#unless its that dog that chases cows

[grinchwrapsupreme]

based on the mirroring of Siegfried and Jess, Mrs. Hall and Scruff, and Gerald and Rock, I can only assume that Tristan is represented by Tricki-Woo

[spiceywawa]

@boolger <-

I couldn't help myself and had to try doing this shite again and write my little idea inspired heavily? by their fic.

Kitty♡

Current -> Next

John price moved from the city and bought a farm with all the works. Cows, pigs, chickens, etc. He previously considered getting a hybrid kitten along his other hybrids but never did due to living deep in the city with not a lot of room. After his abrupt retirement, John decided why not to help make the farming/food industry just a little better.

He decided to start his farm, and funny enough, the farm came with its own kitty hybrid. A beautiful stone Grey short haired kitty that took care of rodents and smaller predators. Kitty would laze wherever they pleased and previously had the freedom to come and go around the property and house as they saw fit.

John never minded them, and on the listing for the farm, the hybrid was in the description as a poor kitty that was left behind. It took quite a bit of time to get the skittish kitty used to him and even let him close enough to smell him. It's not entirely surprising the cautious and skeptical looks kitty gives him because while their owner left kitty, and the seller forgot to mention the many working hybrid dogs they owned went with them Abandoning poor kitty, leaving them all alone with not one to cuddle with at night.

Sweet farm kitty hybrid only met John price at first, but little did they know John had his own three dog hybrids. All retired from military after many years of admirable service. Before John thought you were ready to meet his three boys, he set up your own room and safe spots around the giant farmhouse. Giving you your own designated space when you decided to stay in the house with him. Of course, at some point, when john gently lured you into your new room, it was somewhat of a shit show. You went as far as deciding using the window to the roof to come in, and out of the house was a better option than using the actual doors.

You eventually settled and decided the room was better than the hay loft and tried out being a couch potato. When you quietly and cautiously joined John on the new couch for the first time, he immediately froze to not deter you from approaching him. He watched you out of his peripheral lay next to him, resting your head on his thigh. Only when you relaxed and began quietly purring did he attempt to stroke your head, petting your fuzzy ears watching them flick at his gentle touch. After that encounter and many positive moments, john decided it was time to bring the boys home for good.

The boys often dog piled in John's room, so separate rooms for them were pretty much unnecessary unless they asked for it. They had freedom to roam and wouldnt be allowed in your room without permission, he doubted you would so he would make sure the boys knew if was off limits until otherwise said. But considering they had all the space they needed and john has the biggest room and bathroom amenities in the house, the boys had their own section of the room, including a corner cubby with their stuff and combined beds.

Of course, after being out of a strict military environment for so long the moment the boys arrived when they got a whiff of your scent, johnny and gaz scattered trying to find you and simon ended up chasing after johnny trying to get him to quit it. Gaz beat johnny to the punch, chasing you up above the fridge on top of the cabinets. He was leaning against the fridge, wagging his tail sniffing the air, trying to get closer to you, curiosity and excitement emanating from him. When johnny heard the commotion, he wriggled away from simons grip toward gaz. John yelled stop, and all his hybrids looked at him.

You were less amused than the three behemoths before you. Johnny and gaz both whined, saying they only wanted to meet their new friend, and simon was glaring at the two having more self-control of his instincts and curiosity. John cringed at the poor first introduction. The low growl in your throat brought everyone's attention back to you. John shooed the three away simon, grabbing the two by their harnesses being the most dominant out of the three.

You glared at John as he began trying to coax you in getting down. "It's alright, my pretty girl. You're ok. Those two aren't gonna get ya, I promise." He coos at you. In John's defense, he told the three to behave simon was indifferent, but gaz and johnny were the ones he was worried about. You watch him with your ears pinned down and tail flicking rapidly in annoyance as he is trying to get you down with treats and your favorite toy your, very first toy ever. But you don't budge for a solid 20 minutes. "Come on, sweet kitty, there are all a bunch of big ol teddy bears they aren't gonna hurt ya." He says to you, running his finger down the bridge of your nose as you won't let him pet you.

Johnny and Gaz are sitting a few feet away patiently waiting for you to come down and allow them to scent you and say hello, their tails swishing excitedly behind them. They are all definitely German Shepard or a mix of one you can see that much, and they are all ridiculously large compared to you.

Simon is standing next to John, watching you with a curious expression. You eye him, taking in his scared face and equally battered fuzzy ears nestles in blond hair. Much to everyone's surprise, simon reaches up and grabs you gently, taking you off the fridge and into his big arms. You freeze from shock as simon settles you against his chest, holding you with one arm. You latch onto him to prevent yourself from falling, watching his face suspiciously.

Simon traces the scars on your face and arms from fending of other critters around the farm. "That's simon Kitty." John says, trying not to laugh as your frozen form clutches to simon. You frown as johnny and Gaz laugh, simons low chuckle vibrating through you. "You're a stubborn little thing." Simon says as he sits down next to the other two, positioning you in his lap, keeping a protective distance from gaz and johnny.

His tail swishes behind him as you let him hold you, unsure if you're gonna bolt or stay. You settle to johns surprise, holding onto simons arm, watching the other two scoot closer. You did miss your pack mates, so you tolerated the curiosity for a bit unsure if this was even gonna be permanent. Simon watches gaz close as he scents you first, seeing as he did find you first. He sniffs for a bit, his nose gently bumping your chin as he sniffs higherup your neck, simon lets out a low growl, telling gaz that's enough. Johnny takes that as his cue that it's his turn and bounds in face first into your neck. Simon reaches for johnny, pulling him away. "Careful with the lil thing, johnny. Don't wanna break em do you?" He shakes his head rapidly tail going a mile a minute. John chimes in watching this interaction unfold. "Gentle boys." He says, watching your face for any discomfort.

The only feeling you have is confusion. Have they never seen a cat hybrid before? And why are you letting them so close so quickly?

Simon lets Johnny's scruff go, and he gently smells you for a bit. Then simon tells them you're done, and it's his turn. He breathes in your scent, enjoying the sweet, subtle scent holding you closer

You sigh, giving up, seeing as much simon claimed you technically it seems they all did, and this is your life now. It doesn't seem so bad, really, you could get used to this.

[elfdragon12]

From time to time, I recall that one PETA tweet going (paraphrased) "unless you dream of killing a cow with your bare hands, you aren't a carnivore!"

And you know how it's these types of folks who will insist on feeding dogs (and the less rational ones include cats) a vegan diet?

By PETA's own logic, my dog is a total carnivore.

Her idea of the best time is following animals tracks (she has caught the scent of deer on someone's car--they were right there when we were walking by and said they hit one after she wouldn't stop sniffing the bumper). It's not a friendly "just wants to play", but a full "wants to sink in teeth and rip it apart, Mother, I crave violence". She's gotten her mouth on a bird (that, for some reason, wasn't flying even with a dog obviously going for it) and a cat (the cat was safe, between its speed and me holding her back, it slipped away before she could bite down). She goes nuts seeing animals she isn't allowed to chase, jumping in the air and yelping in frustration. At least half of our walks go to the same stretch of road with multiple empty lots where we've seen deer down from the mountains and cats from the neighboring homes. Tracks and scat everywhere.

Also, the only fruits and veggies she doesn't spit out are the ones cooked in meat broth (and that she usually leaves until there's none of the good stuff left).

There really isn't anything about this that can change. Dogs are facultative carnivores (carnivores that can/may supplement their diet if they can't get enough) and my dog is half shar pei, a utilitarian breed with a focus on guarding and hunting and she strongly takes after that parent. (Huskies, her other half, also can be high prey drive.) Thousands of years of breeding and no apparent socialization in her younger life (or possibly flunked) means that it's just a part of her nature to want to chase down animals.

It's just nature and it's neither moral nor immoral for her, a dog with no concept of morality, to follow it.

... What would be immoral is to knowingly take in an animal whose dietary needs go against my beliefs and force them to follow my diet that doesn't properly sustain it.

[weird-things-to-think]

Ah yes, "ilk." Such a fasinatin' word! I beleve it refers to...um...like...people, or things, that are, uhh, kinda simular? Yeah, like, when you say “of that ilk,” it basicly means "of that typ." See, if yer talkin about dogs, you might say somethin like “golden retrievers and ther ilk,” meanin other, fluffy tail waggery, fur covered creatur that probly chases tennis balls. All ilks r lik that. Yer bundlin stuff togethor, u kno?

Now, some folks think ilk is a fancy word, but nah, its just one o them weird ones. Some kinda old, like shakeyspere or midevil times or somethin, idk. Back then people just made stuff up and called it english. It just cought on.

Speekin of gettin caught, did you kno ilk also sounds like "milk?" It’s truu! But don’t confuse 'em tho, unless u want som1 to think ur talkin about cows and the like.

So yah, thatz "ilk" for ya. Useful, fancy-soundin word. Or is it useless? Maybe both? Hard to say when you only know 10%.

[undead-merman]

Question: how well would Loki get along with the other hybrid boys in dol? Ignoring they don't seem to hang in the same circles. ~🌹

Loki was a bit of a loner until PC came alone. He responses to warmth and love. There's not much of it in that town. He tries but a lot of the time it doesn't end well for him.

Dog People: He can get along with some of them. But they often fight over food and those fights can get nasty. Blood can be shed against the more aggressive ones and he's not a very dominant dog. the sweeter ones that would bring you money he gets along with well. Playing with them and sharing some of the toys you got him.

Wolf People: Like dogs he gets along with the more submissive and playful ones, but he often attacks them since they try to hurt you. He won't hold back if he gets the okay from you, or if he's not trained enough if you seem distressed. Black Wolf? He does not get along with. He's scared of him. Black dog? He'll try.

Cat People: He finds them enchanting. The forbidden friend. Unlike other dogs he doesn't see them as prey, he thinks their pretty and graceful like if you saw a dolphin jump from the water while on the beach. They tend to not like him due to his high energy but the ones that do tolerate him he's about to cry tears of joy.

Wild Cat People: Since they are much bigger he's much more playful with them unless they show aggression. but even when they do he still tries to play nice. Getting into the classic play stance on all fours even when their growling at hissing at him. He won't take the hint until they draw blood.

Lizard people: The smaller ones he does see as prey. He'll shake them around like the video of the dog attacking the snake and throwing it into the field. Bigger ones? He'll run as fast as he can unless your there. He's terrified of them.

Bear People: He's scared of them, but in a way that he'll just bark and try to chase them away. He'll chase at them and bite their heels and ass on the way out. He'll brawl them if he has too.

Boar People: He see them threats. He won't run up and bother them but he'll huff at them to stay away and when they charge he's always ready for a fight with them. He's a big dog so he wins more times than not but not without injuries.

Pig People: Weirdly likes them? if you bring him to Alex's farm he follows them around licking them. If you ask him he can't answer he just likes how they taste with a big smile but he's never nipped at one.

Cow People: He gets along with them. He'll just stand around with them or even laze around in the sun with them. He's no good trying to herd them though.

Centaur People: He often tries to play with them but might get stomped at if their in a bad mood. Loves playing chase with them and with them he runs so fast he's a blur.

Harpies: Like lizards he sees them as prey and the smaller ones he likes to chase, while the bigger ones he just stares at not sure what to do. Great Hawk he has a complicated relationship with He doesn't like it when they fly away with you but at least they treat you kinder than most. Still might attack them though when they see them unless called off.

Dolphin People: He's very confused by them and not sure if he wants to try and play with them or run away. He's back and forth with them and his fur is always on end around them.

Fox People: Does not like them. They tease him and trick him and it drives him wild. Its much harder to call him back when he sees one. It's on sight for him. He was bullied as a pup by a bunch of foxes always teaming up to steal his food.

Plant People: He doesn't see a difference between them and humans. Humans just smell less like dirt and flowers. Does bite if they try to touch him in a way he only lets you do but will try to play with them by bringing them sticks. Loki was a bit of a loner until he met PC. He responds to warmth and love, and there's not much of it in that town. He tries to get along with them in his own way, but a lot of the time it doesn’t work out.

Dog People: He can get along well with some of them. But they often fight over food, and those fights can get nasty. Blood can be shed against the more aggressive ones and he's not a very dominant dog. The sweeter ones that would bring you money, he gets along with well. Playing with them and sharing some of the toys you got for him.

Wolf People: Like dogs, he gets along with the more submissive and playful ones, but he often attacks them since they try to hurt you. He won't hold back if he gets the okay from you, or if he's not trained enough if you seem distressed. Black Wolf? He does not get along with. He's scared of him. Black dog? He'll try.

Cat People: He finds them enchanting. The forbidden friend. Unlike other dogs, he doesn't see them as prey. He thinks they are pretty and graceful, like if you saw a dolphin jump from the water while on the beach. They tend to not like him due to his high energy, but the ones that do tolerate him he's about to cry tears of joy.

Wild Cat People: Since they are much bigger, he's much more playful with them unless they show aggression. But even when they do, he still tries to play nice. Getting into the classic play stance on all fours even when they are growling and hissing at him. He won't take the hint until they draw blood.

