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[InMyHumbleOpinion] Dis One Is For Da Boids

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  • Chandra K. Clarke
    n My Humble Opinion (c) 1997-2002 Chandra K. Clarke ... HAVE A COW DUDE Real Holstein cows on a real farm, choose your favorite. Sign up and follow her
    Message 1 of 1 , Jul 1 12:46 AM
      n My Humble Opinion
      (c) 1997-2002 Chandra K. Clarke

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      Dis One Is For Da Boids

      Somebody in my family (I won't name names, but I'll call him "Dad")
      has a real thing for encouraging and fostering wildlife. So much so,
      that our other nickname for "Dad" is "St. Francis of Assisi." (This
      is not what my Mother usually calls him when he does these things,
      but that's another story).

      What this means is that anyone visiting the family home feels like
      they've just walked onto the set of a National Geographic special.
      This is because we have no less than nine different feeders and about
      five houses, not to mention all the various bushes, flower patches,
      trees, gardens and other assorted habitats.

      All of this would make the perfect setting for a writer, except for
      one problem: the wildlife is starting to get, well, pushy.

      Take, for example, our little gang of squirrels. Not content with
      eating any one of the 3,000 pine cones that fall out of the trees on
      a daily basis, the little thugs have developed quite a racket.

      First, there's Rocky "Mission Impossible" TheSquirrel who has learned
      how to strip all four cobs of corn off the `squirrel twirler' in 25
      minutes or less by hanging upside like a furry Tom Cruise. Then
      there's Scarface Capone, last year's embattled veteran, who figured
      out how to send the bird feeder in the tree crashing to the ground.
      His partner-in-crime is Nutsy MacPherson, who must be Scottish,
      because to dump out the seed, he heaves up one end of the feeder like
      he's tossing a caber.

      Yet another squirrel (we don't know who, yet - because they may be
      rodents, but they never rat each other out), has stormed the front
      porch and chewed a hole in the plastic feed bin. This one mustn't be
      a `made' squirrel though: the little wise guy hasn't made the hole
      quite big enough, and he keeps getting caught with his little
      squirrel butt hanging out the bin.

      Their leader? Don Squirrelione, of course. I figure he must be a
      Soprano, because when he told me he was going to "make me an offer I
      couldn't refuse" he had a really high, squeaky voice.

      The squirrels don't work alone. They've hired Chip "Baby Face" Munk,
      and his brother Thelonious to steal seeds. Pretty Boy Floyd, the
      oriole from Baltimore, is the lookout. The racoons, with their little
      black face masks, do the night burglaries. They hire the doves for
      mourning duty when they lose one of their own.

      And the local muscle? Two hummingbirds, Bonnie and Clyde. You laugh,
      but ask anyone who's ever put out hummingbird feeders - they are the
      single most aggressive species on the planet. I now firmly believe
      the birds-are-descended-from-dinosaurs theory: hummingbirds are just
      miniature pterodactyls.

      Do I have witnesses for these crimes? Not really. The possum just
      plays dead. None of the birds are stool pigeons. Pepe? He's usually
      drunk as a skunk, or else raising a big stink about something else.
      Louise is just a snake in the grass who can't be trusted. As for the
      rabbits, they spend most of their time breeding like... well, you
      know.

      Things got worse last Friday, when "Dad" brought home someone I'll
      call "Petunia" (names changed to protect the innocent). The poor deer
      had been orphaned; we can only assume her mother had been rubbed out
      by a rival squirrel gang; perhaps she knew too much. Cute as a bug's
      ear this one - we were soon fawning all over her.

      But we couldn't keep her: as everyone knows, nothing runs like a
      deer, and there's too much traffic nearby. So we smuggled her to a
      safehouse in the country, where some friends of ours prepared her for
      a new life. This morning, under cover of broad daylight, me and our
      deer friend took a truck ride to a witness protection plan centre,
      which uses a wildlife refuge as a front. The upside of the story?
      Petunia has a new friend, an even younger orphan I'll call "Nobby"
      (she was all knees.) The downside? I now smell distinctly of Eau De
      Bambi - deer get nervous in trucks. Anyone who met me this afternoon
      sniffed, and said: "Oh deer me."

      So the next time anyone tells you they plan to retire to the country
      to write in peace and quiet, tell them from me:

      Getting anything done around here is like pulling a rabbit out of a
      hat.

      (Don't believe me? See for yourself at:
      http://www.chandrakclarke.com/squirrels.htm)

      -30-

      -------
      Re: Last week's column: Every Breath You Take

      Of course, since worker bees are all female (male bees do nothing but
      try to impregnate the Queen), the Pentagon scientist would more
      accurately be saying: Good bee! That'a girl!"

      Advertisers for the bomb-seeking bees might well make commercials
      saying, "Got a bomb? With our bees to help, it's all a matter of
      Boom -- or Buzzed!"

      -- Len R. of Inwood

      -------
      Chandra,

      I thought you were kidding when you wrote last week about the
      Pentagon training bees as bomb detectors. Then I saw the story in my
      local newspaper. You know what? I think I'd rather have them go back
      to spending $500 for a hammer.

      Dan in Idaho

      -----
      >WHAT IT MEANS: A) The new movie - Kermit: My Life as a Narc.

      So *that's* what the Muppets were singing about in "The Rainbow
      Connection!"

      Darlene Kirk, New Zealand

      -----

      > A) On at least one occasion, bees will swarm their target just a
      little too enthusiastically, and we will suddenly have a lot of bee
      bits floating through the air.

      Ew!

      > C) There will be an unfortunate incident involving a bomb-detecting
      bee, a drug-detecting frog, and a drug-sniffing dog.

      Double ew! I hope this doesn't happen when _I'm_ at the airport!

      Cindy, British Columbia

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      In My Humble Opinion
      (c) 1997 - 2002 By Chandra K. Clarke
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