Pixar's Lee Unkrich is a jerk

I think Lee Unkrich is a jerk.


There, I said it.

Lee Unkrich has to be my least favorite director in the world.

You do not know him? How’s that?

Lee Unkrich is the director of Toy Story 3 – a movie that gave Pixar Animation Studios its highest earning opening weekend ever at $110 million. Before it is over, there is no doubt in my mind that Toy Story 3 will be the company’s highest earning movie of all-time.

But, I still think Lee Unkrich is a jerk.

Why?

I’ll tell you.

Last weekend, I, and eight other people, went to see the movie. It was everything I expected and more. In fact, it gave me, and the other people with me and the other people in the theater, more than we could have ever expected.

So, isn’t that a good thing? Don’t we always want more than we expected?

Well, yes and no would be appropriate answers to those questions.

And, we got all this “extra” thanks to that jerk – Lee Unkrich.

Let’s go back a bit – back to 1995 to start. That was the year the world was introduced to Woody, Buzz and the other toys in the first movie – Toy Story. Lee Unkrich was the editor for the first movie and, while no doubt having a very significant role in the first movie’s production, did not make a lasting impression like he made in the production of Toy Story 3.

Toy Story had, for the most part, a simple storyline. Woody and Buzz share an adventure and become friends when they have to find their way to the new house where Andy – the person to whom all the toys belong – and his family are moving. Did I really just refer to Andy as a person? Can you refer to an animated character as a person? That is a big problem with the Toy Story series – all the characters become real in the moviegoers’ eyes.

Anyway, Andy and Buzz rejoin Andy and the family in the end. All is happy. All is good. It was a great plot for the first movie, a very successful movie. That year at Christmas, as a 38-year-old father of two, I got both Woody and Buzz characters from my children. They are in my room in their original boxes – mint condition. I like Woody, but Buzz has always been a pain. If he ever starts to talk, it takes an act of congress to get him to stop. So, I keep Buzz hidden away so that no one can accidentally start him talking.

In 1999, Lee Unkrich became the co-director for Toy Story 2. Again, he had a significant role, but nothing near the lasting impression he would have on Toy Story 3. In Toy Story 2, Woody’s attempt to save Wheezy – a toy penguin – from being sold at a yard sale begins the new adventure. Wheezy is saved, but Woody is stolen by the evil and enthusiastic toy collector Al McWhiggin. Al McWhiggin needs Woody to complete his set of Woody’s Roundup characters – Woody, Jessie, Bullseye and Stinky Pete the Prospector. He plans to sell the characters to a museum in Japan. The other toys rally to save Woody. All is well in the end. Everyone leaves the theater feeling good.

I will not reveal the events of Toy Story 3 here, but I will repeat that Lee Unkrich is a jerk for what he did in this movie to get to the hearts of the people in the audience – what he did without fair warning. What he did was the result of a great storyline – the best of the Toy Story series. Lee Unkrich touched the hearts of both young and old. He made those in attendance – especially the adults – shed tears for a bunch of toys. Yes, Lee Unkrich took us all on an emotionally draining rollercoaster ride and he knew he was doing just that.

When the movie was played for test audiences, the tears flowed. When the house lights came up, Lee Unkrich noticed the majority of the people in the audience had not had enough time to compose themselves. So, he lengthened the movie’s credits to provide some extra time for those in the audience who needed it to compose themselves. For that, we can all be thankful.

But, Lee Unkrich is still a jerk in my book. He could have warned us that tears were possible – no, probable. At least then we could have brought along the Kleenex.

Hurtsboro history includes BMWs

Once each week, I make a trip to the Town of Hurtsboro in southern Russell County. The reason for the trip is irrelevant to this column, but if you are curious and must know – I am the Operator of Record for the Hurtsboro Water and Sewer Board. I check their wells each week and send in the necessary paperwork to keep the system in compliance with the rules and regulations of the Alabama Department of Environmental Management.


But, like I stated, that has nothing to do with this column.

While on that trip each week, I stop by Perry’s Hardware and visit a few minutes with Rick Perry, the store’s owner. The store has been the Perry Family business for nearly 100 years. Rick has not been working there quite that long.

The past week when I stopped by the store, Rick - a bit of a Hurtsboro historian – told me a tale that left me flabbergasted. It seems that back in the 1920s, Hurtsboro was a hot stop for BMW sales. Rick said BMW sold more of its vehicles in Hurtsboro than in any city in the state.

