Lizard on a plane

All of the recent flapdoodle with full-body scanners the TSA has been foisting on the American public in the name of ostensible security reminded me of what air travel was like in my youth. To say the least, it was quite different.

My father was in the military, so our family did a fair amount of travelling by air in the 1960s. Back then, there was no security screening: you paid for your ticket, checked your bags, headed to your gate and got on the plane--no fuss, no muss. You could take on board the plane what you could carry, and never was it even hinted at that someone would want to search your belongings. This is how I was able to get my anole lizard, purchased for one dollar in late 1967, from Detroit, MI to El Paso, TX. That's right, I carried him directly onto the plane without a problem.

How? He was in his plastic cage inside of a brown paper grocery bag that I placed at my feet as I sat down. No other passengers were aware of the stowaway reptile they were sharing their flight with and business went on as usual. The stewardesses, as they were known back then, served food, and snacks, and drinks, oblivious to the extra passenger not on anyone's manifest. When the flight was over, we deplaned and that was that. No one was harmed, no one was groped. I sometimes wonder what other odd and/or exotic cargo made secret trips aboard commercial airliners back then.

But we are a different people now. We are a good deal less realistic (in other words, immature) about life. So many people have bought into the childish notion that life can be lived without limits, especially financial limits, that our government now reflects that belief. We are also less likely to point out obvious truths--such as certain groups of peoples being more likely to commit anti-social acts than other groups of people (think 9-11)--lest the cudgel of political correctness land upon our skulls.

Somehow, though, we muddle through all of these idiocies and indignities, although not unscathed. We are a changed people, less involved in what matters in life and more involved in voyeuristic pursuits. We are distracted to a fault by nonsensical blather and gadgets to the point where we can no longer think out a problem and come to a logical, sensible solution. So we throw up our hands in despair and let the so-called experts in government, business, and banking (the lines of distinction between the three blur more every election cycle) handle the problems--with disastrous results. Then we wonder why things never seem to get better. Wonder no more, friend, go peer in the mirror.

Look how far we've fallen. From peacefully carrying a lizard on a plane to limiting the amount of liquid one can embark with and frisking children.* But the most galling fact of all is that the American people, those fools who live vicariously through sports teams, and theatrically-belligerent, freakish-looking "wrestlers," and actors, are allowing this to be perpetrated upon themselves. The American people are not the bada**es they like to pretend to be; they are cowardly sheep who leave the thinking to the shepard. The few who aren't like that are the ones protesting, but they are fighting an uphill battle against the inertia of the masses.

Take care.
DAL357

*Yes, I'm aware of the events of 9-11-01. I'm also aware of the entity that created the conditions favorable for that epochal event to occur, the U.S. government through their interventionist policies, chiefly their support of Israel. It's not that the U.S. should or shouldn't be supporting Israel. It's that the U.S. should not be sticking its globetrotting nose into ANY other country's business. If Israel can't survive on its own, then it wasn't meant to be. If it has to use nuclear weapons to survive, so be it. At this point, I really don't care anymore. It's not any of Main Street America's concern; we came over here to get away from all of the strife the rest of the world is perpetually locked in.

The other white meat

This important news story just in:

DES MOINES, Iowa -- For more than two decades, pork has been known as "The Other White Meat." Now industry insiders think it's time the meat got a new reputation.

The National Pork Board plans to replace its ubiquitous advertising slogan with something officials hope will improve stagnant sales. The slogan, first launched 23 years ago, was successful in rebranding the meat as a dinnertime favorite.

A new slogan, eh? How about "Get porked!" as a new tagline? Hey, it could work.

Take care.
DAL357

It doesn't get any easier

Yesterday, we lost our beloved family dog to a brain tumor. A better companion, friend, sweetheart, and protector you'll never find. This morning is the first one since she fell ill and had to be hospitalized on Saturday that I definitely knew I would never let her out in the backyard again when I awoke, our daily, matutinal ritual.

She lived with me for over 13.5 years, although she was 15 years, 9 months old when she died. Her first two years were spent with my brother and ex-sister-in-law. I first met her when she was eight weeks old; I knew right away that there was something special about her. I told my brother that if they ever wanted to get rid of her, I'd take her. Two years later, she came to live with me, a bachelor at the time.

