Critter Stories For Sunday

Dogs in Moscow learn how to use the subway.  At least one cat in London has learned how to take the bus to get fish and chips.

European pets must be smarter than those of us Americans.  At least judging by our own critters, American house pets are smart enough to look cute and meow loudly when they're hungry.  And they know what claw clippers look like to run from us.  Aside from that -- if they get out of the yard, there is no way they're smart enough to find their own way home later.

Links from Richard Dawkins.

This Never Happens When I Play The Sims

Three in the morning comes and my bladder tells me it's time for a short interruption in sleep.  This problem is easy to solve.  But the dogs hear me moving about and come in, demanding food.  It's earlier than their typical 4:30 a.m. feeding time but I'm still half-asleep and so I decide to feed them.  My throat is very sore and so after I let the dogs out (they are trained to go outside right after they eat) I decide that a salt-water gargle would be just the thing, so I open up the right-hand pantry door, find the salt among our baking supplies, and mix it with hot water.  The taste is disgusting, so I decide to mix myself up one of those little packets of a flavored beverage to counteract the briny ick of the salt water with something sweet-tasting.  So I open up the left-hand pantry door to get at those and

THUNK

a brand-new bottle of Spanish olive oil overbalances and falls on the floor right at my feet, its yellowy-green contents slowly oozing out all over the tile, which is now decorated with itty bitty shards of cheap, thin glass.  The dogs, fortunately, are still outside but now it's five minutes after three in the morning and I have to clean up a quart of olive oil and a broken glass bottle before I can let them in because, lacking the dignity gene, they're going to lick wherever on the floor has any aroma at all and I don't want them to hurt themselves by acting on their instincts.

A great many paper towels later and most of the oil is sopped up from the floor and I begin my hunt for stray glass, looking as best I can for places where dogs might walk or lick.  This reveals dozens of tiny, sharp fragments which I cannot pick up with my fingers, even if I don't mind a little pain and blood.  So now I've got to find a vacuum cleaner to suck up all this glass, which means making a lot of noise but what can I do?  A few minutes of that produces a sleepy, squinting Wife wondering what in the hell is going on and why I'm awake at this hour, and good Wife that she is she takes it all in and figures out that I'm probably best left to my own devices and after showing me where the wet-mop sponge is kept, goes back to sleep like any sensible person would in her sitaution.

I am, of course, wholly awake by now since removing the oleagenous waste and glass has taken a good half hour, and it takes me what feels like another hour to fall back asleep again.  Neither the dogs nor the cats have yet been bothering the kitchen floor any more than they usually do and have not indicated any pain or favoring on any of their paws, so I think that means I did the job right.

Inspired By Hit Coffee: A Good Local Government Story

Inspired by this post over at Hit Coffee, I should point out two things that are good about the two municipal governments that I have noticed recently. 

First, Soffit House is located on the very edge, but still within the municipal limits, of the city of Lancaster.  Two weeks ago, The Wife and I were walking the dogs and noticed that the retaining wall outside one of our neighbor's houses had been tagged with a large, ugly, gang-associated-looking graffito.  I hadn't noticed it driving home that day, so it must have only been a few hours old when we saw it.  Well, the very next morning, a crew in a city truck was out there at the spot, applying paint remover and a new coat of fresh paint on the spot.  It couldn't have been up on the wall for eight hours, tops.  I thought that was excellent response time and top-notch service from the city government.

Second, yesterday afternoon I saw a dead cat on the side of the road in an undeveloped section of the city in which my office is located.  The unfortunate beast had been struck by someone's car and flattened out to gossamer thinness by the traffic.  I called him "Slim."

This wasn't in front of anyone's house or business; both sides of the street are undeveloped desert.  I think one side of the street is actually unincorporated land.  But this morning, Slim The Unlucky Former Cat was gone; no trade of him was visible.  Someone from the city (or maybe the county) had come by to scrape him up and hose the street down.

Now, I'll grant that The Wife saw some coyotes out in the desert about a quarter mile from where Slim had met his demise.  I didn't associate the coyote sighting with my earlier, more grisly observation.  So maybe they helped clean up Slim, but there would still have been bones, skin, fur, and probably a smear of viscera.  So some human agent at minimum finished the job.  And they got on it pretty fast.  So good on for them.

