Going To The Dogs

Oh Look: Robin is out shopping with a follower's child again!

That Robin Dumolin considered herself the "spiritual mother" of at least one of her follower's children is pretty much well known.  It's also legendary that the relationship appeared to so many of us somewhat like a blond and her fashion accessory chihuahua, with the child being dragged around to so many events and activities just like Paris' Tinkerbell.

As this crazy event was going on, the founder of the Academy for Psychotic Studies decided it would be in the best interest of the followers to start buying pets to relieve them of whatever worldly burden they had (like, maybe the few extra bucks they had saved for say, food, a desperately-needed car or clothes) and teach them about caring for a life that is totally dependent on them and caring for the men at the Academy. 

Ummm.... 'kaaaay.

Overlooked by the Founder, Rev. Bill Duby, was that his targets were by and large, mothers.  Mothers of children in his cult.  Mothers whos children were spending time with Bill and his sister wives.  A lot of time.

And of course, the children were totally dependent on their parents for all the things kids depend on them to provide.  And for the most part, those parents were providing all they could to the extent allowable after all their cult responsibilities were taken care of.  And of course, the cult's needs came before any other because without the cult, where would any of the follower be in life?  They might be living in a comfortable suburb in a nice home with the ability to send their kids to college and give them all the things kids need today instead of slaving away nights, weekends and holidays for the benefit of people who are never satisfied (so who decided kids "need" an iPod, iPhone, iPad, iTatoos, iPiercings and iSkirts that make them look like they belong on an Oakland street at midnight?).

As with all things that came from his bizarre mind, good reason and common sense never stopped Rev. Bill Duby.  He charged forward with the unstoppable force of a freight train.

Bill's days were consumed with searching that interweb thing, newspapers, supermarket ad papers and whatever else for all kinds of dogs.  But not just any dog.  He searched for chihuahuas and only chihuahuas.

Although, it turned out, Bill never had a chihuahua or a pet that anyone knows of, besides maybe the cockroaches in the Academy dining hall (and despite the commenter's note my claim is exaggerated - take a look at my response.  Bill never had a chihuahua - it was Angela's) he became the world's foremost expert on chihuahuas.  Bill spoke endlessly about breeds, care, training, doggy behavior and that he'd better not find any doggy residue anywhere but in the kitchen where it could be served up as a nutritious meal (for six bucks a spoonful - which includes a slice of week-old bread).

Once his authority was established on all matters related to dogs, Bill began his usual endless chant and dribble.  "Chihuahuas are the dogs of the future!", he'd shout.  "People who live in cities need dogs like this!", he'd holler.  It went on, and on, and on...

Soon, he began his plan to hoodwink the poor, unsuspecting faithful.  First, his most loyal lieutenant was pledged to adopt a dog, than another, then another and then one more.  Then, the faithful were gathered for yet another boring, depressing meeting designed to secure control over their thought processes and were given a surprise envelope.

Of course, when he handed over the envelope it was empty.  Bill expected it to come back with "donations" to help secure the purchase of "SRF dogs" for the faithful.  So, the weary followers dug into their pockets for their lunch money and forked it over so they wouldn't get the crap beat out of them at recess.

Not generally known was that the few who did "receive" a chihuahua, blessed, validated and located by Bill himself, had to pay for their pets anyway.

The dogs cost hundreds to adopt.

So, what about the "SRF dogs" he spoke of? 

Well, Angela got one.  So did Robin Dumolin's dad.  Any guesses on who really paid for them?

But those dogs were the blessed and holy property of the Witches of Ellsworth Street and were provided the best doggy food, best doggy veterinary care and I recall little doggy sweaters on them as well.

The followers dogs didn't fare quite as well.  The dogs were cared for to the extent the follower's could afford.  Most are still alive to this day and are given all the attention and care they need.  No sweaters and rhinestone doggy collars, though.  No fifty bucks a bag specially formulated doggy food either.  Makes you wonder how much a critter really needs.

The care and love given to the dogs wasn't exactly what I was thinking about, though.