My reaction to that – Wow! That was unbelievable.

The information got me to thinking. How was this even possible? My feeble mind wanted to know.

I do not know a lot about BMW, but I knew some things that just did not fit this picture that Rick was painting. BMWs, at that time, were produced only in Germany. The company began in the early 1900s – about 1916 – and made engines for airplanes. The company began making automobiles in 1929 which would mean Hurtsboro’s owners were at the head of the line in purchasing the new vehicles. The first BMWs had engines that were originally engineered for motorcycles. But, Henry Ford’s first engines were not much different.

Transporting vehicles from Germany to the United States in the 1920s had to be a more difficult task than it is today. There were no real super cargo ships to transport large numbers of automobiles. So how could – according to Rick – more than 20 BMWs get across the Atlantic Ocean to Hurtsboro? How long would this take? And, did all these BMWs get delivered to Hurtsboro at the same time?

Maybe a more important question to ask is why would anyone in Hurtsboro want a BMW in the 1920s?

World War I had not long ended. If my history is correct, we were at war with Germany. I know after World War II no citizen of the United States would buy a Volkswagen so soon after that major conflict. Why would anyone in the United States feel differently after World War I? Were the citizens of Hurtsboro sympathizers of Germany? Was there a larger German population in Hurtsboro in the 1920s? I knew I would need to do more investigation into our county’s history to be able to answer these questions.

Hurtsboro was quite a hub of industry early on in its history. There were at least two soft drink bottling companies in the town around the turn of the 20th century. Hurtsboro was a prosperous community. So, there was plenty of money available to be used to purchase vehicles – even BMWs.

I had run all these questions and points of logic through my mind in a matter of seconds as Rick relayed the information he had discovered during his research of his home town. I could see he was aware I was having trouble rationalizing the information he was sharing.

It was then that Rick explained the rest of the story. BMW did not stand for Bavarian Motor Works. It stood for Brown Mule and Wagon. I had fallen for Rick’s trick – hook, line and sinker. I am so gullible. Maybe next time Rick tells me something that does not compute I will ask him for the punch line before I put a strain on my brain.

This time they stressed the urgency

Six months ago I wrote a column telling you how my cardiologist's office had not stressed the urgency in getting me to submit - quickly - to having some dye pumped into my system. The dye would allow them to perform a better, and more accurate, test of how well my heart was doing its job. Unless you are dead, you can appreciate the fact that you cannot live without a heart.

Well, after I finally submitted to the testing like the cardiologist wanted, I had a stent placed in my heart. That was it. That was the point of the column six months ago.

Now, there is a new tale to tell.

First, allow me to warn you that I have a doctor's prescription to hit you with a baseball bat if there are any attempts at giving me a hug over the next few weeks. You see, I am now like the title of one of Lewis Girzzard's books. I am one of those folks who can say, "I took a lickin' and kept on tickin' (And now I believe in miracles)." Actually, it was just two bypasses, but, whether it was two or 200, it takes the same opening procedure. You have to rip a hole about 10-12 inches long down the front of the chest to get inside to make repairs. So, my doctor told me to avoid hugs for a while. "Folks will see you and say, 'Praise the Lord, you made it. Come here so I can give you a hug,' when they see me in public. He said, 'don't let them. Keep them off with a baseball bat.'"

To tell the truth, I probably will not use the bat. I'll just make sure you have no contagious disease and keep my handy red heart-shaped pillow between us. The pillow, as the doctors, nurses and techs all said, is going to be my best friend over the next few weeks. Coughs are painful - so are sneezes.

But, the answer to your questions is "yes, I am alive." Oh, you already knew that because you are reading this column that I wrote on Monday afternoon. I had to return for a six-months check-up recently and learned my stent was blocked - and so was another vein in my heart. I had surgery Tuesday, 10 days ago. I came home last Friday afternoon. Can you believe that? Well, it is the honest truth. And, "yes," the drugs were - are - good drugs. Morphine, though, gave me a headache that was just gnawing.

