Don’t be surprised if there is a class action suit challenging the state legislature’s proposal to stop issuing personalized license plates reading, “I Hate Carolina.”
Hating UNC-Chapel Hill is regarded as a constitutional right among thousands of alumni from other N.C. institutions of higher learning, especially those from N.C. State and Duke.
I once asked readers what prompts their traditional and vitriolic dislike of UNC.
The most common answer was “arrogance” or “lack of humility.”
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I had thought that Carolina’s recent fall from grace due to its athletics-academics scandal might inspire a smidgen of compassion from its critics. When the NCAA gets through punishing the once revered university, it will be sitting in “sack cloth and ashes” for years to come. But none seems to be forthcoming.
I’ll admit that we all need to practice humility.
I haven’t seen a honeybee all summer.
The bee was once a part of every barefoot farm boy’s culture and it’s sting would send the victim wailing to his Mama, who would affix a poultice of baking soda and water to the afflicted spot.
When a boy, I heard that if you held a bumble bee in your hand and it didn’t sting you, it meant that you were in love. I tried that once, only to painfully realize that I wasn’t in love, just a bit stupid.
Candidates and clowns
When I contemplate the likes of presidential candidate Donald Trump, why do the lyrics from a popular song in the musical “A Little Night Music” always come to mind?
But where are the clowns?
Quick, send in the clowns.
But where are the clowns?
Don’t bother, they’re here.
Death of a dog
The recent column excerpt from the last will and testament of a dog stirred the emotions of many of you dog lovers, including Miles Godwin of San Jose, Califo.
Miles, a former Tar Heel, caused my own eyes to moisten as he described the last moments of his dog Max on July 5.
Miles’ wife and daughter had found Max, a mixed breed Lab, near death while they were horseback riding near Creedmoor, N.C., some 14 years ago. Now Max suffered from many afflictions and could not walk.
“He was a wonderful companion, and like me, not fancy or sophisticated at all. Just an old yard dog, but MY yard dog,” Miles writes.
“So the three of us took him to the vet. While the vet was preparing the death cocktail, they put us in a family room. A very nice lady came in, offered her condolences, and explained the options for disposing of Max’s remains.
“Then they bring Max in on a stretcher and gently place him our feet. We kneel down and rub and love on Max one last time. He places his tired old head on my lap.
“Then the vet comes in and gives Max the first medication to make him fall asleep. He takes one big yawn and goes to sleep. The next medication stops his heartbeat.
“And then our tears start flowing.”