Trip and CJ.

[KimSpirit]

I was behind a large desk in a massive room, unpainted cement pad floors, metal siding on the huge structure, like a barracks. To my right sat Major Bob Worn, SOG, "still among the living", at a smaller desk, positioned about 20 feet away from me. My desk was elevated, upon a platform. In came an older man, Saxon, medium brown hair, blue eyes, white long-sleeved poor boy shirt with mock turtleneck, dark twill pants. He held something up to me, beseeching me to take it. It was a little plastic vessel, frosted, about 2" in height. It was not straight/rectangular but with a swirl design each side of it. Like an urn. He told me that he was giving me the cremated remains of his golden retriever (name not remembered by me) to thank me for my help to the vets. He said the dog had been the most important thing to him in his life, had been a rescue dog, a hero dog. The man "horsed" around with me, saying that if I did not take this gift, he would give me a slap alongside the head. I kidded back with him, getting off my chair, to come down to him, saying I was 5'9" tall and it would be awfully hard for him to give me a slap. As I approached him, I heard Bob Worn say, "He's short" to me. Then, I observed the man had a crippling spinal injury, leaving his spinal cord deformed, bent over, and he was indeed short because of it. I felt awful, but no one else was. It was OK. Cosmic Jukebox below.