I actually died on purpose that Tuesday morning/afternoon - I lost track of time - long enough to be placed on a machine to get me started back up. When I finally awakened in the intensive care unit at East Alabama Medical Center, the first thing I saw was a beautiful blond angel with a nasty attitude. I reached for the breathing tube (what a poorly named device), the angel told me not to pull it out. I cannot remember if she said it would hurt if I did so or if she would hurt me if I did so. Either way, I took her advice and calmed down. That, my friends, was the worst moment of my time at the hospital - except that catheter thing being removed. The angel I saw when I woke up was Jenny Wilgis-Woodham, a local girl who played softball in the Phenix City Rec leagues, at Smiths Station High and at Chattahoochee Valley Community College. Because we had some things in common, it made those early recovery moments bearable. The fact that EAMS surrounded me with angels made everything bearable.

Other than the catheter thingy getting removed as I mentioned earlier, the next most uncomfortable moment for me was getting the two chest tubes removed on Friday morning. The darn things were about a half-inch in diameter and appeared to be shoved well up into my chest cavity. Just how far they were shoved, I do not know, and do not care to know at this point. I just know they kept telling me that most people do not complain about the pain of having them removed, but rather comment on how relieved they are that the tubes are removed. I understand. When they were removed, I cannot remember any pain from them being removed. I do remember some pressure building up in my chest for a brief few seconds and then it was gone.

I did not expect to leave the hospital before Saturday or Sunday, but my doctors - Lee Roberson and Barry Crowe - had other ideas. When I returned to my room from walking on Friday morning, Dr. Roberson removed three pacer wires from my chest and said I was being released to go home. I did not argue a bit. I was ready to go. That's when he told me to carry the bat with me.

Now, when some people face the possibility death like I did last week, they come up with a bucket list of things they hope to get to do before their time expires. My bucket list had none of the drastic stuff on it. There was no sky-diving, mountain-climbing and no eight seconds on a bull. My list was simply to return home to my family and to my own bed. I'm home. I'm with family. I have not made it to the bed, yet. You cannot imagine how much I want to get in my own bed and lie on my side. When I do that, I will know my healing process is well under way.

To keep up with my progress until I can return to the Citizen, go to carepages.com and search CitizenSportsEditor.

Barbara Walters is just plain rude

I am absolutely certain that if Ludlow Porch were within striking distance, he would clobber Barbara Walters smack dab in the face with a whole pan of deep-fried cheese biscuits for her rude behavior last week. And, if I were anywhere nearby, I would help him teach that old bag of bones a lesson in manners.

Yes, Barbara Walters. That snooty old witch that is the lead hen on that television show, “The View” ought to be taken to task for her inane comments.

Last week, Baba Wawa (if you watched Saturday Night Live in the 1970s you understand the reference) attacked Paula Deen – one of the South’s finest cooks - during a segment of that stupid show. Ms. Holier-Than-Thou said, pretty much, that it was Paula’s fault that kids are fat. Well, she actually said Paula was helping to promote childhood obesity with her new cookbook, “Paula Deen’s Cookbook for the Lunchbox Set.”

“This is a cookbook for kids. Obesity is the number one problem for kids today. Everything you have here is enormously fattening. You tell kids to have cheesecake for breakfast! You tell them to have chocolate cake and meatloaf for lunch. Doesn’t it ever bother you that you’re adding to this?” disparaged Walters.

Paula was taken aback by the comments of the skinny scarecrow of what is left of a former television journalist. But, she was polite and explained that she was not suggesting that children should eat everything in the cookbook at one time. “No, I’m not saying that they should eat like this every day,” said Paula.

Paula should have shoved some of the goodies she prepared for the show down Walters’ throat. Oh, I’m not saying she should have done that in retaliation for Walters’ remarks. Paula should have done that to help Walters become a healthy person. She is, after all, a poster child for malnutrition. And filling her mouth with good Paula Deen cooked food is a better alternative than allowing her to spout out any more rudeness.

Walters should have followed the lead of the other women on the show and gobbled up the goodies. Whoopee Goldberg was chowin’ down on Paula’s fried chicken and making no complaints. The other three women were shoveling down strawberry cake and little finger sandwiches made with slices of tomato between light bread with mayonnaise smeared on them for that added flavor.

You see, while Barbara Walters was out learning to be rude, Paula Deen was working for a living and trying to raise her sons doing what she does best – cooking food. She was also learning manners. That is something Barbara Walters lacks.

