Regular readers of this blog will remember my brother UJ, who has posted occasionally about his adventures and travels.
Lately UJ has been volunteering at the Franklin County Dog Shelter, where his principal activity is walking the dogs and, in the process, giving them a little bit of the human attention that dogs seem to instinctively crave. Then, he posts about his exploits and the different dogs he has met on Facebook.
UJ had not previously indicated, from outward signs at least, that he was a big dog lover. For example, I don’t think he’s ever had a dog of his own since he left our parents’ home, where we had a cantankerous “teacup dachshund” named George. However, when one of his friends suggested the volunteer activity at the Shelter he gladly took it on, and it’s clear that UJ and the Franklin County shelter go together like hand and glove. The Shelter has acknowledged UJ’s dedicated volunteer work with some posts of its own, like the photo to the right.
It’s interesting, too, that the focus of UJ’s Facebook posts has changed somewhat since he started his volunteer work. After a few posts about what he was doing there, it really became all about the dogs he was walking and their desire to be adopted. UJ will walk the dogs, take some pictures and video, and then post something about the dogs and how good-natured and easygoing they were. And, UJ and his Facebook posts publicizing the dogs he’s walking have helped the dogs at the Shelter who are up for adoption find homes — including homes with some of UJ’s Facebook pals.
I’ve been a critic of social media, and I still think it has contributed mightily to our current polarized political situation. But UJ’s efforts at the Franklin County Dog Shelter show how a little volunteer work and some social media attention can really have a positive impact. I’m proud of UJ’s good work, and I think his use of Facebook to help orphan dogs find a human family illustrates what is the right role for social media in civic affairs — to let people know about what’s happening in their communities, and how they personally can make a difference. Kudos to UJ!
When I was going to college, lack of happiness and “deprioritizing” personal happiness and fulfillment was not a problem. If anything, Ohio State students of the ’70s tended to overprioritize their dedicated, incessant, deep-seated, Frodo Baggins-like quest for happiness. The notion that fresh-faced students, still possessing the bloom of youth and newly freed from the constant supervision and irksome rules of Mom and Dad, need to take a college class to learn how to be happier would have been totally alien to the undergrads of my era. And it’s really kind of depressing to think that, in any era, college students would need to sit in a lecture hall to get tips on how to be happier. College must have become a grim, hellish place indeed!
Even if 60 is the new 40, though, 60 years is a long time. UJ is part of my earliest memories. We shared a bedroom in the first house I can remember living in. We played together all the time, and when we moved from our modest home in Akron proper to the more wide-open suburbs of Bath, where we again shared a room, we were part of the same roving gang of boys that played football and built dams and forts and caught crayfish in the stream that ran through the woods near our house. We went bowling and to Cleveland Indians Bat Day doubleheaders and on trips to Washington, D.C. and Ocean City, New Jersey and on Sunday drives to the Blue Hole in Castalia, Ohio with Grandma and Grandpa Neal.
At the time there was a pair of really cheap, almost plastic-looking black loafers lurking around the house. I don’t know where they came from — they weren’t Dad’s, and they certainly weren’t UJ’s or mine — but for some reason they became an object of ridicule and silly humor in our household. We called them the shiners, and they would mysteriously appear on your chair at dinner, or on your pillow when you went to your bedroom at night. It was one of those inside jokes that sometimes develop in families.
The sad fact is that my whistling ability, well, blows. I really can only whistle part of one tune. It’s a passage from The Dance of the Little Swans in Tchaikovsky’s ballet Swan Lake, and even then I can only whistle it at super-slow speed. If Russia’s greatest composer heard my dismal rendition of one of his most beautiful compositions, he would hurl himself in front of the Czar’s carriage. And because I can only whistle one part of one song, when I’m in a whistling mood I repeat it over and over. I recognize this is ridiculously annoying, but I can’t help myself. So I try to reserve my whistling for those times when I’m by myself.
Some of you may wonder how UJ celebrates his birthdays. After all, how do you properly commemorate a special day like a birthday when you already seem to spend much of your time tanned and shirtless in some exotic warm weather location, gambling and getting kissed on the cheek by a woman in a bikini — and occasionally holding some form of shellfish with your head apparently framed by a halo, besides?
Webner House 