Let’s Grow Up Before It’s Too Late

I lost a young friend yesterday to the rot of our society’s cesspool of disinformation that swirls about Trump on the right and a media that hates him on the left.

Now, I knew in my heart things might end badly because I noted this promising young man loved Trump to an alarming degree from the day we were introduced. But I chose love over fear in getting to know the young man because I saw a spark of genius in him.

Let’s call him Bob for the rest of this blog.

What set Bob off yesterday was my expressing fears on FB that Trump has perhaps lost what little marbles he had before taking office. BTW, can you believe it’s still not one year yet since the tweeter in chief has squeaked into office?

But I digress at Trump’s agonizing slowing of time space. – Time is relative. For Trump lovers the first year must seem the joyous blink of an eye. – Bob was inflamed by my questioning Trump’s sanity based his recent FBI hostility on my home FB page.

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Later that same morning, after making the above self-serving tweet, minutes before heading off in shinny limo to speak at the FBI’s National Academy, Trump blustered to the rattled press gathered on the White House lawn for god knows what stupid thing he might say, “It’s a shame what’s happened with the FBI” and claiming there are “a lot of very angry people that are seeing it.”

The mere fact I noted on FB how Trump’s erratic behavior towards the FBI might be evidence that president is showing sign of cracking up was to young Bob – who I’ve only treated with kindness and hosted in my home – grounds for his accusing me of being brainwashed by agreeing with the liberal media’s assertion, what he called a “party line story”, that Trump is increasingly becoming unglued.

Sorry, Bob, who unfriended me after I puzzled how, in private message, he could be so gung-ho about a racist. sexist wannabe dictator. I admit I goaded Bob into unfriending me because I wanted to shock him into seeing how blind he is about his blindness to the reality of Trump.  I regret doing that but I was frustrated that after nearly a year of Trump wrecking our republic in a multitude of ways; from pulling out of the Paris Accord to appointing a record dozen young inexperienced alt-right unqualified judges into our federal court system with lifetime spots we’ll be stuck contending with for the next fifty years.

Trump has had lots of help from the a Republican Party taken over by the Tea Party crazies.  And with the help of GOP, shamefully endorsing a potential sex abuser for election, rubber stamping Trump is doing damage on taxation and the freedom of our internet.

And still… Bob had not moved an inch to the center.

Now, in fairness to him, Bob may have gotten the wrong impression that I was sympathetic to Trump because he was fan of the meditations I did in DC earlier this year with Elizabeth England at the Inauguration of Trump. In the meditations we set intentions for Trump to rise to becoming one of our greatest presidents. Ambitious indeed.  But intentional meditation is scientifically proven as a powerful force for good. However, before we even left DC to return to Sedona, Trump was proudly singing an executive order to trample on the rights of the Standing Rock tribe.

Trump is sadly for us all might be immune to elevating his consciousness. We were not the only planetary healers hoping for the best and seeing that hope die over 2017. It appears his greed, copious diet of McDonald’s and paranoid anger to all who question keeps Trump on a low vibrational plane.  He has therefore chosen to be part of the old world of male white privilege decaying before our eyes on the basis of demographics alone.

It appears Bob confused my meditation intentions for Trump to rise to become a great president with the sad reality he’s been a god awful leader who will take us into a nuclear war unless removed from office. His low approval ratings bear me out.

Yes, Bob, my Trump sanity fears, are all my own. Fears formulated with my own observations of Trump’s tweets and quotes and a thing called my brain. And what I see in meditation are two reasons for Trump declining mental health.

One: Trump’s fear over the Mueller investigation is causing him to fall into a rage filled depression and he is suffering a nervous breakdown.

Two: Trump is suffering from Alzheimer’s or clogged brain arteries from his Ronald McDonald diet.

