How to Bedevil Your Beaver

Now that I have your attention by making you think that you're going to read something sexual relating to the female nether regions, please let me disappoint your notion.

To beleaguer a beaver, begin by driving out the in the morning and finding that a tree by the pond has fallen more than halfway across the driveway:

At first, in your sleepy state, wonder what made that tree fall, because there was no snow, ice, hurricanes or tornadoes. In fact there wasn't even a zephyr of a breeze the previous night. You know that because of the number of times you were awakened last night by those pesky squirrels partying in the rafters. Stop thinking about squirrel annihilation, and call your friend who owns the property to report said tree to her, because although cars can squeeze by, no tractor trailer that may be coming down the drive that day will be able to reach the greenhouses to pick up their load of lovely fresh herbs growing there.

No not that kind of herb. Get over it.

Get out of the car and take a look to see that the fallen tree was the overnight shift work of beavers:

Unfortunately, times are hard everywhere, and Bosley Beaver wasn’t allowed to work overtime. That meant that although he managed to get the tree down by the end of his shift, he was unable to stay on the job long enough to strip it and haul it away to the new addition being built on the dam. “Oh well”, thought Mr. Beaver, “I’ll just have to leave it until I come back to work again.”

Imagine Bosley’s bewilderment when he arrived back at work the next evening, only to discover that after spending an entire shift gnawing down a tree, it was no longer where he had left it. He now had to start all over, after reporting the incident so an investigation could be begun into the disappearance of the tree.

The rest of us are now concerned about the fate of the wood guy, who came along and cut up the beaver’s tree for firewood, if the beavers figure out whodunit.

I wonder what type of punishments beavers mete out to tree thieves?

The Grinch Rocks

When mom walked in, daughter and I were sitting casually at the newly assembled table, putting together a puzzle.

Well, actually, we were diddling with the pieces. Neither of us is into puzzles. That was mom’s thing, which is why we had strewn puzzle pieces across the table.

Daughter and I got rid of that stupid Christmas tree in an hour, all neatly boxed, labeled, and stowed in the basement, dragging out the table to put in its place. “What is this?” Mom asked. “What have you done with my tree?”

“Your tree got voted off the island. Would you like to work on this puzzle?” We moved aside as Mom stepped up to the table, trying to act annoyed. But we could tell that she was pleased. She spent the next two hours happily assembling puzzle bits.*

Really, she couldn’t complain, because after all, it wasn’t like she was completely tree-less. Out of the goodness of our grinchy little hearts, and in the spirit of compromise to keep the peace, not because we’re scared of mom or anything, we left her a bit of tree, the top part, nicely planted in a pot. We even strung some lights. I can’t complain about that either, because it makes a handy night light when I have to go downstairs to pee.

But mom may get her revenge. The puzzle that we haphazardly grabbed off the shelf, rushing because we could hear mom approaching from outside, turned out to be a Christmas one, with snow and reindeer and other holiday doodoo dads.

She has threatened to hang it on the wall behind the table when it’s finished.** Where it would be the first thing we would see each and every time we came in the door. BAH HUMBUG!


*Mom is now re-assembling those same bits as I post this. That cat really can fly, but needs to work on her landings a bit more.
**the cat may continue ‘accidentally’ scattering puzzle pieces across the floor, preventing any threat of a holiday scene being finished and hung up in sight of the grinches.

Go, Kitty, Go!

Operation Take Down the Freakin Christmas Tree Already

Back in October, I took on housemates because I couldn’t afford rent. Laying around all summer, instead of earning heaps of money like I usually do, took a big toll on more than my health. Originally three people moved in, but Grandma went back to Poland after a month, leaving me mother and 13 year old daughter.

I was sure I’d get plenty of blog fodder, as they drove me up the wall and out of my house. But that didn’t happen. Mainly because they argue in Polish, so I don’t know what’s going on, but also because I love and respect them both.

Except for that one thing, when Mom started putting up the Christmas tree on Thanksgiving weekend.

Daughter and I worship the Grinch. He’s our hero. In fact, we’re still fighting over the grinch pants my aunt gave me during the holidays. When the tree got set up, we objected strenuously, begging her to at least wait until December, with me pointing out that it was the twelve days of Christmas, not 120. All to no avail. Up the tree went.

As we enter the third week of January, there’s no sign that the tree will ever be taken down. It’s time for it to go. I said so over the weekend.

"No." said mom. "Not until March. Maybe later."