When I met my wife and she came to live with me, Princess barked at her and ran away. Soon, however, they became fast friends and soul mates, and it was that way for over 13 years. A dog will often bond especially close with one family member, and my wife was that person in our home. As you can imagine, she is devastated.

When I was a boy, a dog came to live with us who bonded with me. A number of years later, she became old and infirm and had to be put to sleep. Because I had this terrible experience under my belt, I thought I'd be somewhat inured to losing another animal, but I was wrong. It doesn't get any easier as I age, it gets harder. I am not ashamed to admit that I cried like a baby for the old girl.

Goodbye, Princess. You will not only be missed, but grieved for too.

Take care.
DAL357

Well, THAT sucks

The following story is the first I can remember of an adult being killed by coyotes, although I've read more than a few stories about adults being threatened/attacked by the little prairie wolves.

*****

Toronto musician dies after coyote attack in Cape Breton

Taylor Mitchell, an up-and-coming singer-songwriter from Toronto, died this morning after she was attacked by two coyotes while hiking in Cape Breton Highlands National Park yesterday.


"[The victim] was airlifted to the QEII hospital in Halifax, where she died of her injuries early this morning," Sgt. Bridgit Leger of the RCMP said in an interview.


Officers with the RCMP detachment in Cheticamp, N.S., responded to a 911 call placed around 3:15 p.m. yesterday. When they arrived on Skyline Trail, a popular hiking route in the park, they found two coyotes attacking the young hiker.

Read the rest of the article here.

*****

What a sad end to a life that just barely begun. The article goes on to say that the area where she was attacked is a popular hiking venue, so I'd assume she probably felt safe in going there. But nothing is certain in life and this young woman paid the ultimate price for not heeding, or perhaps not knowing, this. I'm not going to go into my usual spiel about having some type of appropriate protection with you at all times, for that would be redundant and out of place just now. Besides, the wise already know it.

Take care.
DAL357

Rubber band Indoor-Varmint Getter

Here's a short article I wrote to submit to a varmint hunting magazine which didn't turn out the way I wanted, so I thought I'd post it here.





Can’t get out to your favorite shooting range due to this or that reason? Too hot/cold outdoors to pop varmints? No problem. Allow me a few minutes of your time and I’ll clue you in on a pastime that, while it can’t replace firearms hunting, can at least distract you from your inability to get your fix. Plus, you don’t even have to leave your home!

Practically every home in the United States is not only a shelter for humans but, somewhere in its nooks, crannies, or bowels, is also a haven for unwanted (as opposed to wanted?) insects. Sure, you can spray them, but you, dear varmint hunter, know that while insecticides may be efficient, they’re not quite as satisfying as personally squashing the little buggers. That’s where the following method of insect extermination comes into play that rids your home of pests AND gives you some quality hunting time.

Before I get to the specifics, I’ll tell you that I first was introduced to this sport back in 1971 by an acquaintance I made in 7th grade named Bernie. Where he learned it, I have no idea, and it’s really not important. What is important is that it works and it’s fun. (Wherever you are, Bernie, thanks.)

To participate in this sport, you won’t need any fancy equipment. Rangefinders, camo clothing, pet loads, etc. would be more of a hindrance than a help. Nope, the only things you’ll need are two 3.5” x .25” (size no. 64) rubber bands (see photo 1 above), and possibly a damp cloth.

By joining the two rubber bands together as shown (see photos 2 & 3 above), you will lend enough speed and accuracy to this simple device to make clean (relatively speaking--more on that later), humane kills. After a bit of practice, which I’ll outline next, you’ll be at least as deadly as DDT.

Okay, you have made your projectile, now what? Have you ever heard of point shooting? Look at photo 4 above and notice what’s missing when the rubber band is in firing position…sights! This may seem a big problem at first, but I can assure you that after a modicum of practice, you won’t even think about them anymore. Draw a one-inch black circle on a piece of paper, tape it to a wall about shoulder high, step back approximately 6 to 8 feet, and draw the rubber band to firing position. (Note: I strongly urge you to use some type of eye protection when doing this because a rubber band once slipped off of my fingertip and hit me in my aiming eye. OUCH!) Make as straight a plane as possible between your fingertip, aiming eye, and the target. Then, just open the finger and thumb of the hand holding the rear portion of the rubber band. Whack! You should have come pretty close to your aiming point. If not, keep repeating, making any needed minor adjustments, until you hit your target at least 7 out of 10 times. When you get to this point, you’re ready to stalk your prey. (By the way, although I am right-handed, with the rubber band I use my left hand to shoot from. You’ll need to figure out which hand works best for you.)

