Daniel Turner

During the course of my daily media interviews, one of the most frequent questions I hear is, “when will things get better?” Being the bearer of bad news is frustrating, but unfortunately that’s all I see for the next few years. Following the basic laws of economics, energy prices can only come down based on two factors: increase the supply or decrease the demand. They may not like to admit it, but President Joe Biden and his team understand the need for a supply increase. It explains the president's trip to Saudi Arabia to ask their king to increase oil production. He has dispatched envoys to Venezuela and Iran for the same purpose. Unfathomably, his administration continues its relentless attacks on domestic oil production.

During the entire past two years of Covid hysteria I never stopped traveling. “Work from home” wasn’t a privilege awarded to me. My love of logic and language was perpetually bothered by a frequent airline announcement: “Federal law requires” mask mandates, a statement most untruthful. There is no law. Congress passed no new legislation; there is only regulation, the demon spawn of power-hungry politicians and a bloated bureaucracy. For those who can’t be bothered with the democratic process of elected officials proposing bills and deliberating, voting and enacting legislation, the immeasurable, and not enumerated, power of the bureaucratic state is an attractive work-around.

I’ve had my Blue Heeler Murray since he was six weeks old. The breeder said he was 10 weeks, but I think she was just eager to get rid of him. I use the term ‘breeder’ pretty generously. Murray was born on a working farm that didn’t heed the closing plea of every episode of The Price Is Right. My significant other was first to arrive and literally had the pick of the litter. Six pups were playing sweetly with mom. One was off by himself headbutting a tree trying to shake loose a squirrel. That’s Murray. Blue Heelers are working dogs bred to herd cattle. If I am walking on the farm on any sort of path, Murray would instinctively get behind me to usher me along. When he was younger he would nip at my heel: hence the name ‘Heeler’.