(Why I'm Still Breathing)
When the cow was dry, she was compliant.
When she calved, she turned vicious
and no fence could hold her,
but she gave milk in abundance,
and Dad refused to sell her.
She chased Mother 'round and 'round the barn
until Mom panicked, climbed the corner logs,
and perched under the roof,
clinging like a cicada shell on a weed-pod.
Beasty pawed and bellowed until Dad came home.
"I could gain on her on the corners,"
Mother said, "because I could turn faster,
but she gained on me on the straightaway."
Plug-ugly tore through the fence,
into the garden, where Mom and I worked.
"Run, Cona Faye, run," my mother shouted.
How did she know? The cow passed Mother
and thundered straight for me. I ran.
At the fence, snorts filled my ears. Hot breath
steamed my back. I saw myself stomped,
pulverized into the dirt. I turned, screaming
at full volume, and flailed my arms
like a windmill in a strong wind.
That old red cow locked her front legs
and skidded like a freight train on full brake.
I seized the moment, and scaled that rail fence.
A most unfortunate event
has occurred at our house.
It's embarrassing to admit,
We have a resident mouse.
The elusive little devil
has avoided every trap.
Though set in various places,
we've yet to hear a snap.
We have a playful tomcat
who loves his toy mouse,
carries it clutched in his teeth
to flip, toss and pounce.
Unfortunately, he performs
the same with a live one.
I'm urging, "Get it, kill it,"
he's too busy having fun.
Again and again he turns
it loose, enjoying the chase.
The mouse runs for his life,
hopeful of winning the race.
The crafty little victim
eludes the slothful brute,
scuttles down a heat vent,
leaves Tom to other pursuits.
Whereupon he saunters around,
searching for his toy mouse.
We're left with a useless cat
and a mouse in the house.
Hmmm, where do I start? With deep sighs, I am sighing right now.
I just finished burying 2 lizards, and my heart is heavy...
Let me back up a bit...bear with me if I might turn out to be confusing here,
but I just need to write this, release something, in some way
Although I must admit, this is not exactly what I had in mind to write for this day,
hopefully I can write something more decent later...
I have been wanting to write something for my brother since yesterday,
since February 26 is his 10th year death anniversary.
The words remained stuck in my heart, 'til I fell asleep.
Visited him again today, heard mass for him,
ate a Chinese dinner with my parents and sister, went home.
I now needed dessert. Got a piece of Ferrero Rocher, but just one wouldn't do.
So I got a piece of Almond Roca this time and ate it while walking.
All this time, I have managed to keep my tears away
but maybe somehow, someway, if tears want to fall, they will find a way?
I walk to that area again as I ate that piece of chocolate-
when what do you know, what do you know??
I stepped on a lizard. Again
Yes. Almost exactly the Same area, tail falls off, and the lizard skitters away.
But. I did not slip this time. But, yes, I still screamed, scaring everybody again.
I. Could. Not. Simply. Believe. IT.
One month and 25 days after, I step on a lizard. Again.
Today, of all days. As if I needed more reason to be sadder.
This time around, I had the sense to try to find that lizard.
I had to know if it lived, if it was okay.
I pushed away the nearby cabinet.
And there it was.
Rather, and there they were.
The lizard that I stepped on now
and the petrified remains of the lizard that I stepped on on new year's day...
the other one didn't live after all :(
I know it was that lizard, same area, no tail, who else could it be?
Survival mechanism, no match for my killer foot.
By this time, I am crying, sobbing.
Seriously, the tears just start falling, and my heart so heavy.
And I know it's from the combination of so many things.
The day itself, what I had just done, just things running through me.
What broke my heart, was to see that lizard.
I was wearing rubber shoes this time, last time I was wearing slippers.
And its guts had spilled from its sides.
I couldn't help but keep on saying, "Oh, oh, oh lizard, I am so sorry"
I touched it feebly, and it was literally gaping its mouth.
I don't think I can ever forget that?
Such a small creature, gasping, with its insides out,
its skin on its legs and body scraped.
And it was all my fault.
My sister was there with me, trying to help in her own way.
But yes, there's nothing you can really do...I didn't want to stress it even more,
and let death finish what I did.
There's so much I can glean from this, and I want to ramble on, so badly
but I will try to stop myself from rambling too much.
I put the two lizards, along with a note, the dates when I stepped on them
(ok, killed them), and placed them carefully in a chocolate truffle box.
I buried them and still feel so sorry.
In some ways, this is can be so funny, and just freaky & crazy (what's new, this is me?)
What were the odds??? Same place, same thing happening.
And I can't help but roll my eyes at myself as well, just finding it so hard to fathom
how I stepped on not just one but Two lizards in just two months.
I bet that the lizards are all afraid of me now,
saying how I am a lizard killer. A serial lizard killer.
MO: stepping on them while screaming, maybe my screams also killed them off?
I actually took photos of both lizards, I am not sure why though.