Lizard People: The smaller ones, he does see as prey. He'll shake them around like in the video of the dog attacking the snake and throwing it into the field. Bigger ones? He'll run as fast as he can unless you're there. He's terrified of them.

Bear People: He's scared of them, but in a way that he'll just bark and try to chase them away. He'll chase them and bite their heels and asses on the way out. He'll brawl with them if he has to.

Boar People: He sees them as threats. He won't run up and bother them, but he'll huff at them to stay away, and when they charge, he's always ready for a fight with them. He's a big dog so he wins more often than not, but not without injuries.

Pig People: Weirdly likes them? If you bring him to Alex's farm, he follows them around licking them. If you ask him he can't answer. He just likes how they taste with a big smile but he's never nipped at one.

Cow People: He gets along well with them. He'll just stand around with them or even laze around in the sun with them. He's no good at trying to herd them.

Centaurs: He often tries to play with them but might get stomped if they're in a bad mood. Loves playing chase with them and with them he runs so fast he's a blur.

Harpies: Like lizards, he sees them as prey and the smaller ones he likes to chase, while the bigger ones he just stares at, not sure what to do. Great Hawk he has a complicated relationship with them. He doesn't like it when they fly away with you, but at least they treat you kinder than most. Still might attack them though when they see them unless called off.

Dolphin People: He's very confused by them and not sure if he wants to try and play with them or run away. He's back and forth with them, and his fur is always on end around them.

Fox People: Does not like them. They tease him and trick him, and it drives him wild. It's much harder to call him back when he sees one. It's on sight for him. He was bullied as a pup by a group of foxes who were always teaming up to steal his food.

Plant People: He doesn't see a difference between them and humans. Humans just smell less like dirt and flowers. He does bite if they try to touch him in a way he only lets you do, but will try to play with them by bringing them sticks.

[wolfontheloose]

There were two sides to every coin. One in the shadow and one in the light. And Ryden had spent almost all of his life with his dark side turned towards the world, because he was only ever shown life at its very worst. It was nothing monumental really and Ryden could actually call himself lucky. With an impeccable survival instinct, a clear head on his shoulders most of the time and a sleazy cunning of a street dog knowing the alleys in his territory like the back of his paw, Ryden had navigated the dark side of life with not nearly as much harm done upon him as one had the potential to get into while crawling beneath the underbelly of modern society. 

It was an unlikely success to be proud of, to swim above a sea of rubbish and human waste, climb that mountain of shit and pin your flag into it, proclaiming survival. But oh, what the eyes have seen along the way. Little human miseries, small lives ruined over nothing, petite cruelties not worthy of the ninth circle of hell but still big enough to be blamed that if that red pill had not been chosen, everything would be alright, unreachably alright. People were demons and Ryden had seen them choose to be demons willingly over and over again, blind to the shiny speck of goodness always there as an option but never willingly taken unless it had some merit to it. 

There was nothing more desperate than a loss of faith in your fellow man. The fact that when Ryden’s coin had been tossed again by life and happened to land on a lighter side in Opulence had not changed the fact that in the back of his mind he was always aware of the experiences that built him. Of the fact that any random person next to you was capable of great evil with an even greater power to justify it under the pardoning excuse that it’s human nature to err. And as a mute witness to this hamartia, all one could do to save their sanity was turn a blind eye to it. Heroes are a thing of myth. No one can save all. Achilles had his heel to protect and he did it with a violent fervor of a war god.

And violence was an addiction, a fix of adrenaline and false impression that you’re in some control, not just a cow spun around in a tornado for cinematic value. Ryden went so long without his mistress, the Violence, in his bed, whispering to him purring words of carnage painted in the sweet, metallic crimson. Every day he went through withdrawals. For the pack, for the people in his life, for a life in the light he stayed sober through a sheer force of immense willpower to beat down dark impulses beating in his veins to the rhythm of the war drums. He was counting sheep, dormant, complacent, sleeping and dreaming of a life he was sure was not meant for him. But all things said and done, he wanted so badly to be good. And good men do not choose violence.

Stormy grey orbs with its pupils shrunk to pinheads blinked distant memories away, chasing off the distracting thoughts that had him staring at one spot without blinking for a while now, as his hands idly worked on securing the cotton wraps around them that would go under the grappling gloves he planned to adorn for the sparring session at the Cage. A benign biweekly event before the Cage’s opening that was unlikely to bring any judgement upon him from his very family friendly pack to whom he still had to prove a lot, who gave him a chance to convince it that the stereotype of his muscled frame, tattoos, crude language and an even cruder past did not define him. Bloodthirsty excitement barely an afterthought and diminished before it even rose to anything close to its full capacity, the alpha wolf rose from the bench he occupied, tidying his stuff back into his faithful gym bag to make enough room for other people who planned to attend, if any. For now, his peripheral only caught entrance of one other person beside him, likely around long before Ryden had dropped by and familiar enough to not be sized up quickly to estimate just how much fun he would be in the ring. Ryden knew Rafael was plenty of fun in a spar. A rare person he could actually learn from and if not for his werewolf strength, one that could land Ryden on his ass before you could say sweet jolly ranchers. 

Turning to greet the other man, fingers interlaced to push down the cotton padding between them into a more comfortable fit, Ryden gave a stiff nod of his chin in Raf’s direction, spartan in its respectfulness. “Ey. You a’ight?”

@raffyperez​

[thewalkingfanfictions]

Impromptu Cuddles

"Imagine having to share a bed with Spencer during a case, only to wake up in his arms."

~IMPROMPTU CUDDLES~

Part One // Part Two // Part Three

Description: During a case, Spencer and the reader are forced to share a room with only one bed. Cute fluffy shit happens.

⚠Warning⚠: Mentions of a really bloody case, probably some cuss words. Unless repressed romantic feelings are a problem for you, then nothing else, I don't think.

Genre: fluffy fluff with a tiny bit of angst if you squint your eyes and tilt your head exactly fourteen degrees to the left.

Pairing: Dr. Spencer Reid (Criminal Minds) x non gender specific Reader

A/N: guys, this was supposed to be a one shot, and somehow it turned into nearly seven thousand words. How. I don't even know where I was three quarters of the time, but I love it anyway. I'm breaking it into two or three parts so it'll be easier to read, enjoy! (Also, not my picture, credit to whoever made it :))

Words without A/N: 2006 

Masterlist

<—————————————>

"Alright, team, let's head back and get some shut eye," Agent Hotchner sighed in defeat.

We had just found the fifth body. This one just a little boy, barely five years old. The unsub had been on a non-stop murder spree for the last week and a half, and he didn't seem to have a preference point for his victims.

Nobody was safe from this monster. His first victim had been an elderly Nigerian lady, and his second was a body builder from California. He was just killing whoever, or whatever he could get his hands on. Not just humans was he after. We'd found carcasses of dogs and cats, all the way up to cows decorating his path like some messed up Hansel and Grettle bread trail. All with the same or similar COD.

We had been following his path of carnage all around North America and we still couldn't get a lead. Most of us hadn't slept in over forty-eight hours and none of us were in any position to keep working. So Hotch finally decided to step in and get us one night to rest so we could be in tip top shape for the next days of continued hunting. Or, closer to that than we were now, at least.

Right now we were in some little rag-tag town called Prairie, or something of the like. We'd been to so many places in the last week they had all started to blend together.

"The only Hotel I could find on such short notice is a little place called the 'Budget 8 Motel', they've got eight rooms currently open each with either a medium or a twin sized bed. They've got a point six five star rating and do not provide breakfasts, but do have small kitchenettes in the rooms themselves. Oh– fascinating, did you know that the origin of the star rating scale didn't come into prospect by motel owners until well into the-"

"Spence... we got it."

"Oh yeah, yeah, sorry..." Why do people always cut him off like that? Personally I find his rambling to be absolutely adorable. So what he has verbal diarrhea at times, it was better than swallowing all of his feelings and thoughts and letting them eat him from the inside like the rest of the team did. And I almost always learned something new every time. It was good information to know none the less.

I swear the entire ride I could feel his eyes on me. Every once in a while I would glance up at him out of the corner of my eye and catch him quickly looking in some other random direction.

All of us (except Rossi, who would be meeting us at the hotel) had been crammed into one of the suburbans, and with seven people, it was a squeeze.

Hotch was in the drivers seat with a pregnant JJ in the passengers, which meant that the other four of us had to squish ourselves into the three seated back seat. Morgan was up against the window on the right side with Emily pushed so hard up against him that she was practically in his lap. Then was poor Spencer who, despite his dislike of touching people, was trying his hardest not to be shoving Emily any harder into Morgan, which in turn meant he was heavily pushed against me. He was trying so hard not to squish either of us that he was practically folding himself into a profiler taco.

We soon pulled into the car park of the little Inn. If the inside looked anything like it did on the out, we were in for some fun. Heavy sarcasm intended.

It was already dark out and the one street light that decorated the car park was incredibly dull, and flickering dangerously. There were four other vehicles parked around the place, each more menacing looking than the last. The large rectangle garbage bin was overflowing onto the cement and the smell was absolutely rancid. We hadn't even gotten out of the vehicle yet. We all just sat there for a moment staring at it. Tonight was going to be fun...

"Alright," Derek clapped his hands, "I'll go in and get us our keys. Be back in a sec." He opened the door and spilled out of it rather unceremoniously, pausing  before walking stiff legged towards the door.

"Finally, some room to breath!" Cooed Emily as she scooted over into Morgans previous sitting space, giving some wiggle room to Spencer and I.

I sighed heavily and flopped back against the seat, closing my eyes and counting the seconds until I could go curl up in a ball and sleep. What I hadn't realized, was that I had fallen asleep right there.

I was awoken by a quiet voice speaking in my fac, and soft warmth across my top.

"Hey, (name), come on its time to get up, you can sleep once we get to the room," a soft voice hushed.

Sighing, I opened my eyes to find Spencer's face above mine, one of his hands on my shoulder gently shaking me back to life. Glancing down i noticed a jacket layed over me like a blanket, how had that gotten there? I grumbled slightly but didn't object as he helped me from the back seat and to the ground. He helped me gain my bearings as we walked towards the office, filling me in that everybody else was already in there talking to the guy behind the desk, Rossi had shown up, and there had been some complication with the rooms that he had only just caught wind of as he was leaving to come wake me up.

It was unbelievably cold, I watched out of the corner of my eye as Spencer shivered slightly, but when I tried to hand him back what I quickly realized to be his jacket, he waved a dismissive hand and laid the jacket over my shoulders. I sent him a thankful smile and listened to him talk, just kind of humming along, not really paying attention to his words, just listening to the sound of his voice.

We entered the office and we both automatically went quiet, listening to what was transpiring between the office manager and the team.

"And you're sure there's no other rooms? Or at least some with double beds?" Came the deeper voice of Morgan

"Nope, sorry, all full," this voice was higher pitched, but still distinctly masculine. It held boredom and irritation.

"I don't think you realize, we are federal agents, we've been chasing a psycotic serial killer for the last week and a half, and we are all very tired. So I'll ask you again. Are you absolutely certain that there are no more rooms available?" That had to be JJ. And she sounded homicidal.

"I... I'm so-rry miss but... there.. There's no ex-tra rooms, I'm sorry..." She scared him into stuttering! If I didn't feel like I was about to pass out I probably would have laughed!

"You guys'll just have to... have to double up?"

Spencer and I looked at each other over their conversation questionably. Finally walking into the room, we were greeted by the sight of a very angry looking JJ, an Emily who looked like she could pass out right then and there, three agitated and exasperated BAU operatives and a tall chubby kid who couldn't have been more than fifteen, who looked like he was about to piss himself.

"What's going on?" I asked in a groggy voice that honestly didn't even sound like mine to me.

"Turns out there is only half as many rooms as we thought were open so, yay, we all get to bunk up!" Morgan said sarcastically in a very humorless tone.

''But there was eight. Who gets to be partnerless?" Asked Spencer, who hadn't left my side since we came into the place.

Of course, we all already knew the answer to that one.

Hotch was the boss, and he had been working quadruple time trying to catch this prick, I'm positive that he hadn't slept in at least three days, if not more, and by the look of his disheveled state—one of which he rarely ever showed—he probably hadn't.

Nobody bothered to say any of it, though, all silently agreeing on it.

At some point during our telepathic conversation I had started leaning on Spencer, needing all the help I could get to keep from falling over. And, to my surprise, he didn't get all awkward and huffy. He actually turned slightly so that I was leaning more against his side than his shoulder, trying to make everything a bit more comfortable. Once I actually realized what I was doing I straightened up some and mumbled slightly through a yawn,

"Mmsorrymmm," when I looked back over at him to see if I had made him uncomfortable, he almost looked upset. Oh, I had been making him uncomfortable, but he is so warm I kinda wanted to lean into him again. I bit the inside of my cheek slightly, trying to keep from doing exactly that.

I barely had the energy to lift my head up from staring at the floor. When I heard the tail end of Rossi and the kid behind the counters conversation, I internally groaned. Our rooms were on the second floor, and they didn't have an elevator. I sighed and slowly began trudging after the waddling JJ. Slowly we climbed up the stairs, the thought of a warm bed gave me a bit of a second wind after a while though. Climbing a bit faster Morgan and I were the first to reach our doors.