Besides his obvious FBI propaganda stunt to discredit the Mueller Russia probe, if we truly look we see in Trump’s behavior there are many other signs that the tweeter in chief is in rocky shape. Take his slurred and or incoherent speech patterns, extreme rage displays to staff punctuated by twitter outbursts, delusions of grandeur and radical overeating. All symptoms any of us with an open ears, eyes and mind can observe for without the filter of media, left or right. It’s an inescapable reality/horror show happening in real time.

What I find stunning is a fine young man like Bob is trying to actually make living as a journalist without a shred of objectivity. That’s not journalism. That’s being a mouthpiece for right-wing propaganda.

I meditated on this deeply and I am being totally honest with myself that I am not doing the same thing on the left as Bob. I am an independent who has voted as many times for the Republicans as Dems. Note I was no fan of Obama and his failed health care plan and back door dealings.

Back to Bob.  What is the magic of Trump’s ability to bamboozle Bob and other Trump supporters to the point they will not make their own judgements about Trump themselves and buy his fake news BS? For the answer I refered back to the famed book ESCAPE FROM FREEDOM by Eric Fromm that I studied at Northwestern University in abnormal psychology class.


Shortly after World War Two Fromm wrote his book to psychoanalyze Hitler’s rise to power. He writes of how all dictators share a common trait as possessing a vacuous souls. This vacuum of the heart makes dictators an empty screen we the people can project all the values we want to see in whoever is latest fearless leader.

And the reason we humans blindly do this over and over, not just with a Hitler, throughout history, according to Fromm is incredibly simple.  Fromm postulates that we as a species desperately want a father (note we’ve not had female dictator yet) who will gladly shoulder the burden of freedom and tell we babies what to think and do.

Looking on the bright side, the trick in meditating about dark things in dark times, is perhaps Trump at some point when the insanity grows worse will serve as the last straw that forces us to grow the hell up as species. We must rise to love our freedoms instead of seeking escapes in petty dictators. Bob, you, me, all of us, must learn to see disinformation on the left and right and to tune out media pundits of both persuasions.

Together let’s stop blaming our money making niche media and look outside our little bubbles and find the center of our own conscious convictions in balance and harmony.

Let’s grow up before it’s too late.


Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

A movie whose message that anger begets more anger is so beautifully expressed it transcends its theme. I was deeply moved by this masterfully told human tragedy that has some hard won laughs at the absurdity of white male privaledge.

5 stars and the likely best actress Oscar wins for Frances McDormand, best supporting for Woody Harrelson and best actor for Sam Rockwell.

Highly recommended THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI as antidote to a Hollywood season filled with Hollywood remakes for dealing with actual human grief and rage and giving us a female hero in Frances’ Mildred willing to stand up to the world of men.

Humanity Seeks to Free Itself From a Conspiracy of Greed – Ohom

I look back on the last clear mission before my ET Ohom spirit guide lost signal for months, to attend the Trump inauguration. The mission for my love Elizabeth and I was to simply hold a space of love in the crowd of his mostly white backers.

Trump Jobs

I still have no idea why the ET Ohom chose me for this work. You see, I’ve disliked Trump since the 80s for his cheater ways of getting ahead.

Any who, here’s my attempt to integrate a message Ohom gave me today, where my flu delirium helped me reach him across the stars.  I share it to you as poem.  Excuse me if its not my usual positive thing but it’s my way of taking Ohom’s advice to embrace the…


The first inauguration I ever attended

Was over for me before it ended.

Why my ET guide sent me and my love here

Angered me as it felt dangerous and queer.

The first thing that stuck me about the crowd

Kinda small and not that loud.

Was – How white we all look

For this election of a crook.

My love and I locked in the white crowd filled with hate

Watch helpless as white robs power from black this fateful date.

Two white people with a consciences we share a field of love

All the while looking for ships, seeking help from above.

The crowd goes insane with white pride.

And I go dark and angry inside.

My space of love implodes like a collapsing star

A black hole born within white crowd I see as though from afar.