Oh dear God, help me, I am acting like one, even documenting them.
I tell you, as I watched that lizard die, I couldn't help but just also
think of St. Jude (for the impossible) and St. Francis of Assisi (for animals).
I know he was dying, but somehow, yes, prayers still comfort me.
I just feel so guilty, with this happening.
I still can't help but cry for those lizards, death by me, for no reason at all,
no purpose served.
I know it's all a part of life...
but it still doesn't change the fact how death can change us
and of how I am responsible for two lizard deaths.
I know they were just small animals, but Still. They were living creatures.
Death can change us in small ways, some in big ways, negatively or positively.
It all boils down to death transforming us one way or another...
I won't expound on it anymore, this is too long,
but one of the ways I can think of comparing it to, is that of a chemical change,
maybe of the spirit, the soul? Not merely a physical change.
And we can never be the same.
In a land far away was a family with two boys
The oldest loved sports the youngest only toys.
You should be like your big brother the father would always say
It’s time for you to toughen up and leave this childish play.
Yes Quinton was a fighter, loved games of every sort,
But nothing did he want to do more than play a sport.
Daniel he was meek and mild a softie like his mother
He hated when his dad would say, “Be more like your brother.”
Hurt and down he took a walk up on a rocky hill
Throwing stones hard at the water, he let his anger spill.
Why doesn’t my dad love me? Into the air he cried,
Kicking rocks with fists curled, tight against his side.
Meanwhile on an island far across the sea
A leader spoke to the animals, almost like a plea.
Legends say a leader from mainland shall appear
A strong and faithful warrior, a boy that has no fear.
How shall we find this man child? Asked the animals out loud,
We’ve never seen a human said a yearling really proud.
The Albatross said strong and brave, I will bring him here
I know he isn’t very far, I feel his presence near.
The bird flew out across the sea searching high and low
Wondering where he’d find him, the boy they needed so.
There; high up on a hill side a warrior stood so tall,
He knew it was the chosen one, for he could hear him call.
Now in a flash he swooped down, grabbed Daniel real fast
The albatross was thinking, I’ve found the boy at last.
Daniel he was screaming as he dangled by one leg
Flying over water yelling let me go I beg.
As they neared the island, the animals all gathered round
Watching as the big white bird, let their hero down.
Welcome said a racoon, we’ve waited here so long
Today we’ll have a party, let’s fill the woods with song.
They sat all night telling horrible tales of an enemy they feared
And all felt a little safer now that Daniel had appeared.
I’m not the hero you think I am, there’s been a bad mistake
And a little bunny looked at him, you must be for my sake.
Daniel fell in love that night with all his new friends here
None of them made him feel bad, they made him feel so dear.
For their sakes I must beat this foe, an enemy, a disgrace
Making sure he never comes back to this peaceful place.
For days they planned together, what everyone would do
And when the varmint showed up they stood up to him too.
Instead of running and hiding, they stood together tight
The badger lost the battle and ran home fast that night.
The wise old owl thanked Daniel for ridding the beast at last
Conquering their worst enemy, who now is in the past.
On wings of love the hero left his friends on the islands strand
When Daniel went back home that day, he had become a man.
The moral of my story? With a little love and trust,
Everyone can be a hero, we are more than clay and dust.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
Carol Eastman’s Contest:
Fable to the Rescue
The dog looks pleasant, desperate for praise
It shivers in the cold, tied to a chair
It cannot go far.
It's owner, holding a cigarette, pours some crumbs from a used bag
A treat for the dog.
The crumbs go unnoticed, for the dog looks up at the passers-by
desperate for praise and attention.
Things seems to be very clear,
When actually felt it is unclear,
What really seems to be clear,
May never ever be clear for ever.
Your help for others,
May be to be appreciated,
Or taken as what is called,
to be uncounted.
My question is clear,
Why the help for others,
Is sometime never appreciated,
However it is always delivered.
In response to ethics,
lingers in my mind the answer,
To help others is not to be recognised,
But it is to be called someone,
Who can be respected.
To all, continue to help,
Not to to be appreciated by others,
But to be respected by yourself.
Hear it chugging and tasle
The sun has gone down
Twilight, is still not dark
Small steps ... chugging and tasle
The dog is standing still
Sniffing and listening
Sounds comes closer
A small ball comes out of the bushes
My favorite toy, the dog thinking
Sticking her nose up ..... but ...
The ball is full of sticking spines
it makes a hissing sound
Hedgehog will not play with the dog
A-L Andresen :) - This is my dog "Maya" :))
(5th in the contest)
I passed a squirrel
in the middle of the road
that a car had run over
Some rule was broken...
Its front legs scratched and scraped
at the pavement, but it was stuck
like glue, flat on the asphalt
The head was bobbing
(Surely there was no pain?)