We both stood there a moment looking at our surroundings. Everything, and I mean everything was decorated with an unhealthy layer of graffiti, dulled slightly by the thick layer of dust that coated it all too. The smell of mold and the other dark things that hid in the crevices of the walls was almost suffocating. This was really the only place open?

Hotch and Rossi and the rest arrived at the top whilst we were looking. They seemed almost as disturbed as Morgan and I were. While the others stopped in front if us, Aaron kept walking, picking a seemingly random room and calling out a half hearted "g'night" over his shoulder as he closed the door behind him.

"Let's decide this now so I can go to sleep," Morgan spoke. His voice groggy with sleep and sounding almost irritated. "Who's sleeping where and in what room." His question had sounded more like a demand, and when Spencer stepped forward, obviously thinking it would be he to stay with in the room with Morgan, Derek quickly looked over to Rossi who was leaned up against the wall. "I call you," he demanded and headed off to a random room.

Spencer almost looked hurt. But when JJ and Emily went off to their room and it was just us two left, his features lifted slightly. Then tightened down into nervousness.

"Guess its us then," I mumbled, already aiming for the door to the room that Spence and I would be sharing. I heard him mumble something inaudible back and follow after me.

I twisted the key in the doors lock and shoved against the door with my shoulder. I stumbled inside and went straight towards the little bed in the corner of the room. The room was one of those two room things that had the living room, bedroom, and kitchen all in one and the bathroom out to the side somewhere.

The bed was an oddity in itself. It looked to be something like a hybrid between a twin size and the next size up. Just a bit bigger that a twin, and it looked older than I am. I was right. The inside of the building did match nearly perfectly with our first view of the place from the car park.

[hollywoodblondeatlarge]

Catatonic

Well, surely, there are more important things to write about. OK?

I mean, we are living in the time of COVID. There’s a presidential election about to take place in my home country. There’s a US baseball world series (Go Dodgers!)… there’s civil unrest, Black Lives Matter, there’s starvation... and of course, there’s this...

Look. Let me begin by saying that Cats are not front page news. For the record, I don’t even own a cat.  But my neighbour’s cat, DAHLI seems to prefer life at the Hollywood Blonde estate (ok, cottage) -and she spends most of her time, here….vying  for my affection. She’s adorable. Nothing wrong with that.

She visits daily. For most of the day. Maybe it’s because the Hollywood Blonde at Large kitchen is always serving up mouthwatering delights and she follows the intoxicating aromas that waft through my open garden door.

Or perhaps she just hates her owners. 

OK, OK, I hate her owners. They look angry. They don’t say good morning. They play the worst music on the planet.  They make fires. They are always burning their rubbish. What IS that? And more importantly, they are constantly emptying heavy, stinky items into their ginormous wheelie bin outside …in the middle of the night. We hear pounding thuds… and we are convinced that they are heaving dead bodies into the bin - ones that they have somehow carved up during the wee hours. Passers by, mailmen, delivery guys... who knows.

We also think Dahli is on to them …and appears at our door because it smells a helluva lot better in here.

Dahli wears a red collar that reads “please don’t feed me.” 

C’mon, now, you know you can’t say that to a Jewish mother… 

“DAHLInk! Eat, Bubbalach! You’re too thin! You’re falling out of that coat!!” 

And Dahli is actually Little Shops of Horror’s Audrey reincarnated …she wants me to feed her alllllll night long.

She enters the house with that desperate, wide-eyed, ‘feed the children’ look…“PUHLEEEEEEZE, it only costs a dollar a day to save these precious little lives…!”

There are cats starving in Biafra. How can I ignore such a look?

So I feed her a lil’ gefilte fish. Then, maybe a lil’ lox, some seaweed snacks… 

I brush her so she doesn’t leave her farcarcta hair all over the place, thank you.   I make soft, squishy little places for her to nap and I pet her up the wazzoo (no, not literally…that’s just gross)

… She has a constant need for “the hand…” She will jump up just to be “under my hand” so that IT can pet her. 

The hand is separate from me. It could be mine. But it doesn’t have to be.      The hand has a purpose. It is to serve Dahli. She focuses on my hand like it has a life of its own. She follows it with her gaze. She contemplates it.  The hand is EVERYTHING. Simply put, she worships the hand.   

“I just need the hand, Gimme the hand… Under Her Hand…”

She also talks to me. We have deep conversations. Usually about what I’m cooking.  think she may speak yiddish because I don’t understand most of the words. But I know the look. And she sure knows guilt. Huh! she’s Jewish!

Dahli often lies down next to me in the studio when I’m recording animation. She must like that quiet lull of crazy children’s character voices...

Dahli also likes to meditate by the Buddha in my garden. She poses in front of him every morning in her “downward cat” position -stretching out every limb in homage while she listens to the wind chimes in the tree above -and focuses her gaze every now and then on one of a variety of birds that flock to my little garden sanctuary.  Aaaaaaah, so peaceful.

 Such a gentle creature she is. Such an affectionate little lover of people, nature and stone statues. 

Peace in the garden. Such enchanting quiet in the Shires, among the sheep, the cows, the goats, the early morning bird chorus, the church chimes, and yet- this morning, just as the sun was on the rise, ... wait for it...

I awoke to the most insane screaming I have ever heard...right outside my window. It sounded like a cat fight.. Ooooh! maybe the two weird women next door :-)   Popcorn ready!

Maybe one of them chopped up the other one’s lover!!

OK, maybe not. Perhaps it was a real cat fight since there are plenty of cats in our little Shires neighbourhood. Yet, I could see nothing when I looked out my window. So, down the stairs I go to open the front door. 

In a flash, Dahli races in with some poor forshimmelled bird hanging upside down out of her mouth. Dahli is carrying on like a happy madwoman as she parades it in front of me… the poor little bird looks like Francis Farmer after her electro shock therapy. 

This may have been the point when I passed out.

From what I understand -what happened next was Terry, my husband, went chasing Dahli around the lounge until he released the manic bird from her mouth and sent her flying outside…. Where… she crashed into the fence and landed on the ground flailing - - just in time for Dahli to capture her once again.

The next thing I remember -Dahli was standing at our sliding glass door, screaming at me - yet again -- with the helpless bird hanging out of her mouth… She was begging to be noticed and perhaps even applauded. She clawed at the window, she gave me the million dollar guilt look. “Open the damn door!”

“Hey! Hollywood Blonde!  PSSST! Over here! Look!!! Look what I’ve got!  See this farcarcta bird? I killed her for you!!!”

“No, no, no, this is just soooo wrong!” I yelled at her- (through the glass of course.)  “You killed a helpless bird, LADY! What the hell are you thinking?”

Desperate, I asked my cat-whisperer pal, Vinnie, across the pond, “what do I do now? She brought me a dead bird???!” 

He told me to preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

Bata boom. 

She has been pleading to come inside all day and I’m pissed. Suddenly, she does not understand the Yiddish expressions I’m throwing out at her.

I’m more than pissed. I’m horrified. I’m nauseated. I try not to but I’m extremely judgmental of her behaviour.  My friend says  “this means she loves you!’ And… “what an honour! She is sharing with you!”

And I’m thinking, “Lady, you love me so you kill for me?”   We’ve watched those episodes on the telly ... ya know like “Snapped” and “Couples Who Kill.”  

"Kitty Assassins....”

She loves me -and so she has to kill for me.  I ponder this for a moment. 

How can I possibly apply this to my life?

Hmmm, do I  knock off Trump for the sake of mankind?  

Out of love, of course.

Don’t answer that.

If I showed up at a Biden rally with my Trump trophy hanging upside down out of my mouth, might I be fed, petted, admired?

 Don’t answer that either.

I just don’t understand how a being so beautiful, so extraordinary, mysterious, soft, cuddly and majestic can turn into a killer overnight?

Clearly I grew up in the city. I know nothing about animal behaviour.  Unless of course you ask me about my exes…  

Can we tawk?

Hollywood life had not properly prepared me for the likes of this. I had an indoor cat called “Stevens.”  I liked to say, this is my Cat, “Stevens.”

LA cool cat, ya know. She spent her days working on her tan - lazing on the carpet in the sun that streamed in through my patio doors. She ate my left over sushi and munched on seaweed. She had regular manicures and pedicures. She wore a bandana. She never went out. Hey, nobody walks in LA… She didn’t chase dogs or birds. But she liked to watch them on the telly.

Aah, those were innocent times. 

Life in the country sure is different. I’m afraid to think of what Dahli might bring me next?

Hmmm, maybe I can entice her to bring me ...“45…?” 

Remember, they have a giant wheelie bin next door… 

Hollywood Blonde at Large signing off. 

Who’s catatonic?

And thank you, Leslie, for forshimmelled...

[hudsonespie]

DNA Monitoring Helps Catch Illegal Trade in Endangered Species

[By Pavel Toropov]

A researcher at Hong Kong University has developed a technique that makes it possible to identify many species from a single scoop of water draining out of wet markets. It could help authorities detect trade in endangered marine species.

Hong Kong is well known as a major hub for the global trade in illegal wildlife. As well as smuggling products on, a lot of what arrives is sold in the city itself.

In 2015, a group of scientists from Hong Kong University founded the Conservation Forensics Laboratory in order to provide Hong Kong’s authorities with scientific tools to better investigate and prosecute wildlife and environmental crime.

Headed by Professor Caroline Dingle, the laboratory now has 13 members who specialise in a wide range of disciplines, from law to coral reef ecology.

Working as a research assistant with the laboratory, molecular biologist Johnny Richards developed a forensic tool that could allow the authorities to discreetly monitor Hong Kong’s wet markets for the presence of endangered fish species.

Per head, Hong Kong is Asia’s second largest seafood consumer, behind only Mainland China, and most Hong Kongers regularly purchase their seafood at the city’s more than 200 wet markets.

In 2017, Bloom, a local NGO, together with Choose Right Today, a platform helping Hong Kongers purchase sustainable seafood, produced a report on trade in live reef fish in the wet markets. The report showed “prevalence of threatened species” and called for “urgent and collective conservation action.”

Monitoring what is being traded at the wet markets is clearly critical but it isn’t straightforward. “Traders know what they are selling, and are wary” says Richards. He mentions traders refusing to answer questions and not allowing photographs. The researchers were even chased away on several occasions, though some traders were friendly and willing to talk.

The tool he has been developing does not alarm them. Nobody even comes to inspect their fish. Investigators, staying out of sight, simply collect small samples of water from drains running from the wet market. Richards collected several samples from each market in order to cover its entire area. He reasoned that the concentration of fish DNA in the drains would be highest in late morning, and timed his sampling accordingly.

The smaller the amount of water needed for the tests, the faster and more discreetly it can be collected. By refining the method of extracting the DNA from the drain water, Richards reduced the amount required to “a single scoop, 50 milliliters” that can be collected in seconds.

The water sample will then be sent to the HKU laboratory, where the DNA is extracted and then used to identify the species that have been in contact with it, revealing what the traders have been selling.

This seemingly straightforward procedure relies on advanced technology. Wet market drain water contains thousands upon thousands of DNA fragments, including from all the species sold at a typical Hong Kong market – not only fish, but also molluscs, crustaceans, pigs, cows, chickens, turtles and frogs. There will also be DNA of people, dogs and cats mixed in. Collectively, this DNA is known as eDNA, as it is obtained from environments, such as water or soil, rather than directly from the organisms.

DNA testing technology used only to be capable of processing a single, well-preserved strand of a DNA molecule at one time, and so could not identify which species eDNA came from. The technology now available, however, can separate and identify multiple DNA fragments from different organisms, all at the same time – a process known as metabarcoding.

Richards explains that the main technical challenge in creating his forensic tool was how to extract the DNA material from the highly contaminated drain water that he calls “drain soup”. He says that filtering it was far more difficult than doing so with turbid water from rivers or lakes, probably because of the high quantity of organic solutes – lipids, oil and blood. The result was a very slow DNA filtration process, and the precipitate “full of fats, oils and other gunk.” Once the DNA has been extracted, sequenced and digitised, specialised software can check it against a DNA database of known fish species.

Last year, Richards did a pilot study of his tool, sampling drain water from several of Hong Kong’s wet markets. His results produced a list of 144 fish species. Three were listed in Appendix II of CITES (the Convention on International Trade of Endangered Flora and Fauna) – two species of thresher shark and a shark’s relative – blackchinned guitarfish.

Hong Kong SAR is a signatory to CITES, and all trade in CITES-II listed species in Hong Kong requires permits. Failure to have them is a criminal offense.

Source: Customs data organized by Joyce Wu, former East Asian Director of TRAFFIC

All three species of thresher sharks, harmless to humans and originally abundant world-wide, were listed by CITES in 2016, as the shark fin trade has decimated their numbers. Guitarfish have shark-like fins and are now also harvested for this commodity. Their populations world-wide have now crashed.

Richards thinks that the shark DNA came from meat rather than fins, adding that he was surprised to see evidence of shark meat sold at the markets. When he consulted existing records, however, he learned that shark meat had previously been traded at the same market.