Any son or daughter of the South knows it is impolite to ask someone to come over and bring the groceries with them without supplying some of your own for sharing as well. You especially do not criticize your guest when she has prepared some of the finest groceries known to mankind. I have eaten Paula Deen’s cooking and I must admit it was wonderful. Uncle Bubba’s cooking ain’t bad, either. If you ever get over to Savannah, try them out yourself. Don’t invite Barbara Walters to tag along. She will only cause a bad case of indigestion.

Childhood obesity is a problem – a big problem. It is not, however, Paula Deen’s cookbook’s fault. If Barbara Walters wants to blame someone or some thing, blame fast food restaurants and soft drink manufacturers. Blame the parents of the obese children for not teaching their children about proper nutrition. Barbara Walters can also blame herself for not doing enough stories about proper nutrition herself. Instead of doing that, she was too busy hob knobbing with the Hollywood and Washington D.C. crowds to worry about children’s health.

There, I have said it. Using the same liberal logic that she employed to blame Paula Deen’s cookbook, I have deduced that childhood obesity is Barbara Walters’ fault. It makes as much sense as blaming a cookbook for promoting obesity at any age.

Happy Constitution Day to you all

I am not, by any means, a fan of United States Senator Robert Byrd of West Virginia, but today I must tip my hat to him for his effort to see that we have this day to celebrate. Yes, this day – Sept. 17. Today is Constitution Day.
Sen. Byrd placed an amendment in the Omnibus spending bill of 2004 which created this day to honor our country’s supreme document of law. Unfortunately, it seems Sen. Byrd and his many cohorts on Capitol Hill only pretend to honor our nation’s most important document. Many times they seem to view it as nothing more than a floor mat to wipe their feet upon.
But, still, I have to give Sen. Byrd proper credit for creating a holiday to recognize the ratification of the United States Constitution which was signed on Sept. 17, 1787 – 222 years ago today. The bill passed by Sen. Byrd and the United States Senate, and of course by the United States House of Representatives, does not just present us with an opportunity to honor the Constitution; it requires our schools to teach our children about this important document on this very day. I wonder if that is being done.
I asked a couple of local teachers about their plans for Constitution Day and they looked at me with blank stares and asked, “What’s that?”
Well, that was very disappointing to me. The law which created Constitution Day mandates that all publicly funded educational institutions provide educational programs on the history of the Constitution on Sept. 17 of each year. This law applies to any school that receives any federal funds. Schools that fail to observe Constitution Day and provide educational programs should, in my opinion, lose all federal funds. But, that is just my opinion.
Because most of you who are reading this column today are not attending a publicly funded educational institution, I want to share some information on the United States Constitution so that you will not feel left out on this important holiday. The first thing I want you to know is how stable this document has been over the course of its 222 years. There have been only 27 changes to it in that time – well, if you consider the inclusion of the Bill of Rights in 1892, there have been only 17 changes.
Now, do not think that there have not been attempts to make changes over the years. In fact, there have been over 10,000 proposed changes to the Constitution in 222 years. Fortunately, the great majority of those proposed changes have been rejected. Why is that? Well, I like to think it is because the document was so finely crafted by our Founding Fathers that very few of the proposed changes were necessary.
Some proposed amendments to the Constitution which were not approved over the years include an attempt to forbid religious leaders from holding public office (1876), replacing the office of President with an Executive Council of Three (1878), renaming this nation the “United States of the Earth” (1893), abolishing the United States Army and Navy (1893), an attempt to limit personal wealth to $1 million (1933), an attempt to set the maximum income tax level for an individual at 25 percent (1947) and an attempt to abolish the United States Senate (1876). If they had included the abolishing the United States House of Representatives in that last one I listed, it might have passed. I’m sure it would receive strong consideration today if left up to a vote of the people. There are several on that list that are probably still under consideration and still have a shot at being approved. As for limiting an individual’s income tax rate to 25 percent, well that will never pass. Politicians are always trying to take more of our money away from us and 25 percent is just too low for them to waste time stealing. How could they expect us to repay them for all the recent bailouts they made with our money at that income tax rate? Get real.
Since the passage of the 18th Amendment, there has been a seven-year time limit for ratification of changes to the Constitution – sort of. The seven-year rule has been the norm, but it did not apply to the 27th Amendment. It took nearly 203 years for that one to get approval. The 27th Amendment was first proposed on Sept. 25, 1789 and finally approved on May 7, 1992. The amendment prevents senators and representatives from changing the compensation for their positions prior to an election cycle.
It sure did not take our local officials 203 years to change the compensation for their positions. They did within about six months of being elected and made the change take effect immediately. And with that biased statement, I have just provided you with an example of what the Constitution provides each of us in its 1st Amendment – the right of free speech. You have a lot of other rights provided to you by the Constitution. I hope you take the time to read this document and learn what those rights are before they are taken away from you. Happy Constitution Day!