NOTE:  This blog post satisfies the GGV Challenge ("Graffito, Gossamer, and Viscera") for coherent use of obscure words in context.  I defy you to do better.

Weekend Weirdness, Volume IX

LOLCats -- annoying the hell out of you since 1929!

After Japanese stereoscopic photography was rediscovered, so was the lost art of stop-motion photography, this time by disaffected Spanish college students. 

Living on a cliff:  probably not a good idea for the vision-impaired or families with small children, but it does allow strangers from around the world to visit your home town and take pictures of your house.  If you're, you know, European.

Origins of common superstitions.  Does anyone believe in this stuff anymore?

Not so much weird as very gratifying to see -- a photograph from a dance in 1944 sponsored by a Federal workers' union.  Notice that white ladies are dancing with black soldiers and everyone seems to be having a good time.  Perhaps less gratifying: you are never more than 145 miles from a McDonald's, anywhere in the continental United States.

The best beer cozies available -- link also contains reports of science experiments concerning flammable jell-o shots and an NSFW inquiry about what happens when you wear 625 condoms at once.  Seriously, you know you can't resist this one.

Pac-Man: The Movie.  Or, if you prefer, a whole bunch of movies fraught with anxiety about female sexuality.

Weekend Weirdness, Volume VI

Is that a meep I hear, young man?  Better not be!

Can your cat do this?  Mine would like to but we don't get house guests like this very often.  Well, at least they're not this lazy.

These aren't cake wrecks.  These were all quite intentional.  Some are actually disturbing.

I don't even know how to describe this.  It's, um, animation.  Uses a lot of odd currencies.  I enjoyed St. Thomas More and M.C. Hammer, and some of the music is quite soothing.

Carl Sagan orders pizza, wings, and sub sandwiches with billions and billions of calories -- and reluctantly tips the already-stoned driver in good single-malt Scotch.  Speaking of which, if you're too lazy to look up at the stars while you're surfing the net at night, this might help your urge to engage in amateur astronomy.

I dinna billiv it, Cappen!  This!  Did not!  Actually!  Happen!  Sadly, though, this all probably did.

The hearts are all the same color.

How would the President dress if he came to visit in your home town?  Depends on the weather!


Bad crab!  (He should share.)

Transparent aluminum -- not just for Star Trek movies anymore; it may help us develop practical fusion technology.

Coming Home

I finally thought of a good angle to comment on the Ft. Hood story.  But then I came cross this, and realized I couldn't possibly beat a collection of happy-tear-jerking videos from mental_floss to commemorate Veteran's Day.  Even if you're not a dog person, the last video will make you cry.

So instead, I'll take my time to write my piece, and here's hoping all of our soldiers and sailors get to come home to their families, and to their ecstatic dogs. Safe, and soon.

Is The Start Of The Holiday Season Really The Best Time For This?

Counting calories sucks.  It leaves me feeling hungry and conscious of food all the time. 

What I can do, though, is work a lot.  When I get into my work, I don't think so much about feeling hungry.

Cutting back on the alcohol is not so great a sacrifice, although my football buddy would rather I had more than one beer with him while watching the game.  We've just discovered Alaskan Ale, which is very good, but a commitment to moderation means not having a lot of them.

The Wife and I are rededicating ourselves to more frequently walking the dogs.  That's more exercise than I have been getting.  The yoga mat has been trotted out in the past few months, but it needs to see the outside of the closet more frequently than it has.

And with the change to standard time, I can get up earlier and maybe work earlier, so I can come home before it gets completely dark to walk the dogs.  The dogs are more active and playful with the walks, which makes them more fun to play with.  I feel a little better too and it will make my doctor happy for me.

It's cooler now than it has been, but a fleece and a hat helps out there.  I get the hat hair afterwards but so what?

Still, these are lifestyle changes.  I don't do well with lifestyle changes.

