The Little Furry Creatures & Me

March 19, 2012: A lot of people don't know this about me, but I have a really sensitive side too. For instance, if a small animal is run over by a car, I feel really bad ... Of course, somehow it doesn't seem as tragic if it's a LARGE animal, and especially a dangerous one, like a bear or a deer, or one of those creepy birds with the really sharp beaks. But a small one, like a mouse, gets my heart every time, particularly if it has a family, or a really good job in the community ...

By the way, I've long meant to tell my friend Shannon W. that her ridiculous theory about racing toward manic road squirrels in order to spare their lives just does not work. She claimed that when some stupid squirrel -- and at this point I'm pretty convinced that they're ALL stupid -- begins that spastic dance before your car, jumping this way and that in some strange mankind-induced mad response to its ever-shrinking, ever-decaying natural habitat ... one should aim your car nose RIGHT FOR THEM, because then they'll somehow magically get out of the way ...

Well, it doesn't work, because I killed my first squirrel last year putting that errant theory into practice. ("What was that?" my daughter asked as the depressing, hollow telltale bump of rodent-under-tire echoed softly through the car ... "Oh, nothing," I said, waxing blase' ... "Did you kill that squirrel?" my son asked, somewhat baffled why I'd swerved at it ... "No, no. It got away. Hey! D'ya wanna get some ice cream? Who wants ice cream? Huh? ...) I'd never actually hit a squirrel before (except once on my bicycle, which is a minor story for another day) but after the dozens and dozens of ones I've avoided by braking or simply turning the wheel, my streak was sadly broken when I fell for this deranged homespun southern "wisdom" from a very odd friend of mine ...

This all reminds me about a wonderful and hilarious scene in my novel SPACE CASE, where the two main characters find a dead skunk on the road. (No, this time I'm being serious.) Those of you who've purchased and read the book will remember the sensitive joys, laughter and basic oddity of THAT moment, while the rest of you will, I hope, feel bad that you're being (rightfully) excluded from this reference ... (Of course, you don't HAVE to stay in the dark, as SPACE CASE remains available for e-purchase at a virtual bookhole near you ...)

This, in turn, reminds me to remind you that I'll be making my first virtual appearance in virtually two-and-a-half months, so save the date. (I believe it's June 6, or 6/6, as someone with satanic leanings might point out.) It's at a local library -- I won't tell you which one, so you'll have to guess! I'll be speaking about the book, about writing in general, and, if there's time, possibly about my insatiable need for negative attention. I want to say I'll hope to see you there, but the truth is, I don't know HOW I'll be feeling about you by the time 6/6 rolls around ...

Lastly, all this talk about furry creatures, and my own innate warm fuzziness, reminds me of the time my daughter got two Japanese dwarf hampsters and they ended up eating one another. It's still confusing to me what really happened, for the little crime scene was remarkably disturbing and just sort of baffling beyond description. One of the hampsters was completely gone, while the other was kind of half-eaten ... and parts of the OTHER hampster were clearly INSIDE the one. The lid remained undisturbed atop the cage, ruling out the cat, who's actually so neurotic that her fear of other animals logically prevented her from being a viable suspect ... It was a quick burial, though, and while I strove to hide the ugly truth from my bright daughter, she quickly surmised that something strange and sinister had taken place between her two exotic, far-eastern pets -- something a western animal wouldn't understand!

Anyway, this is why people shouldn't cage animals, but let them run free in the streets, where they can die from more natural causes, like automobile tires ...

More on Mating (Geese)

October 27, 2009: Many of you found my August 27 essay entitled "Squirrels Mating" both informative and vaguely tantalizing (sick freaks!). I thought I'd take another column and revisit more of the subtle psychosexual phenomena that continue to make the animal kingdom such a sleezy place.

To begin with, just this morning I took note of a rather unusual sample of wild poultry down near the library. Amidst the familiar gaggle of dirty, importunate Canada geese that frequent the parking lot and intimidate passers-by with their surly goose glares -- they're like an outlaw motorcycle gang operating on webbed feet -- I saw one strange, deformed-looking bastard goose waddling amidst the greater gaggle. He almost looked more like a wood duck by shape, except he was patched with a cockroach-colored brown, and shared some of the basic structural elements of the other geese. But he was clearly a weirdo and I took a moment to wonder how he came about to be, strutting along in the middle of the group, obviously accepted, despite being much smaller and funnier looking.

This got me to thinking about his parents, and what a strange couple they must have made during their courtship. I began to wonder how their parents might have viewed the union, and whether talk among their goose neighbors might have ever bordered on the vicious.

But more to the point of our scientific analysis, this seemed to be yet another tangible example of the strange -- stupifying, in fact -- sex habits of wild animals. Clearly on some level the Canada goose's motivation in making it with the wood duck stemmed from bizarre social dynamics relating to goose gangs. It's a well-known fact that people in gangs are four-times more likely to copulate with other species, and three times as likely to sire mutants. Obviously the same rules apply to geese, who are a naturally vicious breed, traveling in V-shaped attack patterns and often using their slippery grey-green fecal matter to injure creatures much larger in size.

Discovery of this hybrid goose prompts the question of whether the purest forms of the breed might one day die out, owing to the deviant sexual appetites of the creature. While more research is required, it does not bode well for the fowl, nor for Canada in general.