I am a fellow white co-conspirators in the age of greed.

Ignoring the oceans and earth’s fellow creatures in need.

White privilege my lifelong invisible ally.

A white life blessed by abundance since birth.

Whites laugh as the black man hands over the power.

The sky opens in a light shower.

Tears from heaven dating back to slavery.

White power making all other races their knavery.

Atop the dais, black and white man shake hands

As the thrilled white crowd stands

With the white man who tormented the black eight years.

Along with his white peers

Without relent.

Fortunes spent.

To impede hope and change

As the black’s mission was too strange.

Obama greyed and bent

Weary of the fight as president

Takes  his seat as Melania

Helps swear in her mania.

The white crowd cheers!

As their color takes center stage

Fists clenched in white rage

The black ordeal over at last

Free at last!  Free at last!

America’ is a swamp the scoundrel says

As though swamps are not his gator ways

Already taking all the credit for the economy’s surge

He seeks black accomplishments to purge.

Destroying all Obama has done his only urge.

“And now it will be America first!”

As though it’s not already been so.

As if we whites didn’t already know.

Since the white man stole Turtle Island from its true peoples.

Sprinkling their land with our white church steeples.

Killing their buffalo of the prairies

Angering all of earth’s fairies.

I stand honest in cheering crowd and feel the blame.

I feel it now as write about my white shame

Feeling fully white little me raised by a family of bigots

Secretly rejoicing as Trump waves to we happy white idiots.

We white fools who have elected a man incapable of vision.

Who thrives on hate and racial derision.

Who prefers to eat Big Macs

Fearless of heart attacks.

Like the one that just killed my little brother

Who disrespects the mother.

Who treats women like dirt

While ingesting tic tacs to flirt.

A year has passed since his election sought to smother

The America Dream I always idolized.

The only hope I cling to now as I write persisted.

An ET message from a far off world.

“Humanity seeks to free itself

From a conspiracy of greed.

Embrace the chaos.”

And so I try and fail this gloomy November day.

These hard time are like a nail

Holding me earthbound

As the world dissolves around me.

Watching humanity’s fall.

This is what chaos looks like.

Bitterness is what chaos tastes like.

One day the white mans reign will end.

On this we can depend.

Because it cannot be sustained

The ET message of hope in me remained

“Humanity seeks to free itself

From a conspiracy of greed.

Embrace the chaos.”




Coming up for air on Halloween, from a Monday business horror I gasped at the five voicemails missed from my baby brother in Wisconsin. Worried Bruce was going to tell me my 89 year-old mom had passed, my fingers moved too fast to register on the glass of my smartphone.

When I finally calmed down enough to return Bruce’s call, my sister-in-law Marianne somberly let me know my other brother Fred, recently turned 63, had died of a heat attack the day before. Weird thing I told my love Elizabeth I felt Fred was going to be passing soon because of his dangerous addiction game. So I foolishly thought I was prepared, but the news of losing my Irish twin Fred hit me like a mile long freight train full of lead doing 90.

Marianne handed the phone to Mom. Her voice choked with tears, Mom bitterly wondered, “Losing both my husband of 35 years and Fred within only 4 months of one another, what is that about, Ken?  You’re the one who talks to angels.” Deep in grief and shock myself, I told her I’d need more time to wrestle with that and did my best to comfort my mother her second born son Fred’s pain was over.

Soon as I hung up my false bravado evaporated fast as a Sedona dusting of snow, my client troubles put into somber perspective.

Fred (left) with me and mom

The only time I’d spoken to Fred in the last four years of a tough love regimen came earlier this year when I was helping my mom cope with her husband’s stroke that put him in a coma from which he’d never awaken.  Mom had asked me to screen her calls from the flock of salesman seeking to sell her everything from stairlifts to funeral services.

I picked up for her saying, “D’Acquisto residence.”

Fred croaked in the gravely voice he gets with abusing, “Hey, Ken. Strange times.”

