Friday, January 13, 2006
Nevermore quote the Raven!
Today no one would ever suspect a bird of any kind of foul deed unless one had seen Hitchcock’s The Birds. Shakespeare and others have cultivated a kind and gentle image for our flying friends. Sylvester is always stalking Tweety Bird and not vice versa. That image is definitely deceptive. My first inkling that something was amiss came about thirty years ago when we had a Siamese housecat by the name of Zita who was named after the last Hapsburg Empress. We had moved to a new house with a screenporch, which was quickly adopted by her royal highness as her favorite haunt. A bluejay spotted her while she was basking in the sunlight and began to tease her. The teasing continued unmercifully for several weeks. One day on the spur of the moment, I made a rash decision to let Zita out into the backyard. Big mistake! The cat had led a sheltered life and had never been outside before. She saw that bluejay who was momentarily distracted and immediately her animal instincts took over as she crouched down and began to stalk her nemesis. She slinked forward in slow motion. Suddenly our feathered friend spotted her and let out a loud raucous noise that sounded like “Cat!” He shrieked “Cat” over and over and over again. Soon hundreds and hundred of birds of all descriptions flocked to a nearby oak tree which was bereft of all its leaves. The neighborhood bully continued to shout “Cat!” It was an eerie moment. The jay meant ill will toward the cat and had summoned every bird within a range of at least a mile for the spectacle that was about to commence. Zita by now had become quite alarmed, and with good cause. She turned and made a mad dash back inside the screenporch. It was a learning moment for me and the Siamese. A wild bird just can’t be trusted, especially one with a shrieking war cry!
Additional evidence piled up over the ensuing years. One graduate student studying eagles in Yellowstone watched in horror as four ravens killed 141 grebes in a matter of minutes. Not being selfish they shared their meal with nearby eagles. A University of Vermont graduate student observed a group of ravens dropping rocks and catching them in mid-air. Catching rocks was apparently too boring for a flock of ravens in Russia. They began to drop rocks on a daily basis on a glass roofed structured in Moscow. They apparently took great delight in watching the residents frantically trying to avoid broken glass and their missiles. I don’t think the ravens were reveling over the fall of communism. There are also historical accounts of ravens dropping rocks on ostrich eggs in ancient Egypt. Then just a couple of years ago an Eagle dropped a huge limb on a pickup truck in Haines, Alaska. The ravens in Yellowstone have become so mischievous that park rangers have had to post warning signs near Old Faithful about the thieving critters. They can pillage backpacks in the flash of an eye making off with the real goodies and are notorious for leaving behind unwanted items such as Kleenex. Knots are not a deterrent as they can easily untie them. They have pilfered such items as maps, sunglasses, keys and cameras. Say “Cheese!”
In the last few years scientists have come up with a startling conclusion about our “feathered friends.”
Dinosaurs and birds share 100 skeletal features. Scientists may disagree about whether birds are descended from dinosaurs or dinosaurs are descended from birds. But they agree it is one or the other. If you have every gasped in awe at one of those models of a long necked Brachiosaurus, you might take a moment and think of an ostrich or an emu. Similar necks might also help explain the nasty disposition of those two flightless birds. They both lay eggs. Another shared feature is the wishbone. Every T-Rex had one. Imagine coming up with the short end of one of those. Speaking of T-Rex, in the Arabian Nights there is an account of huge eagle-like bird called a Roc that was able to carry off and eat elephants. The Roc might not have been totally fictious. Until 500 years ago an Elephant Bird lived in Madagascar that was about 10 feet tall and weighed a 1000 pounds. That is a lot of T-Rex!
Ok? So birds can be vicious and ill tempered and don’t really like humans or cats. What can they do about it? Germ warfare comes to mind! West Nile and Bird flu to be more precise. . Think of thousands of infected kamikaze birds winging their way toward you without any Kleenex to stifle their germs. If someone ever tells you that you eat like a bird, just remember that there is probably a little snippet of a T-Rex in there.
