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rasuperdog.comDuring this time of floating in the purgatorial state of Between Jobs, I’ve been required to suit up for the occasional job interview. It’s been a while, to be sure, and it all feels a little off after ending a career after twenty one years at the same company.

We had a good run these last two decades, this job and me, but it feels good to make a change. It really does. I’ve been gifted with the resources to go back to school, while considering the possibilities of Career 2.0.

But, ugh, y’all. Interviews. Sure, I know can’t get hired anywhere without going through the matchmaking process. But my interviewing skills need some dusting off. Nobody said as much, but I get the feeling, you know?

“Tell us about what you feel is your greatest asset,” they ask.

“Oh!” I say. “I know this one!” I perch closer to the end of my chair. Whoops, too close.

“It’s my positive attitude.” I cry. “It’s ridiculous. If somebody says the sky is falling, I’m like well, better grab an umbrella. What? Give you a real life example? Yeah, so this happened. I get a separation package when my job turned drinking age and I’m all [whoot!] Total Career Change, y’all.”

“…,” they say, turning over my resume to see if they missed some critical piece of info on the other side. “And you’re like this all the time?”

“Well, no,” I say. “Of course not. Good stuff happens to. You should see when I get a good parking space. There’s no living with me then.”

You know I’m exaggerating here for the sake of art, right? I’d never be so inappropriate as to raise the whoot roof, so to speak, during an interview. I think I read that advice on a LinkedIn article.

And so what’s the obligatory antithesis to the Greatest Asset question? Right. They want to know about your opportunities for improvement. Your Greatest Weakness. No prob. I got this one, too.

You see, I take on too much and end up sacrificing something otherwise useful, say like sleep or breathing, to get everything done. In my attempts to fill up life with everything I can, I pump up my stress levels.

I am sorely aware of my need to be choiceful about how I commit my time. This fatal flaw of mine transcends from gainful employment to volunteerism. So of course there I was on another rainy Saturday morning, wondering why I agreed to volunteer at the day’s event; a full hour’s drive away.

Let’s be real here. I wasn’t even asked. I contacted the organization and, taking the combo of both noun and verb volunteer to heart, asked if they needed a Pet Therapy team for their weekend camp.

Because it just seemed a brilliant idea to me. This was a camp environment for youth that have experienced a profound personal loss in their young lives. A place for healing. Of course, there’d be counselors on staff. But what about the quiet presence of a therapy dog?  Wouldn’t that be of a certain benefit?

I was thrilled to find they agreed. But as the day got closer, I started to get that tickle of doubt. After all, what do I know about healing the wounds of the soul?

“Why did I do this?” I asked The Husband. “What was I thinking? I have so much on my plate with the job search and school and … why did I think that I could make a difference when I don’t even know what to do?”

“Go,” says The Husband. “You committed to it. Take Micron and find out.”

And so on that Saturday morning, with windshield wipers slapping, Micron and I navigated the long drive to a recreational campground outside Cincinnati.

You’d think I’d learn by now. It has so little to do with me. I’m just the chick who holds the leash.

Because, you see, Micron knows exactly what to do.

MicronWhatever it is, some proprietary canine sixth sense perhaps, the dog knows when to lighten a moment with his golden antics or when he should just be still to allow a quiet moment to be stroked.

During these times I busy myself with writing in a notebook or some other benign activity that allows Micron a one-on-one session without my interference. Keeping a mental eye on things to make sure nothing goes awry, I otherwise offer little engagement. The dog gives full attention to his new handler while their own style of communication goes on.

He gives full eye contact, permits a full body hug even when that’s not really his favorite thing.

A tweener lies on the floor next to him, spooning along his back as she talks gently to him. Only he can hear her.

Whether he understands her words or not doesn’t really matter, does it?

While the others are involved in camp activities, there may be some who stay back. It’s their choice, of course. Only encouragement is offered here, not pressure to participate. Yet, there is a dog over there in the corner looking your way. Would you like to brush him for a few minutes? See, he especially likes this on his tummy.

In the art cabin, my dog is ready to hear about your memory project as the glue dries on the photos.

Micron & Mazy

Micron & Mazy, pet therapy

Later at the high ropes course, Micron and a few camp counselors are offering a photo op for the photographer (this is my good side, Micron says), when my dog turns his head. He breaks from the group to beeline towards a young fellow sitting on a bench.The two bend to touch foreheads together.