I icily said, “Sure are,” and quickly handed the phone to mom.


Doctors warned all of us in the family gathering bedside in 2013, as Fred lay in an induced coma, that he’d die if he ever drank again. Four years deep into the tough love thing had backfired and I never got to properly say good-bye to a brother who suffered a horrible childhood right beside me.  I am having trouble coping with that. The guilt is enormous.

Fred in a coma from ulcer 2013
Me with Fred during his coma from an ulcer 2013 due to alcohol abuse.


Elizabeth, who blessedly came into my life in 2015, escaping LA to live with me here in Sedona, has comforted me as best she could after this final loss of my brother from his long drawn out death, which abuse made this a decades long process. I am not much fun to be around right now. Her patience has been epic and I swear I will not let Fred ruin this relationship from the grave.

Like my Sicilian stepfather Nick, I learned there was also to be no family funeral for Fred. No traditional Irish open casket ceremony. So I welcomed Elizabeth’s idea for us to co-create a private ceremony in Sedona to mourn Fred.

Sadly, and the pattern is all too painfully obvious, Elizabeth had lost a brother to addiction three years ago where there was no funeral. So I insisted we add William, along with my stepfather Nick to the our work of mourning their three tragic deaths.

Elizabeth has explained ritual is something of a lost art in our cold hearted modern life. She and I first created and altar for the three souls with a five day candle burning.  We bought Celtic medallions for Fred and William, who had the curse of the Irish in not handling booze well and for Nick we chose an ancient piece of Hopi pottery to represent his place and an elder in the ritual.

Grieving Puja Elizabeth and I Created for William, Nick and Fred

A week into the grieving, guided by a book Elizabeth read to me each night at bed by Maldoma Some’, I dove through denial into deep anger fueled by client troubles. Troubles getting worse as I was not coping well and messing things up as my patience I normally have for my eccentric and wonderful client in abundance was crippled by my grief.


A bright spot in all this grief is I’ve been deeply touched by an amazing outpouring of love and comforting by Facebook friends that’s helped me through this. Never let anyone tell you Facebook friends are fake!

I’ve also been comforted by a certain blue whale I connect to in spirit named Robin Williams in a past life whose become a regular in my life and this blog in THE ROBIN WILLIAMS VISITATONS.  Robin volunteered to help guide Fred to his resting place in the cosmos, all the while making wisecracks like, “I can help Fred as one junkie to another that fucked up his life.”


On Saturday I decided to take a badly needed break from client troubles and Fred’s mourning and went to a Bruce Lipton lecture. I was hosting the amazing Kathleen Gildred of Gorgeous Goddess Wear and she had offered me one her vendor passes at the Create Your Life Conference she was part selling her cool stuff at.  How could I say no?

What a genius Lipton is!  And so funny.  I wondered — as Bruce made so much clear to us all of the science of love and it’s influence on good health — guiltily about how I knew in my heart Fred would be dying weeks before Mom was frantically trying to reach me while I was lost trying to save my biggest account. Knew it cold.

I regretted amid the conference that I didn’t break my tough love regimen and call Fred Lee Sheetz at least say good bye. It sucks to be psychic sometimes. I brought my overactive mind back to present, laughing at a slide Bruce showed that demonstrated why politicians have no brains.

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Bruce Lipton at the Create Your Life Conference in Sedona

After Lipton’s pessimistic but paradoxically optimistic look at the extinction of all life on earth if we don’t get our asses in gear and shift our collective consciousness to love, I grabbed a Vegan lunch and mingled with Create Your Life event goers. Some of the guests said they were going on a fairy walk on the grounds of the state park behind Enchantment and invited me along.

As the golf cart arrived I was happy to see in the crowd I was not the only guy for once on one of these spiritual close encounters.

