quite a character, and he liked to pull pranks when no one was looking. Usually his pranks were on the other dogs like nipping back legs or snatching toys while their attention was diverted. I had told a Norwegian guy I was talking to about him, and he said he sounded like a real ‘liten skit’, or ‘little shit’. I told my dad, who Milo cuddled with on a daily basis, and thus, he had a new moniker, Liten Skit! Whenever he’d get caught pulling one of his mischievous stunts to nab a toy or a treat, dad would call out, “Hey! Liten Skit!” Milo would duck his head, peer around his shoulder and just barely wiggle his long skinny tail. One laugh, and he’d rocket across the room to leap into dad’s lap. After it was established that that was indeed another name for him, he’d even coming running from another room, zooming to whoever had called him. Sometimes he’d turn his head to look at you over his shoulder with a tiny doggy grin acknowledging that he’d been caught, and he was not sorry in the least! Yes, indeed. My Little Man was a real Liten Skit at times, a real charmer, too.
When Milo decided to stay, it truly melted our hearts. He was quite obviously stopping to think about it, the unpacking of his bag of toys. His actions were so very deliberate, we all stopped to watch him. It was such a precious and moving moment. We all felt special because he had thought about it and CHOSEN us. That is a feeling I would wish on everyone, even my worst enemy. Unfortunately, no one had a camera to take a picture. Something we lament to this day.
Over the years, he’d occasionally take a walk about, but he never went very far. It was a little concern, but living out in the woods as we do, our greatest concern was predators. He was 15 pounds (6.8 kilos) at his most heavy. As chihuahuas go, he was a big boy. He wasn’t fat. It was simply his breed. It actually took us a couple of years to determine his breed as being deer head chihuahua. From the side, his head looked very much like a deer’s head and indeed, that distinctive feature is the reason for the name of the breed. They are tough, hardy little dogs, and Milo’s early life was a testament to just how tough they can be.
Milo was a rescue. I, myself, am on disability. It’s not really a turn I had pictured for my life, so after winding up back with my parents, I was feeling very vulnerable, at loose ends, and needy to have a warm little body to hold in my arms. I’d lost my previous little dog to a tragedy the year before. I already had a new dog, but she was a big girl. I love all dogs, but my neediness required a little body to nurture. As it happened, my black lab, Lady Tippy Baskerville, had an appointment at the local low cost clinic. I told the proprietor I was looking for a chihuahua. She immediately brightened up and told me there might be one available IF I didn’t mind a larger breed. He was about 10 pounds (4.5 kilos), but he was still a puppy with more growing to do. However, he probably wouldn’t grow much more, not just because of his breed, but because of the circumstances from which he’d been rescued.
After Tippy’s appointment, Linda proceeded to tell me she felt this little dog and I belonged together. The woman with whom he was currently living had just come in, less than an hour prior to my arrival, to place a notice about him with the clinic. She and her son lived in an apartment, and Milo was into everything when he wasn’t kenneled. However, when he was kenneled, he barked non-stop from the time they left the apartment until they got home. The neighbors were complaining. Things had come to a head, and Milo needed a new home. It wasn’t a decision they had come to lightly. They were broken hearted. You see, Milo’s time with them had started when he was about 8 weeks old, and at this point he was 8 months old. He’d come a long, long way, but his beginnings never left him.
The day after Tippy’s appointment, my mother and I found ourselves sitting in a nicely appointed living room set up to accommodate both a fair sized kennel and a wheelchair. I remember thinking, “I’m going to be taking away the dog of a boy in a wheelchair.” I knew we were there at their invitation. They were interviewing us for that very purpose, but I still felt somewhat like a heel. For the interview, Mom had brought a picture album to show them our home and our yard. While they were looking at it, Milo’s beginnings unfolded in a litany of horrors, and he became entrenched in our hearts. This woman had been part of a rescue operation which had raided and shut down an illegal puppy mill. Having chosen to adopt one tiny, little sad sack for herself, she took him home. She quickly realized he was in much worse shape that had at first appeared. He not only had mange, mites and intestinal parasites, he was malnourished, and examination showed he had already been physically abused. All of this by the time he was 8 weeks old! I can’t imagine this kind of treatment for a large breed puppy but a tiny chihuahua puppy? Well, obviously we passed the interview and Milo left with us. He was a stinker, and he was a joy for the next, almost, nine years.
As I said, Milo’s rough start stayed with him. He suffered on and off with skin issues, especially in his latter years. Aches and pains would crop up. He had a habit of letting out a loud squall when picked up, but it wasn’t consistent, and he was just fine immediately after. He once had a nasty injury we think came from a dog attack while out on one of his sneaky walk-abouts, and his x-rays showed a crooked place in his spine the vet said had to have happened very early in his life. Now we knew what was hurting him, but there was nothing to do but what we had already been doing, pick him up carefully. He was also susceptible to ear and skin issues. As he was getting older, we noticed he was also beginning to get stiff and a bit tottery with arthritis. His cheerful disposition was starting to get a tad grumpy. My ‘Little Man’ was becoming my ‘Little Old Man’. In the end, it was something we never saw coming which took him away from us. We had to let him go less than two weeks from the first signs of the cancer.
