The Final Muster

 

The last surviving USS Missouri crewmen from World War II

Image by U.S. Pacific Command

Copyrightt © 2025

By Ralph F. Couey

Written content only

The day was festive, the ship fully dressed with bunting along the lifelines, and the gaily-colored signal flags hoisted from the bow up and over to the stern.  On the pier, a long line of American flags greeted visitors as they entered.  A steady breeze caused the flags to wave and snap.  Above, the perfect blue of a Hawai'ian sky arced above the darker blue waters of Pearl Harbor.

It was September 2nd, the 80th anniversary of the end of World War II, an especially meaningful day aboard the Battleship USS Missouri, where, on that day in 1945, the Japanese signed the surrender that ended the War.

The entire Labor Day weekend was filled with events.  A formal dinner, a crew reunion, a huge barbecue, gatherings of every kind.  But the most meaningful was the gathering of the "Elite Eight," the last surviving USS Missouri crewmembers from the War.  They were old, frail, and wheelchair-bound, yet the years had not dimmed the light of pride shining from their eyes.  They were greeted and honored by current active duty servicemembers, a linking of the past, present, and future.  It was also a poignant reminder that the Greatest Generation is quietly slipping away from us, lost to the inexorable passage of time.  

For those of us Missouri crew of more recent vintage, we were reminded that we are the last.  Unless Congress and the Navy lose their minds, there will be no more battleships, and thus, no more battleship sailors.  The long legacy of the elite, hard-fighting, spit-and-polish sailors who manned those powerful ships for over 100 years ends with us.

But the weekend was also attended by veterans of every service and era.  World War II, Korea, Vietnam, the Cold War, and the Gulf Wars.  They walked proudly, heads up, shoulders back across Missouri's decks, and as the floodgates of memory opened, they shared their stories.  I lost count of the number of times family whispered to me, "He's never, ever talked about this!"  If you have an aging grandparent who's never spoken of his wartime experiences, be alert.  One day, perhaps in the presence of a beloved grandchild, he will begin to talk.  If you're nearby, grab your phone and start recording.  It will be the record of a priceless moment that will likely never happen again.

These voices will be silenced, the stories lost forever, unless we can preserve them.  This is our duty to the generations yet to come.

There will always be anniversaries.  Every year has a December 7th, a September 2nd, and a 9/11.  We tend to focus more on those years that end in a five or zero, but this one was special.  The men who were there were in their 90s and early 100s.  It is unrealistic to assume that they will still be here five years from now.  Their presence was a gift of the ages, a touchstone in the collective memory, a deep connection to a singular time when the future survival of our country was in doubt.  For them, this was their final muster.

Missouri will continue to host other ceremonies, and time will continue to pass.  Those who were aged will leave us, the youth will grow old, and the generations will continue.  But there was a sense of finality during those days.  For there will never be another weekend like this one.  

It is my sincere hope that even as those voices fade and disappear, their stories will be remembered and retold.

Being Pet Parents Again

 

Pickles in her native habitat

Copyright © 2025

by Ralph F. Couey

Owning a pet is a process of relationship building, as any pet parent knows.  The affection is there from the get-go, of course. But those first few days and even weeks are about getting to know each other.  Habits, schedules, moods, and most importantly, earning each other's trust.  

In such a non-verbal relationship, its the more subtle clues couched in behaviors.  The owner must know, for example, the signals the dog sends when it needs to pee or poop.  And once outside in the yard, trusting that the dog won't go sprinting off into the neighborhood.  

Dogs learn many human language words, and I'm convinced that the first one they understand is "walk."  After all, to spend a day cooped up in a house, especially alone, is not fun.  Remember COVID?  That walk at the end of the day is not only their opportunity to break free, but it is something that the dog gets to do WITH you, and this is important to that relationship.  For humans, it is inherently relaxing, a way to also break free from the confines of their job.  A mutual benefit.  Emotionally, we need each other, and that's so important for our well-being.  Every sentient being (and a dog IS sentient, I don't care what you think) has a need to be loved and accepted.  For both Cheryl and I, that moment when we come through the front door and Pickles meets us, wildly ecstatic, is a joyful moment.  And it doesn't matter whether we've been away for 10 minutes or 10 hours, the greeting is the same.  I've read that dogs don't really have a sense of time.  They also live very much in the moment, so every moment can be the best moment or the worst moment.  

When dinner is over, the dishes washed and stacked, and we finally get a chance to sit down on the couch, Pickles immediately jumps up beside us.  This brings us feelings of peace and contentment that is nigh impossible to articulate.  She joins us on the foot of the bed at night, and when one of us has a nightmare, it is comforting and calming to reach out and pet her, a moment of peace in the middle of a dark night.

Pickles loves toys that squeak.  She came with a stuffed lamb, which has since been dismembered and replaced by something that resembles an eel.  With three squeakers.  All we have to do is sound one of the squeakers and she comes running from wherever she is, ready to play.  

I bought and installed a dog door in the sliding back door.  We also installed gates and a short fence on the side of the house, so she could go out and explore whenever the mood struck her.  She has been reluctant to use it, but she is beginning to understand the new world that exists beyond.

We have several fruit trees in our yard, and an accompanying herd of geckos.  Pickles is fascinated by them and will slink up to the base of the orange tree and stare long and hard, waiting for one to make an appearance.  She hasn't caught one yet, and I suspect she wouldn't know what to do with it if she did.  Maybe get a car insurance quote?  

Pickles in her car seat

We take her with us as much as possible, even to church.  We bring a pad to put down, and she'll settle in quietly as the service proceeds.  The only kerfluffle she raised was a short "whuff" and one of our church chickens as it passed by the windows.  But she knows she has to be quiet there, and of course, the congregation loves her.  One thing she does when riding around with us is when she realizes that we've reached the destination (and we don't know how she figures that out) she gets very barky and yelpy, and no amount of effort on our part settles her down.  Maybe she thinks she may be left in the car.  Just don't know.  There are places that she just can't go, and while parting is difficult for Pickles, we've prepared a perch for her on the back of one of the couches that is backed up against the front window.  From there, she can survey the world, and she looks pretty comfortable there.  Of course, from there, she can see when our car returns to the carport, and she'll know we're home again.  We've discovered a couple of YouTube channels that will play what is advertised as "dog soothing music" while showing videos of other dogs having fun.  It's hard to say if that really works, as we're not home, but we do know she barks at any dog she sees on TV.  But at least it assuages our guilt a little.

Several times per week, we visit a nearby park, which is mostly fenced.  We feel safe enough to unhook the leash and let her run free.  We have a tennis ball that she will chase madly until she runs out of steam.  We then follow her around the park at a more leisurely pace.  It's a lovely thing to do while the sun sets in the west, with its usual stunning display of color.  

When Pickles first came to us, she experienced a time of sadness and mourning for the loss of her previous owner, who passed after a terminal illness.  Over time, she brightened up and has become happy and content.  When we lost our last dog, Tweeter, to congestive heart failure, it was a time of deep sorrow for us, as he had been with us for 17 years.  We resisted getting another dog because of that sad truism that the only fault a dog has is that they don't live long enough.  We know that we probably have six to ten years left with Pickles, and although we dread that heartbreaking loss, we are still glad we made the decision to bring her into our family.  She has brought back that joy, happiness, and laughter that we had missed so much.  

It's so much better to have had that for a little while, than never having it at all.