Now, ever since 2010 in Mt. Shasta over an argument over spaghetti dinner with a human/fairy – Yes, they exist! – I’ve had many failed encounters with fairy folk.  So I was hoping the walk might change my fairy luck. My Irish grandmother believed in fairies and leprechauns and so I knew the fairy folk might be able to help Fred find peace.

Unlike angels, fairies have egos and can be mischievous.  Which is where I fall down on the fairy connection. But our sweet guide Courtney Long, a human fairy herself, was superb at explaining that fairies like people who recycle and seek the lowest footprint on the planet.  Things I’ve become far better at since 2010.  So I relaxed and began to connect to the faries in the beauty of the Boyton Canyon.

Human Fairy and Angel Fairy Expert Courtney Long

Wow!  I saw thousands of fairies giggling in the trees lift off in the Sedona sky to meet our group of about 100.  All fairy believers.

The beach-like red sand trail I slowly tread along with our enchanted group hunting faries was dappled in sunlight. A gentle breeze in the pines and cedars sparkled fairy dust everywhere. I relaxed free of client troubles and Fred’s loss when my fairy hunting eye caught sight of a pod in a cluster in bush.

Looking with my third eye, wide open with Courtney’s expert guidance, I saw in that pod a tiny fairy where I saw a newborn fairy. Instantly knew Fred had been born as a teensy girl fairy named. He told me telepathically his new name is Fredwenna.

Robin Williams, a giant blue whale soaring in the sky above the treetops above me, kidded baby Fred doing his funniest NYC accent, “Ladies and gents, I present that most adorable hot dog ever, The Fred Weena!” A few people on the tour wondered what I was laughing at.

My sorrow exploded into joy. Fairies sang a chorus of bliss. Fred was back!


After I got home and reunited with Elizabeth with a tender hug and saw that my amazing client, who has been ill so I had asked the fairies to do a healing on, had called me when I was deep in the fairy land, witnessing the rebirth of my beloved brother Fred.

When I returned the super client’s call we were in tears on both sides that we had been so harsh with each other. We’ve still not worked it out, as it’s royal mess I can’t get into here, of course. But the fairies, in whose care my lost kid brother Fred’s soul rests, tell me it’s all going to work out and not to be too anxious or sad.

Fredweena is happy in the Boyton Canyon fairy world and I am Fairy Grateful.

My next blog will be about how I repaid Robin Williams’ blue whale spirit self for helping my lost brother find the fairy lands in my next coolest ever blog post titled:

“The Ocean is Getting Lonely – The Robin Williams Visitations” 

Look for it soon as writing is my therapy. 

Learn more about events where we can meet plus grab some cool loot from the amazing spirit scientists supporting our planetary healing at CoolestMeditationEver.com




These thoughts on life’s brevity and its fragile nature yet beauty were written a few hours before the tragedy in Vegas. Already they feel like words from another era, another me.  Nonetheless I offer this blog with prayers for the lost and wounded at the concert last night as we must accept in our crazy times that we must live each day with as much love and light as possible, no matter what fate has in store for us.

OCTOBER 1, 2017

Our neighbor Paul, a gregarious man with beard Santa would envy, dropped by today while I was weeding the backyard, that grew wild while I traveled two months out three this summer showing our new Antarctica meditations film across the southwest with my love and partner in all things Elizabeth. Well, it was more like Paul was dragged here by his big dog that outweighs the thin as rail scrappy 70-something.

The former trail guide Paul’s adorable German Shepard, Julie, who I learned is eight years old, gave Elizabeth and me both kisses and presented  herself for hugs. Paul gave welcome advice for packing for our upcoming hike into Havasu Falls in the Grand Canyon this week. He suggested 25 pounds max weight for us each. His assurance I could make the hike calmed Elizabeth who has been worried sick about my being in good enough shape to make it to the blue green waters.

As I watched my teenage, by human years, Lincoln and the frisky 56-year-old, by human years, Julie work on lifting Lincoln’s play skills, I thought about my 65th birthday last week. How weird a thing age is.  Turning 65 means now magically means I am on the same great Medicare coverage Bernie Sanders is tilting at windmills for us all.