How does he know?

I have to be honest here. This gives me chills. Every darn time. I’ve seen my dog do this too many times to dismiss it as mere coincidence.

And I wonder how someone of the likes of me ended up as the caregiver of this amazing creature.

As we end this day of time-well-spent, there is talk of continuing this thing of pet therapy with future youth events.

And of course, I agree.

Because I’ve decided to be choiceful of how I commit my time.

One degree off the normal scale

I have every intention of eating these sticks.

When I declare my dog as one degree off the normal scale of things, most times I get an askance look of skepticism.

Aw, c’mon, is the usual response. Only one degree?

Well, I gotta say, he is one of a kind, the mighty Micron.

We all think our dogs are unique, don’t we?  And of course, you’re right in this observation because really, who knows your dog better than you?

Nobody, that’s who.

We live with these critters and by going through the circadian rhythm of eating, walkies and evening cuddle time, we get to know every nuance and behavior of our canine companions. So that if they should do something a bit off point, we find ourselves surprised at the change in behavior.

And it’s the same for The Mighty. This dog has been part of my life for nearly five years now. We welcomed him in our home in November 2009 as an eight week old cotton ball and, except for three months in Advanced Training at Canine Companions for Independence, he’s been hanging around here eating my food, napping in the office, and generally leaving dog hair all over the place.

I think we both know each other fairly well by now. Both of with secrets about the other that we’ll never tell. That’s a partnership, people.

To recognize Micron’s impending birthday this week (he turns five on Tuesday), we’ll share with you five Micron-isms that can only be this one awesome dog o’mine.

1. Micron does this wink thing. 

Hey girl. You must be my backyard
because I’m really digging you.

What a flirt with this one-eyed Hey Ladies slow wink he does.

As a puppy, I would insist our veterinarian put on her special microscope glasses to inspect his root-beer orbs. A rogue eyelash? Some foreign object adrift in there? No, she says. I actually have no idea.

Still today, he winks at me. I wink back. And he returns the wink.

Back and again we go. It just never gets old.

This behavior reminds me of the empathy game we did for Dognition last fall, which involved an experiment to see if Micron could “catch” a yawn from me.

Spoiler alert … he didn’t.

But this winking thing we’ve got going on is a whole nuther animal, so to speak.

I pretend it’s code for I love you. 

Because, you know, if it is I don’t want to not say it back.

2. He’s part sea lion. Or something.

I’ve never seen a dog lie down like that before, says the casual observer.

And you likely won’t again anytime soon, I will reply.

Otherwise referred to as his boneless chicken impersonation, the dog has some remarkably loose joints.

Flat upon his sternum with his front legs bent like the wings of a fledgling bird, this is Micron’s position of comfort.

Always has been.

A standing conversation at his twice yearly vet check-ups, yet nothing seems to be amiss here. He’s not offering up any signs of discomfort or pain, so until we reach the If & When I’m going with the only thing I have to work with here. Keeping him active and at a healthy weight.

And just shrugging when fielding the Huh, that’s really weird how he …

3. He smells like mushroom soup when he gets wet

It’s rather nostalgic, this sensory phenomena.

Just like that can of Campbell’s Mushroom Soup that your mom would heat on the stove for you. By adding milk, of course. Not water.

No budgetary shortcuts for our grilled cheese and mushroom soup lunch at our house. Heck, we were living large by putting two packets of Kool-Aid in the pitcher to make our own custom flavor experiences.

That’s how well off we were. I just want you to know that.

But anyway, he does. Smell like mushroom soup. Maybe it has something to do with the same genetics in play with the sea lion thing.

You know? Like whatever gene makes a calico cat nearly always female?

Maybe it’s his doggie DNA.

Who knows. Or could just be a matter of a good dollop of chamomile shampoo to remedy things.

4. Micron has a kind of ESP

I’m not here to judge you. Oh wait …

Like his spidey senses are tingling or whatever.

We talked about this way back on The Micron Effect when we were still training to be a Pet Therapy team.

My dog has a way of recognizing who is internalizing the most emotional turmoil in a room.

It’s rather interesting to have a canine barometer during a business meeting in the office. What I may miss in body language, Micron will quietly alert to.

How though? What is he possibly picking up in his assessment? A change in body chemistry … a scent perhaps?