Today no one would ever suspect a bird of any kind of foul deed unless one had seen Hitchcock’s The Birds. Shakespeare and others have cultivated a kind and gentle image for our flying friends. Sylvester is always stalking Tweety Bird and not vice versa. That image is definitely deceptive. My first inkling that something was amiss came about thirty years ago when we had a Siamese housecat by the name of Zita who was named after the last Hapsburg Empress. We had moved to a new house with a screenporch, which was quickly adopted by her royal highness as her favorite haunt. A bluejay spotted her while she was basking in the sunlight and began to tease her. The teasing continued unmercifully for several weeks. One day on the spur of the moment, I made a rash decision to let Zita out into the backyard. Big mistake! The cat had led a sheltered life and had never been outside before. She saw that bluejay who was momentarily distracted and immediately her animal instincts took over as she crouched down and began to stalk her nemesis. She slinked forward in slow motion. Suddenly our feathered friend spotted her and let out a loud raucous noise that sounded like “Cat!” He shrieked “Cat” over and over and over again. Soon hundreds and hundred of birds of all descriptions flocked to a nearby oak tree which was bereft of all its leaves. The neighborhood bully continued to shout “Cat!” It was an eerie moment. The jay meant ill will toward the cat and had summoned every bird within a range of at least a mile for the spectacle that was about to commence. Zita by now had become quite alarmed, and with good cause. She turned and made a mad dash back inside the screenporch. It was a learning moment for me and the Siamese. A wild bird just can’t be trusted, especially one with a shrieking war cry!
Additional evidence piled up over the ensuing years. One graduate student studying eagles in Yellowstone watched in horror as four ravens killed 141 grebes in a matter of minutes. Not being selfish they shared their meal with nearby eagles. A University of Vermont graduate student observed a group of ravens dropping rocks and catching them in mid-air. Catching rocks was apparently too boring for a flock of ravens in Russia. They began to drop rocks on a daily basis on a glass roofed structured in Moscow. They apparently took great delight in watching the residents frantically trying to avoid broken glass and their missiles. I don’t think the ravens were reveling over the fall of communism. There are also historical accounts of ravens dropping rocks on ostrich eggs in ancient Egypt. Then just a couple of years ago an Eagle dropped a huge limb on a pickup truck in Haines, Alaska. The ravens in Yellowstone have become so mischievous that park rangers have had to post warning signs near Old Faithful about the thieving critters. They can pillage backpacks in the flash of an eye making off with the real goodies and are notorious for leaving behind unwanted items such as Kleenex. Knots are not a deterrent as they can easily untie them. They have pilfered such items as maps, sunglasses, keys and cameras. Say “Cheese!”
In the last few years scientists have come up with a startling conclusion about our “feathered friends.”
Dinosaurs and birds share 100 skeletal features. Scientists may disagree about whether birds are descended from dinosaurs or dinosaurs are descended from birds. But they agree it is one or the other. If you have every gasped in awe at one of those models of a long necked Brachiosaurus, you might take a moment and think of an ostrich or an emu. Similar necks might also help explain the nasty disposition of those two flightless birds. They both lay eggs. Another shared feature is the wishbone. Every T-Rex had one. Imagine coming up with the short end of one of those. Speaking of T-Rex, in the Arabian Nights there is an account of huge eagle-like bird called a Roc that was able to carry off and eat elephants. The Roc might not have been totally fictious. Until 500 years ago an Elephant Bird lived in Madagascar that was about 10 feet tall and weighed a 1000 pounds. That is a lot of T-Rex!
Ok? So birds can be vicious and ill tempered and don’t really like humans or cats. What can they do about it? Germ warfare comes to mind! West Nile and Bird flu to be more precise. . Think of thousands of infected kamikaze birds winging their way toward you without any Kleenex to stifle their germs. If someone ever tells you that you eat like a bird, just remember that there is probably a little snippet of a T-Rex in there.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
White Fang!