Damn! Slammed on the brakes
skidded to the side of the road
and made an illegal 3 point turn
Returning to the scene of the crime,
I crushed the head of God’s creation
turning it into proper buzzard food
This creature did not have it coming
This creature did not deserve it
This creature was as good or better
than me or any other human being
God's child minded its business
God's child never hurt anyone
God's child of Nature's symphony
would have done the same for me
God's child had no clue
it was crossing a road
or even what a road was
but I did…
Pussy cats love to be loved
To feel the warmth of your body
To feel the stroking of your warm hand
If there is such a thing as kitty heaven
It's when they feel your love
Could just as easily be a stranger from the street
As long as they can provide Miss Kitty
With the love she is so desperately looking for
Kind of like us humans, aren't they
We most definitely love to be loved
To feel the warmth of another body
We also call it heaven
Except the bit about a stranger from the street
Now let me think about that a little more
Perhaps I'm a wee bit more selective
And then again, maybe not
Pussy cats love to be loved
And so does this dude!
© Jack Ellison 2013
I fly in the sky
I swim in the sea
I sleep in the night
And in the trees I live
The forest once was my home
That I always cherished
For me and every one
Who lived on this beautiful heaven?
Coming into the flame of fire
Together with my family
Helps me to remember and tell to all
That has caused the dead of all?
Came five days ago
Three to four men
With something in there mind known as the plan
To destroy what was known as our home
Came few men
After few days
To destroy us all together with the forest
To clear the land
They lighted the fire
They parked some big bulldozers
To clear the trees and removes the stones
After everything is burnt by the flames of the fire
Together with my family
Praying to the god as one
To forgive our sin
And tell the reason for this everything
Nothing I heard from up
But something from down
As few men said
For the development, let happen this destruction
He robbed a bank,
His armpits stank,
He ran a scam,
He screwed a lamb,
He is a drunk,
He has a pet skunk,
He cripples nuns,
He stole some funds,
He spits on graves,
He owns some slaves,
He cheats on his wife,
He kills kittens with a knife,
He pissed on a pew,
He laughs at me and you,
He is a politician.
Ana Cecilia Callejas
Rodrigo Perez Gavilan
The Bad King
“Lexer” was a lion who was the King of the entire animal kingdom, during his reign all the animals lived in complete harmony, they were all happy and graceful, and Lexer takes care of them and protects them. One day “Lexer” and his wife had an adorable baby lion that was named “Dylan” as he grew up Lexer teached him a lot of things since he was going to be the heir of the animal kingdom. Dylan also made a lot of friends but his best friend was Jim. Dylan and Jim spend almost all the days together, as the time passed Jim started to hang out with the Rhinos, which were the bad ones of the kingdom. Jim turned into a bad lion and started to incite Dylan to make bad things and he became also a bad lion. One day lexer got very sick and a few days later he passed away so Dylan became the king. All the animals were very sad because they loved Lexer he has been so far the best ruler of the animal kingdom. Time passed and Dylan forgot all the good things his father taught him and started to become a bad lion and a bad king. Influenced by Jim and the Rhinos that were friends with Jim Dylan started to do bad things. He put animals to fight between each other just for their amusement and had some of the animals as slaves just to be his servants, he also ordered other animals to kill so he can eat and have feasts, and this caused a lot of panic in the entire animal kingdom. Dylan mother tried to make him reconsider and change, to do all the good things his father taught him for him to be a good king but Dylan just became worse. All this caused that the animals lost his confidence towards the king and started to live just with the ones of their own kind and also began to fight with all the other animals to survive. This caused that the world became a bad place and since that moment the harmony did not existed anymore and the animals had to take care on their own.
Moral of the fable: if you are a good person and you have good values don’t let anyone to influence you and change the way you are.
There was scent of a fire in the call of the wind
from a few blocks away, I could smell it today...
someone burning a pile, in this first day of fall
Leaves and debris, with smoke on the bend
It darkened the sky of the September light
with fragments of char, as dark as the night
It drifted our way, and into the breeze,
and it lifted the ash
that caught in the fray, bits fluttering down
then, onto our lawn, with fringes of gray
A scrap from the classifieds, of newspaper ads
A fragment, not burned, with a portion so sad
just a singe on the edge, on the fringe of my day
A scrap now was pending........and I dreaded the end
I read someone's query, and my worries were tossed
to the smoke-singed sureness, of a pet that had been lost
For those moments we had owned her, she was lost and alone
Hungry and howling, on that cold autumn day
It was a star-crossed encounter, a dachshund we had found
We would feed her, and bed her, had asked all around
and a with a few passing days.....she had found a new home.
Here in our hearts, becoming our own
A name we had chosen, she came when we called
but today ...now I know, she is not ours, at all...
The wind off the river, pushing paper and leaves
fragments of yesterday fluttering our way.........
Spinning on down, every twist, every turn
changing the moment......without being heard
Small bitter pieces are coming our way
changing small fragments, and the heart of today.
"All animals are equal. But some animals are more equal than others."