An enigma for we mere humans, to be sure. But to me that’s not the big question.

No, what I really wonder is Why? Micron picks up on the stress and decides to take action on it by placing his body near the person. At times, even putting his head on their feet.

What motivates him to do this?

Even more fascinating about this is his littermate, Madden, does the same I’m told. Madden is a pet therapy volunteer in another part of the country. And when he’s on the job, he will find the person in the room who needs him most. Every time.

You just can’t train this kind of thing, folks.

It’s a gift.

5. He’s a retriever. Level: Extreme

Must. carry. something.

In his mouth. Something.

You came back from the mailbox! Wait, gotta grab the first thing I see [a shoe] and circle you.

You’re one of my favoritest people in the office! Hang on! Gotta grab something [destuffed toy] and show you my belly to rub.

A pizza! Thanks for bringing this to our house! Don’t move! Gotta grab something [goes for cat. changes mind. pulls arm cover from sofa] and scare the heck out of you by bouncing with it to the door.

Hi little girl. Welcome to the library. Sit down and read to me … wait a sec … your purse looks like a stuffed cat … [heavy breathing].

We have this weekly ritual with Micron after our Sunday grocery run. We purchase not just one, but two, rolls of paper towels for Micron to carry back to the house.

It’s his job. This is serious business.

He expects to perform this weekly duty and we comply. Because who wants to disappoint their dog this way? Not this chick.

For a short video clip of Micron performing, kind of, this important task check out Mutiny of the Bounty.  I’ll merely preface by saying it did not go as expected.

And good grief, the daily paper. It is Micron’s morning obligation to bring in the newspaper. Even the weighty Sunday edition.

What would you do without me, he asks.

What indeed, my fluffy companion.

Happy 5th Birthday, my amazing dog.  I do love you so.

Skipping a groove

Has this happened to you?

You have the daily grind of Life in a delicate balance with the whole working on your career while paying ample attention to the family thing, right? There’s a groove to be found with making sure everyone has clean-ish clothes to wear and that drive-through window sustenance is kept to a minimum. Worrying about the health and welfare of your adult kid is the norm because that’s just what parents do. You’ve remembered to make the house payment on time. The dogs are getting their two square meals. The puppy training is happening. And the daily commute has been carefully planned out to avoid the annual summertime orange barrel rodeo.

The weather has been simply gorgeous and you even make it to the occasional local farmer’s market. Fresh tomatoes and Ohio grown corn enhance the dinner hour.

Life is on cruise control and you’ve set it to a quasi-legal eight miles over the speed limit.

But the smallest nudge tips your world. In a week’s time, actually. A couple of bad days in the one hour commute to the office. Accelerated deadlines for stuff you’re still learning about at work. The cat’s throwing up something more orange than clear in a manner best described as projectile.

No, no we got this, you say. Just bumps in the road. Carry on, y’all.

Then more. The weird noise you hear a car making at the traffic light turns out to be actually your very own Toyota.

A friend tells you about the cancer diagnosis for their oh-too-young service dog.

Oh man. Really?

But you can’t flinch or you’ll risk losing this Jenga match.

One more thing, Life. You mean it. Just one more thing this week and I’m gonna explode and these carefully managed wooden blocks will be crashing down.

Is that an invitation? laughs Life. Or a challenge? It’s hard to tell with you. Because, either way I think it’s a good time time for you to change jobs. Oh, not so fast there, missy. Maybe. I’ll let you know what we decide on this one. Hang loose, ok? 

Sure, hanging loose is in your vocab. Always has been.

Oh, then merely a simple thing happens in a final attempt to unbalance you. A twenty four hour notice to move the office space you’ve been growing roots in for the last three years. While you’re still steaming towards that afore mentioned tight deadline.

And now it’s getting kissing cousin close to midnight and you need finish the slides for tomorrow’s presentation.

Normally, just another challenge to tackle. But now…

But now.

You survive it.

You do.

Because you have family and friends and co-workers.

And you feel pretty darn blessed.  It becomes clear that you have a boatload of folk to complain to because all you really need to do is kvetch for a while to make things better.

That and the services of a professional Therapy Dog. The mighty Micron is at hand to remind us to not take Life so serious. He presents himself as a fine example.

You called? Therapy Dog at your service.
I’m open twenty four hours. But not in a row.