As any successful hunter knows, you’ve got to go to where the game is unless you want to come home empty handed. The same holds true for the sport of insect hunting (hereafter referred to as insecting). The most fertile hunting ground in my house, and I suspect many houses, is the basement. A basement is like an insect magnet, probably because it’s an easy means of ingress for the little critters. We finished our basement several years ago, but that didn’t stop the never-ending procession of water bugs (aka roly polys) and spiders. I’ve lost count of the number of spiders I have killed, both by shoe and rubber band, over the years, but it has to be many dozens. Find the place(s) in your home where you have been invaded, then get to work insecting.

Once your quarry has been located, use the skill you’ve practiced to obtain to dispatch it swiftly and efficiently. Aim for center mass as you draw your rubber band to full length (don’t forget that eye protection), and make as flat a plane as you can between your aiming eye, the tip of your finger, and your target. Get as close as you think you need to (but please, no closer than 4 feet…5 to 6 feet is much more sporting) and let ‘er fly. Great, one dead insect!

Here’s where that damp cloth comes into play, especially if you’ve just splattered the creature against the wall. Wipe off the residue immediately, otherwise you run the risk of staining the area. Believe me, if your wife sees the mess you made, she’s not going to be too happy, and you may find yourself repainting a room, which could dampen your enthusiasm for your new hobby. Be safe--wipe up your slop. Don’t forget to clean off your rubber band also.

If you miss, the insect, especially spiders, I have found, usually obligingly stick around for another try, particularly if they are ensconced in their webs. Flies are less amenable to giving you another chance, but they usually alight again somewhere nearby after a few seconds of agitated buzzing, affording the opportunity for redemption.

So, there you have it. A sport that offers a tiny bit of the excitement of hunting that’s likely no more than a few steps from any point in your house. Granted, it will never replace real hunting, but some days, it’ll do.

*****

Take care.
DAL357

It's been a while.

As my many reader (that's not a typo) have no doubt noticed, it's been a while since my last post. That's due to a couple of reasons. One, my ability to connect to the 'Net did not exist for nearly the last week due to a Qwest-purchased DSL modem that is no longer under warranty that failed. Qwest was happy to replace the modem, for SIXTY! bucks, but at least the new modem is twice as fast as the old one, so I suppose I shouldn't complain too much. Two, I refuse to live for a blog, as so many others seem to do. I'll post when I feel like it, but cyberspace doesn't rule my life, and I feel sad for those who allow it to. Pahnyahtnah (Russian for understood)?

On Monday, June 25, I went to help a friend realize his dream in southern Colorado. This friend, whom I'll call Roger, bought some land outside of La Veta and is building a house on it. While building it, he's been living in a rented cabin with all of his worldly possessions. I went to help him move some of his heavier goods (furniture, large, free-standing power tools, etc.). When I left on Wednesday, we had moved the majority of the items that required the attention of more than one person into his partially-completed home. Mission accomplished.

Redoubtable Roger's Retreat

I also went to the area to do a little solo camping, but the weather was uncooperative, a not-too-unusual occurrence in Colorado, so that didn't happen. Maybe it's just me, but I don't enjoy heavy rain while camping.

One bright spot, though, aside from the friendly visit, was seeing my first bear in the wild. While taking a scenic drive through the area mountains and valleys, I spotted a wide, black form about 150 yards to my right in a field. I quickly pulled over and, sure enough, it was a bear. I snatched the camera and snapped a photo and then traded the camera for my binocular. What appeared to be an ink-black black bear from a distance turned out to be a dark-brown black bear with a wide arse and body (I mean female-Wal-mart-shopper wide) and a tan muzzle. The bear was on the very edge of the field, near the forest line, and he only stayed exposed for perhaps a minute, then he waddled into the woods. Although I've never seen a black bear in the flesh, save the zoo, I've seen enough hunting photos of harvested black bears to know that this was a large, mature bear. I count myself lucky to have seen this animal.