My preferred lifestyle would see me sleeping until about 8:30 or 9:00, then writing for several hours, then cooking a nice dinner, followed by an evening of goofing off and going to sleep around 11:00 or 11:30.  Left on my own, that's what I do.  I have to discipline myself to go to bed earlier than that, to get up earlier than that, to punctuate the day with exercise, and to make smarter food choices.

Weekend Weirdness, Volume III

We begin with a lamb jumping on a bed.  Very cute, but it comes to a strange ending.

Then, I found a delightful children's book about interspecies telepathy, and the inevitable conquest of our planet by alien retroviruses.  It's fun for the whole family!

Look out, bullies.  It's Abe Lincoln, come to kick your asses with his mad wrestling skillz.


Rama?

See what can happen when those fascist zoning restrictions are lifted?  Sometimes I miss Tennessee...

This sort of thing was freaky during the campaign and it isn't any better now.  And this isn't particularly helpful, either.

The correct answer to this question is "Because ice cream has no bones."  Come on, what's the matter with you wiki-using people; do I have to do all the work around here?

Ta da!  From the dustbin of failed political slogans, I give you:  "Spinach is spinach."

In the movies, dinosaurs have a rather limited vocabulary.

I have no idea how I stumbled across Charlize Theron.  But I'm glad I did.

The Covey In My Front Yard

Last year, a covey of quail moved in to my front yard.  There were at least six chicks and at least two adults.  Both had drab coloring, so they seemed to both be females.  Then, a neighborhood cat was seen around the area for several weeks, and The Wife and I feared that the cat had dined upon our state birds.

Well yesterday I saw another covey of at least six quail, all adults, again in the front yard, seeking shelter from the winds.  I could hear that they were there again this morning as I drank my coffee, cooing as they scampered about the yard searching for food.

Was it the same birds as last year?  Obviously I've no way to tell; I can't approach them because they fly away when I do, and I can't see any tags on their spindly little quail legs.  It pleases me to think that they are the same, though, and that the cat didn't get them all.  It's pleasing to have birds make their homes in your home.

Photo from Wikimedia Commons, by Len Blumin (cc 2.0).

Weekend Weirdness, Volume II

I quite enjoyed last week's Saturday compliation of the weirdest things I've come across on the Intertubes.  So here's this week's installment.

Let's start with some big critters.  I don't know why but the cow is somehow more impressive than the pigs.  And if that doesn't freak you out, I bet this will.

Here's a large sample platter of assorted cheesiness.  Much of it remarkably well-preserved from my youth.

Then, God prefers atheists.  Here's why: unlike some folks, atheists tend to not be inconsistently paranoid about bar codes.

Carving a pumpkin this weekend?  I thought my idea of a Roswell alien on an oval gourd was creative but it turns out there's a few levels above that.

Danii Minogue attacks a man while swimming in the Great Barrier Reef.  I think this was supposed to be a humor column but if so it falls short of the mark.

Eat your heart out, Jerry Bruckheimer.

A profoundly bad idea, mass-produced in plastic.

And Now A Brief Educational Film About Spiders

Clever

No commentary necessary.

Doggie Personal Ads

OH BOY ANOTHER DOG MY FAVORITE! Easily-excited neutered GerShep mix gets very excited to meet new dogs, come over for play and friendship! Enjoys speaking, sitting pretty, rolling over, and playing dead for treats, chasing sticks, humping other dogs, eating people food. Squirrel! Box 087713.

Male Golden Retriever seeks female of similar size, build for exercise, play and more???? Interests include playing fetch, eating people food, and harassing household cats. Box 133932.

ME: Fem. Daschund, territorial, likes to do tricks for treats and people food. YOU: Submissive male, Beagle-sized, spayed or neutered, with access to people food, enjoys being licked obsessively. US: Non-breeding companions chasing squirrels and barking and neighbor dogs and passing skateboarders together. Box 310027.

ARF ARF ARF ARF! Neutered Collie mix, sedate, seeks similarly-mooded dog for companionship and shared body warmth, sporadic bursts of activty when doorbell rings. Access to people food a plus. Box 299615.

