Tag Archives: pets
Have the Sense to Come in Out of the Rain Especially When Accompanied By Crackles of White Light and Big Booms
How does this grab ya? “It was a dark and stormy night”…Not your kettle of fish? How ‘bout this? “The sky exploded in a blinding light, while thunder shook the window panes to the near point of shattering”…Still not to your liking?
Try this. “The pounding rain soon turned to a river of mud devastating everything in its path”…Better but still not it, huh? Okay. I think this will do it for you. “The gentle rain concluded…yawn…and the clouds parted, allowing the sun to bring forth the first petunias of the year.
That does it for ya? So I gather from this idea exchange, you don’t care for thunderstorms.
Well, suck it up, Peaches, cause this post ain’t for you.
Have you ever noticed the beginning of some novels start with tempestuous weather such as, “It was a dark and stormy night?” It could be the first line sets a sense of foreboding for the entire novel. Or maybe the author just likes thunderstorms.
When you think about it, (and thinking is something I strongly attempt to avoid), what are the pros and cons of the everyday summertime thunderstorms, beginning with the pros.
1) It brings rain to sometimes parched crops.
2) It leaves a wonderful smell after the storm has passed.
3) When accompanied with a cold front, it tends to drop the temperature and humidity.
4) Provides a certain amount of excitement when the blast of thunder is so loud it causes your hairline to recede. (In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m really having to stretch for these.)
5) It waters the part of my lawn that doesn’t wash away.
6) It provides humor watching people escape the downpour and the soaking received by passing vehicles.
7) And last, but certainly not least, the calming effect of the rain bouncing off your roof and the distant thunder lulling you to sleep with Gods’ fireworks.
Now, for the cons.
2) Micro bursts and down drafts (straight line winds that can cause as much damage as number 1).
3) Flash floods.
4) Lightening: can cause power outages, fires and produce thunder that scares the bejeesus out of children and pets alike. (Not to mention many adults) At its’ absolute worse, lightening can kill trees and sadly enough, people.
5) Just the sight of a rotating storm (aka a mesocyclone) especially with a rotating wall cloud will send fear into the heart of the bravest man.
6) High winds can wreak havoc with outdoor furniture, plants and on a larger scale, most anything that’s not tied down.
7) Trailer park. Nuff said.
8) Increased accidents caused in part by individuals who haven’t the sense of a five pound bag of stupid to slow down.
9) And finally, and I say this with all my heart; please don’t stand under a tree, on a golf course, during a thunderstorm with a lightning rod in your hand.
If you happen to be walking along during a thunderstorm and feel your skin start to tingle, hit the ground immediately. If you’re still struck by lightning…well…sue me.
I have cleared my desk. Pens and pencils pierce the sheet rock walls. What remains of my Hemmingway 2000 typewriter, circa 1948 rests in pieces on the floor. Mangled chunks of keyboard, motherboard and any other board which resided in my desktop are strewn around the room.
Having done this for one and one reason only, I had hoped we could bypass the waves of technology and simply talk.….You know, I say something, then you say something…… And before you know it, a conversation breaks out.
Okay I’ll start.
I had a hankering (hankering is southern US slang for wanting to do particular thing) to tell you about Floyd. I became good friends with Floyd somewhere around my 20th year when he came to live with us.
Having limited space we were forced to bunk together. This would not have been such a bad arrangement, had Floyd paid closer attention to his hygiene. In fact he just plain stunk. The smell was tolerable during the day. We would frolic through the fields, play hide and seek and just about everything else best buddies would do together.
Then came the night and It was Katie bar the door.
It got to where I could stand it no longer. I demanded that he bathe every day. This stench had to stop. At first he tried to stonewall me, but he knew down deep that I was right and bathe as he might, the stench was there to stay.
Did I mention that Floyd was a ferret…… I didn’t?…… I just assumed with thc picture and all…… Oh well.
Now if you’re considering ferret ownership and choose to purchase a male, make sure it has been castrated and the anal glands removed.
If purchasing a female and all you need worry with are the anal glands.
If you’re wondering why removing the anal glands is necessary, it helps the animal smell better.
But do you know what?…….It doesn’t work!
These creatures are curious, delightful, friendly and make wonderful pets, but the fact remains, that with or without their naughty bits, they still smell like a rectum.
Other animals have anal glands that are closely related to the ferret. Skunks, minks, otters to name a few. Thank goodness that ferrets are not able to express theirs like a skunk.
Even man’s best friend is equipped with a pair. So if you see your dog scooting its butt across the carpet, its anal glands are impacted and time for a trip to the veterinarian. If Rover ever starts leaking that juice you’ll rename your ferret rosebud.
I had Floyd for several years until he escaped and ran into a dog, who evidently wasn’t put off by his smell.
I still think back fondly, of a stinky little fuzz ball who would pull entire plates of food under the couch
Okay, now it’s your turn. So speak up, don’t be shy.
Some days the words slide out of your brain like oil across a greasy slab of ice. Today ain’t one of those days. I find myself distracted, staring out the window at our neighbor’s cocker spaniel. This little pooch spends as much time at our house as he does at his own. Of course, this special dog is so friendly it’s a pleasure to have him around.
Interaction with this captivating canine brings to memory a blog I posted several weeks ago, about my pal Wilbur. The story chronicled the friendship and high jinx between a boy and his alligator.