Okay, so they did not explain the urgency

Yes, I was back at work on Monday.

No, I did not feel the best that I could have felt.

No, I was not afraid I would lose my job if I did not show up.

Yes, I have plenty of vacation days available to me if I need them.

You are probably right, it wasn’t the brightest idea I’ve had lately.

I was just going stir crazy at home and it had only been three days – two and a half, actually.

No, I was not resting comfortably in the bed or in my easy chair.

Yes, my leg is a little sore.

No, I have no heart pain right now and haven’t noticed any since I underwent the procedure on Friday.

No, it wasn’t like the procedure they performed on Lewis Grizzard. They did not tear out my heart and stomp the sucker flat. They merely sent in the roto-rooter to clean up the piping.

Does that pretty much answer your questions? Or did I just create new ones?

What happened is . . .

On Aug. 5, I spent a whole day, it seemed, going through a stress test on my heart, which was giving me no indication of a problem. It was just your routine annual-type check-up. It was not the first time I have been made to have a stress test – though I think most of a stress test has to do with the stress involved in having to take the test in the first place. Does that make sense?

Well, anyway, I took several tests – all involving a great deal of stress – on that day. Then after all the tests, I was given a monitor to wear for 24 hours. That did not work out too well. The leads kept coming loose and the sticky pads they were to connect to were not very cooperative. In the end, it really did not matter. The doctor’s office – well, one of his nurses – called and said they wanted me to return immediately for more tests. Of course, I was all happy about that. Not really.

They wanted me back “immediately.” I said okay, I would be back that way next week. My youngest child’s birthday was on Saturday. They wanted me there on Monday. I said no way. I had a newspaper edition to get out that would take up Monday and Tuesday. So, the next “immediately” available date was last Friday, Aug. 14.

I’m not sure the doctor and his staff were exactly happy with my decision to wait until last Friday, but they were not exactly stressing the urgency of the matter, either. They said they just wanted to run some dye in my system to see what was causing an “abnormality.” It was not until after I arrived and was prepped for surgery that I was informed the test might result in some immediate attention, if possible.

First of all, why was I being prepped for surgery when all I was there for was a procedure? And why is it that when I refer to it as a procedure it becomes surgery and when I say surgery it becomes a procedure? You can see my confusion.

Well, I was doped up and sent to la-la land right after the prepping. They woke me up to move me across the hall to the operating room where I was doped some more. I had been told I would be able to watch the doctor as he fished around inside my heart. Maybe I could have if I had been able to stay awake, but I slept through the whole procedure/surgery, which did in fact require some immediate attention – a stint to relieve a blockage of about 95 percent. They did not tell me the “abnormality” was that abnormal.

I was told, when I awakened in the recovery room, that I was doing well and would be released from the hospital in an hour – an hour that I had to stay lying still on my back. If I had been able to sleep through that, I would have handled it much better. That was the worst part of the procedure/operation – having to lie flat for that final hour, 60 minutes, 3,600 seconds. I was also told, if I felt like it, that I could return to work the next day, which was Saturday. They could have added that I would not feel like it, though.

Truth of the matter is, I felt like I had been run over by a fleet of 18-wheelers – however many that is. I still felt that way on Monday, but I was going stir crazy and needed to get out of the house. I was later informed by the folks that said I could go right back to work that, I would probably feel the way I was feeling for several days. My immediate thought about that was that it would probably go over about as well as that last hour in the recovery room.

I’m sure I will get better. I have to. I’m fixed. Well, part of me is fixed. I still have other problems for other doctors to deal with, but maybe some day I will be completely fixed. Until then, I will be thankful for the parts of me that do work correctly. If you have any parts that you suspect need a doctor’s attention. Get it. If the doctor and his staff tell you they want you back immediately, listen to them. Just do not believe the part about feeling good enough to return to work in a day. It will probably take a little longer than that.

