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Thank You for Being My Boy

My name is Georgia, stage name Ophelia. I'm a well-heeled terrier-hound with a taste for chicken, Mozzarella, Chardonnay, and peanut butter-bacon biscotti. I've scaled Rocky Mountains, eaten fresh-caught fish on a Key West Christmas Eve Beach, been chased by Coyote three times and almost caught twice, ran up on two bears, and run over and dragged half a block by a Cadillac Coupe DeVille. I've wandered the New Mexican desert in search of ancient wisdoms, ambled Boston's Freedom Trail asking how a country went so wrong in two hundred and fifty years, been run out of Nashville's Grand-Ole Opry Ryman Auditorium, and visited the graves of Thelonious Monk, Judy Garland, James Baldwin, Henry David Thoreau, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Louisa May Alcott, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Jack Kerouac, Johnny Mercer, Stephen Foster, Stanley Turrentine, and Andy Warhol. I've wine-and-cheesed a Denver Mayor, breakfasted a Colorado Senator, kissed and cuddled a Rocky Mountain Governor, and been blessed by a Catholic Priest, Buddhist Monk, and Native American Medicine Man. I've braved raging Colorado river rapids, been bit on the face by a snake, marched in the 2008 Democratic National Convention, am on an FBI watch list, marveled Niagara Falls, been almost arrested twice, walked through Times Square to The Dakota, where John Lennon lived and got snuffed, been photographed at his Central Park Strawberry-Fields "Imagine" Memorial, stood on Dallas' Dealey Plaza X where Kennedy got multi-angle perforated, and have stood where Albert Einstein, Abraham Lincoln, George Washington, and Martin Luther King each made history, experiencing love, joy, tragedy, adventure, and death, and come through it all a better dog. This is my story.

Thank You for Being My Boy

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