Drain water also yielded DNA from 14 fish species classified from “vulnerable” to “critically endangered” by the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN). The “vulnerable” category included several species of groupers – including long tooth grouper and brown marbled grouper, delicacies sold live at wet markets in Hong Kong.

Whereas CITES is a legally binding agreement, the classification by IUCN is purely advisory. Even trading in species listed as “critically endangered” by IUCN has no legal consequences for the trader unless they are breaking local laws.

Trade in both long tooth grouper and brown marbled grouper is legal in Hong Kong, but HKU professor Yvonne Sadovy, an expert on reef fish conservation, warns: “Massive appetite for live wild-caught groupers, most of which are imported from Southeast Asia, is having devastating impacts on fish populations in some areas because of the large volumes of fish involved as well as the widespread absence of fishery management.”

Professor David Baker, a coral reef ecologist and supervisor of Richards’ project, defines the purpose of their eDNA tool as: “Collecting intelligence in a non-invasive way.”

Water samples are sent to a laboratory, where DNA is extracted and used to identify the species that have been in contact with it, revealing what the traders have been selling (Image: Johnny Richards)

The Lab plans to make the tool available to Hong Kong authorities after the publication, due this month, of the scientific paper based on Richard’s pilot study.

Amanda Whitfort, professor of law at Hong Kong University, who is also part of the Conservation Forensics Laboratory team, explains what needs to be done to put Richards’ work to practical use:

“The first step is to have the Food and Environmental Hygiene Department (FEHD) agree to make this test a monitoring tool. FEHD officers will then conduct the sampling as a routine task when they inspect the wet markets. Results would then need to be shared with the Agriculture Fisheries and Conservation Department’s (AFCD) Endangered Species Division, as the AFCD would be the ones to pursue prosecutions as required.”

The use of eDNA as an effective tool for biodiversity detection and monitoring is growing in conservation and research. Taking it into the courtroom, however, is a different matter – unlike the DNA obtained directly from plants, animals or their products, eDNA-based forensic evidence has not yet been admitted in court in wildlife crime cases.

Whitford thinks this is possible, provided that legal professionals come to understand the science behind it: “The court would need first to assess an expert’s report on its scientific reliability (of eDNA evidence) and if it were considered reliable enough, it could be taken into account in determining whether the prosecution had proved their case.”

Perhaps Hong Kong, which has recently started to pass harsher sentences for wildlife crime, could set a legal precedent.

Pavel Toropov has been based in China for the past ten years and works in the outdoor industry. He holds a PhD in ecology and has written for the South China Morning Post, National Geographic, Runners' World and various other publications.

This article appears courtesy of China Dialogue Ocean and may be found in its orignal form here.

  from Storage Containers https://www.maritime-executive.com/article/edna-monitoring-could-spot-illegal-trade-in-endangered-species via http://www.rssmix.com/

[weaselle]

pay no attention to this collection I just need to post it so I can find it

hit walls and floor... tall inside of my skull; if I never fall at all, clever's awfully dull - so if "push" says the door you'll be watchin' me pull - 'cause I only shop for china when I'm walkin' with bulls

Order me sit? dope, I'm askin' how high; I out right hope my notes are causin' outcry - where do I fit? miles as the cow flies - statistically shit, climbin' slopes to outlie

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I can juggle knives, and proselytize, and wink my eyes in flirth (or mix words like mirth and flirt, like, ask what planet Dirt is wearth) I can lift a person by their soul, or... even let them down; I can fit myself to any role: demon, prophet, clown. I can write like frightened squid, or read a book from any shelf- but a lifeguard out at sea can drown, and I can't save myself

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I want an adventurous crew, less than 100 and much more than 2; I've got an idea or four to do and believe that "to lead" isn't "ordering you" - I want be thicker than thieves: if one of us cries, everyone grieves; stacked deck for success, form small companies so that every ace dealt goes up all of our sleeves - I wish I had Boromir's horn; I stand full of arrows, small and forlorn I'd summon an army as sure as you're born and we'd rend every obstacle / mend what is torn

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yo when it's late I don't know if debate is a pro that I'm prone to or con I conflate; yawn ok great it's the dawn of new date too soon gone like a pawn in a perilous state - do I wander or wait, keep closed yonder gate or transpose these ten toes 'til exposing my fate? if not off to bed nodding off head berates and refuses to do more than snooze/obfuscate

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I don't have time enough to tell the clock to stop its ticking talk, while I'm sublimely sleepy, still ensconced in twos of shoes and socks; I'm staring off in awful need of themes that breed these searing thoughts- I breathe more air when all unfair reality congeals and clots; when sleep is claustrophobic, fear near stoic in its static stay, I ride my nightmares into mounts more suited to the dreams of day

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time for me to be known from home to home, on the campaign trail like when Romans roam, I'mma do the damn thang, prevail and own every twist in this life-line vine I've grown

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sick like a little bit with a bad tum and sniffle it's not a badda-boom bat beating but a wiffle hit; sleep like the bleeping sheep gotta wring it outta me, sore like a freaking score that you sing without a "c".

________________________________________________________________

i got nothing to say, i'm all bluff in this play, i mean i'm here to swerve some verse it's clear i'm thumpin' away at the buttons with the letters on whenever it’s day like a cat attacks a sweater, just pretending it’s prey - I need to catch the thing I’m chasing, like, it’s gotta get caught, and so I jot it down a lot to try to capture the thought; but though the plot is often written out in dashes and sketches, i rarely cash in those checks, i need more carry than fetches, so I’m dreamin’ and dumpin’ out all the schemin’ or somethin’ and like, even if it’s meaningless these keys I’ll keep thumpin

__________________________________________________________________

with the internet i’m magic and i’m casting a spell call a song out of the air to here as clear as a bell private playlist from the A-list like i’m famous as hell making music moving quickly so I’m faster as well

_________________________________________________________________

“oh no” I shout “Where’s Trusty my phone?” I don’t know the whereabouts, must be shown- adjusted the tone of the ring to silence now trying to find it brings me to violence; really need to locate as I motivate to go today I throw the flippin’ sofa pillows hopin’ for a stowaway... but oh no way it’s gone I pray this song will make a tiny spell; a lesson less on lost forlorn and more intent on finding cell

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pocket full of humbug, some'll argue/ some shrug but damnit my whole planet's stupid like it's on the Dumb drug will there be a U.S. war? (I mean ANOTHER on our list) maybe something civil: neo-drivel vs. power fist... maybe accidental, mental trump insulting china's boss I fear these pale tears will steer us straight into a giant loss

so many people on the earth are searching for a safe life the rich'll keep their swords but lord they'll take away our steak knife Nothing free for you and me our banking fees are never waved; an act by black or poor is "crime" for white or rich it's "misbehaved" They're pouring us an ethanol and calling it an eggnog - time to run away and trade these reindeer for a sled-dog; the season of the commie christ whose message hasn't landed yet: money only isn't evil if the people's needs are met

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no thanks on the news, yo crank up the tunes, don't bank on the crankiness taking a snooze unless I get dressed from neckless to shoes and charge the horizon more wise than confused __________________________________________________________

hear the too late beep, missing two days sleep, and the road to a dream is a two way street; so the mood stays bleak though I do make sweet this coffee with cream and the brew ain't weak

____________________________________________________________________

been a While since I styled out the verbs and tenses, went around the Gates and straight hopped the fences; penUltimately gotta be a sultan of self: master mind, rule body, find my worth-and-my-wealth; if i'm quiet too long I'll have sloth not stealth so I try to move along and get my words off the shelf.

my projects: objects I invent/books writ - that shit won't pay the rent; throw fits, I have, it don't prevent: what's real from feeling devil-sent.

so I must be clever, do each: sum total; whatever needs eating this dead-beat goat'll; ask what is the art in a pace grown sickly? cut to the part where the chase goes quickly

Now hook or crook I must prepare, to tell each truth/take every dare stand hand on hips, and one in air, you can kiss my lips, or my derrière

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got me a hit list, swear i'ma get this done til the sun goes under the business; witness, this is crazy and witless, lazy lately: maybe the wiz kid just hid restless - put to the test his quiz is bested get to the rest it's now or not again, get that got and then kill it til the whole damn lot is a slaughter pen, sweat til the wet drip drops gettin' hotter than the metal that your kettle corn kernel keeps poppin' in; hoppin' and hippin' and readin' what's written i gotta be gettin' to the List no skippin'! slippin like fall, new leaves i'm flippin - givin' my all just to keep on grippin'; breakin' what doesn't bend wrong way through, as i make it to the end of the long To Do

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i post at the prompt, chew big what i've chomped; grew kid to a ghost haunting most of this pomp; listless within this to do list i'm swamped - spirit in fits, corpse slow to go romp

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incautious swatches of saying; watch as he washes the playing: switching the swerving and swaying into some terms of conveying wishes conditions occurred in which this envisioned un-blurred digit could get itself heard and flip politicians the bird

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in the trace of the face off you tasted last, is the scent of the sense made fading fast, so your dreams leak sieve-like hiking past a scared nightmare crew of an all-you cast

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got me a pallet of shall get around to, climb out of shallow kie, it's not about you; just look at the play and see where the props ain't, take out a brush but don't rush it you'll drop paint; stop sayin' you're praying for planet like damn saint but get out and do, do it, do, 'til you feel faint; yes do it, true get into some writing, what you must chew is how much off you're biting, i dust off the lightning and plug it right in, if i play hard enough then my bluff just might win, all this tin in my pocket while walking about til the hat-caving camptown will clean me all out- my ten other projects, pretend money fudge it, i'll sell all my objects and end up with budget; i'd love it if some of my ideas ran, but i'll finish the one and be one happy man

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each piece is news, new peace in reach; tho a few of you choose nude tweets of Preach- but the rest got best bits fittin' here, what tests my pets must sit and hear: forget that past rush last two years going mash-gas fast 'til we're clashing gears, it's clear no room for fear to be, but the info flash is a blast to me- from the crashing sea to the land locked loam, we're lashed to the new word womb to tomb; and it's all fantastic like plastic foam that'll patch like magic a tragic home, or a tech part heart in 3-d print that'll let docs talk too intelligent; it's so elegant, that an elephant could do operations like he hella went: to harvard med my head is full but the school yard's sharp like a shaving tool; i'm a raving fool, but i drink it in, article particles 'til i sink and spin, win wonder i'm under delusions grand- will i sunder illusions and understand? or is it too much fuss will i cuss and worry, will i do what's just 'mid the dust and fury all i know is i go with the flow i find, tryna rein in my brain while i fill my mind

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so often was the A.M. spent prayin' for mayhem, like seeing riots firing inspired me to 'amen'; i'd hate when the job sucked, my robbed luck, i'd get stuck- attempts at free society my hopes and dreams were all fucked; but lately (don't hate me) the game is less crazy- i bust twice as lustrous if bosses don't make me; So new to the bragging, i catch up from lagging and write down solutions more lucid less nagging

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no sleep awake i sit and wait until the mill will dim/abate some whim shall take my fancy fate is to be sleeping dreaming state my eyes won't close i'll type i 'spose i'll write a night time rhyming prose those words i've heard but rearranged their meaning seeming weird and strange i've changed but how i could not say i only know no other way yet days gone by then who was i my mind was mine but what i tried to bind untied it flies! it runs! i rue what once i 'knew'; so dumb- untruth undo what time has done i can't so chant of what's to come oh spin oh sing oh show such things oh paint me what the future brings if won't be still then say your fill i pray my brain abstain from frills and spill the beans and give me scenes of things that help divine the means which plan to make which paths to take? i sit and wait no sleep awake

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rework this

i want things to be different, starting with me; like to find me a new mind, with new eyes to see; like to start a new life, with new ways to be; can't be hard to do right, or this dude might flee- but i like the older version, no aversion to he: the kid who up and did lots, and got up from knees; who figured bigger sub-plots, and thought it was neat; who questioned syncopation, by stepping off beat; so i'd like to start a nation, a tribe or a team; one with no reservations just, a vibe and some steam; a group think to shout out 'thou shalt know peace' and to try it they're provided with some elbow grease; what i mean is, i think it's, so nice to be me; and the thing is the scene seems a singularity; but my brain goes, down more roads, than the branches of trees; and with more crew, i might do, more glancing with ease; so for multiples of loyal, one/two/three: i might try it royal, and become true We

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[vide0-nasties]

All Fs for ylfa euffie and ww 😘

Fun

1. what do they do for fun?

Eustacia: gets tattoos she's been planning on, takes spa days, creates obscure curses, swimming and swimming and swimming, attempts to turn herself into creatures that don't exist yet, reads the same five books a dozen times, goes to carnal shows, plays dress up and gives herself a makeover.

Ylfa: wanders into places she's not allowed, plays the accordion, creates new characters to play (would DEFINITELY be into dungeons and dragons), wrestles people bigger than her, climbs on anything even slightly vertical, reads anything and everything she can get her hands on, eats all the new food she's offered, cartwheels and somersaults and handstands, meets a stranger and fucks that stranger, teaches get dog new tricks, irritates the living hell out of her fiance.