Jack London wrote astutely about the savage nature of dogs. In Call of the Wild Curly was viciously attacked and killed by Spitz. His crime? He just wanted to be friends. A dog’s friendship can be fickle to say the least. They can be cunning at times—especially when they are pretending to be man’s best friend. When I was still a teenager my sister deposited Tip, a mean-spirited Chihuahua, with Mom and Dad because Tip like many if not most Chihuahuas did not like children. Tip became the third member of a well-organized pack of dogs. Whitey was a massive mixed mongrel who was the official team leader and there was another smallish mixed breed. Dad had a large garden that was overgrown every winter in knee high wire grass. One day he chanced to observe the trio in action. The two smaller dogs were plowing through grass well over their heads driving rabbits toward Whitey who was laying in wait—waiting for the kill. Another time my wife and I went for a walk in a town where there were no leash laws and soon found ourselves accompanied by first one stray dog and then another until the pack had grown to thirteen by last reckoning. A woman we passed on the street wanted to know if all those dogs were ours. We said no. None of them are ours. Just then a heated fight broke out among the pack. So much for a peaceful little stroll. But dogs are that way. They all seem to be afflicted with attention deficit disorder. One moment they are busy lapping away at your hand and then a stray cat wanders past. Do they continue to lavish you with their affection? No way! They are off to the chase faster than a speeding bullet. I once had a neighbor who had a big St. Bernard by the name of Alfie. Don drove a small BMG (that is an oxymoron because by nature all BMG’s are small). Every morning Don pulled out of his driveway with Alfie in hot pursuit. It was always a question if Don would make it through the intersection before Alfie pounced on the BMG and squashed it like a bug. Alfie never learned the meaning of “Stay!” Once as I walked to a small garden plot that a well-intentioned neighbor had provided for me in his cornfield, I looked up and saw Alfie trailing a few yards behind me. To my horror I realized that he was knocking over Mr. Waller’s corn stalks. I tried to shush Alfie away. It was a disaster. He raced wildly through the cornfield flattening three rows of corn at a time. I spent a whole day repairing the damage. Using a hoe I packed a cone of dirt about a foot high around each trampled stalk. Other than three rows of corn surrounded by mini-volcano cones and a few stalks with bizarre zigzag shapes, Mr. Waller probably never suspected a thing.
Anyone who has ever read Jean Shepherd or seen the Christmas Story knows how Bumpasses’ pack of dogs, all named Red, stormed the Parker household and made off with the Christmas Turkey. Dogs simply do not respect holiday traditions and certainly do not respect turkeys or rabbits—a byproduct of their residual White Fang DNA. During Hurricane Katrina when many dogs were left to shift for themselves, they caused mayhem throughout the city by begetting more puppies. They apparently believe that there is strength in numbers. What would happen if one day the drug dogs at airports instead of sniffing for drugs began to sniff out your choicest loins for a mid-afternoon buffet. All Americans would have to fear for their lower extremities. Don’t think it can’t happen here. Just recently in Freemont, California, a pack of Chihuahuas attacked an officer of the law as he tried to apprehend a suspect. Most cities are already aware of the danger and have passed leash laws to keep these would be terrorists behind fences. What will happen if the country is suddenly confronted with packs of renegade canine corps? What will happen to the American dream if St. Bernards begin to trample the Field of Dreams? Unmitigated Disaster that’s what! Imagine pack of Chihuahuas and Yorkies terrorizing entire neighborhoods. It’s no wonder all athletes fear ankle injuries or attacks. Homeland security would be compelled to banish open-toed shoes. Imagined hordes of Redneck jocks bellowing out off-key chords of “Get along little ‘doggies,’ your misfortune is none of my own,” in the mistaken belief that music will soothe those savage little beasts. It certainly is not a pretty picture. Think White Fang!