Bill, dog expert extraordinaire; Bill, dog training authority; Bill, expert authority on all things chihuahua forgot about the whole damn thing and stopped talking about any kind of pets of any kind once the dogs were integrated into the SRF cesspool.

Kind of makes you think about what happened to all of us, doesn't it?

The dog craze didn't stop the procurement of pets and animals, though.  The infamous "Blue Sky Ranch" in Bethel Island had lots of animals!  Nearly all of them were re-located in the Blue Sky Ranch special animal housing unit six feet underground before they lived a year.

I remember seeing a cat wandering around the SRF headquarters one time.  It was a good looking cat and appeared to be doing a lot of cat things: like climbing into, onto, around, over and under any thing he could find.  It also had a bad habit of clawing.  It clawed people.  Lots of people.  He turned my hand into a bleeding road map.

There was a spray bottle filled with water or something I'd rather not think about placed prominently in the SRF "center room" where the psychotic readings, mind control classes and worthless healings were conducted.  While I was receiving one of those "healings" the cat appeared.  The person "healing" me quickly grabbed the bottle and began spraying like a woman possessed - which I guess she was (and still is).

While furiously squirting the cat with whatever was in the bottle, she shouted "That's for scratching me three days ago, motherfucker!"

I suppose SRF is a warm and nourishing place for no one - not even a cat.

Now, I have had several cats.  I have two of them now.  In fact, my wife's sister lived with us and brought her two cats.  So I've lived with four of the little furballs at once.

I know from my experience that cats don't take to having a lot of people around easily.  And they become skittish, frantic and otherwise nerve-wracked if the people around them behave similarly.

You see, our two cats are pretty friendly.  The big one seems to love everyone - that's how we raised him from a tiny kitten.  The smaller one was a stray and has a little fear of people but still warms up to them quickly.  Our visitors always want to pick up and pet the small one and just pet the big guy because he's too damn big for them to pick up.  Those other two were pretty much crazy, one always coming up to you to claw the hell out of your leg, the other pissing on furniture, pissing on walls, pissing on any damn thing at all.

Well, that went on for a while until the sister-in-law and her daughter took a three-week retreat from the den of iniquity we call home sweet home.  In a week, the change in their cats was remarkable.  The clawing cat leaped on our bed and curled up next to me, claws safely tucked away.  The pissing demon became so calm, he climbed up onto my legs and fell asleep.  Not one drop of cat pee anywhere. 

You see, the house got quieter, calmer, less frantic with their owners gone and before you think it was just because it was an unfamiliar situation, those cats behaved in exactly the same crazy way when they lived with only their owners - claws, pee and all.  My wife and I were nice to them and gave them the kind of environment and attention they craved.  No loud outbursts, no running in circles, no odd and unusual behavior - quite different from the environment they came from.  Coincidence?  What do you think?

So there's no doubt in my mind that the lone SRF cat was just acting out like the people who were surrounding him every day.  I never saw that cat after a few weeks.  I heard he "went to the farm" - or more likely, given Angela's warm and nourishing nature, he "bought the farm".

Apart from that unfortunate cat, what does that say about the calm, peaceful, warm and nourishing atmosphere at the Academy for Psychic Studies?  When a cat becomes disturbed from the behaviors of the crazy people who congregate in a psychotic madhouse, you'd have to take a hard look at a lot more than the cat. 

   
So, a commenter says Bill was an expert as he bought a Chihuahua some years before this nutty Chihuahua binge and purge.  This Chihuahua was named "Taffy" and soon left the expert care of Bill Duby for the affections of Angela Silva.


OK, we are to believe Bill Duby, the man's man, the man who lesser men aspire to become, the man who vanquished lesser men by siccing Angela on them, the man who liked to "whip it out and slap her in the face with it" and exhorted us to "own your balls!", the man who's manliness would be unquestioned by any lesser man:

GOT A FUCKING YAP DOG AND NAMED IT "TAFFY"????

So what else was he doing?  Knitting tea cozies?  Designing shoulder bags for Paris Hilton?

That fucking shitbag was lying again.  The dog was Angela Silva's all along.  Bill just wrangled the money to buy it.

Hey, did that animal show up when Angela's daughter suddenly moved away?  And do you know why she moved away?