(This is the complete article taken from the Dallas Morning News)

A worn-out ex-boxer with a felony record, Anthony Benson can’t find much in the way of a job.

He barely scrapes by, collecting scrap for recycling and doing odd jobs around his South Dallas neighborhood.

He understands that the world is not a particularly forgiving place for those of bad repute who need a second chance.

So maybe he felt a little nugget of affinity the week before last when his agitated dog led him to a pitiful group of luckless and unloved outcasts.

His dog, a squirrel-size Chihuahua mix named Baby, was sounding the alert over a nest of eight abandoned pit bull puppies.

Five of the pups were dead, and three others were the next thing to it. Dumped in a trash-strewn ravine, the survivors were too weak to stand, and their swollen little bellies made a grotesque contrast to their skin-and-ribs bodies. They were starving.

Benson, who needed three sick puppies like he needed to be struck by an asteroid, gently gathered them up and carried them home.

“They wouldn’t have lived if I didn’t,” he said. “That’s God’s truth.”

The abandoned puppies were nothing out of the ordinary in a city that, sadly, is plagued by unwanted homeless animals roaming the streets.

Loose dogs are a routine sight outside Benson’s home near the Dallas Zoo. Some are friendly, but others are sick, hungry and half-wild, hunting weaker animals as prey.

Three more discarded puppies starving in a ditch are not exactly headline news.

A large female and two smaller males, they were initially so frantic for food that Benson had to hand-feed them separately, a kibble at a time, while gently admonishing them not to snap at him.

“They didn’t know how to eat,” he said. “I sat back here with them and showed them, ‘C’mon, let’s eat right.’”

He went to a neighborhood feed store to buy worm medicine for them; he used scrap lumber to piece together an enclosure for them in his backyard.

He went back to the ravine with a shovel and buried the five dead pups.

After 10 days in his care, the survivors appear to be thriving. They’re sturdy, energetic dogs, friendly and just starting to understand Benson’s patient, repetitive commands.

He has a deft touch with animals, what seems to be an instinctive understanding of how to care for them.

“If you teach them, and you keep telling them, and you show them, they’re going to do what you tell them,” he said. “An animal’s not mean unless you make him mean.”

Baby, who is movie-star cute, was a stray, too. Benson has given her extraordinary care, considering his means.

When she turned up on his porch with an eye infection, he had no money for a clinic. But he called around until he found a vet willing to offer advice for free, and he carefully nursed Baby to health.

“A dog can’t talk, but he’ll be your best friend,” Benson said. “I believe I’ll take a dog before I’ll take a person.”

While I visited, the eager puppies had their dinner, crowding around a trough made from what was unmistakably a well-scrubbed, discarded porcelain urinal.

“I can’t take them to the vet, but I’m doing the best I can for them,” he said.

The problem, of course, is that the puppies will get bigger, and they will need more room, more care, more medical attention than Benson can provide.

But he’s loath to turn them over to the city animal shelter, just as he has refused offers to take them off his hands from people he suspects want to use them for fighting.

“If they go to the shelter, they won’t make it. I don’t want them to put them to sleep,” he said. “And I don’t want my puppies fighting. I want them to be family dogs.”

His own experience informs his realistic assessment of the long odds they face.

Anthony Benson was a boy with a strong family and a good upbringing, the son of a South Dallas grocer. For years, his father operated the Ben & Son neighborhood market at Marsalis and Ann Arbor.

Benson graduated from Bishop Dunne High School, where he was an all-district football player. He later boxed professionally, appearing in a handful of matches in the Dallas area as well as in Philadelphia.

At some point, Benson got into serious trouble. He’s reluctant to offer specifics, but he admits he was involved in a group argument that ended with two men being shot, and he spent seven years in prison. “I was in the wrong place, and I was with the wrong people.”

When he was released in 2008, he was 46, dead broke, too old for the athletic pursuits that had earned his living. His father, who had always been his moral anchor, had died.

“I’ve been through some changes, I have,” he said.

He no longer goes by “Tony” — “I don’t like Tony no more, I’m not that person now” — and he has quietly set about trying to prove that the updated version of Anthony Benson is permanent.

He lived in his car for a time, until relatives allowed him to move into his late father’s house, albeit with no working water or electricity.

Slowly, he began earning enough money to get the utilities turned on and keep up with the bills.

“I’m trying to do the right thing and not do nothing wrong,” he said — convincingly, even to a cynical ear that has heard a lot of self-serving hard-luck stories.

The world owes him nothing, he freely concedes — no more than it owes a half-feral litter of unwanted puppies with a bad reputation attached to their breed.

The statistical odds of a 49-year-old man with few skills and a prison record finding a secure job in this economy aren’t great. Probably not much better than the odds of stray mixed-breed pit bulls finding permanent homes with loving families.

But there’s no law against hope, is there?

Jacquielynn Floyd

Dallas Morning News

Psychic ability is often maligned and viewed as negative, but the positives of this natural talent can be very beneficial. The psychic sense of clairvoyance is one talent we possess that allows us to “see” solutions with specific images in our minds. These solutions can be vivid and detailed.

The classic song, “I Can See Clearly Now” by Johnny Nash is a good metaphor for the topic of Clairvoyance or “Clear Vision.” This psychic sense is about the ability to see from “beyond the physical” without the use of our eyes. Clairvoyance is located in our mind’s eye, and it is the vision of our soul.

Our soul’s vision gives us the opportunity to be prepared for situations or gives us perspective in our lives. It can give us insight and allow us to have a brighter outlook on potentially difficult areas. Johnny Nash’s song is about this very aspect of perception. The song’s lyrics can be placed in metaphysical terms and, from a psychic’s point of view, very clairvoyant. Just read the lyrics and connect them to clairvoyance:

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone,
I can see all obstacles in my way

Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind
It’s gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright)
Sun-Shiny day.

I think I can make it now, the pain is gone
All of the bad feelings have disappeared
Here is the rainbow I’ve been prayin’ for
It’s gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright)
Sun-Shiny day.

Look all around, there’s nothin’ but blue skies
Look straight ahead, nothin’ but blue skies

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone,
I can see all obstacles in my way
Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind
It’s gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright)
Sun-Shiny day.

These lyrics are very positive and hopeful. This is exactly the way we should view clairvoyance and the messages it gives us. The outlook of seeing our problems and the ability to deal with them is helpful. It is one of the reasons we are given psychic ability.

Johnny Nash may not have known he was writing about clairvoyance and the ability it gives us to handle problems, but his message is very clear. Once we can see with our mind’s eye, a path to resolve issues, it can brighten our spirit and lessen stress. It’s a good time to listen to the song, and it can be found at this link:

Johnny Nash

Please enjoy it, and if you must, dance!
John Cappello