LET ME SMELL UNDER YOUR TAIL! Active, curious Jack Russell terrier (spayed) seeks pug, schnauzer, or other JRT for tug-of-war, ball games, wrestling with gentle biting and ear-tugging, barking contests. Bring people food! Box 192581.

PORT. WATER DOG seeks poodle or other water-loving companion to share home with pool. Enjoys clogging drains with shed, chasing birds, people food, and sleeping on the couch when people are out of home. Box 208549.

ARE YOU THE LEADER OF MY PACK? Submissive greyhound mix seeks friend with strong herding instinct. Also enjoys people food. You must not bite to assert dominance but wrestling is OK. Box 099813.

Time To Get Out Of The Water

I agree with the guy who says he won't dive with Humboldt squid for the same reason he won't walk into a pride of lions on the Serengeti. Some things in the water are dangerous and sharks are actually only about halfway down that list.

If I Volunteer To Rescue Animals, What's My Cut Of The Action?

When you Christians get raptured, you know that I won't be. I'm an atheist and I have blasphemed as set forth in Mark 3:29.* So I wonder what share of the fee I get for working for these people?


* I hereby curse and deny the existence of the Holy Spirit.

Skunk Smell In The Desert

In all the years I've lived in this part of California, I don't think I've ever smelled or seen a skunk out on the desert floor. Up in the mountains, I've smelled skunks but I don't know if I've ever seen any or not. But down here with the juniper bushes and Joshua trees and tumbleweeds? No skunks. About the only skunk I've ever seen in these parts has been the logo up on the sides of buildings where certain aircraft are built and maintained.

Well, this morning at the office I stepped out of my car and there was the very distinct smell of skunk. Maybe even dead skunk. I lived in Florida as a kid and there were skunks there. And in Wisconsin. And in Tennessee -- lots of skunks in Tennessee. Dead skunk on the road is a smell all its own, one you know instantly when you smell it. And that's what was at the office today -- skunk musk. One of the most pungent odors I can think of.

Looking at the geographic range of skunks, it seems they live pretty much everywhere in the continental U.S.A., except for the western bank of the Colorado River and the southeastern quadrant of Nevada.

It's really kind of amazing how many wild animals live, nearly invisibly, in the middle of human civilization. They learn the rules, find hiding places, and eat our garbage. Human garbage is a pretty reasonable source of sustenance for a lot of these animals. And they're smarter than we give them credit for being, as anyone who has had to deal with critters like possums or raccoons can attest. I bet the skunk is a pretty quick study, too.

Some skunk trivia: They can eat nearly anything, subsisting on leaves and grasses when food is scarce to berries and vegetables and even meat -- their most plentiful food source in the wild are insects and earthworms. They tend to scavenge for meat from mammals and birds rather than hunting it.

They are one of the few animals that predates on honeybees; it's difficult for a bee's sting to penetrate through the skunk's thick fur. The skunk will just walk right up to a beehive and scratch at the side of it, lets the bees try to sting him through his fur, and then eats them up.

Skunks are territorial, with females keeping a territory of about 500 acres, and males of nearly ten times that much. Male and female territories overlap, but skunks of the same sex will shun one another except in winter, when they will hibernate together in a burrow. Females tend to only have one mate but males will typically mate with every female in his territory.

They are not afraid of water but are poor swimmers.

Skunks have terrible eyesight and can only see things clearly about ten to twelve feet away from their faces. This is why nearly half of all skunk deaths are caused by collisions with motor vehicles -- they can't see the vehicles coming to protect themselves. They are, however, plentiful in number. For skunks as a species, the dangers of individuals being run over by cars from time to time seems to be more than compensated for by the benefits of having access to human garbage as a food source. They navigate the world by hearing and smell.

The name for a group of skunks is a "huddle." (Cf., "herd" of cattle, "flock" of seagulls, or "murder" of crows.) A baby skunk is called a "kit." There seems to be no special name for males and females the way, for instance, cattle are "cows" and "bulls," or horses are "stallions" and "mares." Male skunks are bigger than females, but not by much.

Skunks enjoy substantial immunity from snake venom. They are vulnerable to other kinds of venom, though, such as from a scorpion.

