In the dark of an alley there are dangers most real, but they are known to those of us who walk them when others fear.

From brutal bedrooms, blooded kitchens, and hopeless hearts the battered souls call out for dogs to be near.

Then the cruel recruit their blinded tools to beat on the walls of the fearful

And with their spite and unkind words they leave the shattered more tearful

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Rocking back and forth for most people brings to mind gentle surroundings, like rocking a baby to sleep. Or maybe it’s the thought of grandpa rocking on the porch as he puffs on his pipe. Too some it may be grandma knitting as she rocks quietly by the fire place. The Norman Rockwell pictures start to run across our minds like a spring day bringing us a warm smile.
Yeah, ain’t that nice!
To others rocking is what is done when you have lost a friend in a way that’s senseless. Or too others the shocking sounds of war can make men proud in parades, shake and rock to their own beat. To some they are matching a hidden rhythm only known by their wounded spirit. Some rock as if it were rowing themselves toward shores far away. The shores these sailors of the mind seek, as they try not to ponder the world uncaring around them, are seldom found. The sand bars and seaweed of despair take most of these seafarer’s long before they reach dry land.
So those of you with simple pasts and pleasant memories of kinder days hug your selves with delight that you know not what rocks the cradles of others.

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If we accept that the very nature of the universe is conflict existing in all things, that all things need to have opposites to survive, and if we also accept that all people are a product of the universe, then we can stop making it a fault to have differing ideas and different opinions.

We need to view conflict as an act of nature, not as personal assaults. When we can recognize the benefits of the struggle between the flower and the soil, the spirit rooted as it reaches for the warmth, the flower fighting to break free of the earth that covers it, as it reaches for the sun.

The flower:

It is in conflict with the soil.

What we see is a beautiful struggle.

There is no anger as we watch,

Just one path taken in the universe!

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Great!!

Today is my youngest daughters Bday and we went out to lunch.  Two soldiers were eating there in uniform with a military duce and a half parked outside.  I grabbed my waiter and told him that those soldiers DO NOT pay for their meal, their check comes to me.  I slightly teared up remembering the drinks and lunches bought for me during my travels in uniform.  Their waiter got the message mixed up and told them the manager paid for it, but that didn’t matter to me.  The left knowing that someone appreciated the job they do and that is enough for me.  Love you Dog.  Miss you all the time.

Neil Nichols

Business Manager

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For over thirty years I have been doing intervention and/or protection for people in crisis. I have seen the rottenest parts of human nature. I have seen abuse so bad that it would never make it on TV. I have seen the results of self mutilations done with a desperate attempt to gain some sort of control over the insanity they feel trapped in. I and my friends have stood our ground many times between real monsters and their prey, and stood solid because as veterans we know no other way.

I have seen beatings, stabbings, gunshots wounds, meth overdoses, child abuse, and rape victims.

I have seen the results of compounded lies cascading forth from the well intended and watched as their imaginary slights and excuses drown all hope of healing. I have seen the struggle of ego’s justify acts of injustice. I have seen the battered with open wounds make excuses, not just for the batterer, but also for friends who knew the truth and didn’t want to take sides.

I have seen more evil than most that I know, and yet because of the horrors, I have met many heroes. Normal People in extraordinary chaos that stun me in with their strength and quiet nature in terrifying ordeals.

My stories will true, I may change the names of some of the heels to keep from dealing with more bullshit, but the stories will be the truth.

So hold on to your hats and get ready, thirty years of violence intervention and protection tales, some will make you ill others will anger you. But as I said it’s about the hero too, and there will be some cases where you will grin along with us.

In every case, and every story I was backed by my peers. Veterans, ex-gang members, ex-cons, bikers, store owners, mayors, sheriffs depts., all people that understood the importance of community ownership.

bd

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Our outreach was to take students into the deep woods of the Kettle River Mountains, to mingle with veterans and others dealing with violence, ptsd, and other issues not being dealt with.

In every contact the interns were respectful to all they met, and built friendships in some cases that are still running strong.