Wildwood: an abominable southerner - can, has, and will sit on a porch talking from sun-up to sun-down, voracious reader, fan of starting fights and fading into the background to revel like Emperor Nero, horse racing, horse training, trick riding, trick shooting, violin/fiddle playing and autoharp strumming, flatfoot dancing, collecting drinking toasts, trotting out those drinking toasts, singing to herself, giving hokey palm reading and tarot reading sessions to friends.

2. what is their ideal party?

Eustacia: It used to be the nine day revelries surrounding events--weddings, funerals, births, holidays. The heavy, frenetic best of drums, voices flung high in hymns, mead overflowing the cups and spilling over the backs of hands, effigies thrown into massive, cleansing bonfires. The Banshees were there to guard, but they always had their own rebellious and private celebrations behind the Sisters' backs. These days, her ideal party is staying home, doing as she pleases, and doing it with the people she'd bleed for.

Ylfa: Her home country doesn't celebrate the turn of the seasons so much as they mourn the loss of the sun for six months and celebrate its return. Twice a year, the streets are overrun during festivals. It's easy to get lost in it, and no response if them ever find their shape the same. She picks a persona before sneaking from the Beserkr's Temple, and for as long as she can get away with, she's someone else, drinking and dancing and watching plays and performances, drowned in sound and light and bodies.

Wildwood: A 50/50 split between camp parties and anywhere the dancing and music are loud enough to drown out her thoughts. She would rather have the comfort and familiarity of family over the mendacity of maintaining a facade for people she doesn't care about and never will, but she'll gladly accept a night where she doesn't have to hear strange voices so long as they can play a prop as well as she can.

3. who would they have the most fun with?

Eustacia: In another life, she and Julian would've gotten on like a house on fire, he playing the spotlight and her the stagehand, but that's come and gone like the plague. With Asra, she is happiest, the two of them an island in the middle of life, occasionally dragging him back out into the open.

Ylfa: Until recently, Ylfa hasn't had anyone that could or was interested in keeping up with her. She still thinks, sometimes, that she's her it best company, able to make fun for herself wherever she goes.

Wildwood: The gang's young folk have heard all the stories--every iteration of "that one time in..." Every bizarre incident, every close call, every "there's no good reason I didn't die that night." If she was interested in chasing the tradition of that girl-on-fire, she'd take up with Sean, or Karen, or, fuck, even Javier if he's got a certain look in his eye. But girl-on-fire has banked down to woman-in-the-glowing-coals, and slinging a gun so hard she falls face down in the mud, or drunkenly trying to thieve a horse that's actually someone's milk cow doesn't hold a fraction of the allure of sitting under a dusk sky until it's all-dark-full-stars as she and Arthur talk their way through a fifth of cheap bourbon, a pot of coffee, and into their bed rolls.

4. can they have fun while conforming to rules?

Eustacia: As largely a homebody as she is these days, she figures that much isn't illegal unless she's caught, and anything of questionable legal standing can't backfire too badly if it's small-scale enough to fit in the confines of the apartment above the shop.

Ylfa: The action of herself having fun is rarely sanctioned, so even going out to look for it is rule-breaking. And beyond that, she's of a serial-trespasser's mindset: all the good shit happens exactly where you don't belong.

Wildwood: She's of two minds on this. She absolutely can have fun sitting still and running her mouth for hours on end, BUT there's just something about thrill of beautifully-executed, extra-judicial redistribution of funds. Crime is fun, and she's yet to find a feeling like divvying up a score after a good job, even if the shrieking delight of the shine wore off years ago.

5. do they go out a lot?

Eustacia: Not often anymore, no. Besides her trips to the red market, she much prefers her small, badly-kept space to the rest of the world. She doesn't like being places where people can watch her, stare at her with impunity. 

Ylfa: As often as she humanly can. Her upbringing has been a long block of isolation--either by choice she didn't make for herself, or forced by someone else's hand. It doesn't matter where she ends up, she always wants to go somewhere she's never been, see things she's never seen. The wanderlust hasn't been burned out of her.

Wildwood: By necessity, she has to constantly be out and about. New jobs don't just form from the ether to fall in her lap. She has to hunt, and prey very, very rarely decides to stumble on to her doorstep. 

[kaileynel4-blog]

You are all lucky SOB’s!!!

Alrighty, let’s dive right into the issue of my blog....my title is incorrect!!! Yes, this whole time I have had a title I did not mean to have. I mean, it doesn’t really make sense?!? Happiness is contagious, just like a sneeze??? So remember when I wrote my first blog post? The one where I deleted my entry 3 times?!?! So I think that is where my problem all started! I was so frustrated with the fact that I stupidly deleted my blog, that I stupidly wrote the wrong title!? I am not sure where the sneeze part came into play but I meant to say YAWN!! Yawns are contagious, not SNEEZES! Sweet jesus I’m an oblivious idiot sometimes. I think I am just gonna drop the sneeze part and just go with Happiness is Contagious. Sorry for all the confusion and head scratches along the way...I will say one thing though, it sure would have been nice if one of you told me!!! Just said “hey kailey, your title doesn’t make sense...sneezes aren’t contagious...” I blame 20% of this title mistake on you guys!

Anyways, the past few weeks have been a bit more challenging for me and continually learning the ups and downs of living abroad. I have been in Thailand for 5 months now and can’t believe it! Some days it feels like I’ve been gone forever and others like I just left last week. The amount of thinking through my emotions and listening to that little voice in my head, is much more than I anticipated. I am not much of an emotional person...I am not saying that I am heartless person or that I dont have emotions, I just don’t outwardly express them as much as others. So having to deal with these random thoughts and emotions is not my favorite thing to do. There are many ways to cope with your mental state of craziness. Currently, mine is exercise and coffee. Yes, coffee. I try to do some sort of physical activity everyday. It helps with all my anxiousness that I tend to have...sometimes I swear my attention span is like a 5 year olds. The “squirrel” situation happens to me more often than it should :) Coffee...oh the sweet sweet smell of good coffee. Drinking an iced cappuccino helps calm me and has become a comfort thing for me. It is a reminder of home but also brings back all the wonderful times I have had drinking coffee with my favorite people! I feel a sense of normalcy is brought to my not so normal life. I love the adventure that I am on but realized that it’s okay to want a bit of normalcy and miss some comforts of back home. In the beginning, I wouldn’t let myself think about all the things I missed cause I thought it would be harder but then I realized that I am lucky to miss people from home. I am one lucky lady to be living in a place that not many others have experienced. I am lucky to be surrounded by constant support and love. And I am lucky to have dogs all around me and help improve the lives of elephants in SE Asia! Now this is the part where you get to reflect...what makes you feel lucky?? What are the moments in your life where you have just thought “damn, I am one lucky bastard!” How do you cope with your crazy thoughts and emotions? One thing that i am learning along this journey, is to reflect and be grateful everyday that I am alive. If you are still reading my blogs (thank you Mom) I hope the one thing that you have taken away from them is to be grateful. The crappy situation you may think you are in could always be worse and sometimes you just need to remind yourself how fuckin lucky you are to be alive! Here is a photo of me loving life with two of coworkers, Fang and Roger! We were with the volunteers as they walked the elephants to the river!

This past week I had mixed emotions about life...I was feeling homesick and i think in large part due to the fact that my sister and Jacque were visiting and had just left. Words cant begin to describe how amazing it was to have my sister and Jacque come visit me. It is a pretty special thing to be able to share my Thailand home with the one person that I have always looked up to and admired. Being able to show my sister the loving community i live in, the efforts that Bamboo is doing to improve the lives of the elephants and show her why I love working here. I hope that she now has a better sense of what i am doing and understands a bit more as to why I moved here! After my sister and Jacque left, I had a bit of an emotional rollercoaster for a couple days. I was questioning why the fuck I am here, what do i want to get out of working in Thailand and really how much i missed home. As i worked through these emotions, i realized that I chose to do this. this decision was all me. I reached out to Bamboo to see if they had a job opening, I applied and I got the job. I didn’t care what people thought about me moving aboard cause I knew that I wanted to do it and that was all that mattered. I hope that from here on out I will be bold with my decisions, chase after my dreams, continue to spread happiness (even if its not contagious like a sneeze haha) remember how amazing life is when you are living it up, and always encourage those around you to be the best version of themselves.

The level of shits given lately is 0 for me. I am used to the weird Thailand things and know that i just need to accept it and move on. For example, there is a gecko that lives in my room. He poops in the same spot in my room and I cant seem to get him out! Normally, people would freak out about this and maybe even call a terminator. I dont think there is a such thing in Thailand so I just pray every night that I dont wake up with him on my face. In the village, the water goes out during the middle of the day. I have also had to accept this and just do a bucket shower or remain extremely smelly for a few more hours. I realized when my sister was visiting that my level of actual cleanliness is suffering a bit. I just dont really care that i brush my teeth from water that has been sitting in a bucket for who knows how long, or that the dishes we use to eat with everyday sit outside to dry with all the bugs and critters that could potentially crawl on them, or that i swim in a elephant poo infested river twice a week cause i am not gonna pass up swimming with them. I used to refuse to sleep on floors and never really liked camping in tents unless i had a pad. I have slept on the floor with a small thai pad for 5 months now. Some days i would love to have a tempurpedic mattress but for the most part I have done pretty good considering how high maintenance i was about sleeping on the floor. I have survived brushing my teeth in questionable water for 5 months and as long as I brush them i am pretty pleased with myself. There are just some things in life that aren’t worth the energy of worrying about. Accepting this is the hardest part but something I am learning. Thailand so far has taught me to be tougher and a little smellier. We live a pretty cushy and priviladge life in America and it is good to strip yourself of these privileges every once in awhile to really see what your boundaries are. When Jacque and my sister were here, the one thing that Jacque said she realized almost immediately was that she will never complain about water her beautiful plants again. We saw a woman carrying two big buckets of water on the end of a stick and was going to water her crops. We dont have to worry about watering our plants cause all we have to do is turn the hose on and stand there. We also have house plants for our pure enjoyment and dont rely on them to make a living. Appreciation is a huge thing for me and i appreciate every delicious cup of coffee i get, i appreciate all the meals that are cooked for me, I appreciate when my thai coworkers pick me up so i dont have to walk, I appreciate the dark chocolate that my mom sent me, I appreciate the smell of clean laundry and i appreciate most of all the people in my life. So the next time you complain about having to water your plants, drive your nice car to the grocery store, having to take your dog for a walk, or complain about your bed being too small, remember just how fucking lucky we are to have these things in our lives. Some people wont ever have the luxury of having these things so please just be grateful and appreciative of all that you have!

Here is a photo of our staff/family dinners in the village! I LOVE SPICY THAI FOOD!!!!

Here is one last thing before i go...I have fallen in love.......with a dog at the village. Her name is Kao (pronounced like cow) and she is the sweetest dog. I have talked about her before. She is the dog that had 4 litters of puppies and I paid for her to get spayed so she doesn’t have to have any more puppies! Anyways, I want to adopt kao and bring her back home to America to live a spoiled and privileged puppy life. The problem i have run into is that I dont know exactly when I will be coming home for good and need someone to help foster/adopt her. If you are interested in helping me get her to america please let me know! I am looking for someone to temporarily take care of her until i come home. Now i must warn you, if you want to foster her, please dont fall in love with her. She is my dog and I will want her back! It is going to be hard for you cause she is an amazing pup but we can work out a situation where you can still see her. Maybe even puppy sit! Okay, I’m getting off topic here....If anyone would like to help me out with this amazing and sweet dog please let me know! It is a long process to adopt a dog from Thailand so it would take a little while but i would love to get it started. Here are a couple photos of her to make you feel a little guilty and possible persuade you to help out ;) also, if you cant adopt but want to help out financially let me know!

As always i am sending lots of hugs and kisses to those back home. I am grateful everyday that I am alive and happy and I hope that you are too!

Cheers to summer livin and see you all in a month!! If anyone wants to have a slumber party and drink wine when i am home, i am most definitely down for that!

Love you all :)

[gloriousgardendonut]

Boats......

"Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing – absolutely nothing – half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats" - Ratty - Wind in the Willows. So we swapped the campervan for a boat  we have boated before in both cruisers and narrow boats and love it. In fact Simon has a long term plan to live on a boat…….oh as well as live in a mobile home…….oh and in a cottage that needs renovating……and finally on a plot of land where we actually build our house from scratch! We've boated before on the beautiful Norfolk Broads, once in summer, which is very busy, but amazing to see so many boats and once in Spring which was very quiet and more relaxing. We've also been on the Oxford Canal with the excitement of using locks but also the daily worry of not dropping the 'windlass' - that's the bit of equipment essential for opening the locks. We've also been on the Union Canal in Scotland via the engineering marvel that is the Falkirk Wheel - essentially a rotating boat lift that replaced a staircase of locks that took a lot of time and energy to navigate. Doing this in a barge was exciting and scary for those a little uncomfortable with heights. For this boat trip we started in Ely in Cambridgeshire with our boat hired from a boat yard on the Great River Ouse. Ely is a city but it feels like a market town. The cathedral is worth seeing inside and out, the architecture, paintings and fittings are spectacular. Only a short distance away from the centre is the river, which is a hive of activity for boaters and the locals. We spent a day and night in Ely walking along the river, site-seeing and trying the local bars and restaurants. We had one of those days when you blow the gap year budget because it's sunny, laid back and a relaxing place to be. We  made up for the little blow out by spending zilch for the following few days by staying on the boat and relying on the supplies from home - emergency pasta and gin cocktails (Portsmouth gin at that - a present from a friend on finishing work for the gap year - chin chin Jacque Ashton). The boat was a cruiser with two 'wee' cabins, one had seats and a mini kitchen and the other cabin had a bed a wash basin and separate compartment with shower and toilet. A tight space but palatial compared to the van. The compartments were separated by the central driving compartment, where we alternated the role of captain and ships mate throughout the week, although someone took the role of captain much more seriously than the other. The bed was a strange triangular shape with the head part under the bow of the boat (that's the front). On night one claustrophobia set in for me as the space was small, confined and difficult to get out of without doing a backflip. So whilst Simon stayed put, myself and the dog moved to the front compartment where you could convert the seats to two single beds. I had one, Skyler had the other…..until about 5am when Skyler decided he'd jump onto mine and we'd share - a tight squeeze but there's nothing quite as nice as a doggy spooning you. For a week we cruised at 4-7 miles an hour along the River Great Ouse and its tributaries the Little Ouse, Wissey, Lark and Brandon Creek. We also went along The Cam where you can go as far as Cambridge, but we had decided not to visit the bigger towns or cities on this particular trip. Boating is best enjoyed if you sit back and just watch the views go by. As a commuter I spend 2-3 hours a day travelling along the motorways and busy roads of Lancashire, often on autopilot with the main objective of getting from A to B as quickly as possible; A and B being home and work. I spend little time taking in the scenery as a matter of safety. With a small boat it's very different,  there's not a lot you can do other than chill out and spend a lot of time looking at the scenery. Once you do that you begin to see in great detail the views, the wildlife and nature in action. Swans teaching their signets the ways of the river, cows chewing the cud and flicking their tails, herons watching majestically from the banks, dragon flies frantically chasing your boat, ripples shimmering and breaking against the waterlilies and disturbing for a second the stillness of the yellow flowers sprouting from them. The vistas stretch for miles across fields with tiny villages recognisable by their church spires poking out on the horizon and then suddenly the vistas disappear and you are enclosed by reeds or trees of every variety, shaded but penetrated by flashes of sunlight. Every so often there is the excitement of a bridge - or rather getting the boat through it without hitting the sides. Then comes the mooring up!!!! Mooring is actually a simple task if logic is used and all remain calm -  steer the boat in, knock off the power, secure the front end and then secure the back end, job done. Alas, for us mooring seems to cause a lot of tension, a row often errupts with choice language, raised voices and a lot of disagreement about who's fault it was the mooring didn't go to plan! Arguments aside there is something really lovely about being tied to the river bank, knowing you are there for the night far from civilisation in the peace and tranquility of the countryside all 'alone'. That is unless you listen to local folklore which can make you a bit nervous about the 'alone' bit. Local folklore has it that at night out on the paths near the waterways and fens of Cambridgeshire and Norfolk there is a ghostly presence known as the 'Black Shuck'. Described as a large black hound with red eyes as big as saucers that prowls about howling so as to make your blood run cold. Apparently though there are tales of the Shuck helping out the fairer sex who may find themselves  lost in the fens and that he has on occasion  guided them back to the safety of the villages. I could find no details though on what he does to men, making Simon a little nervous when conveniently I was already cosy on my PJs when he had to take Skyler out on the dark mooring for his before-bed pee…………ARH-WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Of course you don't need to sleep out in the middle of nowhere with wild beasties. Along the rivers and canals are pretty villages and pubs where you can enjoy the local hospitality, often these moorings are busier with other boaters and locals so there is that sense of safety in numbers if you don't like being in more secluded places. Littleport is one such place, an hour or so up the river from Ely, we stayed there on our first night, crossing a little bridge from our mooring to the Swan on the River,where we had a few glasses of the amber nectar and a lovely meal. Word of warning though, remember you are on a river and you need to be able to walk in a straight line at closing time back to your mooring, otherwise you'll be getting a bit closer to those waterlilies mentioned earlier than you hoped. Of course being on the boat doesn't mean just looking out and doing nothing, being on the boat is a perfect time to indulge in pastimes you might not get a lot of time to do in your busy working week. There's talking, reading, writing,  playing games, taking photos, drawing, painting, maybe like me learning sailing knots and discovering local folklore. Cruising for 3-4 hours a day seemed about right for us as it gives you the opportunity to do some off boat activities too.  Off the boat you can potter around the local area or walk for miles along the river paths (essential for doggy owners - remember the dog needs to pee and unless very clever can't cock their leg over the side). We are suckers for pots of tea and cakes at the village tea rooms and love to get a little mellow at the local pubs. Whilst cruising you may also come across a local markets, village fetes or visitor attractions. We visited Denver Sluice Complex, a historically controversial piece of waterway engineering built to prevent the often catastrophic flooding of the villages and fens around the rivers in  this low level part of the country. Historically this lock and sluice system didn't meet the need it was intended for and blame was put on insufficient funding and miscalculations in its engineering structures (even John Rennie had a go). This resulted in more flooding and difficulties for village and boating trades over many years. Now it is in working order and whilst some feel it is still not as a good as it should be it has prevented further widespread flooding of the area. As for the traditional boating trades, as seen with many other areas across the country an increase in rail and road networks has meant a decline in these trades leaving the rivers free for mainly leisure boating. The railways are definitely evident in the area as the lines cross the river in several places and we did moor up very near the train line on a couple of occasions. Not everyones cup of tea, but we both love the sound of trains and watching with  interest the origins of the freight on the freight trains, these often come from far and wide reminding us of how big the world is away from our boat and little piece countryside mooring. It was strange (van owners will understands this),  but I felt a little guilty abandoning the campervan for a boat at the beginning of the week.  However, by the end of the week we were sad to be leaving the boat behind after such a relaxing week and would have loved to carry on for longer, but boating is not cheap unless you own the boat of course. We agreed as we left that if we ever got a boat it would be a barge rather than a cruiser, with a tiller and not a wheel, the bed would be big and square, not a triangle and we'd have our mooring on the river not in a marina, it would be next to a field and a railway line with a short walk to the village tea shop and pub. Simon as always has begun  researching this and will shortly bombard me with results in his bid to go and live on a boat. Unfortunately he is a hoarder and you can't live on a boat if you are a hoarder, so I have given him a load of charity bags in a bid to get him to have a clear out….. Watch this space!!!! One good thing about getting home was having the luxury of a proper bed to sleep in, although for the fist night I seemed to retain a sense of gentle rocking like I was still on the boat, but maybe that was Skyler pushing his luck and wriggling in for a spoon!!! So again with the words of Toad from Wind in the Willows it's back to the magnificent van (cart) for our next adventure in the gap year.

"There’s real life for you, embodied in that little cart. The open road, the dusty highway, the heath, the common, the hedgerows, the rolling downs! Camps, villages, towns, cities! Here today, up and off to somewhere else tomorrow! Travel, change, interest, excitement! The whole world before you, and a horizon that’s always changing! And mind, this is the very finest cart of its sort that was ever built, without any exception."

[westletter]

Summer 2018

Dear Friends,  It saddens me deeply to report that The West Letter has lost its canine correspondent and assistant editor, Maximilian West, aka Max. The picture above was taken at the corner of Ave. Melville and Blvd. de Maisonneuve in Montreal, bordering Westmount Park, last June 2nd. He had been visiting friends and clients with his master.  A day later he was back in Kingston. It was a lazy Saturday. Max began this last day as he always had, going for the morning walk -- albeit at a very sedate pace, befitting his 15 years -- and accompanying his master on the usual errands about town in the back of the Maxmobile. It was warm and sunny and he spent most of the afternoon snoozing contently in the yard. That evening he struggled getting up the porch steps. But he still tucked into his supper gamely and lay at his master’s feet for the duration of a postprandial movie.  When It came time to call it a day, for the first and only time in his adult life, Maximilian West was unable to mount the stairs to the second floor.  His master picked him up and carried him like a baby, setting him down by the bed on his favourite sheepskin rug.  And that is where he was the next morning, in perfect repose.  Alas, too perfect.   

WHO?

Who came into this world in the winter of 2003 and was abandoned as a defenceless puppy along with his beautiful mama and brothers and sisters in Sainte-Agathe-des-Monts?

Who, as a teddy-bear-sized ball of fluff, caught his master-to-be’s eye at the shelter on the banks of Riviere du Nord, and soon won his heart? Who was dismissed by the Napoleonic obedience school director as “damaged goods; untrainable; you should ask for your money back”? Who graduated summa cum laude at that same school? Who, nonetheless, for the first years of his life had a chip on his shoulder, and needlessly terrorized more than one lovely hostess, up to and including physically blocking her from entering her own home? Who, with German Shepherd and Border Collie bloodlines, was fiercely loyal to, and protective of, his family, no stranger at the door avoiding the big bowwow treatment?  And herded the children and other dogs like sheep? Who teased the boys -- Allen, Harry and Pablo -- endlessly, loving nothing more than a game of piggy in the middle or hey-I-have-your-mitten-now-try-to-catch-me?   Who had an astonishingly extensive mastery of English and Spanish commands, and even a smattering of French? Who was equally adept at interpreting his master’s hand signals and body gestures … even the wink of an eye or a nod?   And who had his own repertoire of canine language commands and gestures – a flick of the leash, a rattling of a dish, a cold nose protruding into an early morning bed? Who could leap tall fences in a single bound? Who wandered off into a farmer’s field and upon encountering cows for the first time, calmly proceeded to herd them back to his startled master … And decided there was no better way to celebrate his new-found talent than to dive ecstatically into a fresh green cow pie? Who had a morbid fear of water and apart from the cow pie incident, never had a bath in his life?   Who famously said to his Piscean master: “If I had been meant to swim, I’d have been born with webbed toes, n’est-ce-pas?” Who, despite his fear of water, was quite at home on many a sailing or canoe voyage, always with the proviso that his master was at the helm? Who slept at the side or the foot of his master’s bed every night of his life, no different than the dogs of English knights memorialized in brass? Who, as a puppy, devoured half the furniture in the apartment, including Great Grandmother’s sumptuous Victorian settee (it being retrieved with an extravagant reupholstery job)? Who could sniff a treat-bearing lady at a hundred paces, and invariably seduce her of her bounty with a sly charm? And as a corollary, who was far too well-mannered to beg, unless you count infinitely patient, beseeching eyes? Who was the dog world’s pickiest eater, a true gourmet, not a gourmand, perfectly content to walk away from a partially eaten bowl of the tenderest vitals? Who was so well trained, he didn’t need a leash and would never waste his time or effort chasing a squirrel across the road or a seagull along the shore? Who greeted a parade of innocent mailmen over the years with a reception worthy of Attila the Hun? Who, ever the jealous lover, begrudgingly accompanied his master in and out of bachelorhood, often in the beginning barely tolerating female competition in his domain? And as an instance of same, who, with a chaperone’s reproach, would busily park himself between a romantic candidate and his master, and if that tactic failed, would go into a high dudgeon for days, sulking under the table? And yet, who came to adore his mistress of the past six years, and shower her with loyalty and devotion? Who accompanied his master in the Maxmobile on nearly all his road trips … to Montreal, Chicago, Brantford, Toronto, New York, Prince Edward County and Saint-Adolphe-d’Howard, not to mention daily errands, always supremely comfortable and happy at his command post in the back of the wagon? Who never got up on the plush living room furniture, except for those few thousand times that his master wasn’t looking? Who, for the past 13 summers was the adoptive mascot of a group of swimmers known as the Mermaids, and attended to their immersion into, and emergence from, Lake Ontario nearly every day of each of those summers? And who, in particular, was befriended by and doted on and spoiled by Mermaid Peggy, and even enticed by her siren wiles and treats to enter the water up to his withers?!! Who, from youngest days, had Latin rhythm and loved to dance (bailar!), up on his hind legs to cumbia, salsa, merengue, son cubano y mucho más, until in old age those legs began to give out? Who was a contributing editor to an investment newsletter (The West Letter) and cultivated a following that rivaled his master’s?   Who was also surprisingly well-read and the creator of Canada’s Canine Lit List, top picks including Jack London’s The Call of the Wild, Conan Doyle’s The Hound of the Baskervilles and Mark Haddon’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time? Who was the face that launched a new pet food company in Montreal, and complained that celebrity wasn’t all it was cracked up to be? “My master negotiated what seemed like an OK contract at the time.  I was paid in the new product, of course, not royalties. So … sigh … retiring to the stud farm is still looking like a distant proposition.” Who, once he knocked that chip off his shoulder, was his master’s superb four-legged ambassador …  not only on walks, but when receiving visitors, hosting parties and as a grateful houseguest, making friends wherever he went? Who took demented cousin Bob at the Helen Henderson Care Centre under his wing on Saturday morning visits, quickly learning to heel to Bob’s erratic wheelchair progress up and down the hallways?   And along the way became the unofficial therapy dog of the residence, sitting patiently at their sides as affection-starved souls petted and stroked and asked if they could give the doggie a treat? Who wagged his spectacular blond tail from side to side like a regal fan? And left a hole in his master’s heart? Who is Maximilian West.  