As I sat, memories of pets I had owned began to fly through the window of my brain, not unlike Dorothy’s visions in the Wizard of Oz as she spun round the interior of a tornado.
I finally reached the abyss which houses all things animal. Knowing that any resistance was useless, I closed my eyes and plunged into the dark recesses of my mind.
Note: To find vegetable and/or mineral, search: http\www.lynn\brain\vegetable\ mineral\cobwebs-detour sign.ug
Once I hit bottom, I was a young man again, old enough to drive, but too young to have developed a sense for the value of a dollar. What does one do in such a case as this?
I cannot speak for others, but this enterprising young lad slapped good money on the counter for a brand-new boa constrictor and what would become said constrictor’s first home cooked meal.
Imagine my excitement when I arrived home and began rearranging one corner of my room dedicated solely for my, as yet, unnamed pet.
An aquarium provided the general living quarters, blue gravel carpeted the floor and a piece of slate, suitable for hiding under or sunning oneself, with an all-inclusive light bulb mounted on the ceiling.
I set the scaly little beast into his new abode. Eureka! I had created a showplace including one happy little reptile of the slithering variety. I gave him a day to get used to his surroundings and then began to tackle the necessities this creature would need to survive. After all, a pet owner must be responsible and responsibility was job one as far as I was concerned.
Due to the miracle of the written word, it is now 24 hours later.
And now for that first home cooked meal… I’ll have to admit that the last statement isn’t totally accurate. It’s true that we were at home and that a meal was forthcoming; but to say “cooked” is a bit of a stretch. It’s more like rare… Okay, it’s raw and maybe even alive. I’m having a hard time determining the “alive” part. It won’t stay still long enough for me to catch it.
All right, I confess. I’m about to feed a living creature (a little white mouse) to a ravenous beast, probably among the most hated in the world–the deadly boa constrictor.
I remove the top and drop the poor little defenseless mammal in. I sit and await the carnage. The primeval battle of “hunter” versus “hunted,” which plays itself out thousands of time each day, is now unfolding before my very eyes.
At first, the prey stands very still, sensing something’s not right. The hunter, waiting, partially hidden beneath the slate, his forked tongue dancing left to right tasting the air. Then movement. Slow and cautious to begin with, turning to fast-paced whimsy as the mouse frolics around the aquarium.
He danced around the snake, over the snake, on the snake and in what I saw as the ultimate act of defiance, he bit the snake.
Needless to say I removed the mouse and a day or two later the deadly boa constrictor morphed into the dead boa constrictor.
I wonder why they literally go belly up? It’s probably a sign to remind people (such as myself at the time) who feel they have nothing better to do with their money than to purchase silly items, start a savings account.
When all was said and done at least the mouse had a nice place to live.
I have a reoccurring character that just happens to be an animal. Not the type of animal you would normally think of, if you were thinking of animals. This particular critter is roughly the size of a wolverine. It has two unusual characteristics.
Number one: Its yellow eyes curve from the front around to the side of its head.
Number two: It talks.
Animals bring about a wealth of emotions. These emotions are different for each individual, just as finger prints.
Allow me to tell you of some of my early experiences with our four-footed friends.
I’ve always had a special place in my being for animals of the reptilian variety. My first exposure to these scaly creatures came in the form of an alligator named Wilbur. In actually Wilbur was probably a caiman, but when it comes to a twelve-inch long mouth with needles for teeth, does it really matter?
When my buddy Wilbur joined the household, he wasn’t exactly the warmest of pets a seven-year old could possess, but then again in my circle of friends I had reached a pentacle that could not be topped.
Wilbur’s living arrangements consisted of a white plastic tub covered in rat wire to prevent escape. Wilbur would float in his custom accommodations happily munching on raw hamburger.
When the lacerations on our hands had healed sufficiently, we could pull Wilbur out of his cage and the bloodletting play time would begin.
One day we walked into the bathroom and Wilbur didn’t look quite right. Instead of his jovial self, he was acting as though he had ingested LSD.
Shortly after the drug like episode, Wilbur left our family for good. I found out later that the constant turning on and off of the light, fried poor little Wilbur‘s pea size brain. He never had a chance. With a hole in my heart and numerous holes in my fingers I set about planning his funeral.
I made a cross, a piece of wood with his name carved into it and a shoe box wrapped in a plastic parachute. I dug a hole in preparation to accept the body of my lost friend. I erected a cross and head stone. With a tear in my eye I personally selected the mourners (my sister) for the ceremony.
The funeral procession consisted of myself and one reluctant mourner. We marched to the grave site, where I solemnly placed the shoe box. Covering the hole with dirt I began my eulogy.
“Wilbur was a good alligator.” It was then I sensed (due to barely audible giggles) one of the people in attendance were not as sad as I thought they should be.
In order to help put her in the mood, my fist found the large target, that was her back, and then, we all properly grieved for our deceased pet.
I don’t want you to think that I was a demon child growing up. I had my share of dogs and the like (what most people would deem normal pets) up until just a few years ago when our last dog died.
I have my wife and kids for companionship and don’t want to fuss with anything that can’t feed or water itself.
I still consider myself an animal lover, but of the type that slide on to grills, into ovens and swim in gravy.
I think of my good friend, Wilbur the alligator, from time to time. Fortunately or unfortunately (depending on who’s tooth is doing the biting) I have acquired a taste for blackened alligator tail.
Hmm, I wonder why that is?