A dozen of chickens and a number of horses, a cat and a raven, a few cows and other hoofed ones—all of which are perfectly silent. Poor wolfie. He can't even find a voice to growl. "Your Honor, if I may request for a short recess," I whisper, humiliatingly like a dying dragon. But my timid voice is drowned by a sly-looking pig's pouring of whisky into Dis Honor's gilded cup.
"Have you no respect or have you no eyes?" Squealing, he deafeningly squeals. He reminds me of that scaled wyvern whose head now sits in my living room. It roared deafeningly loud but breathed no fire. "His Honor is having his brief period of refreshment at the moment!"
With eyes too dry to cry and throat too hoarse to howl, the defendant meekly weeps. But only I hear it; the jury listens to only the silence, loud as a baby serpent's inaudible hiss, of two semi-digested pigs in his gut.
Who on earth build houses with flimsy hays or sticks nowadays anyway? And was it my client's fault that the third genius Doctor Porkchop got killed when some stray earthquake crushed his oh-so-unshakable fort built brick by bloody brick? Just whose brilliant proposal is it again to have Napoleon presiding the trial of the so-called Big Bad Wolf? If only he was a dragon—a pig-dragon at least— I would fain put the beauty that is my sword into good use right now.
Countless charges of premeditated murder, culpable animalicide, et cetera. Of course, do sentence us all to another life. I turn to look at the audience right behind me: a mare, a goat, a donkey. A soft motherly neigh followed by an intelligent baa, then by an astute silence.
"Please, Your Honor," Ridiculous. This stupid courtesy reminds me of tiptoeing past a mother Couatl guarding her eggs. "Shall we resume—"
Slams of gavel.
"Objection! Objection! Objection!" Dis Honor oinks vehemently, his mouth reeking of poorly brewed whisky—and I thought Tiamat's droppings were bad. The way he repeats the slamming of his gavel with every disgustingly pronounced objection gives me a headache as if it was my head he keeps hammering on. For the first time, being hit by the Basilisk's tail doesn't sound so bad at all. "Here you call me 'Your Honor Napoleon' in full," Oh, believe me, the honor is fully mine.
I stepped on a lizard on new year's day,
then I slipped and I screamed
and hit my shoulder on the fridge,
toppling the chair,
scaring people at home.
Ahhh, klutzy me on the first day of the year
it is funny, when I imagine
myself sprawled on the floor.
In all honesty,
it was the thought of
killing the lizard that horrified me,
the act of hurting it
feeling that squish,
bruising that flesh,
breaking the itty itty bones
how in the world can I step
on a lizard?!
imagine my sort of relief
to see the broken off tail
on the floor
thank God for survival mechanisms
the tail was still twitching,
another shorter piece fell off,
and yet I still wonder...
Is that lizard alive?
Did it actually make it?
Is it still hurting?
When will it heal?
Is it traumatized?
Was it pregnant?
I don't know why,
but that last question popped to mind
when I saw the shorter piece,
I even thought it was an egg...
I hope it's ok,
will be ok. I really do.
Sorry lizard, I truly am.
It’s a damn cartoon you stupid raghead SOBs.
If you are so very evil that you would kill people
over a stupid cartoon then you are not only
descended from apes, you are apes, hairless tailless monkeys.
You are dumb ass animals with absolutely no human qualities.
Bill de Blasio,
the current mayor
of New York City,
is easily the most
of human de-evolution
on planet earth today.
If I saw a rabid skunk and an Islamist
both dying by the side of the road,
I would just pass them by
because they are basically the same,
twin stinking useless beasts.
Vive la France!
Death to rabid skunks!
If President Obama wants to release
all of the terrorists still incarcerated
at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba in a quick
and safe manner, just throw the creeps
into the Gulf Of Mexico and let the sharks
eat their sorry asses. These rat bastards
lived totally worthless lives and for them to
end up as shark turds at the bottom of the sea
will not only make the world a safer place
in which to live but as an added bonus,
the President will get brownie points galore
from the animal rights groups. If there ever
was a win-win situation, this is surely it.
I see through your naked soul,
like laser beam across spring waters.
thunder-strike my liverless matter,
with sight of thor-like spirit.
I grace the grassy Himalayas,
like emperor in a royal dynasty
And master of my canines,
for I am the Tibetan Mastif.
Cats and dogs are notorious for not getting along
You've heard the term, “fighting like cats and dogs”
Well our gorgeous female golden retriever, Annie
And our tomcat Curtis are the best of friends
While Zoe, our sweet wee female cat
Is constantly being harassed by these other two guys
I can understand Annie having a problem with Zoe
Both being high strung female types
With Curtis, it seems like a male dominance thingy
Zoe is the SWEETEST!
ALL she wants is to loved
She rolls over waiting for me to rub her belly
Or scratch behind her ears
What an absolutely adorable loyal friend!
© Jack Ellison 2014
My name is Gena and I am an awesome geep.
Papa is Handsome Hank the tough old billy goat.
Mama is Curvy CeCe the lovely ewe sheep.