Sunday, November 4, 2018 started much as any day with all of our furbabies. No one was out of sorts, least of all Milo. He was his usually chipper self, but later in the afternoon, I noticed a couple of lumps behind his hind legs that hadn’t been there the day before. By Monday, the lumps had spread to his lower belly. I called the vet. The soonest I could get him in was Wednesday the 7th. By the time of his appointment, the lumps had spread to behind his front legs, and all of the prior existing lumps had gotten much larger. They had obviously begun to bother him. The vet was the same doctor who had sewn him up when he’d had his attack injuries a couple of years before. I knew he was a kind and gentle man. This time it was us, his family, who was going to need that kindness. After a bit of light probing, the look on his face said it all. The lumps were all through Milo’s little body, and the doctor wasn’t happy. In a matter of less than three days, the cancer had taken over. The official diagnosis was terminal myeloma.
The doctor told us about all the new treatments that had come out in recent years, and he also told us the expenses involved. His concern was that Milo would be put through treatments that, in the end, would cause him more suffering with little chance of survival than would be in his best interests. He admitted that if we wanted to proceed, he would take our money and provide the treatments, but he felt we deserved to know we should take our baby home and make plans to let him go.
I told him of another dog I knew of who also had cancer in his lymph-nodes who had been put on the steroid prednisone, and the medication had done wonders for him. That little guy was perky and had exceeded his life expectancy by several months already. The vet conceded that sometimes prednisone could slow, even reverse, some of the deprivations of certain cancers, and he was willing to give it a try. However, he really didn’t think that would be the case this time, and they would be there if we needed them.
Tablets in hand, we took our Little Man home and began the treatment exactly as prescribed. We waited. We hoped. We watched as Milo quickly began to grow weaker and have difficulty moving. We waited a little longer. We hoped, and we prayed. All was in vain. I held him in my arms, and as I cried, he tried to help me feel better by licking the tears from my face. As much as he was suffering, he looked at me with his great big, liquid, brown eyes full of love and concern trying to figure out how to make me feel better. On Wednesday, November 14th, I called the vet to make an appointment at the Rainbow Chapel. It was now a matter of less than two days. Milo would be leaving us on Friday, November 16, 2018.
Friday dawned bright and sunny. Clear blue skies were everywhere. It damned well just wasn’t fair! My baby, Milo, was dying that morning, and the world didn’t have the decency to be a crappy, rainy day. We got there early, not that we were in a hurry, and we caught them on a break. Everything at the chapel is done by appointment as the chapel also has its own crematorium. Although the chapel is located at our local Humane Society, the shelter is a ‘no kill’ facility, so they go out of their way to make the chapel as pretty and peaceful as any such place can be. The walls are pale blue with while fluffy clouds. Three of the four walls are fields of flowers beneath the painted on skies. The fourth wall is a large stained glass window featuring fields and hills, cats and dogs, birds and other sweet creatures. No matter how calming the room was supposed to be, waiting was taking its toll on our nerves. How? How could they make us wait!? I was soon to get the answer, and I was so ashamed.
When the receptionist arrived, she was so very apologetic. They’d had a problem with their van which put them behind schedule on pickups. Pickups? She explained that the chapel also services the local veterinary clinics and hospitals by collecting their lost babies to also be cremated respectfully. Even those lost babies who the shelter can’t save with emergency care are cremated for respectful burial. I began to feel better about the wait. I realized we were in the hands of caring people, not people too busy to be concerned for the feelings of those who came to them when there was no more hope and nowhere else to go.
I wish I could remember the name of the man who set Milo free of his pain. He was very apologetic about the wait, about the circumstances of our meeting, and about what he was going to do. It quickly became obvious it wasn’t just a job for him. He truly did care. He gave us a few last minutes to say goodbye. He took a few moments to meet Milo, and then he very gently, with love and care, gave Milo the injection. My baby was so weak, he was gone before the injection was finished.
Through it all, Milo remained a source of sweetness, laughter and love. That little dog really did have an awesome sense of humor, and he tried everyday to make the people around him laugh. He didn’t understand what was happening, but he trusted us to take care of him, to do what was best for him, and yes, I truly do wish I could remember the name of the man who put his arms around me and my mother and cried with us. That was a special man who freed Milo from the pain that had become his life. Milo came into this world in the pain of neglect and abuse by someone who should have cherished him, but he was freed from his world of pain and sickness by a stranger’s hands filled with love.
It was a cold December 31 night in 2017, and I had bundled him up on my bed to spend the night with me. He had come to me to keep him safe from the loud noises outside.
I feel it important to note that Max came along just a few months before Milo crossed the Rainbow Bridge, but Milo had let max know who was Boss Dog. I never will forget the sight of that little fella hanging off the side of Max’s face, growling and shaking, with his feet several inches off the floor. He taught that pup to respect his elders!
My mom and I were at a neighbor’s property taking the boys for a romp and a swim. Well, at least Max romped and swam. Milo enjoyed a nap in the sun in a chair to himself.
Milo liked getting out and walking for a bit. His days of sneaky walk-abouts were in the past, but he did enjoy just walking to the neighbors for a rest in a chair before tottering back home.
As you can see, he very much enjoyed his cushions. He never gave them up to Max unless there was a warm lap and a hand for belly scratching to be had.
The picture above was when we got the bad news. Below was where he had started laying in the afternoons to warm his old bones and aching joints.
Below is the table in the Rainbow Chapel at the Humane Society in my hometown. The gentleman there was very sweet. He spent a little time with Milo, and then he hugged us and cried with us. Real tears. I had not expected such loving care for all of us.
Milo passed peacefully a few minutes after this picture was taken.
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If you like my stuff, help me out by keeping me in coffee. It'd sure be appreciated! (In Memory of my 'Little Man' Milo.)
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