I have no idea what to make of this one.

This dog is WAY too territorial.

On the other hand, there is still dog humor out there

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

More fun than funny this Friday

I've been lucky, in my few years, to have always had enough yard to roam a bit. Some of those yards have been fenced (through no fault of mine) and some have not. But I think of all the dogs who have neither yards nor humans, and all the humans who have neither yards nor dogs, and I think maybe I can help at least the humans.

Just head on over to Virtual Dog and adopt yourself a pup. Choose anything from a lab like me to a poodle to an Ankle-Biter-type. They have a couple dozens breeds in the pound, and a whole virtual world to explore together. If you're really ambitious, adopt two.

Go ahead and click the link - you know you want to. And it'll make some canine pixels happy to have a home.

Caveat: It's "free," which means an annoying-ad factor. For dog food and stuff.

World's Best Car

Ain't no segue like a real segue, so I'm heading straight from world's best to world's best.

Was browsing through the archives at Popular Science, and came across their photo-feature on the last auto show in Japan. Let me show you why I was impressed:

Now take that stuffed critter out of there, and that's the perfect place for Ankle- Biter to ride. It's safe, it's secure, and it's bigger than the crate the airlines make him ride in. What I like the best, though, is that there's even a place for me. Look in the back seat:


Alpha's likely to suggest that such an arrange- ment doesn't leave a lot of cargo room for the rest of the stuff that goes back and forth with us, but I say to that: re-examine your priorities! If you aren't going to let me drive, at least let me be comfortable.

Looks as though it could use a beverage-holder, though...

Update: Accordng to CNN this (Thursday) morning, the president wants it built by Ford or GM.

World's Worst Dog

I may have to pick up a copy of this book. It's called Marley & Me: Life and Love With the World's Worst Dog, and tells the tale of Marley (duh) and his humans, John Grogan and family.

John says Marley "crashed through screen doors with alarming regularity. He went berserk during thunderstorms, destroying everything in his path. He stole food off the dinner table, slobbered incessantly, drank from the toilet bowl, and ate bath towels, sponges, socks, used tissues, plastic toys, furniture, speaker covers, paychecks, even an expensive gold necklace."

Now some of those behaviors I could probably have helped Marley avoid. Maybe just the screen door one. Maybe not even that. Maybe I'd have been along side him yelling, "Go, Marley! You do it, dawg!"

The thunderstorm thing has to be genetic: some dogs have it, most dogs don't. For that matter, some kids have it, but most don't. See? It's genetic. Nothing I could do about that one.

Stealing food off the dinner table? I don't, personally. I wait in the bedroom until I'm called for my meager portion. I've just learned that it's better to avoid temptation. But I certainly understand the urge to snarf down a pot-roast, even if it is cooked. I do, however, a pretty fair job of wiping up the first eight inches of the kitchen counter, when given the chance.

Marley was about half again as big as I am, but I ate a towel once, too. It came back up on the kitchen floor, and that's the last I saw of that towel.

I haven't tried speaker covers. I haven't tried jewelry. And mostly I stay away from the toilet unless someone is sitting on it, desperately in need of a dog to scratch.

The other things, quite honestly, are either tasty or fun to eat. Ate a $20 bill once. Was nice and crunchy in the beginning, but there wasn't much flavor and it got mushy too fast, so I left all the pieces on the floor in disgust.

Used tissues? I'm the disposal.

Plastic toys? What do you mean those are for the grandkids?? If it's on the floor it's fair game, dude.

Haven't had a sock in a long time...

There's just such a fine line between being "the world's worst dog" as Marley has been labeled, and being a truly fine dog such as me. And if Marley was truly so bad, why have the Grogan's already gotten a new yellow lab?

Part of me is very, very, sorry.

People run Google searches for things like "can Sheltie be alpha" and "can I make a dog stop whining," and they end up here. The short answers, of course, are "yes" and "no."

But Google's search algorithms ought to allow for places like this, because those questions probably bother some folk.

So. Here come the long answers:

Even though half other things, this Sheltie cannot be Alpha. Alpha pays the bills (Sometimes. When he can get me away from the keyboard - I avoid the numeric keypad). Alpha puts the food in the dish and the water in the bowl. He's cool that way. On the other hand, any dog with the natural skills can be the alpha dog in the pack. Breed has nothing to do with it. Why else would I let that half-blind, snaggle-toothed munchkin Ankle-Biter chase me off the bed? He's just a natural, authoritarian, bark-till-you-cover-your-ears distorter-of-reality. He should have been a principal or a superintendent or the Secretary of Education. Or a union president.