Losing a family member, even a dog, is difficult

I had intended to write another rant about the dishonesty of our nation's politicians this week, but things changed Monday night and I was compelled to change my topic. After all, we all know politicians on the national level - whether Republican or Democrat - are dishonest. Otherwise, the world would be a much different place.
Politicians talk about opposing deficits, but they create them. They say they are for lower taxes, yet they are the ones that create all taxes and have the power to lower them or do away with them all together. They say they are for term limits, but will not take action to create a law to prevent politcians from serving forever - except the president who may serve only two terms.
But, enough of that or I will go full-force into my rant.That's what I had intended to write and rant about this week, but no - like I said things changed Monday night.
Sometime after 7 p.m., my wife and kids burst into tears while I was preparing to write my column. It was a sad moment. "Mr. Happy" died - that's the nickname our friends gave our dog Cudreaux. He would have been 15 years old this Christmas. We found Cudreaux at the Phenix City dog pound. He was a tiny, fuzzy puppy with a friendly attitude. He changed over the years. He grew into a very large and unfriendly dog. I guess that is an unfair assessment of his transformation. He was only unfriendly to strangers or anyone that was not a member of our family and that includes the other animals we live among.
When Cudreaux was younger, we allowed him to roam free. That was a mistake. Cudreaux would roam over to our neighbors' homes and pilfer a shoe or two, but never a pair. Many was the time one of our neighbors would be looking around our yard in hopes of finding their missing shoes. They usually found them without damage. For some reason, Cudreaux just wanted to steal the shoes. He wouldn't chew them.As he grew older, he developed a nasty attitude about people he did not live with.
My friend Phil Eckert had a special dislike for Cudreaux and the feeling was mutual. Once Phil decided to sneak outside to smoke a cigerette in our driveway. Phil was not supposed to be smoking. He had promised his wife he would quit. I guess Cudreaux knew this and wanted to express his displeasure that Phil had broken his promise to his wife, Kim. Cudreaux ran up behind Phil in the dark and almost gave him a heart-attack with the noise he made. Phil thought Cudreaux was Cujo.
On another occassion, Cudreaux pinned Phil between his truck and our house when he arrived when no one was home. Fortunately, by this time, we had put Cudreaux on a running cord, giving him some freedom, but not complete freedom to roam as he had in the past. Phil escaped unscathed.
In the last few years, Cudreaux lived most of the time in our laundry room. We would just leave the back door open and allow him to come in and out as he pleased. He loved that room. He had his own fan to cool him off on hot days. When we shut the door to the room in the evening, he would bark to let us know he needed to go out. He shared the room with any animal that lived in our home. He loved company - company he knew. There was a cat named Jack that started staying around our house. Jack was not our cat. Jack was Cudreaux's cat. At night, Cudreaux would stand in the driveway and bark until Jack came inside with him.
If, by chance, Cudreaux escaped his running cord, he would venture into the other parts of the house to check on us. He liked to lay in the living room until he was taken back to his room and put back on his cord. Sometimes I sat in the floor with him and scratch his back. He liked being scratched most of the time. When he did not want to be scratched, he would growl and snap at you. He never bit anyone, but he made it plain that he was prepared to - even the people he liked. He had strange ways, but don't we all.
The best thing about Cudreaux was the fact he never was a slacker when it came to his job of protecting us. Day or night, no one came near our home without Cudreaux sounding the alarm. Strangers would ask if he would bite and we would assure them he would not as long as he could not get to them.
We have a friend who said he was going to pet Cudreaux some day. It never happened. Our friend coaxed Cudreaux with food to gain acceptance. It did not work. Cudreaux was thankful for the food, but our friend was not going to get the opportunity to pet him. He could just put the food down and back away slowly. Our friend vowed to pet Cudreaux even if he had to wait until he was dead. That didn't happen either. Our friend was out of town when Cudreaux died. We called to let him know Cudreaux was dead and our friend was saddened. He knew Cudreaux had won the battle of wills.
Now, we have no Cudreaux. We just have memories of a dog that was a big part of our lives for nearly 15 years. It is always tough when a family loses a loved one, even one with a bad attitude and lots of fur. I have heard all dogs go to heaven. I don't know if that is true or not, but, if Cudreaux is there, he will sound the alarm for St. Peter when someone reaches the Pearly Gates. My advice to those people entering the gates - don't try to pet him.