This letter was sent to me by one of those that have stayed friends.

bd

p.s.

I get a grin from reading it.

Andy Burch

February 12, 2008

To see Rick Francis in action, working his Blackdog magic, is truly a thing of wonder. I had the pleasure of working with Rick for several years as an intern at evergreen state college and he never ceased to amaze me with his grace and sincerity in dealing with people and problematic situations. One experience in particular will always stand out to me.

It was a cold winter day in northeastern Washington, and we (several Evergreen interns) were making a house call to a veteran in the deep woods that had reached out to Blackdog asking for help. We were probably not even there for 15 minutes before one of the clients friends dropped by unannounced. The gentleman, a fellow veteran, was decked out in his army fatigues with a gun visibly strapped to his hip.

He immediately took a disliking to us, being unknown foreigners in his friend’s house. In a matter of minutes he gets extremely worked up and defensive, and all of a sudden it becomes a dangerous, very intense situation. The intensity of the situation cannot, in fact, be stressed enough. An angry and aggressive vet with a pistol on him for everybody to see is more than a small problem. There is no doubt in my mind that had it been any other human being in that situation other than Rick Francis, things would have gotten worse. But Rick, being the benevolent and ever mindful leader that he is, found this a great opportunity to work his magic. What happened is best described by a term that Rick often uses, that of “whispering to the buffalo”. In his mysterious but stoic Blackdog way, Rick defused the problem so naturally and non-manipulatively that I don’t think the other vet even realized Rick was trying to calm him down. In the end he and the other vet was quite literally arm in arm with teary eyes. We were then able to continue helping the client with some very basic needs that were not being met, and give him the respect and dignity that he had been missing.

This is just one example of how The Blackdog Foundation is a valuable resource that can provide what no other institution, bureaucracy, or social service can. It is not just a job for Rick. It is a lifestyle. It is a deep-seated commitment and passion. It is about bringing harmony to chaos, and returning dignity to the shattered human spirit. He is so much more than a “people person” or even a social worker. He is a healer and a spiritual Sheppard, also being one of the sheep.

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Each one of us has had or still has in our life, what others would call crazy friends! Now I say that as a statement, and not just a comment. Each one of you can remember a time or two, and some many; you were caught off guard in the sudden rush of unpreparedness from some action you did not start. I think it may be some genetic smirk in our DNA reminding us not to get to far ahead or too full of our selves. Whatever the reason some unwritten law or perhaps as I said an act of nature will always bring the crazy to the sane (or at least those of us who think we are sane). It’s a polar thing north is there, so god help us south is too. So the smarter and above it all you may think you are, the greater the risk there are some unclaimed nuts out there that are looking for you. Like hungry dogs drooling in their hurry to befriend you.

Me I have a covey, herd, flock, pack, drove, school, you name it, I know enough extreme personalities to fill out any group you want to name. It is not fair to go on without first being very up front about the years of leaving my light on has drawn them to me like moths to a bright street light. So they are not to blame for my moments (thank god it’s only moments anymore) of imbalance.

Anyway once we get the hang of working with these friends, it’s like reading an outdoor thermometer. It lets you know it’s not the same (sane) out there as it is in here.

Am I Right? Wrong, even when we know these things, we will still listen as they weave some fantastic illusion as if colors were spewing from their lips when they say things like: hey it’s cool, or what are you worried about, or what’s the worst that can happen? We have heard them all, but to this day my favorite is hey no one will ever know….

Now I want to be clear I am not in any way blaming others for those mountain top moments of duh in my life. They were all earned by me with a big smile before that split second of duh turned to damn. So you see I accept my actions in the following stories, but I do ask you to be kind in your tasting of these tales.