If I say so myself, I am a very gorgeous geep.
Every young billy goat bleats and every young ram sheep baas
their desire to top my firm rounded behind time after time.
All of the farm boys in the county fight over who will next milk
my gianormous voluptuous teets. Humans, they are so easy.
I draw the line at Dominic Donkey though, he is a real jackass.
I do love to tease Max Mule, the sterile old fool can’t even get it up.
I will only be young once and I intend to enjoy every minute of it.
Lust is my middle name. Love is my claim to fame. I am the queen.
For Animals Alive Contest 07/15/2014
Wackadoodles are crazy silly.
Wackjobs are crazy serious.
Comedians are Wackadoodles.
Actors are Wackjobs.
Comedians know they are clowns.
Actors think they are doing something
for a living so very important that people
need to hear their thoughts and opinions
on politics, poverty, war and peace.
Note to the Hollywood crowd,
you are play actors, emphasis on play.
No one with even a half of a brain
takes anything you say seriously.
The dogs Rin Tin Tin and Lassie were actors.
Monkeys, chimpanzees and gorillas over the years
have been actors in the movies and on television.
So shut the heck up and play your little characters.
If anyone really wants to know what is on your minds,
they can go to a zoo and ask a hairy ape or funky monkey.
Sick of the monsters
that track my steps,
given the chance I'd
lay them to rest.
they trail my every
Gotta lose 'em
before the moon
Grab my carving set
and begin to think
attention- I get the
their frail skin,
I find the image of
blood in and on my
Cross-eyed and close
to the cliffs edge.
The moonlight sheds
time on the
and i drop my knife.
For they are me, I
was them, and soon
we will be together
Looking back it was
a full moon's end.
pooh with the only tools of honey and smarts;
mickey with his best friend Donald,
oh! what a party to start.
the three wanted to celebrate the clubhouse opening;
so they started to cheer,
and started the music.
oh! what a good time they had!
everybody was glad;
but pooh became sad,
maybe, because it was the end.
but, later we found out,
he just ran out of honey.
so mickey said,"be happy don't pout."
He stood and aimlessly watched the parade of patrons and volunteers that wandered daily past his kennel. All so familiar, so ordinary. Just like every other day he mused. Nothing new. Nothing special.
Moving to the small crumpled blanket near the back of his cage, he turned several times and finally curled up, head on his paws, positioned so that he could watch the activity around him. But in reality, he was bored. It had been a long time since he had met each morning with anticipation. Too many days. Too much disappointment. He would leave all that barking and racing to the front of their cage to the younger pups who hadn’t figured out yet that the cute ones went first. It didn’t really make any difference what you did to attract attention if you weren’t young or cute, or both.
Too much time had gone by to participate in the charade. In reality, Walter had seen a lot of people that he would rather not spend a lot of time with. You know the type. Kind of hyper, bouncing from stray to stray, looking for a perfect dog. Kids poking their fingers through the kennel screen or banging on it. Some even making barking sounds. He didn’t need any of that and was glad when they were gone.
Walter was very picky. Set in his ways after so many years. He had had it good for a long time. An only dog in a household of two people that let him be himself. No tricks. No stunts. Just long naps and daily walks. A yard to himself to reflect on what was for dinner. He had been fond of his doggy bed in their bedroom. Each night he would help his owner walk through the house turning off the lights and checking the doors before they climbed the stairs together. And there was always one last good night pat before settling down.
But those days were gone now. First one had become ill and went to the hospital and never came back. The other one changed overnight, spending long days, sitting mostly. The walks became less frequent. Walter did what he could. He could see it in their eyes that they were hurting from their loss. He would make a point of laying his head in their lap, trying to let them know that he missed them too. At times like this, he instinctively knew that although it remained unsaid, they only had each other.
He remembers well the day that his owner snapped a leash on him and said, “well Walter, I’m afraid we have to say goodbye. I have to go to a place where they won’t let me keep you, so I am going to have to let you go.” Walter could see the tears in his eyes. He knew it would do him no good to whine or resist. It was obvious there were no alternatives. And besides, it would just make it harder on his owner. But he was going to miss him. It was not going to be easy to adjust.
But adjust he did. He had been here a long time now and had seen countless pups and dogs trot past his cage with light hearts and new owners, heading off with new found hopes and expectations. But it soon became obvious that there weren’t a lot of people that wanted an old yellow hound. Everyone wanted the young ones. So here he lay, dozing a bit, but still keeping an eye on those walking by, many giving him but a glance before moving on.
He heard them before the saw them. ”Honey” the voice said. ”That looks like Walter, old Mr. Whitney’s dog.” Walters ears perked up a little. ”Do I know them” he thought. ”They seem to know me”. I’d better go take a closer look” and with that, he stood and slowly ambled toward his kennel gate, giving a cautious wag of his tail.
“It is him” the man said. ”Walter, how you doing boy? Do you remember me?”