                                           §

YEAR-END REPORT CARD Class of 2018: No Surprises, Steady Performance  “Neat but not gaudy” is the Headmaster’s summation of the Class of 2018′s  year over year (July 1 ‘17 to June 30 ‘18) average gain of 6.6%. Over the same period, the TSX and S&P 500 were up 7.2% and 12.1% respectively.  

The Headmaster says there is no reason for class members to take umbrage and commends them for their cautious, no-drama progress in choppy seas.  The worst performer in the class, Enbridge, was only down 9%.  To add perspective: over the past five years, the class annual return has averaged 10.3% versus 6.1% for the TSX and 11.1% for the S&P 500.  If some class members are temporarily out of favour with the market, it is not a concern of the Headmaster.  “Value will always out.”         As for the sizzle this year ... Information Technology stocks once again went to the head of the class, with outstanding performances from Apple, Open Text and Visa.  For all the sector by sector details, please read on.   Financials - B  TD Bank, Royal Bank and Bank of Nova Scotia produced an average return of 3.6%.  With double digit earnings growth and handsome dividend increases, averaging 9%, you’d think they might have received more market recognition.  Ah well, all the more reason to keep them in the class for the return of that swinging pendulum. Promoted. Resources - B plus  Class veterans Vermilion Energy and Nutrien (the former Agrium, merged with Potash Corp) more than made up for Enbridge’s travails. The threesome posted an average 9.8% gain, fueled by rising commodity markets in energy and agriculture, and excellent execution of their business plans. Nutrien, in particular, is to be commended for being well ahead of schedule in wringing massive savings out of its operations as a result of the merger. They go right to the bottom line.  Enbridge is at last emerging from the cloud it has been under since its purchase of the US pipeline company Spectra. Worries of unsustainable debt and potential dividend cuts have been put to rest with a string of non-core asset sales that have delivered balance sheet and investor relief. The stock has been on a tear since it bottomed in April. The Headmaster expects more of the same to come.  All promoted. 

   Infrastructure - C plus Brookfield Instructure Partners Limited took an expected pause this year, having disposed of some Brazilian assets, the temporary lack of which, have put the brakes on cash flow growth. Happily however, the excess capital is being redeployed and CEO Sam Pollock sees no reason to stray from Brookfield’s stated long term target of 12 to 15% returns on invested capital, not to mention a generous distribution increasing at about 8% per annum.  The company’s Class of 2018 performance was -4.9%. The Headmaster is far from perturbed and has full confidence in the medium and long term prospects for Brookfield. Promoted.  Retail - B minus Class bench-mates Alimentation Couche Tard and Metro are perfect examples of how sometimes the markets can be out of synch with reality on the ground.  To wit: this pair had earnings per share growth of 17.5% and 4.8% respectively and boosted their dividends by 10 and 11%. Their track records and prospects are exemplary.  Yet their average stock performance over the past year was -3.4%.  Once again the Headmaster notes: “The pendulum will swing back to value.”  All promoted.  Industrials - B plus  Class seniors CNR, John Deere and global packaging player CCL, each produced admirable, double-digit earnings and dividend growth over the school year, despite various headwinds in their respective businesses.  The trio’s average stock gain, 4.5%, would have been more in line with earnings growth, but for CCL taking one of its familiar breathing spells, pending the next transformative acquisition.  The Headmaster is sanguine and sees much promise ahead.  All promoted.  Healthcare - A The Headmaster’s continued faith in his unloved healthcare class members was borne out in spades. Amgen, Johnson and Johnson and Express Scripts racked up earnings gains in stellar fashion, and were rewarded commensurately by the market with an average stock advance of 19.8%.  Bravo and promoted!   Telecom - C minus There is no room for sentiment in managing a class of stocks.  The Headmaster can no longer justify the anemic returns of that friend of widows and orphans,  BCE. True, as long as its generous dividends are sustainable, there will be a place for BCE in many portfolios.  But the Headmaster wants more than dividends. The evidence for same just isn’t there.  BCE, by the kinds of industry measures that count -- e.g., customer “churn” (turnover rate), average annual revenue and lifetime revenue per customer, and resultant cash flow growth -- is falling consistently short of its rival, Telus. The market recognized this disparity last year, awarding Telus with a 4.3% gain, and punishing BCE with an 8.8% loss.  While acknowledging yeoman’s service in years gone by, the Headmaster has asked BCE to leave the class, based on current and projected performance.  Conversely, Telus is promoted.      Information Technology - A plus Apple, Visa and their Canadian desk mate Open Text knocked the ball out of the park last year with average earnings per share and stock price gains of 27%.  Add to that heroic stock buybacks at Apple and Visa, and significant dividend hikes for all three, and you have a recipe for rare Headmaster contentment. All three promoted. To replace BCE, the Headmaster has ushered Microsoft into the Class of 2019.  There are a number of reasons to like Microsoft: the dependable cash flows spun off by its legacy Office and related software products; the successful move it has made into cloud-computing (second only to Amazon); but what really catches the Headmaster’s eye is CEO Satya Nadella’s determination to make Microsoft a major player in artificial intelligence (AI).  Nadella calls AI “the defining technology of our times” and wants to make sure that Microsoft is in line for more than a fair share of what prognosticators estimate will be a $4 trillion market by 2022. Microsoft currently has 8,000  scientists and engineers working in this strategic sector, and has already begun to incorporate the fruits of their labours into each of the company’s lines of business. “Smart move,” says the Headmaster, who values intelligence, artificial or otherwise.   Entertainment - B minus Disney over the past year continued to do exactly what one would expect of a one-of-a-kind leader in media and entertainment. It delivered the goods; i.e., growth in all the right places. Well, okay ... just about in all the right places. To Disney and the Headmaster’s frustration, there is still a knock against this class member for failure to make the transition from cable delivery of content to “streaming” fast enough. The stock languished with a return of -1.3%.   “Pshaw!” says the Headmaster. “I have full confidence in Bob Iger and the Disney management team. The pending takeover of the television and movie assets of 20th Century Fox only reinforces my view!”  He may have a point. The stock is up 9% since the end of the school year.  If you would like further information on any of the investing ideas raised in this issue, or a complimentary consultation, please call or email. CW                                                                                                 § AQUATIC UPDATE 

Photo credit: Kingston Whig-Standard On July 28th, a certain Merman and Max’s favourite Mermaid, Peggy, dove and jumped off the newly christened Gord Edgar Downie Pier to celebrate spectacular improvements to Kingston’s waterfront along the shore of Breakwater Park, including a sandy beach. Overheard at the proceedings: “This is my new best, favourite place in the world!”  Hear, hear!  Happy days to all and may your summer be endless!

[majestic-shriek]

  I’ve now reached the milestone of having lived abroad for over a year, making this the longest I have been away from the UK and my family, like. Ever.

I feel I maybe should have inaugurated the occasion of my arrival in Chile (July 30th, 2016)  with a cake or something. In reality, I was on the point of starting a new job, and so I cooked some lunches. I am nothing if not practical.

I’ve been thinking though, as I tend to do, rather a lot, and reflecting, both on my year (and a bit) here this time round, and the similarities and differences from my first year in Chile back in 2005/6.

Chileans are (generally) lovely

This isn’t a new or surprising observation. I’ve been lucky enough to stay with two different Chilean families during my time in the country, one in Santiago (my Santiago family, as I call them) and the other in Talca (my Talca family). These families welcomed me in –in the first case as a young, Spanishless girl of 18 years old — and included me in activities and daily family life; something I am still welcome in to this day. I’m still in regular contact with my Santiago family; I teach two of the kids English, and I am invited to some family events. I’m still welcome to stay and visit my Talca family whenever I want. When travelling in the south last November, I met other families who were hosting volunteers, who also welcomed me into their homes and said return visits were welcome. Further in the south, I met countless lovely friendly people when travelling who helped me and chatted to this somewhat intrepid solo traveller. I’ve always been struck by that here in Chile. Maybe it’s just that people, in general, are good, but Chileans are definitely Good Eggs.

(I need more recent photos with my Santiago family, it seems…)

You are still you

The same things you found difficult the first time you lived here, are still the things you find difficult. The same things you found difficult back in the UK, are still the things you find difficult. Anxiety is still anxiety. Moving halfway across the world doesn’t change who you are, but you can keep striving to improve.

I found this, from a blog post  this morning, and it seemed relevant. “So, in my despair I thought: “This demon that I’ve created is part of myself that I should forgive.” I felt compassion. I tried embracing the demon, and to my surprise, that made it smaller”

The world is made of sushi

And that sushi is full of cream cheese and deep fried. Or covered in avocado. It’s all good. Well, some of it is better than others. I swear that back in 2005 sushi didn’t exist here in such quantities, where as now you find it on every street, practically. I have an affection for Chilean sushi; it was here, after all, that I tried sushi for the first time, my good friend Maca taking Leo and I to a sushi restaurant in the centre where I tentatively tried the raw fish and rice. The first time, I wasn’t convinced. The second time she took us, I thought it was okay. After the third time, I wanted more. Now, I have access to all the sushi I could possibly want.

Tramites. TRAMITES

Tramites. My life is tramites. Back in January I had to go through the joyous process of extending my temporary visa, which meant immigration queues and translations and apostilled documents and notarised photocopies and more queues…and then an awful lot of waiting. In June, I paid for and received my visa — cue more queues, and waiting, and in July I finally got my new carné – my ID card, which is essentially for much of bureaucratic life here. It’s valid until the end of January. Yep. I’m gonna have to go through this all again come January, except the paperwork will be more complicated and the waiting will be even longer, because I’ll be trying to get a visa definitiva – a permanent residency visa. (My worries about that are for another post…)

Banks. Omg Banks.

Why don’t the banks open past 2pm? Why don’t the banks open for customers on Saturday mornings at least? Why do they make it next to impossible to do your banking? There’s also the small detail that if your bank card is blocked or lost, or something happens to your account, you need your ID card to deal with it (or the patience and the Spanish to argue an awful lot with the bank teller). If you don’t have an ID card, because your visa is en tramite…good luck with that! I had 5 months of being very careful with my bank card because I had no easy way of getting a new one…and then 2 weeks before I was due to get my new ID, the bank blocked my card.

Oh, and why is there not an option to remember a lost internet banking password? Mess that up? Yeah, you have to go to the bank and get a new one.

Oh, and you’ll need your ID.

There are fewer street dogs

Back in 2005, there were dogs seemingly everywhere. I even was required to get the rabies jab before coming out here. Now, there’s no rabies and definitely fewer street dogs. That’s not to say the problem is solved; there are still far too many around, but even if areas where I’d expect to see more dogs there are fewer. There’s been new law to do with pet ownership and care that passed recently as well, so we’ll see if that makes even more of a difference.

Street dogs are smart though! Not only do some of them know how to cross the road safely and use buses, but this one is currently enjoying his moment of fame:

I also enjoy the little pack of 2 or 3 dogs outside Baquedano station who exclusively bark at and chase taxis and motorbikes. No other cars. Just taxis.

Cafe culture exists now

Chile, can, at times, seem to be a country that’s slow to come round to coffee. In 2005, pretty much all that was available was Nescafe, powered, to boot (not even granulated!) and cafe culture wasn’t really a thing. Well, there was (and is) a certain type of cafe  that wasn’t really the sort of place I was going to be going. There were 2 (that I knew of) Starbucks in Santiago, both up in the distant lands of Las Condes. Now, there’s a Starbucks practically everywhere, and a number of decent little cafes all over the place too, some of which also have pretty decent coffee (Roasters & Co, I’m looking at you)

Homesickness does exist!

I’ve never really been one to get homesick. I don’t remember feeling it during my first year away. I’ve missed home and my parents and friends and things, obviously,  but I’ve never been homesick. Until May this year, when the overwhelming desire to just be at home, to be back in the UK was so strong I almost packed it all in and booked a flight. I looked at the costs of flights a couple of times. But, it passed, with the feelings that were surrounding it too, and I haven’t had that strong overwhelming need to be back on UK soil since.

I miss food

Food obviously exists here. There’s good food here, too, in places, and I can cook, so I can make many things that I like. But gosh. I miss things like

— bacon (the only easily available bacon here is streaky bacon, which, while good, is not true bacon. There is a source of back bacon, but I am currently poor, and so back bacon is off my menu)

— curry (again, the number of Indian restaurants has risen sharply since the last time I was here, but reasons of cost mean I have not yet tried any of them out)

–chinese food (see above, regarding cost. Also I am dubious as to the nature of Chilean Chinese food. I mean, British Chinese food is…interesting enough, I’m not sure how they’ll have interpretted it for the Chilean palette!)

–sheer variety of fresh (prepared) foods to buy in the supermarket (fresh fruit and vegetables are readily available, subject to much greater seasonality than in the UK, but I do sometimes miss fresh things that are ready to cook — just for ease! I know ready spiralized courgette and chicken ready with a sauce to cook in the oven a luxuries that I don’t need, but man, it’s nice to have them and to be able to cook healthily quickly.)