All thoughts and comments go to blackdog@blackdogfoundation.org

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Living way up in the mountains the way we did, it was not that often we get time to just visit folks. Even those that were our neighbors were still a couple miles away. I remember one time Becky (that’s my wife, I don’t need to change her name) and I had been down to the local store checking our mail. Malo store (not changing its name either) was an all purpose mountain store. You could buy gas, bullets, diapers, fishhooks, get your mail, and buy cattle feed. Then could take the time to lean on the counter and talk about all the things that could be fixed if? One hell of a store by any standards! Becky and went into the store and I got our mail while she said hello to jack the old fella that owned the place. I guess you could get the idea the way I speak of it, that Malo store is a big place, but it is not. It was just a farm house converted so that the living room became the store. They did wonders with such a small place. There were old steel advertisement hanging on the walls, rusted from a long ago age. Sadly that age and grace of time has rusted away even faster than those old signs. A couple Deer antlers of incredible size were mounted on the walls next to pictures of john Wayne. The top shelves were filled with old tin coffee cans from fifty years or more ago. It was an oasis to those of us many miles between services we could trust, and those that ran Malo store could be trusted. When we were done, we headed back toward our mountain feeling good about the day. We pulled off the main road onto ours where the most popular sign in the county was standing. Primitive road! They never lied about those signs, they were very honest. It sure was a primitive road by any standards, and after a rain the washboard effect goes into account. As Becky and I were driving back up the old logging road (primitive road) to our place a few miles up. We got the idea of stopping by this fellas house as we were going to pass it anyway while heading home. We lived a little over two and a half miles up this old logging road. The county took over the road sometime back, and it seemed that was the last time they graded it too. Now that may be stretching the truth some but not by much it ain’t. Well this guy we visited had a round house he had built just below this old dirt road. Every time anyone drove up or down the road it would make this huge eastern Washington dust cloud that would hang in the air. One old woman swore to me she had weeds growing in the air one summer when the logging trucks were going back and forth to the timber cuts up the road. And said if she had remembered to water them they would still be hanging around today. I never argue with old women, they seem to get stronger at arguing the older they get.

Anyway getting back to this old hippie and his house, my wife and I were driving up to our place and pulled in for a hello to the guy’s wife, she was a sweet woman strapped with way too much to do, cleaning up all that dust , and such. She was standing in their yard looking worn out and berated again by her husband. You could see the tension on both as they quickly and rather clumsily put on the neighbor face. That little mask we pull out to cover the other look that could say rather loudly get the fuck out of here. Lotus (hippy names changed to protect the innocent) was trying to smile through the grime smeared on her cheeks by the tears that had moved a path down her face. Dum-aze(his hippie name, by my choice) never did get the skill of the mask right, he had a sneer going on one side of his face while the other was twitching like he was trying to choose between biting himself or running away.

It turns out he was struggling at building some support braces for a big shed he had out by his driveway. And he had lost his level somewhere but he was convinced some would be convict snuck into his house and stole it from the safe place he had put it the last time he used it. The burglar, he believed, walked past his pot, money, and all the other things in his house to seek out his magic level. So now without his level he was screaming directions to his wife on what he wanted her to do. That’s when we pulled in.

It was a nice day the sun was out, and the summer so far had been nice but dry. Not much air moving about except high up you could see the clouds easing apart from each other as if leaving a party. But down here it was pretty still.

My wife and lotus were quick to start talking and it showed they were in need of some ladies time to chatter, so I walked over to trippy, and said hello. Right away I saw that his face started arguing with its self on whether I was trying to be funny or trick him. He seemed to settle somewhere in the middle of the two and didn’t say anything back.

Suddenly he picks up his garden hose and very quick like runs stiff legged to the end of his shed and lays one end of the hose on the ground near the base. And then runs back to the other end of the hose, picks it up and starts sucking I thought on the hose. Well I can tell you this started all kinds of thoughts running through my mind, like we should go now, and checking to see if I still had my knife. I look over to see the girls walking away a few yards off toward the house not really paying much attention to us, and they seemed quite pleased that they had used such skill in removing themselves from what was a man’s problem. Not being able to just drive the two more miles up the road and pull on to my place by the creek and cool down, I now had to act like I cared whether he sucked on a hose or not. The dreaded what cha doin, came out of my mouth before I could remind myself I didn’t care. I could tell he knew I didn’t care and he didn’t care either, so there we were both now looking at the women in hopes that one would hit the other and storm off, but as we stared a little longer all hope of that was lost. They kept their backs to us and giggled. I’m guessing they were laughing at me, you never know with a woman.