And upon closer inspection, Walter did remember him. He used to live right across the street. He would see him in his yard and if Walter were to ramble over, he usually had a dog treat in his pocket. With the recognition, Walter gave a little stronger wag and moved toward the fingers extended through the fencing. It was good to see an old friend.
“What do you say hon” the man said. ”How would you feel about bringing Walter home with us?”
Walter looked at the woman and saw her nod in agreement. ”You wait here and I’ll go find a volunteer.”
The man bent down and said “What do you think Walter? Would you like to go home with us?”
Actually, Walter decided, he could think of nothing he would like more. A chance to go back to the old neighborhood with people he already knew. What was there not to like.
Soon the woman returned and the gate opened. A leash was snapped on Walter and together they proceeded past the rows of dogs and puppies, all vying for their attention. Walter couldn't help but stand a little straighter, stepping a little more lightly, showing off. ”This is what going home looks like guys.” he thought. ”Good luck and goodbye”.
As they neared the car the man said “I can’t believe we found you Walter. There is someone I am going to take you to see. I can’t wait to see the expression on his face when you walk in his room>”
Walter, of course, knew exactly who he was talking about. And he couldn't wait to see the expression on his face either.
I am a big admirer of all large cats, one of my favourites being the Scottish Wild Cat.
It is one of the wildest of all cats and will fight to the death to protect its kitten even with a golden eagle. It avoids humans like the plague preferring to live a solitary life.
They have survived human for over 500 years longer than the wolf and over 1000 years more than the bear and british lynx. They have been on the planet for millions of years before either humans or domestic cats.
They look much like a tabby but gait like a big cat, males weigh between 6-9kg, females smaller 5-7kg. They have rotating wrists and razor sharp claws for gripping and climbing trees. Fossil remains have been found measuring 4 feet.
They can sprint at 30mph and fall from massive heights landing on their feet, they are a stealth hunter and mainly nocturnal covering up to 10km range. Even when born in captivity they are un-tamable.
They charge when fighting but don't lie on their sides like domestic cats.. Renowned for biting right through gauntlets vets dart if they have to handle them.
Wild Cats enjoy their own space and daily schedules. They like things to be peaceful so live as far from humans as possible. Usually heavily forested and near water, they frequently change dens.
They are a friend of crop farmers by keeping down rabbits etc. They only eat meat consuming most if not all of what they kill. Killing by grabbing prey and pulling it down then biting through either neck or spine.
Wild Cats like to fish by using their paws to scoop out fish, and like eels, lizards and frogs. Their other food is small deer, ground birds and hares, nowadays they rarely take a lamb seeming to know the farmer will try to kill them. Most Scottish farmers are proud to have a Wild Cat on their land.
Their night vision is exceptional about seven better than ours. They can rotate their ears 180 degrees enabling them to hear all around them. They then triangulate and pinpoint the source, and exceptional balance as well make it a super predator.
Some Facts taken ad lib
Mating season: January to March, most births in April to May
Oestrus: 2 to 8 days, in presence of males
Gestation: 63 to 68 days
Litter size: Mean 3.4, range 1 to 8
Age at independence: 4 to 5 months, up to 10 months
Age at sexual maturity: Females 10 to 12 months, males 9 to 10 months
Inter birth interval: one year, females can only exceptionally breed twice in one year, such as when the first litter is lost
Mortality: Studies suggest human caused mortality (snares, roads, gunshot) account for up to 92% of deaths
Longevity: Probably around 6 to 8 years in the wild, up to 15 years in captivity
Usually one litter a year with 3-4 kittens born in early spring, they learn to hunt from roughly 7-9 weeks old by the mother bringing home live prey then with her becoming independent around 5-6 months.
This just scrapes the surface of this fascinating cat. I think the following quote sums them up well
"They'll fight to the death for their freedom; they epitomise what it takes to be truly free I think."
If interested you will find most if not all you want to know on this site
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Another boring, Protestant Traditional, Sunday Family Dinner 1:00 pm sharp
This week it’s at Uncle David’s house in Alford, Mass. I haven’t meant Him
Actually the only Family I met so far “Momma“, Poppa, and Big Sister Brenda
YOU probably thought I was going to say “Momma, Poppa, and Baby Bear
Went for a walk in the forest“. Sorry I’m reading Goldilocks while I’m trying to Write
Brenda ( B B ) , and I use to wonder why they had to be called Momma and Poppa ?!!
Pizza for dinner, on a Saturday night ,Baths, pajamas, robes, and slippers out to the car
Alright kids, It’s a 3 hour drive to Uncle Dave’s Let’s play “Grandma’s Suitcase”
The subject Grandma is infatuated with is her : LOVE of Animals
Harry you start, Grandma went on a vacation , in her suitcase she put an alligator
Brenda, “Grandma went on a vacation, in her suitcase she puts a female Baboon
“Poppa, it’s your turn, “Grandma went a vacation, in her Suitcase she put a Catamount
I challenge You Poppa, Mount is Mountain ,not Animal I brought my dictionary, Read;
The definition of catamount; a mountain lion, Cougar A feline animal born in nature
Harry your out of the game; “Momma” Your turn “ Grandma put in her suitcase The Devil”
This is the kind of creature that goes out into the night to steal bricks to build its' niche.
