Tourists Get Fine, Count Blessings

It seems that rangers at the Banff National Park recently had to fine a group of German tourists for bothering some of the wildlife.  It seems that they were chasing and yelling at a grizzly bear and her cubs.  Let’s process that for a minute.  A grizzly bear.  And her cubs.  Grizzly bears (who have one of the best latin names ever: Ursus arctos horribilis), on average clock in around 500 pounds, standing 3 meters if (gulp) necessary.  They are usually considered by smart folks to be actually the nth degree of grumpy on Vallentyne’s Cuddly <-> Grumpy scale of wild animals, registering a solid 100, which is actually the highest value.

For contrast’s sake for those of you not familiar with Vallentyne’s Cuddly <-> Grumpy (VC-G) continuum of wild animals, we have “shaved disillusioned lynx” at VC-G 87, “over-caffeinated porcupine” at around VC-G 75, “irritated house cat” at VC-G 64, “rabid squirrel” somewhere around VC-G 28, and “tranquilized baby bunnies” being at the start of the cuddly end at VC-G 0.

What I’m trying to get across here is: grizzly bear moms with their cubs are essentially the most dangerous thing you can find in the bush in Canada.

It is amazing that the park warden was able to actually fine the tourists, instead of needing a squeegee to gather their remains.

30 Grand(mother)

Oh, if there’s one thing I love in this world, it’s people.  People are awesome.  They never cease to delight, disgust and amaze me.  For instance, this Florida grandmother, who decided that being a grandmother was a little too much work, and tried to sell her grandson.  Somebody talked, the police got involved, and they conducted a sting operation to catch her.  During the negotiation portion of the transaction, the undercover informant actually managed to haggle (HAGGLE!) the purchase price (OF A CHILD) down from $75000 to $30000.  Upon exchanging the money, the police swooped in and arrested the “grandmother”.

This story is noteworthy all by itself, but astute readers might wonder where the child’s mother (or father) might be during this activity.  It seems that the mother was already in jail (on charges of unrelated douchebaggery), and left her child in her mother’s care.  Dear old Granny.  The child is now in state custody, and hopefully will find a home somewhere that is a bit more stable REAL SOON NOW.

Cripes.

Yes these things do write themselves sometimes.

Scalzi – Things I Don’t Have to Think About Today

Taking things to a more serious level here (don’t worry, the regular goofiness will resume shortly no doubt), this post from John Scalzi is just about as touching and as powerful as it gets.  I STRONGLY encourage you all to go and read it, then read the comments, then add your own comment to his post, then tell your own circles about it.  The disclaimer I can offer here is: I promise that there is no guilt-hook at the end, but you will be thinking about it for a while.

Things I don’t have to think about today

How to alienate your neighbours

I need to cut the grass.  Pretty badly.  It’s been like a month since I last did it, and the grass has now decided it can just relax because it’s probably never going to happen again.  It has adopted a laid-back posture that only adds to the shaggy appearance of my lawn.  Any mowing effort at this point will require an enormous effort on my part, akin to blazing a trail through the virgin rainforest with a machete, with only my wits, pith helmet and my trusty sidekick Perkins to assist me in mapping the Amazon, only just barely escaping from a misguided but particularly amorous gorilla.

But I digress.

I was talking about the lawn.  Which is rather overgrown.  But as bad as it is, my yard is not quite as bad as this gentleman’s. 

I don’t think it’s much of a stretch to say that he doesn’t get along with his neighbours much.  These trees are called leyland cypress trees and they are notoriously fast-growing (known to grow a meter per year), and they are the perfect tree to plant when you have decided that talking sociably to folks on your street is pretty much the last thing on your list of things to do.

In fact, this particular gentleman already lost a battle over a concrete wall he had put up for privacy in his backyard.  Wow.  This guy pretty much defines grumpy.  Or curmudgeon.  Or perhaps axe murderer, if Hollywood movies are right.

Right.  Perkins, my helmet!

Kiko, eater of toe, and hero. Not so Roscoe.

Dogs and toes have been discussed on the blog before of course.  There’s pages of dog blogs, and the toe stuff is also starting to rack up.  The subject of today’s post however has to do with both, which really has only happened once before that I can recall.  In that post we heard about a miniature daschund that chewed a woman’s toe off while she was sleeping.  The little rascal Roscoe managed this feat (ahem) because the woman had diabetes and couldn’t feel it due to nerve damage.  The story ends with the dastardly evil little creature being put down, for fear that his awakened taste for little piggies would result in a continued buffet every night.

How strange that today’s story is so completely different in tone and ending, and yet be so similar.  Here’s the gist for you:

A stubborn obstinate man refused to go and see the doctor about his infected toe for months, despite his wife’s suspicion that he had diabetes.  Said man drinks (exactly what is a bit fuzzy, man thinks it was four or five beers, wife’s quote says it was “all of these margaritas”, this reporter suspects it was both), and passes out.  Faithful family dog proceeds to eat man’s infected toe, man awakens screaming, my toe’s gone, my toe’s gone.

That dog is a goner, right?

Nope, he’s a hero, credited with saving the man’s life.

The strangest thing of all is the original story is actually referenced in this story, and said man (who is hilariously described in the article as “a well-known wheeler-dealer” in the area) was actually going to destroy his dog too, until someone pointed out that he would be a jackass to do so since the dog essentially saved his life.  The man remains a jackass, but at least the dog still lives.

The final quote of the story is the winner for me, as is the dog’s name.

And as for falling asleep, Douthett said he’s not taking any chances. “I don’t think Kiko would do it again,” he said, “but I wear shoes to bed now.”

The dog’s name is Kiko.  Which I cannot help but pronounce Kick-o.  Kick-o, eater of toe.