No way out, now I know I have to ask, you need any help with that. By now he had stopped sucking on the hose, well I did figure out he was blowing it, not sucking on it. I know that sounds gross either way, but in all fairness I could see he was clearing the hose of old water. Now he stood up and looked at me as if trying to see if what he was thinking was going to work. Then when his face stopped chasing itself he hands me a pencil, and I see him trying to smile, but I liked it better when wasn’t trying so hard. It really looked like being nice hurt. He points to the end of the hose and says he is going to fill it with water, and I should hold my end of the garden hose up in front of me about a foot over my head.

So I am standing there holding the hose in front of me while he pours water from a bucket into the other end of the hose. He gets the amount he wants in it and asks me if I can see the water line at my end of the hose? I look real close and say yes I can see the waterline in the hose. He yells back to me to mark it now! So I look real close to make sure I got it right, sure now I mark it real good, no way to miss it.

He seemed so happy when I reassured him I had marked it exactly at the waterline. He dropped his end of the hose and came walking toward my end of the shed pulling out his hammer and nail to do something on the shed. He walks past me and the hose staring at the blank wall of the shed looking for something. His hand slides back and forth exploring for something, he tilts his head like he was a bird looking for bugs. His face again taking on a life of its own, it starts the weight lifting again of the heavy brow and dark bags under his eyes. He looks at me as if I had purposely set out to ruin his day, he knowing now that even coming here to his house today was a plot to make his life even worse.

With a slight quiver to his voice he asks me, where is the water mark? He then turns to the wall waiting for me to point at it. Well you see there is this trick you do to get a level mark on two different places, no matter what the surfaces are. By holding a hose to the two points you want to be level. You pour water into it and no matter what; the water will show you a natural level. Then you can mark it at the two spots and it is a failsafe system for getting a level marking.

Now I use the term failsafe rather loosely in the above incident, and should clarify for it to be failsafe both parties involved must know the system. If not, one party could instead of marking the level on the wall mark’s it on the hose.

Well I must tell you if dum-aze thought he could have whipped me I would be dead and part of a foundation somewhere in the mountains this very minute. But instead he stood there looking like he had swallowed a bucket of bees and did not know if he should shit or spit. Then in what seemed forever, but was only a few seconds he blew. He threw his hammer a good fifty yards up into the creek and ran screaming into the woods in another direction. He ran through the creek and into the bushes like he was on fire. In a very short time he disappeared into the trees but you could still hear the cussing.

Well we gave lotus a hug and got back in the truck waving goodbye, as we pulled back onto the road heading up to our place. we looked back to see her waving at us through the dust, and from higher up here on the road you could see dum-aze still bouncing off trees as he kept running off into the mountains. I turned to my wife a told her how nice it was to live up in the mountains and get to visit folks now and again. Becky smiled and said yes and it’s always nice to know you helped out a neighbor.

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Traveling around the country you begin to see a pattern on how we take care of those in our communities needing support. There are so many ways to measure the pulse of your community, in its kindness to others, as well to itself.

One way is if we see a ragged hungry man holding a tin can, and it is being held out to us for filling, do we dismiss the holder of the can as insignificant.

Yet when addressing a well fed man in silks on a Sunday morning, and when the can he is holding is a collection plate made of silver, what makes it fill so quickly?

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Blackdog Foundation started out as an outreach project aimed at outlaws (outlaw to the community services systems) those not calm enough to deal with the bureaucrats without feeling overloaded with conflicting emotions, or fear messing up any chances of getting help by their very desperation of need.

When the environment itself is fear-provoking to those that it seeks to serve, it can never truly accomplish it goals. It will draw in to it those that are system oriented, but will fail to serve those at the pinnacle of need. Our approach is unique!

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