If you get blasted by the musk at close range, it's a lot like getting hit with tear gas -- the overpowering smell is disabling, and the musk can painfully blind you. Stay away from a wild skunk's ass -- although I'm sure that you already knew that much. Bears fear skunks, and bears are generally not afraid of anything. Wild skunks should be avoided not only for the musk but also because the skunk can carry any of a number of diseases transmittable to humans. Like most furry mammals, they also can gather fleas, which can carry a different constellation of diseases, including plague.

The skunk will spray reluctantly and only when it feels very threatened. The typical animal carries only enough musk for five or six sprays, and it can take up to ten days before the skunk secretes enough fluid in its anal glands to replenish a spray. A mother protecting her clutch of kits is much more likely to spray than any other skunk.

One of the reasons that skunks have their distinctive black-and-white coloring is so that predators will quickly learn what a skunk looks like and leave future skunks alone without needing to be sprayed again. But some skunks are colored tan or off-white and like all animals, there are occasionally instances of albinism. Pretty much the only animal that predates off of skunks are great horned owls -- owls have almost no sense of smell and retractable carapaces for their eyes that reflexively close when the owl strikes its prey, so the owl is almost perfectly suited for hunting skunk.

Charles Darwin encountered skunks in Uruguay, while serving as naturalist on the HMS Beagle. He wrote:

We saw also a couple of Zorrillos, or skunks—odious animals, which are far from uncommon. In general appearance the Zorrillo resembles a polecat, but it is rather larger, and much thicker in proportion. Conscious of its power, it roams by day about the open plain, and fears neither dog nor man. If a dog is urged to the attack, its courage is instantly checked by a few drops of the fetid oil, which brings on violent sickness and running at the nose. Whatever is once polluted by it, is for ever useless. Azara says the smell can be perceived at a league distant; more than once, when entering the harbour of Monte Video, the wind being off shore, we have perceived the odour on board the Beagle. Certain it is, that every animal most willingly makes room for the Zorrillo.

People actually keep skunks as pets; they domesticate reasonably well. It's legal in some states, but I don't think they are in California. Domesticated skunks can live up to twenty years as a pet in a loving home -- they don't tend to make it past three or four years on their own, either in the wild or scavenging human garbage for a living. They dig instinctively, so you'd have to be careful letting your pet skunk out in your back yard unsupervised for very long. The skunk is kind of cute, and you can have its anal scent glands removed without harming it.

Not that I would want a pet skunk, even a de-odorized one. I bet clipping the skunk's claws is not a pleasant task, and since they're so hairy, they would shed all over the place. It would be tough to find a groomer willing to take on the task of washing such a beast. I'm pretty sure a shaved skunk would not be nearly as cute as a furry one, and if a shaved skunk got out of the home, he would be in danger since would have an instinct to locate a beehive and harass the bees inside, but lack his natural protection of long fur.

A Promise Keeper?

Thanks to the miracle of the Internets, we will be able to follow the progress of our new President in fulfilling his campaign promises. Or not. From the same folks who brought you the Truth-O-Meter during the campaign, presenting... the Obameter! The St. Petersburg Times has identified 510 specific campaign pledges made by Barack Obama on his trail to the White House, and they're watching to see which ones he makes good on, which ones he ducks, which ones stall out, and so on.

Now, obviously he can't deliver on all of his campaign pledges right away. No one could reasonably expect that. The thing to do here is to watch the website from time to time and see how he's doing in reality as compared to what he promised us. And not all the promises are intended to be taken too seriously -- for instance, #502, listed as "In the works," is Obama's promise to "Get his daughters a puppy." While he did promise that (to the country, at least; whether he made the same promise to his daughters is a different matter) if that's a promise that winds up getting broken I don't think anyone's going to get terribly exercised about it.

And as you've read here before, Malia Obama is apparently allergic to dogs so that's another good reason for the Obamas not to get one -- there is no such thing as a hypoallergenic dog. Some less than others. I query their taste; according to the St. Pete Times, they're looking at a Portuguese Water Dog or a Labradoodle. Both are kinda goofy-looking if you ask me -- and more to the point, they both look like they're dogs that will shed quite a bit, which will release dust and dandruff, and likely make the allergic girl sneeze.