It more than crosses a courtesy line. Happens more in the winter;other seasons just fly by.
Swift as the bitter wind the creatures must move as the gypsies do. They must borrow as the thieves pulling out every trick up each sleeve.
Maddened by the stars, they follow them like arrows of direction. Cheaters!
Must be nice having nature direct their worst behavior.
The Harlot Scarlet of the night is so beautiful any family would give away their hard earned bread, their last. Clearly getting robbed impeccably as
it goes without notice. But what is seen is never told in eyes of gold.
Another win for creatures of night.
Mother used her third arm
for most everything,
her all-around solution
for problem solving.
Once, she used it to save
the life of a common toad.
The snake was guilty
of nothing more than a move
to assuage his hunger. He soon
fell victim to Mother's expertise
in wielding a hoe. As he slithered
along the cotton row, she chopped
him in two pieces just beyond
the bulge in his frame.
She then used her hoe
to push the frog out
toward light and freedom.
Mr. Toad sat for a time,
blinking in the sun,
then hopped back into his world.
Mother rabbit builds
a cozy burrow
underneath the soil.
She brings her babies
and covers them
in her own fur.
She places them
in the flower bed
near the front door,
a spot well chosen
to give protection
from the wind.
Pansies and petunias
sit in their boxes
crying for the soil.
We give them water,
waiting patiently for
a later day to plant.
The cats perch
on the windowsill,
twin heads turned,
eyes glued to her den.
We keep them inside
for babies’ sake.
The scream assaults my ears,
rips open my heart.
I catch Petunia, fat cat hunter,
and snatch the baby bunny
from her mouth.
Strong and determined,
she jumps free,
goes after her prey.
Repeatedly, I force
Petunia's jaws open
to release the terrified bunny.
On the third try, my grip holds.
Baby bunny flees
toward the distant tree line,
tiny legs pumping
like mechanical pistons.
tail switching in anger.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
"He'll come back," hubby says, smiling,
"when he's grown,
and eat your flowers."
At first light, I stood,
gazing out the window.
I thought not of the dawn,
but of God who watches it rise.
The morning light is like
the waking fingers of God
touching the still sleeping land.
Our world stays primed to betray
the innocent, destroy the small
or the soft and the beautiful.
Oshie and Carlos, docile alpacas
claimed as "Part of the family,"
are no more.
Gentle beauties, savagely slain;
the only clue, one ghastly paw print
in the snow. Did God sleep as tragedy
stretched under tiny diamond stars
in the frozen dark of night?
"They were our buddies,"
sobbed the stricken ranchers.
Grief-gouged wounds heal slowly,
leave shadows reaching into eternity.
I was in a museum. I suppose there were many displays of animals mounted or posed in
their realistic forms to show them as they appeared in their natural environment. However, I
recall only one display. It is the one that has stayed forever emblazoned on my young
impressionistic mind. There in front of me they stood, in all their bloody glory: two wild
animals. One (I cannot recall now what animal it was, only that it had hold of its victim’s
throat.) Perhaps it was a wolf; maybe a wild boor. What matters most is that it was clearly
the aggressor and it was the victor over the other animal in its natural habitat. The other, I
am sure, was a deer, a poor innocent deer. Though its eye sockets were now filled with dark
marbles, I could imagine in those eyes, terror beyond words. Whoever had put together this
display had done a most realistic job. Heavy blood matted the neck of the deer and flowed
down its body. Blood also gushed forth from the attacking beast’s mouth. I do not know what
thoughts were running through my mind as I beheld this scene. I only remember standing
there utterly transfixed.
Years later, I told my mother that my earliest childhood memory had been of two animals
posed in struggle at a museum. So much time had passed, I was not even sure if maybe it
had not been just a dream. My mother confirmed for me that I had indeed witnessed it and
that it took place when I was around three years old. She then told how I had stood in front
of the display for many minutes, perhaps fifteen, just staring and staring at it. She said that
she and my dad could not tear me away from it, and they finally had to drag me away. Why
that is my first memory I do not know. Perhaps because it was my first visual impression of
violence. I wish I could remember what went through my mind as I gazed on it. Later in life,
I was to witness acts of violence in the “real world” which greatly disturbed me, particularly
those acts of cruelty involving man against man. However, I am someone who is able to step
outside myself and view things in an analytical and detached way. I think this makes me
sometimes misread by the "too feeling crowd." Furthermore, I always find myself strangely
titillated by scenes of the macabre in horror movies. I do not enjoy gore. But I very much
enjoy a good psychological thriller. Just something about me. I don’t know what it means.
And I have no room to explore it here!