See the bear? I took the photo and I can't, but he's there, somewhere, right of center.

Take care,
DAL357

Animals (sometimes) attack!

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep..." and, sometimes, extremely challenging. The vast majority of the time a venture into the wilderness is safe, save for those rare exceptions like the one recounted below. Thank goodness the boy's okay. I hope his family, and others who have read/will read this cautionary tale, learned something about preparing for wild-animal encounters, like carrying bear spray AND/or a firearm (notice the emphasis on and?).

Take care.
DAL357

http://www.9news.com/news/article.aspx?storyid=70286
BOULDER - The Feldmans never heard the mountain lion before she struck. A wildlife official estimated the 83-pound cat tracked them for 45 minutes as they hiked near Artist's Point on Flagstaff Mountain.

This is the story of how then 7-year-old Shir Feldman survived a mountain lion attack, how his family fought to save him, and how the ordeal changed them all.

While rare, studies show that mountain lion attacks have increased in recent decades, likely due to habitat reduction, increased human recreation and human encroachment.

According to a report by the Colorado Division of Wildlife, since 2003 there have been seven fatal and 38 non-fatal attacks of humans by mountain lions in the United States and Canada. Sightings and interactions with mountain lions have increased on the Front Range and a DOW pilot plan for a long-term study of cougars has been proposed and is now being considered by the City of Boulder.

For their part, the Feldmans say they hold no grudges against mountain lions in general. They say they now look at the attack on their child as a gift of a deeper appreciation for life and told their story to 9NEWS in hopes it would help educate, and possibly inspire, others.

"You can't really plan everything," said Anat Feldman, Shir's mother. "When things come and they're not always such good surprises, you should always focus on what good it can teach you or how you can grow from it, become stronger from it and affect other people from it."

In April 2006 the Feldmans were visiting Boulder and their 19-year-old son, Tal, a student at the University of Colorado.

They were enjoying a hike on a clear spring afternoon and at about 5:30 p.m., the family began heading back to their car. Anat walked about 40 yards ahead with Tal and one of the twins, 7-year-old Gaul. The other twin, Shir, ambled behind holding the hand of his dad, Zur, and pausing from time to time to collect pine cones.

Even as he felt his son's hand push away from his, Zur Feldman said he was not alarmed – he thought Shir had stopped to inspect another potential treasure.

Then he heard Shir scream and Zur whirled around.

"It took me probably a few seconds to understand what I'm seeing," he recalled. "I saw Shir's head in the mountain lion's jaws."

In an instant, carrying his 46-pound son by the head in her mouth, the mountain lion was gone, running down the mountain.

Following the sound of his son's screams, 47-year-old Zur sprinted after the mountain lion. Born in Israel, he had served three years in the Israeli defense force before moving to the U.S., and had kept in shape, running five miles several times a week.

However, this animal was fast. Scrambling down the side of the rocky and heavily treed mountain, also screaming and roaring as he ran, Zur tripped and fell, losing sight of the lion and snatching up rocks in his hands as he leapt back on his feet.

Glimpsing her again, he says he does not remember when he threw the rocks, but he knows they did not reach the animal. He tripped a second time, again losing sight of the lion, and this time picked up handfuls of sticks before frantically resuming his run.

He would later recall that his thoughts were racing at what felt like a thousand miles a second. Memories of Shir's life, from the time he was a baby, flashed through his mind.

"I didn't care what happened to me," Zur said. "I really wanted him to be in my hands again."

Suddenly, Zur came upon the lion, who stood 20 feet in front of him. She had stopped running and was still holding Shir in her mouth. She dropped the now motionless boy on the forest floor and turned to face Feldman, who threw his sticks at the lion as he ran toward her.

"I remember her eyes, and she's posing, and he's on the leaves,' he said. "I thought, 'She's going to jump and attack me,' and I was ready to engage."

At that moment, Tal arrived. Crashing through the woods, waving his arms and screaming, the 19-year-old ran toward his father, brother and the lion.

The lion hesitated, Zur said, still looking at him. Then she turned and ran, leaving Shir, who was still.

"I thought Shir was gone," Zur said.

