... ..borders ....December 31, 2005   My neighbor, Dr. Richard Withering, is a born-again chiropractor who drives a Ford Expedition upon which he displays  a "W The President" bumpersticker, a Jesus-fish, and a yellow ribbon magnet urging me to support my troops.  I have no troops but, if I did, I would launch an attack on Dr. Withering.  Richard Withering recently returned from a mission trip to Southeast Asia with a group calling itself "Doctors Without Borders."  I was forced to hear about the trip after Withering snuck up behind me in his crepe-soled chukka boots.  At the time, I was watching two green anoles hump in the shade of an asparagus fern.  Unless I misunderstood him--the reptilian peep-show was distracting--Dr. Withering had been away for six weeks treating tsunami victims. "So let me get this straight, Dick.  You went to Indonesia calling yourself a doctor?  A doctor without a border?" "That's right," he sniffed.  "I am a doctor.  A doctor of chiropractic.  Is there a problem?" "No, not really," I replied.  "I just think it's misleading, that's all.  You know, call yourself a Borderless Chiropractor or something." "What difference does it make?  I was doing God's work."  "God wanted you to crack the spines of malnourished orphans and dysenteric old men?" Dick Withering spun on his heels, walked to his SUV, and drove off.  I watched the retreating Expedition, wishing I had a rocket-launcher. previous..|..current..|..archives..|..4th quarter index..|..next

©  2005 by the beastmaster