It makes no sense to me as I pondered, while Julie snuck into the house to steal Lincoln’s bones, that my arbitrary birthdate, which some bureaucrat decided made me insurable with Medicare, while Elizabeth is stuck on Obamacare. BTW, I have to thank Elizabeth, an expert in Medicare, for guiding me to the best coverage in the complex decision making process that would puzzle most lawyers for its complexity of choice.

I dislike Trump for his huge ego and mean heart, have since the 80s. My spirit guide Ohom has said he’ll have an awakening to higher consciousness while in office.  But I grow weary of the wait after three hurricanes have had no impact on his stubborn ego.

But the Trumpster is right for once, Obamacare is not a good thing for enough people. Certainly not for me. I got un-Affordable health care quote of $400 a month with a $5000 deductible only 50% coverage and no pharma plan. Pass!  Now under Medicare I am covered 100% for about $300 a month for all drugs and medical with a $180 dedcutible. That’s more like it!

Unfortunately, Trump has no real plan to replace Obamacare with something better once he repeals it. He simply hates Obama and is out to ruin anything the black man did out of spite and simmering racism.

Enter Bernie to the rescue.


I love Bernie’s plan of Medicare for everyone, much as it’s not going to have the votes. But there’s hope it will pass after a sweep of the Tea Party candidates ruining the Republican party beside ineffective Dems in the 2018 elections. We need to get to the center again as a nation.

I shook off the odd feeling of siding with Trump and Bernie at the same time that was enough to make me feel like my head might explode. So I turned me thoughts to our dogs living 7 times faster a life than we.  Putting my consciousness into the dogs POV, as they sniffed the yard hunting for lizards, I could see we humans seem to move through time in slow motion in comparison to them. It was groovy to visualize they do not suffer any feeling of a shorter life anymore than we feel cheated that Redwoods live thousands of years longer than we do.

Then I thought of Mayflies who live only a few hours once they emerge from the water.  I checked in and yes, same for them.  A lifetime is measured in a few hours feels as long as our own. By comparison to a mayfly, I thought, smiling up to take in the deep blue Sedona sky, I am redwood tree in lifespan.

One day I will outlive little Lincoln as I have many pets in my life. But it’s nice to realize our little doggie does not feel his life is short. Indeed, his life is like Einstein’s theory of relativity in doggie form.

Then I thought how good it is to be so vibrant and healthy at 65, fit enough to take on the Grand Canyon at an age when my grandmother was in the nursing home. After all, when I saw the Dreamshield in 2010 I was told I will live to well over 100, as some have in my family, to continue to help usher in the new age .

And now that longer life I am to have is blessed with the best mate of my life and should I be injured I now have the insurance Bernie dreams of for us all. Fingers crossed he pulls it off a miracle. It will be like he won the elections after all as he should have in the first place.


Bluehost Sucks

Screen Shot 2017-09-27 at 1.45.17 PMFYI if you are looking for good customer service avoid Bluehost. The hosting service did not start out that way when someone near and dear to me, my partner in BuzzBroz.com our social media biz, started using them 10 years ago. But that’s another story today.

About 6 weeks ago Bluehost suggested Elizabeth upgrade her service with them, for a higher fee of course. She had already prepaid for a 5-year plan.  And oh how the sales person at Bluehost promised it would improve her service. WRONG! Ever since the “upgrade” it’s been one problem after another, starting with all of her sites being black screen for two weeks after the ‘Upgrade.’

Now for another 2 weeks, the site for one of her lines of business, thank goodness not a client site, is forwarding to another website, rendering her income producing page useless and her customers scratching their heads.  And no one at Bluehost can figure out why or how to fix it.  She can’t even restore with a back up because her Bluehost dashboard is broken, too.  Total fail of service and support.