Needin’ a little Pet Therapy

Heh, check out my Serious Face
on the poster. 

The Week from You-Gotta-Be-Kidding-Me closes with a morning spent among dog-loving young people to talk about Therapy Dogs.  Micron and I waited all week for this.

Just to be in the presence of kids who appreciate dogs for who they are brings one to a warm and fuzzy state of mind. If there is truly such a thing as positive energy, this is the place to soak up the goodness.

We offer up a little info on recognizing dog body language and add a quick review of foods toxic to dogs. We got both kid and dog safety covered.

Then I consider how to describe what it feels like to be visited by a Pet Therapy team. We set the scene for the kids.

Imagine being away from home and having to spend an overnight in the hospital. You miss your room and your own bed. But then Pet Therapy teams show up and there are friendly dogs, cats and the softest of bunnies to pet.

How would this feel, we ask. Good, they say. It would feel wonderful.

Like, I dunno, maybe like rainbows and unicorns, I ask.

Yeah, this is an actual animated slide I use in the presentation.  It’s a Mi-corn! yells one particularly clever little girl.

Micron wraps up the session by offering his therapy services to all who are willing to bend down and rub his belly.

I wondered if the timing would be too much on my favorite Therapy Dog, after all it’s not like he’s a working breed, but the next day we’re off to volunteer at a Meet & Greet booth for our therapy organization.

If we show up and Micron doesn’t want to work it, well we can all breathe easier knowing that he will indeed let me know. The dog is in no danger of becoming a wage slave.

But he’s working the crowds like a boss. He’s all about licking small children to identify the truest of dog lovers. How does a kid react when receiving a legendary Micron tongue bath? It’s like a Meyers-Briggs personality test for children. Who is a slobber accepting extrovert and who wipes their spit-tainted hands on their shorts?

Hi folks, I’m Micron.
I’m three quarters golden and
one quarter work ethic.

His fan club from the Paws to Read library program squeal when they see him. It’s Micron!, they cry.  A veteran stops by to thank our group for visiting him when he was in the hospital and shares how much it meant to him. Micron and his colleagues pass the afternoon educating folk in the ways of pet therapy.

A good day and wonderful way to end the week in a positive state of mind.

Pet Therapy is truly the stuff of wonder.

I may never learn my lesson about challenging Life. I’m not that kind of girl. Nobody knows, really, what will be next tossed at your feet, awesome or otherwise, anyway.

But my wish for you is that you also have friends, family, co-workers dog to see you through.

And a dog, of course. I wish everyone one awesome dog in their lives.

It just makes things better.

This calls for the Class A uniform

Come a little closer. I can’t lick you yet.

I reach for the light blue bandanna on the kitchen counter and turn to Micron.

Dress, I say to him.

My big yellow dog lowers his noggin and slips into the open loop. He looks up at me, expectant. The Tail of Wondrous Beauty is slowly wagging.

You know what, big guy? I say. I think tonight’s event calls for full Class A uniform. Let’s put your working cape on and get you all official looking.

Getting ready

Micron turns the dial on his tail from Slow to Oh Heck Yeah as I put the logo cape on him. He knows we have an adventure coming up. What is it? Micron has no idea, but from experience he’s pretty darn sure this is gonna be a good time.

Because he’s going to work.

Once attired in full gear, Micron runs to the Toyota and prances at the car door, looking back at me.

C’mon two-legger! Let’s go! he says. We’re burnin’ daylight here.

And so I secure the therapy dog in the back seat, turn the key, and we hit the road to meet us some Cub Scouts to talk about the jobs of working dogs.

I didn’t expect any real challenges for the evening. After all, Micron is a true professional, highly trained in the skills of pet therapy and the like. So with confidence and a loose leash, we strut our stuff into the entrance of our venue, an elementary school.

Ok, let’s pause here for just a moment. So who has now, or ever, born witness to the entrance of an elementary school at the end of a long, cold winter? Yeah? So you know what I mean when I mention the ubiquitous sight that heralds Spring along with the song of the red breasted robin, right?

You got it.

The post-winter elementary school Lost & Found table.

A pirate’s booty overflowing with mismatched mittens and gloves, sock monkey knit caps and, kinda surprising to me, a couple of winter coats.

And in an instant I go from the evening’s educator of young scouts to the chick who’s yelling at her dog to Drop It! as he surfs the lost and found table for something soft to carry in his mouth.