For the Contest of Leighann Anderson:
Sea of Words
Out of the darkness
a small figure appeared
dirty, hungry and cold
a tiny puppy was here
He looked so cute
with those big brown eyes
shivering and shaking
in his dirty disquise
for his owner somewhere
I put him in my hat
he fit perfect in there
He smelled so bad
from the place he had been
but wanted to kiss me
for taking him in
I named him Matty
because of his hair
now my new recliner
is his favorite chair
I posted his picture
all around town
but so far so good
I haven't heard a sound
“He’s such a hot dog look at him” she exclaimed to a silent high browed husband
How can you not love that face!” the panting dog wags his tail excitedly
“Common let’s take him home, a shelter is no place for a pooch such as this?”
Against his better judgement he goes along with her sing song idea
When Eloise gets a fixed idea in her head, well, there is no turning back!
She begins to give a litany of information and winds up sounding like a high pitch
Yadda commercial from the Glam world of Pescari
“Dachshunds are loyal driven hounds that never give up and need a gentle but firm hand. They are good with children and can also be friendly and animated when well socialized. Care is easy with regular bathing and brushing.”
Such was not the case the first time Elsie dunked him in our sunken sink for a
Scrub and wash. Out came the old familiar clippers and out went Benjamin.
He scampered beneath the oak table knocking a bony chair to its side. It did
Not amuse that once conscientious man who now stared at his wife with an
I told you look of dismay.
She sits cross legged on the floor looking like a yogi who is searching for her
Peace and composure. Fur-browed and determined, she crawls on all fours and
turns two conundrum eyes his way.
“Sweetheart here, try luring him with this,” says hubby as he pitches two biscuits under the table and lets out a garbled laugh.
Benjamin chomps on the biscuits and let’s out a yelp, in other words, “I ain’t going to
Get my nails clipped today ya hear!
Another garbled laugh from the mathematical genius and all pandemonium breaks loose.
Christy, Christafur Cat.
Was a southern cat.
His ancestors came from the south of Spain.
His Great, Great, Grandfather was a
venturesome Cat who came across the Seven Seas.
Not Long after that he met another southern
Cat This one from the heart of Georgia.
As the years came and went History was
recorded by some other Cats.
To which Christy, Christafur, Cat asks.
Why is that? How do you know that?
Can you prove that? Is that a fact?
My dear Christy, Christafur, Cat I
really don’t know. You are such a Loveable
Cat. That is that. YOU CAT!
John H. Hardison..
At least once a month
the stench from my kitchen
sponge gets so bad I refuse
one more soap saturation
of this primitive sessile.
Why is it that I can’t toss
these replicas of marine life,
amongst the simplest animal form,
free of tissues, muscles, nerves
and internal organs? After all,
during the course of one day I toss out
all sorts of rubbish—paper towels,
chicken bones, cheese rind, empty cartons,
newspapers and rotten fruit, but have developed
a deep attachment with this soggy, smelly
two-dollar purchase. I take it into my hands
and scan it, as if looking for the spot
of defending stench or to hear the ocean
from where it came. Finally, I decide
to toss the thing into the dishwasher
with my daily load, to keep it vital
a little longer, perhaps a day or a week
or at least until I’m able to establish a degree
of separation from this rectangular block.
My only explanation for this drama
is my daughter is a vegetarian and animal rights’
activist, and like her, I want to save all creatures.
Today I spent the day with my Mom, Dad, son and nephew at a Wild animal park;
I am covered in slobber and mud.
At least the animals were clean.
The most interesting animal I saw was a Guar which is a large
I mean the largest breed of bovine in the world!
Three to four thousand pounds of cow.
He stood taller than a minivan.
Guar comes from India and Asia; His large horns are fear invoking.
All I am saying is, don't let the Guar lean on your car!!
(From my forthcoming book "A New England Boy.")
Was he the same that only weeks before
I watched moving through the open field
with sure-footed assurance and style,
fueled by hunger, ears pricked up, eyes keen,
nose to the ground, on the hunt?
It was hard to tell, for his feet were deep
in snow, his frame thinned out, his ribs exposed
beneath a scruffy pelt, his head drooped
on weakened shoulders, eyes in a worried stare,
straining at something far off, perhaps diffused,
his hunger incited by one final desperate charge
for something warm, his life-force weak.
He had been on the hunt, but not for warm flesh
or self-preservation – gashes on his flanks
and snout, dangling tufts of torn-out fur spoke
of his ordeal and probable defeat to keep
his mating dominance, brought down, cast off,
humiliated – denied those two insatiable urges –
hunger and procreation.
He stood shivering, insensitive to the falling snow,
his gaze, though outward, had turned
inward, the outside world perhaps receding?
His pelt whitened more and more, and he took on
the appearance of an old grainy photograph,
each static dot carrying some infinitely small
piece of him, and gradually he began blending,
blurring into the background of a world that
had sustained him, and on which he had
for so long depended, as he and that world
began disintegrating into a vacant whiteness.