I miss good cheese

This deserves a segment of its own, because, wow, do I miss good cheese. Cheese with flavour. Cheese with a deep sharpness to it. Cheese which smells. Cheese that’s mature. Cheese with mould on it. CHEESE. I resent having to pay extortionate amounts of money for a tiny amount of somewhat decent cheese, and so am reduced to “cheese that will do to melt on top of pasta.”

This would be heaven right now

And milk.

I’m not really a milk drinker, so this one surprised me. Fresh milk isn’t really a thing here, unless you live in the campo and have access to a cow. All the milk in the supermarket is UHT. I hate UHT milk. I have always hated UHT milk. It tastes weird. I can just about deal with it if it is ice cold. I dislike it in coffee because it makes my coffee taste weird, which means that I primarily drink black coffee now, unless I’m having some highly flavoured abomination from Starbucks or get lucky with some vegetable/nut milk somewhere. I’m looking forward to the day when I will have enough money to be able to afford nut milks.

Some dairy products though…

Who knew that cream cheese covered in soy sauce, sprinkled with sesame seeds and served with crackers was so damn delicious?

I think my Spanish has improved

It’s hard to tell — I could speak Spanish when I arrived this time, after all. It’s not like before where I was thrust into a world where I understood not a word of what was going on around me, where I had to try to construct sentences carefully in my head before talking, and where the conversations always seemed to rush off to another topic before I’d had a chance to say said carefully constructed sentence. Now I work in an almost fully Spanish language environment, my social life is pretty bilingual and I think — I hope — my Spanish has improved from when I arrived back here last year. I haven’t done much hard graft on my Spanish, and I fear I may need to to really seriously improve it, but for now, I think I’m doing pretty good.

I haven’t been fired yet, so I must be understanding everything in the workplace okay at least!

It still throws me off hearing English in the streets or the supermarket

I never used to hear English anywhere except in the English classroom, out with Maca or with a handful of other people I knew who spoke English. Now, I hear it everywhere — and it’s not just that there’s more foreign tourists and residents in Chile, but the Chileans are talking more English too.

Working here involves working long hours

I knew this, but add my commute as well, and I work a lot. I work 9am-6:30pm in an office job. So yeah, I’m not working hard some of the time, but that’s long working hours. I’m lucky enough to live close by; on a good day it takes me less than an hour to get home, but for people who live further out, contending with the Santiago rush hour traffic? No thank you. 44 hours is a long working week.

I prefer downtown to uptown

I recently moved to Las Condes to be closer to work and to cut down on my commute. It’s nice enough, I like the area. But I much prefer the life and vitality of downtown — even Providencia. I lived previously in Plaza Italia – where I lived in 2005/6 too – which is an area I love. It’s close to everything, it’s well connected. I’ve found myself missing just being able to walk into el centro recently, wandering down through Lastarria towards the Plaza de Armas. I miss downtown.

Joining an expat community is not a bad thing

I hadn’t resisted joining the expat community here at all, it just hadn’t really happened. I’ve got my English speaking knitting group, after all. But recently, I’ve been to a few events and things involving the expat community, and yeah, it’s been nice. It’s nice to be around people who “get you.” Even if they don’t really get you because British English is apparently not compatible with North American English.

But I’m glad I know Chileans too

That said, I’m glad my circle of friends includes Chileans too. I don’t want to live in an expat bubble. Now to work on expanding both circles!

Without the support of these guys, I wouldn’t have lasted as long as I did, in all honesty. They are amazing.

  There’s probably many more things I could have said or added or thought about at anniversary of my arrival back in Chile. It’s been a tough year – I never thought it would be easy – but I am perservering and getting stronger. Here’s to many years more.

  You’ve been abroad how long?! I've now reached the milestone of having lived abroad for over a year, making this the longest I have been away from the UK and my family, like.

[lumberwoods]

SNAKE LORE OF AUSTRALIA.

*** THE HOOP SNAKE. (March 15, 1890)

The following question, says a correspondent of the Scientific American, in still being asked: “Is there such a thing as a hoop snake, and has anybody ever seen one, or a specimen of one?” The way the hoop snake is said to move about is thus: It takes its tail in its month, coils itself in an ellipse, and moves around like a hoop. There are many persons who uphold the existence of the hoop snake, yet all reports and declarations that have been advanced in its favour have all proved to be totally unreliable. The anatomy of a snake alone is sufficient to prove that hoop like progression is impossible. The hoop snake has never been described by any naturalist in any standard work on reptiles, and no museum nor collection in the world contains a specimen of it. It exists only in the minds of the ignorant and unscientific, and it must be classed with ghosts, mermaids, winged snakes, sea serpents, and fishhooked-tailed fishing snakes. *** COW MILIKING SNAKES. (October 2, 1910)

An old country belief, usually called a superstition, has been justified by a very curious experience near Chipping Norton. A Mrs. Rice, residing near the village of Oddington, Gloucestershire, keeps two cows, which, although in perfect condition, were recently not giving a proper supply of milk. Her cowman, going into the meadow one day, found one of the cows lying down quite contentedly, while two large grass snakes were sucking at her udders. *** SOME SNAKE YARN. (August 13, 1921)

Putting all jokes aside, did you ever hear of a hoop snake? Drovers [livestock drivers] and other overlanders in the early days often spent hours at the entrance to the old Cloncurry suspension bridge, when Coppermine Creek was a banker [river that reaches to the top of the banks], watching the antics of these reptiles. Averaging a length of nearly 5ft, the hoop snake originally received its name on account of its peculiar methods of propulsion. By, inserting its tail in its mouth, and wriggling to a perpendicular attitude in the form of a hoop, it is enabled to cover the ground with no little velocity. As above stated, the drovers coming down from the Gulf and Territory country generally found the time lag very heavily on their hands after the usual initial “spree,” writes J.T.K. in the Brisbane “Courier.” Squatting on their haunches near the entrance of the bridge, few, if any of them, were averse to “backing their fancy” [placing a bet] as the various hoop snakes endeavored to negotiate the swinging spans of the bridge. Money passed hands very freely, and curses were loud and deep when one of the leading snakes, possessing more velocity than sense, rolled from the bridge and hit the water below. These races were quite a regular feature of the 'Curry in the good old days, but I am since given to understand that snake racing has has been banned by the local Council, at the instance of a representative body of churchmen, who held that such an amusement was nothing more or less than a pastime of the devil. *** SNAKES THAT FLY IN THE NIGHT. (January 27, 1917)

Recent paragraphs in The Observer about the discovery of what was at first thought to be a winged snake, have called forth from our Green’s Plains correspondent the following effusion:—Some diversity of opinion has recently been expressed among correspondents of The Observer whether another correspondent really killed a winged snake, as he asserted, or was merely the victim of an optical illusion with a lizard. Now, although not for one moment doubting that it was either a snake or a lizard that was killed, or maybe both, I would like to say right here and now, that the first correspondent, unless his veracity has been of long standing and firmly established, made a serious mistake in killing the reptile off his own bat, without having first shown it to a friend, or friends, whose testimony might have been very useful just now. This shows how very careful one should be. There cannot be the slightest doubt about this having been a belated specimen of the winged snake aerial fleet. These reptiles were very numerous and popular in the early days of the province, when distances were largely marked by distant grog shanties, and events simply by what happened—those far-away days when the native cat and the locust were sworn enemies of the pioneer, and sought his blood or crop by day or night. It was then in the gloaming that he listened for the whirl of the white-winged serpents, as they came in flocks to chase the  marauders back into the gathering night, for these fireless flying serpents were very partial to locust and wild catty. And yet they were generally understood to be labelled “not dangerous” unless they hit something. There was, of course, an occasional overgrown specimen which might not be quite so handy or harmless about the place. For instance, there is the backblocker [one who lives in the outback], who, coming home in the dusk, saw and fired at, what he took to be a wild turkey flying low, and found when it landed almost in the door of his little grey home in the bush that it was a broken-winged and very indignant snake. They both spent a wildly wakeful night. Another early pioneer, gun in hand, in broad daylight, saw rapidly approaching overhead, and mostly all head, some remarkable monster, which he would have mistaken for an aeroplane had those innovations been about in those days. As the whirring wings passed overhead, he shut his eyes and fired, and brought down a most fearsome-looking creature with the head of a shark and the slimy winged body of a snake, which on closer inspection it proved to be. The serpent had evidently undertaken—for a wager maybe, or maybe only for a meal—to swallow a full-grown lizard of the Jewish persuasion, and had succeeded in getting the brute down all but the head, which was unusually large, and ornamented with frills and whiskers, some of which had apparently caught in the snake’s teeth, and so in all probability saved both their heads. And this is the only authentic local instance of a lizard flying, although there is not the slightest doubt that they could do so if they wanted to. The lizard is, how ever, more of a ground bird, and seems quite content to make haste slowly; and as in the case mentioned, only flies by compulsion. But there can be no doubt that now, as in the days of old, there are and were flying serpents, and The Observer correspondent who made the discovery, or  rediscovery, need not be in the least discouraged, as it is a highly creditable one, and must prove interesting to science and other denominations. *** A FEARSOME REPTILE.  (October 28, 1909) The Whip Snake of North America.

One of the most terrifying reptiles in the whole world is the “whip” or “hoop” snake (genus Masticophis), found in North America. An account of it reads like a piece of clever fiction, but, nevertheless, the whip snake is very real, and one of the earth's most real dangers— that is, to one whose lot it happens to be in life to live in a portion of the country where there are deep swamps or thick woods or wild rough hillsides. This is the whip snake’s choice of a world to live in, and there he is peaceable enough. If you happen to invade it, he will creep away, if possible, and fight only as a last resort. He will even lie so snug that you may step over him scatheless a dozen times— if only you do not step on him. You may see him sometimes basking on a log or bare rock, blinking at the sun, and looking as inert and harmless as a fallen twig. He is long and slim, rarely under four or over six feet in length. His back is dull dead brown, his belly reddish ocher, with brown lights. He has a mouthful of sharp teeth, but no fangs; but at the tip of the tail you see a suspicious-looking horny spur, for all the world like a cock’s spur, but somewhat sharper. So he creeps and blinks away the spring and early summer, feeding on frogs, mice, berries, and small birds and their eggs. Nobody sees him unless they hunt him, and then only by rare good luck. By-and-by, however, midsummer arrives, and dries up the marshes and woodland pools, the hill streams run low or fail altogether, and the negroes and hunters begin to say apprehensively : “Better be keerful ; time for hoop snake to come whirling out de water, an’ crazy mad at that.” Soon you hear weird tales indeed. In this midsummer madness the creature curls itself till the horned tail rests just on the back of its head, and then with a terrific jerk flings itself into the country road or open woodland. A succession of these vicious springs are its mode of progression, and woe betide whatsoever may cross its path. The name whip snake, hoop snake, or cartwheel snake, as it is called in different localities, comes from its habit of locomotion on these mad midsummer forages. Vision is impossible, yet in some way the creature immediately discerns a living presence, and strikes madly at it, fling its barbed tail almost its own length in front of its head. There is a poison gland at the root of the spur, full of venom so swift, so subtle, that it has no antidote. A horse struck by it falls shivering and groaning, bathed in cold sweat, and dies within the hour. Near cattle either run bellowing into the nearest thicket in foaming frenzy, or drop in their tracks as though shot. A dog dies with the quick rigours of strychnine poisoning, then fall into merciful insensibility that runs rapidly into death. Luckily, however, the snake misses oftener than it strikes. In that case it makes no second attack, but whirls away in search of new victims. It cannot strike sideways, but is so full of fight it will turn squarely on its course to deliver a straight-out blow. Few things are more awesome than on a lonesome moonlit country road to encounter one of these wheels of vengeance. The full moon of August is the whip snake’s usual season for its mad frolic ; but sometimes it runs amuck by daylight. Once a group in front of a roadside smithy were horror-struck at sight of a tremendous fellow whirling down hill at them with a speed and force of a thunderbolt. They were three men, with a tethered horse, in the midst, of them. Almost before they could drew breath the snake was upon them. It struck madly at the animal, which reared, plunged backwards, and broke rein just in time. Instead of it, the snake struck the sapling to which it had been tied, and with such force that the horn penetrated the bark and held the reptile prisoner. The smith immediately smashed its head with a blow of his hammer, flung it away, and set about putting a shoe on the lucky beast which had had so narrow an escape. By the time the shoe was in place the sapling began to wilt. By morning it was as black and dead as though hard frost had touched it. In fact, whenever a tree suddenly and unaccountably dies, the countryfolk will tell you that it has been stung by a whip snake; — “Spare Moments.” From— The Week (Brisbane, Qld. : 1876 - 1934) 15 March 1890, The Sunday Sun (Sydney, NSW : 1903 - 1910) 2 October 1910, The Shoalhaven News and South Coast Districts Advertiser (Shoalhaven, New South Wales, Australia) 13 August 1921, Observer (Adelaide, SA : 1905 - 1931) 27 January 1917 & Cobram Courier (Vic. : 1888 - 1954) 28 October 1909. Trove. National Library of Australia.