Jack London wrote astutely about the savage nature of dogs. In Call of the Wild Curly was viciously attacked and killed by Spitz. His crime? He just wanted to be friends. A dog’s friendship can be fickle to say the least. They can be cunning at times—especially when they are pretending to be man’s best friend. When I was still a teenager my sister deposited Tip, a mean-spirited Chihuahua, with Mom and Dad because Tip like many if not most Chihuahuas did not like children. Tip became the third member of a well-organized pack of dogs. Whitey was a massive mixed mongrel who was the official team leader and there was another smallish mixed breed. Dad had a large garden that was overgrown every winter in knee high wire grass. One day he chanced to observe the trio in action. The two smaller dogs were plowing through grass well over their heads driving rabbits toward Whitey who was laying in wait—waiting for the kill. Another time my wife and I went for a walk in a town where there were no leash laws and soon found ourselves accompanied by first one stray dog and then another until the pack had grown to thirteen by last reckoning. A woman we passed on the street wanted to know if all those dogs were ours. We said no. None of them are ours. Just then a heated fight broke out among the pack. So much for a peaceful little stroll. But dogs are that way. They all seem to be afflicted with attention deficit disorder. One moment they are busy lapping away at your hand and then a stray cat wanders past. Do they continue to lavish you with their affection? No way! They are off to the chase faster than a speeding bullet. I once had a neighbor who had a big St. Bernard by the name of Alfie. Don drove a small BMG (that is an oxymoron because by nature all BMG’s are small). Every morning Don pulled out of his driveway with Alfie in hot pursuit. It was always a question if Don would make it through the intersection before Alfie pounced on the BMG and squashed it like a bug. Alfie never learned the meaning of “Stay!” Once as I walked to a small garden plot that a well-intentioned neighbor had provided for me in his cornfield, I looked up and saw Alfie trailing a few yards behind me. To my horror I realized that he was knocking over Mr. Waller’s corn stalks. I tried to shush Alfie away. It was a disaster. He raced wildly through the cornfield flattening three rows of corn at a time. I spent a whole day repairing the damage. Using a hoe I packed a cone of dirt about a foot high around each trampled stalk. Other than three rows of corn surrounded by mini-volcano cones and a few stalks with bizarre zigzag shapes, Mr. Waller probably never suspected a thing.
Anyone who has ever read Jean Shepherd or seen the Christmas Story knows how Bumpasses’ pack of dogs, all named Red, stormed the Parker household and made off with the Christmas Turkey. Dogs simply do not respect holiday traditions and certainly do not respect turkeys or rabbits—a byproduct of their residual White Fang DNA. During Hurricane Katrina when many dogs were left to shift for themselves, they caused mayhem throughout the city by begetting more puppies. They apparently believe that there is strength in numbers. What would happen if one day the drug dogs at airports instead of sniffing for drugs began to sniff out your choicest loins for a mid-afternoon buffet. All Americans would have to fear for their lower extremities. Don’t think it can’t happen here. Just recently in Freemont, California, a pack of Chihuahuas attacked an officer of the law as he tried to apprehend a suspect. Most cities are already aware of the danger and have passed leash laws to keep these would be terrorists behind fences. What will happen if the country is suddenly confronted with packs of renegade canine corps? What will happen to the American dream if St. Bernards begin to trample the Field of Dreams? Unmitigated Disaster that’s what! Imagine pack of Chihuahuas and Yorkies terrorizing entire neighborhoods. It’s no wonder all athletes fear ankle injuries or attacks. Homeland security would be compelled to banish open-toed shoes. Imagined hordes of Redneck jocks bellowing out off-key chords of “Get along little ‘doggies,’ your misfortune is none of my own,” in the mistaken belief that music will soothe those savage little beasts. It certainly is not a pretty picture. Think White Fang!
Monday, January 09, 2006
Call of the Wild!