Freak that. Daughter and I have begun a ‘dismantle the tree’ campaign, enlisting the animals. We're going to make good use of “Cat did it”, the most spoken phrase in the house, as all sorts of stuff, much of it ten times heavier than the cat, gets knocked down/over/off, during the cat’s daily insane flying fits.

Unfortunately, the tree has stoutly withstood the cat’s antics, so we have a plan, beginning with ornaments disappearing a few at a time, escalating to loose branches, a wobbly stand, and ending with wildly cavorting animals creating a big crash. We’ll have this sucker down before the end of the month. The two grinches in this house won’t grow bigger hearts like that pansy in the movie. Christmas is OVER!

The mission is well underway:
Search


Remove


Destroy!
And that dang red holiday crap carpet that makes me so want to pee on it is also outta here.

Quake Safe Homes*

* Disclaimer: Side effects of unsafe placement may be fatal. Do not place your quake proof home near any ‘solid’ man-made structures, such as buildings, bridges, dams, electrical wires or large obnoxious vehicles. Avoid placing near sizable trees, hills that may collapse, or near sites of possible rock slides, avalanches or tidal waves.With proper placement, while these homes may very well fall down upon you in a quake, the worst that would happen is that you would say “Ouch, *#%^!*,” crawl out, rub your aching head, and have to set it back up again.

More Proof That Humans are Idiots

This year’s conference opened by citing the human article that stated:

'Scientists say dolphins should be treated as 'non-human persons'. Dolphins have been declared the world’s second most intelligent creatures after humans, with scientists suggesting they are so bright that they should be treated as “non-human persons”. The researchers argue that their work shows it is morally unacceptable to keep such intelligent animals in amusement parks or to kill them for food or by accident when fishing. The scientific research . . . suggests that dolphins are ‘non-human persons’ who qualify for moral standing as individuals.'

While we applaud this conclusion if it leads to a bid to stop the murder and enslavement of our mates, having our intelligence compared to that of humans is downright insulting.

This article only serves to prove that human beings are persisting in their outrageous belief that they are intelligent, despite their complete inability to live within the natural habitat this planet provides for them. The only reason these creatures didn’t die off a long time ago is because of their creation and use of tools. Somehow, this gives them the erroneous impression that they are better than any other creature on the planet. However, our studies have proven that any human placed outside, in any environment, be it field, jungle, lake or ocean, without tools, without protective covering, does not survive for long, unlike every other species in existence.

Originally, we found this human shortcoming of needing tools to survive to be quaint and amusing. We had no qualms about permitting them to carry on. After all, the ships they built provided us with our own Olympic venue and athletic training centers for our youth. We were able to use the detritus left in the ocean to create our underwater entertainment centers, which as everyone knows, have been highly popular. Watching human efforts to flail about in our element was always a great show, as well as providing valuable research into their behavior.

And of course, what humans did on land was not our concern. However, in recent years, their numbers have increased so alarmingly that our own well being is now threatened. The manufacturing processes involved in the making of the sheer amount of tools that the human species needs simply to get through a single day, is starting to affect our oceans to the point that, in the next several generations, our descendants’ health and well being may be severely affected.

It is time to act. In order to attempt to control the exponential growth of this species, we are in the process of setting up legislation banning aid to any human, as was previously encouraged. No longer are we permitted to assist them when they’re in distress, take them home and play with them, keep them as pets, or leave food out for them. Also, we’re forming research teams with sharks, to determine an effective way to reduce their numbers. Hunting seasons and quotas may need to be mandated in a bid to manage the quantity, before we are forced to say “goodbye and thanks for all the fish.”

Save me

Is there a group for recovering addicts, in particular for those poor sailor souls who are hung up on palm trees and tropical ocean breezes? Because over the weekend, as the white stuff piled up outside, blowing sideways in a definitely-not-the-least-bit-balmy force 8 breeze, I spent several hours trolling yachtworld, looking at sailboats I can never afford. Heck, even if the quintessential sailing vessel landed in my yard for free, I still couldn’t afford it.

My self hypnosis program, entitled ‘palm trees are for pansies, strong people shovel’, is failing me. I feel myself slipping, getting that ‘Florida feeling’, which is a terrible state, because, well, Florida is a terrible state. Still, there it is: a strong urge to flee the white stuff and fondle a coconut.

Maybe I should at least get my car heater fixed. Maybe then I’d be able to stay on the snow wagon?