Yep, we’re here, y’all.  We can start the Pack Meeting now.

Micron models his Class B uniform

Two other pet therapy teams from Miami Valley Pet Therapy Association meet us there. It’s a yellow dog affair with another golden retriever team and a yellow Labrador. The three of us hooman volunteers tag team the Pet Therapy presentation, each sharing our own personal stories and experiences of visiting folk at hospitals, retirement homes, and Hospice. How it is that we merely hold the end of a leash as our dogs do the stuff of magic.

Our audience for the evening is first to fourth graders. Young boys, yet so very eager to learn about what these dogs can do. We field some great questions from the boys.

Where do the dogs visit?
Where do they live?
Can cats be therapy pets? What about fish? Goats? Snakes?
What would happen if you let go of the leash?

At our turn to talk about Micron’s work, we found a nice segue to cover his Change of Career from when he was training to be an assistance dog to his current work in pet therapy.

The mighty Micron, after presented with his favorite dog cookie, demonstrated a few of the thirty commands he learned while in training to be a service dog.

Hahaha, just kidding. I got him to Speak. We tried the Leave It command, always a crowd pleaser, by setting a dog cookie on each front paw.

As a puppy, I say. We taught Micron not to eat …

Peals of laughter as my dog calmly leans forward and flicks a cookie into his mouth with a lizard tongue effect.

Try putting them on his back paws, some youngster heckles from the back. Yeah, so anyway the dog knows Speak.

Full Class A uniform. Micron is brushed and cleaned to a spit shine.
Ok, no spit. But I did trim his toenails.

Embarrased, but not defeated, I plow on to explain the differences between assistance dogs and pet therapy. Mindful of our young audience, I pop out some basics.

  • A Service Dog is trained to help a person with a disability. 
  • A Pet Therapy dog is trained to help everyone feel happier.

  • A Service Dog goes wherever their person wants or needs to go – restaurants, shopping, museums.
  • A Pet Therapy dog only goes where they are invited – hospitals, retirement homes, libraries.

  • A Service Dog is trained to help a person do things that may be difficult for them to do – retrieve dropped items, turn on light switches.
  • A Pet Therapy Dog is a dog that loves being around people and has good manners. They make everyone happier.

I share a story with the Cubs. This is a true tale that was told to me when we started puppy raising for Canine Companions for Independence.

Ok, Cub Scouts, listen up. I have an awesome story for you about how important a service dog can be to someone. There’s this fellow who has a disability that limits his movements. He isn’t able to walk and so he uses a wheelchair. But he can still go places on his own, because he has a van with hand controls he uses to drive, instead of brake and gas pedals. On his keyring he can press a button that opens the side door of the van and lowers a ramp. Easy ’nuff, right?  He rolls his power wheelchair up the ramp and to the front of the van to drive. He’s good to go anywhere he wants to drive.
Except this one time when he’s leaving a shopping mall. It’s raining really hard and he hurries to get to his van in the parking lot. But when he pulls his keyring out of his pocket, everything is wet and he drops it.
Because the man can’t reach the keys from his wheelchair, he has to wait for someone to come by and see him. He has to wait in the rain for another person to pick up his keys for him. Young people, this is a guy who can go wherever he wants. He has a disability, but feels good about taking care of himself. And when this happened, it made him feel pretty bad.
He decided on that day he would get a service dog. And now his dog is with him all the time. The service dog can pick up anything and give it to his person. And be a friend that is always there. 

Can Micron pick something up and give it back to you, asks a young Cub. Yeah, says another. We want to see Micron do that!

Micron? Seriously? The same dog that just ate a verboten dog cookie from his paw in front of everyone? I’m afraid I’ve set the bar a little high here.  No, I say. No, Micron is a pet therapy dog now.  He isn’t trained to retrieve things.  Hey, but who wants to hear him Speak again?

And with that, the Cubmaster splits the boys into three groups, one to visit each therapy dog. This is where Micron shines. The reason he slips so eagerly into his neckerchief and cape.

The dog is on his back with soft belly exposed. I tell the boys that he like a gentle scritching on his underside. Rubbing the ridge between his eyes is a favorite, too. For those up to the task, a hearty scratch of his rump is always appreciated by the big guy.

And they comply. Oh so willingly.