When Jack London wrote about the Call of the Wild, he probably had little inkling about just how “wild” some innocent things could be. For instance scientists have recently cataloged the cat family according to a DNA tree and discovered that all domestic cats are descended from the leopard. Yep! That means that cute purring fur ball in your lap has residual leopard DNA within its heart. In fact an Arkansas judge has ruled that a kitten is not a “domesticated” animal. That is something that most cat owners have suspected for years. I once was acquainted with a cat in Houston who was known by his alias Budweiser. No one knew his real name but since he resided in a cardboard Budweiser container, his enemies (he had no friends) always simply called him Budweiser. He weighed about 25 pounds and looked like a wildcat. Dave, the manager of the apartment complex where we lived, gave us explicit instructions to never but never try to pet him. One look at him was sufficient to convince you that those words were not to be taken lightly. One day I saw him strolling casually across the street when a large dog suddenly appeared around the corner with aggressive intent written all over his face. It was a tempting sight for any canine—a cat in the open with no place to hide or run. The dog took two or three steps toward Budweiser before he looked up. Spotting the cat he turned and ran the opposite direction as fast as he could. When I asked Dave about this unusual turn of events, he told me that every dog in the neighborhood was terrified of Budweiser. At some point or another they had tangled with old Bud and had all come up on the short end of the stick. He was no Bud Lite. He was meaner than any junkyard dog. I used to have a cat by the name of Fluffy but that name was equally deceptive. He could be cute and cuddly and loved being taken for a walk. However, he was a born hunter. I don’t mean lizards and rats but squirrels and full –grown rabbits. I once watched as he mixed it up in a furious life and death match with a fox squirrel. Fluffy came out the winner. Fluffy unfortunately developed a bad habit of eating the heads of the squirrels and leaving you with nothing but the headless remains. We have all seen cats toying with captive rodents, tossing them to and fro for their amusement. The practice is not quite gentile but it does reveal the cat’s true nature. They are barbaric to the core but with a carefully groomed reputation of sweet and cuddly. So you thought you knew all about your cat. Think again! If you have every heard a blood curdling panther scream in the middle of the night, you know the meaning of safety first. OK! So neither you nor I have ever heard such a scream. However, we have all heard the woeful screeching of a cat on the prowl, but did you ever think that it could be your sweet little kitty doing the screeching? Think! Leopard DNA! Think before your rub the cat’s fur the wrong way. Think call of the wild!
When Jack London wrote about the Call of the Wild, he probably had little inkling about just how “wild” some innocent things could be. For instance scientists have recently cataloged the cat family according to a DNA tree and discovered that all domestic cats are descended from the leopard. Yep! That means that cute purring fur ball in your lap has residual leopard DNA within its heart. In fact an Arkansas judge has ruled that a kitten is not a “domesticated” animal. That is something that most cat owners have suspected for years. I once was acquainted with a cat in Houston who was known by his alias Budweiser. No one knew his real name but since he resided in a cardboard Budweiser container, his enemies (he had no friends) always simply called him Budweiser. He weighed about 25 pounds and looked like a wildcat. Dave, the manager of the apartment complex where we lived, gave us explicit instructions to never but never try to pet him. One look at him was sufficient to convince you that those words were not to be taken lightly. One day I saw him strolling casually across the street when a large dog suddenly appeared around the corner with aggressive intent written all over his face. It was a tempting sight for any canine—a cat in the open with no place to hide or run. The dog took two or three steps toward Budweiser before he looked up. Spotting the cat he turned and ran the opposite direction as fast as he could. When I asked Dave about this unusual turn of events, he told me that every dog in the neighborhood was terrified of Budweiser. At some point or another they had tangled with old Bud and had all come up on the short end of the stick. He was no Bud Lite. He was meaner than any junkyard dog. I used to have a cat by the name of Fluffy but that name was equally deceptive. He could be cute and cuddly and loved being taken for a walk. However, he was a born hunter. I don’t mean lizards and rats but squirrels and full –grown rabbits. I once watched as he mixed it up in a furious life and death match with a fox squirrel. Fluffy came out the winner. Fluffy unfortunately developed a bad habit of eating the heads of the squirrels and leaving you with nothing but the headless remains. We have all seen cats toying with captive rodents, tossing them to and fro for their amusement. The practice is not quite gentile but it does reveal the cat’s true nature. They are barbaric to the core but with a carefully groomed reputation of sweet and cuddly. So you thought you knew all about your cat. Think again! If you have every heard a blood curdling panther scream in the middle of the night, you know the meaning of safety first. OK! So neither you nor I have ever heard such a scream. However, we have all heard the woeful screeching of a cat on the prowl, but did you ever think that it could be your sweet little kitty doing the screeching? Think! Leopard DNA! Think before your rub the cat’s fur the wrong way. Think call of the wild!