He ran to the boy and as he picked him up and saw his son covered in blood, he felt his emotions welling up, and he remembers struggling to stay in control.

Then he saw Shir's eyes, open and very much alive.

"His eyes said so much," Zur recalled.

Carrying Shir, Zur and Tal began running back up the mountain, with Zur talking to his son in both English and Hebrew.

"I asked him, 'Stay with me, Shir. Stay with me,'" he said, and Shir signaled with his eyes in response.

At they neared the top of the trail, Zur saw his wife, Anat, who had been waiting with Gaul, the other twin.

Anat says she never glimpsed the lion – it ran away with Shir before she realized it had struck – but she knew after hearing her husband and son Tal scream that the family was under attack.

"I anticipated, I don't know why, that it's a bear," Anat said. "I was thinking that we would probably be attacked next and then I will just – I will protect Gaul, and whatever it is. That vicious thing that has attacked us will have to finish me before it gets to Gaul."

Upon seeing her husband holding Shir, who was torn and bloody, Anat said she ran to take the boy. At first, Zur could not let go, but she finally convinced him to let her hold Shir so Zur could catch his breath.

The family then began to run back to their car in the parking lot, with Zur and Tal taking turns holding Shir while Anat called 911.

"Shir had a lot of open wounds," she recalled. "I remember I was begging them, I was screaming at them, I was just telling them … to please hurry up."

Gaul, Shir's twin, was silent on the race back to the car, the Feldmans recall. At one point, when his father dropped a water bottle, Gaul picked it up and then continued to run quietly beside his father.

After reaching the parking lot, they put Shir into their car while they waited for an ambulance. Paramedics then took Shir to Community Hospital in Boulder. He was then transferred to Children's Hospital in Denver, where surgeons worked for seven hours to repair his wounds.

Since it is policy that any mountain lion who injures a human is put down, the lion that attacked Shir was tracked and killed that night.

The lion's claws left deep punctures in Shir's stomach and thighs, yet none of them hit a vital organ or vein. His jaw was shattered, and his mouth was torn, as well as his scalp. In all, he received 180 stitches, and steel plates were inserted in his shattered jaw. His mouth was also wired shut.

Looking back, Shir's parents both marvel that his encounter with the mountain lion did not take his life. Not only was it remarkable that his neck was not broken, they say, but the fact the lion took him by the head prevented severe brain injuries as she dragged him over rocks for about 180 feet down the mountain – or half the length of a football field.

One cut his son received, Zur said, "Was a split of a hair from the main artery."

Within days, his jaws still wired shut, Shir returned to school. After the last surgery, when the steel plates were removed from his jaw, the family decided to take a two-week RV trip to major wilderness parks throughout the west – including Colorado.

"It was great to see how naturally the boys ran on the trails and climbed the rocks and had a lot of fun," Anat said. "That actually was the best gift – life goes on."

"Shir is great. He's back to his life, which is another miracle," said Anat.

The only visible reminders of the attack are a few fading scars on his face and neck.

"Obviously, it was Zur and Tal who did the right thing and saved Shir's life," Anat said, "but us working as a team was also an important lesson to the family."

While Shir was in the hospital, their 23-year-old daughter, Shai, flew home from college so the family would be together.

More than anything, Anat says she struggles to articulate to her husband her gratitude and admiration over his determination to save their son.

"I don't think I've expressed it enough," she said, "until now."

One irony, she says, is that the attack on Shir is the second potentially deadly encounter with a wild animal for one of the twins.

When he was nearly 2 years old, Gaul, now 8, was bitten on the hand by a rattlesnake as he played in a school yard in Sacramento, Calif.

Gaul nearly died, yet now all he has to show from it is a scar that runs the length of his right arm.

"Animals don't like us," Gaul said with a laugh. "I love animals – these animals didn't like us for a reason. Maybe the mountain lion was hungry. Maybe I pulled the rattlesnake or touched it."

If they had one message to give others, Zur and Anat Feldman say, it would be: Never give up.

"This really emphasized that you never know what the outcome will be until you go through everything you have in you," Zur said. "I don't think there's a glory here. I think we all approached it as something that happened, and we need to make the best out of it, and we can really make it."

"It's a gift," he said, "to really go through this kind of experience and know that you can face it successfully."
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