But the point here is, someone's keeping track of promises made, promises kept, and promises broken. Check the Obameter often over the next four years.

Banana Cake

A special holiday present for The Wife was cake decorating lesssons. A downside to that is that efforts to lose weight are hampered by the fact that now she's baking cakes all the time. She made a white cake with white frosting, and that's easy enough for me to resist. But she made a cake out of her banana bread, and put cream cheese frosting on it, and that's damn good and difficult to resist. I'm gonna have to find some way to incorporate physical exercise into my daily routine if this keeps up.

On a related note, do you know what is used to make cake frosting? I didn't. The correct answer is: vegetable shortening and powdered sugar. Vegetable shortening, for those of you who haven't thought this through, is pure fat. No wonder it tastes so good -- it's pure sugar mixed with pure fat. If you do enjoy this stuff, I caution you to be judicious about how deeply you want to look into what kinds of vegetables are used to make the oil and how it is emulsified. You'll be happier if you're ignorant.

Well, the dogs will enjoy being walked, I guess. Because The Wife isn't going to stop making cakes.

Daschunds!

The Wife's friend from work is going to be out of town for a few days, and she agreed to host their two daschunds here at Soffit House while they were gone. These are the first boy-animals we've had in our house in years. And Pete and Duke are really cute. When I was a teenager, we had a daschund. I usually like bigger dogs but dachshunds are a big exception to that preference -- I love the elongated little critters! These little guys are still sniffing around and getting acquainted with our big mutts; the girls are, I'm afraid, trying to bully them around, but one of the little dogs is giving back some of what he's been getting. The other one is a little bit more timid but they're settling down together.

The cats are pissed.

A Happy Ending To A Sad Story

Well, my dad did a feel-good post on his blog, and I felt inspired to match him. So when I stumbled across a story about whatever happened to Michael Vick's fighting dogs, I knew I had the right thing to which I could point my Readers.

I would have thought that having been trained to fight, Vick's dogs would have been ruined and would have to be destroyed. But fortunately, there are dog rescue organizations out there that adopt even fighting dogs and one of them stepped in and began to rehabilitate the dogs. Sports Illustrated has some wonderful photographs of the dogs with their new, loving owners, and they cement in my mind that there are no bad dogs, only bad dog keepers. When put in a good home, and with the right training, even pit bulls trained to fight can becom good companions. Here they are, along with the wonderful people who have taken them in:

Teedles -- adopted by Cindy Houser
Sweet Jasmine -- adopted by Catalina Stirling
Grace -- with by Tim Racer and Donna Reynolds, two officers of BAD RAP, who are currently screening a family for Grace to live with permanently
Audie -- adopted by Linda Chwistek and Bill Cook
Sweet Pea -- adopted by Michael Wilson
Zippy -- adopted by the Hernandez family
Uba -- adopted by Letti De Little and William the cat
Frodo -- placed with Kim Ramirez
Ernie -- placed with Andy and Sasha Gibbs
Jonny Justice -- adopted by the Differding family

BAD RAP is a dog adoption organization that focuses on pit bulls and other dogs bred and trained to fight, and rehabs them so that they become suitable companion dogs for families. They took in Michael Vick's dogs and have adopted them out, and the dogs have begun a blog of their own so you can follow their stories.

It's great to see the animals healthy and happy again, and in good homes with people who obviously love them. There is no artifice in a dog -- a dog will return ten times the love it is shown and dogs are never happier than when they're with a family that loves them. If these dogs can be rehabilitated and put with families, some with small kids, then that's proof enough that there are no bad dogs. There may be bad owners, but a good owner with smart guidance can make it all better.

Please consider adopting a rescue pet. Obviously, adopting a pit bull, particularly one rescued from a fighting ring, is not for everyone -- but don't let the "pit bull" label slow you down; I've known lots of pit bulls who were sweet, gentle animals. It can be easier than you think to take in a rescued animal into your family. The Wife and I did, four times, and we love our critters to pieces.