Despite service that’s been so bad from Bluehost that it eventually brought Elizabeth, a tough vet with 17 years as master sergeant, to tears after 6 weeks of tech after tech fails that went in total circles after two hour calls that have now added up to a dozen hours of wasted time.

Clearly in this world of robo-service from the likes of Bluehost, Google, YouTube, Facebook and more, service is a forgotten word.  No one in management has stepped up to help and now when she calls she is told that it’s being handled by a senior tech adviser but the “senior tech advisers don’t take calls.” Take heart, there are a few bright spots for good service on the web. GoDaddy and Vimeo are two.

How long until these good guys devolve into the bad service joke that is Bluehost’s circular “we cannot help you” brand service who can say? But long as they keep up good service, Godaddy and Vimeo will benefit from the vacuum left by the Bluehost bad service losers of the web.


Update, after a flurry of attempts and many more hours of Elizabeth’s time at service the pages remain a mess.

Lessons in Love & Fear: Lincoln the Rescue Dog

This past February I was struck with love at first site as a young lady Human Society worker paraded a little dog across the Sedona Petsmart parking lot. Several hundred dollars of dog paraphernalia later, Elizabeth and I were filled with joy taking home a one-year-old rescue dog pre-named Lincoln. Abe being one of my spirit guides we kept the name.

Lincolns New Shoes
Lincoln our rescue dog beats the heat with new booties we bought to protect him from hot asphalt.

Lincoln quickly sniffed out most of our house, tail wagging. But soon as we turned our backs to talk about the amazing luck we had getting such a gorgeous dog for only $50, we noticed he peed the Navajo rug dead center of the house.  We chuckled and cleaned up the rug, writing it off to excitement at the new house.

Now, I’ve raised many dogs in my 6 decades on the planet, including, most recently, a dog that became a co-star in my film ZACK’S MACHINE. But I raised all those dogs from pups. Rescue dogs I’ve learned are a whole different, pardon the pun, animal.

Jeez.  It began so well with Lincoln, an adorable cross between a Jack Russell Terrier and Chihuahua. Lincoln took to me for petting and cuddles at first, but in a few days Lincoln became so bonded to my love Elizabeth, who ironically did not really want the dog as much as me, that he began to growl at me when I’d enter the room. 10 months later he’s still growling.

Well, time for classes from a dog pro.  We must be doing something wrong for the guy or we have to accept the last owners ruined this sweet little guy and cope.

One day during his trial period from the Humane Society, Lincoln’s possessiveness escalated to an intense nip on my hand when I held him back from running out after Elizabeth. Both of us chided Lincoln together.  I was in shock.  No dog I owned has ever turned on me. Dogs love me.  We still had half a week to take the dog back free of charge but I decided against it. If this dog was going to be saved from the exterminator we were his best hope.

Lincoln rebelled whenever Elizabeth left the house and hid in the closet.  (He’s still at this today.)  One day we came home and Lincoln had chewed up the venetian blinds. So we resorted to using a crate, something dogs generally like. Not him.  We’d come home and he nose was bloody from charging the bars. He even bent one cage and escaped! So cages were out.

We went on the road for month and tried a pet sitter, a real pro. But despite her best effort he was a little monster with growling and nipping! When we got back we realized our ability to travel was cramped and wondered how we got into this mess.

Still, we took Lincoln as challenge. My love and patience teamed with Elizabeth’s to wear him down his fear of men.  But it’s not going well.  I try not to take this hatred of me in my own home personally. But day after day of dog cowering in fear, growling at and hogging my love’s attention, I must admit wears on me.

What’s the lesson here from the little spirit guide? Lincoln’s fear blinds him to 50% of the love our household has to offer and love from strangers we encounter. Fear also hampers Lincoln’s ability to enjoy pet sitters in Elizabeth’s place.  So this little guy shows us how fear cripples our life and the ability to enjoy all it has to offer.