Enuf with all the talking and lectures, y’all. There are no stories for this kind of therapy. Imagine being surrounded by a score of young boys that are happy and cooperative? No follow-the-leader into group misbehavior that I saw too often in my own Den Leader days. Not one bit of  negativity in our aura bubble.

Absolute positive energy. If only we were able to bottle such stuff to save when needed later.

All because of the presence of therapy pets in the room.

Now I just need to get Micron back to the car without scoring a mitten in the foyer.
Spoiler alert: Mitten removal from a dog maw was at risk, but disaster averted. But really, winter coats, Moms? I get the lost mitten thing, but wouldn’t you notice your kid lost his coat?

Do the Hokey Pokey

Micron poses at the P&G headquarters

He slaps a right shake in.
He pulls his right paw out.
He slaps a left shake in.
And then barks and barks about.

And so goes the Hokey Pokey, Micron-style.

Here’s the recurring scene in the office. Someone has a cookie for Micron. He knows it. Nothing for free is drilled into his golden head, so he must execute one of his highly trained skills.

But in all the excitement he instead suffers a short-circuit in the memory neurons. Every. Time.

Shake! thinks Micron. I know this one! Give me five! No, wait! I’ll use the other paw! What? Why are you still talking and not giving me the cookie! Did you want me to Speak? I know that one too! 

And the three actions – right paw Shake, left paw Shake and Speak – are looped until the cookie is finally and safely tucked away in the great Micron maw.

Doesn’t he know any other commands? asks a colleague.

Oh sure, of course, I say. He does a nice solid Heel. Watch this. Micron! Heel!

Micron? I say again. Heel! Hey, Mikey … hello?

I wave my hand in front of his face, but he refuses to break eye contact with the prior cookie profferer.*

It’s ok, says my colleague. Don’t embarrass yourself.

There was a time, ok let me think a minute, let’s say about May 2011, when this dog knew a full thirty commands. Thirty, people. Speak, Shake and a whole twenty eight more. I’m not making this up. That was when we had sent Micron off to college. You know, dog college. He spent three months at Canine Companions for Independence to learn how to be an assistance dog before it was decided he should pursue another career path.

And now? Today, Micron is a pet. He has decent manners, holds a GED of sorts with a Canine Good Citizen certificate, and is a sweet, sweet boy.

Ok, there’s more. Micron is also an active volunteer in pet therapy, a job that it seems he was born to do. We should all be so lucky, right? Do what we love?

But highly trained? We don’t use those words with the mighty Micron. Well, not without air quotation marks.

Ah, I see, you say. But is it that he doesn’t remember those thirty commands… or just that he doesn’t want to?

Is there a difference? I ask you.

But I do lay claim to some bragging rights here. Because the dog is so proficient in Speak that we actually have two commands for the feat of barking on command.

Don’t just take my word for it though. Micron will demonstrate.

See? Told ya.

What? Are you still stuck on that thirty command thing? Wondering what these assistance dogs-in-training actually learn? Well, hold onto your britches because you know what? That’s just the beginning — those thirty.

CCI builds on the foundation the volunteer puppy raisers created with Shake, Speak, Down, Kennel, Heel, Side, Bed, Car (No we don’t teach them to drive. Really, people), and et cetera.  For instance the Shake command is upgraded in Advanced Training to a target command to flip a light switch.

Even better, let’s take a look at another short video. This gives a deeper look at what happens at a Team Training; two weeks of an individual and fully trained assistance dog learning how to work together.

Spoiler: tissue alert

Ok, dab your eyes, y’all.  Don’t worry about the mascara trails, though. Nobody’s judging you.  But you’ll want clear vision to see this next one, too.

Just what can a fully trained assistance dog do to change the lives of our country’s wounded warriors?

Yeah, this.

We don’t teach our pups a command for empathy or for warm companionship. Or give them that remarkable sixth sense that these furries have that makes us wonder if they can see into our very souls. 
That’s just being a dog. We should all be so blessed to have this in our lives.
And that’s, people, what it’s all about.**
*Prior Cookie Profferer.  In spite of my spell check’s squiggly red line, Profferer really is a word. It’s in the unabridged Merriam Webster. I originally had typed Procurer before realizing that was actually very, very wrong. 
**Get it? We went full circle back to Hokey Pokey. I’m real clever like that. Never mind that I had to explain myself. 
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