A dog will quit whining in response to a variety of stimuli. Attention is usually good. Tummy-rubs and ear-scratchings are effective, as long as you concede that an indication of pleasure might, occassionally, sound like a whine. Or a whinge. People get those confused, sometimes. Alpha, however, has learned two sure ways to shut down my occassional whine: lemmechasesquirrel (that one always works), or throwthehairysqueektoy (that's good to have as a backup, in case my mood changes).

If those answers don't suit you, have fun here.

I CAN read, and I'm not happy.

I've seen the ads on the talking box about something called "Beggin' Strips," the one where the voice-over for the dog says, "Bacon, bacon, bacon!" And then says, "I can't read!!!!"

You can see the web version of the ad here, at Purina's site.

That dog's lucky he can't read, because here's what the label actually says:


Crude Protein (Min) 15.0%
Crude Fat (Min) 4.0%
Crude Fat (Max) 7.0%
Crude Fiber (Max) 3.5%
Moisture (Max) 26.0% 3200 kcal/kg
39 kcal/piece

Ingredients
Ground wheat, corn gluten meal, wheat flour, ground yellow corn, water, sugar, glycerin, meat, hydrogenated starch hydrolysate, soybean meal, bacon fat preserved with BHA, salt, sorbic acid (a preservative), artificial smoke flavor, calcium propionate (a preservative), glyceryl monostearate, phosphoric acid, choline chloride, added color (Red 40, Yellow 5, Blue 1, Yellow 6).

I put the parts I might consider consuming in bold. The rest of that belongs in a grain elevator, a kitchen, or a test laboratory, not in a dog.

I do wonder what they mean by "meat," though. Is that squirrel? Or rabbit? Or is that what gets dyed flourescent red when it gets spilled on the floor at the meat-processing plant? If it's rabbit or squirrel I'm cool with it. If it's that obscenely red stuff, though, not so much. Which makes me wonder about the "water."

I started to get excited when I saw "bacon fat," but then I saw the "preserved with BHA." Butylated hydroxyanisole is a mixture of the isomers 3-tert-butyl-4-hydroxyanisole and 2-tert-butyl-4-hydroxyanisole. Doesn't that sound tasty? I'm terribly sorry, but if you can't get fresh bacon fat, you should let it go rancid so I can roll in it and smell pretty.

Sorry about that

Those of you who were expecting a dog tale this morning have to have been disappointed by the beer-and-cucumber link. My apologies. I was in a frightful hurry, and lost track of some of my many responsibilities. Therefor, I will reward those who have been patient (and those who just got here late):

One night a burglar breaks into a house as its owners are asleep. He's lifting the TV to put in his bag when he hears a voice say, "Jesus is watching you."

The startled burglar flashes his light all over the room, but he can't find the source of the voice. He chalks it up to nerves and carries on. As he is disconnecting the stereo wires, he hears it again. "Jesus is watching you."

He looks around the room again, and spots a parrot sitting in the corner. "Did you say that?" he asks.

"Yup," the parrot admits," I was just trying to warn you, Jesus is watching."

"Pttt!" the burglar snorts. "Who are you, to warn me?!"

"Well," the parrot says, "My name is Moses."

"Moses! What kind of people name a parrot Moses?"

"Probably the same kind who name a Rottweiler Jesus."

Friday Funny

I'm not even revealing the tip of the iceberg here. Head on over to Oz to see the debate in its entirety.

BEER vs. CUCUMBERS!

Reasons Why Beer is Better than Cucumbers
- You can't get drunk, no matter how many cucumbers you eat.

Reasons Why Cucumbers are Better than Beer
- Cucumbers won't give you a hangover.

Wish they could share the rain

Coach Brown shared last night his story of thunderstorms and final exams on the rain-soaked West Coast. Some of his earlier posts detail his already-saturated adventures with a partially-flooded house and yard. There's no doubt that too much is too much, regardless of where it falls.

That said, we could sure use some here in central Texas, and from what I understand via Monica and Brian (sorry, I can't figure out a way to link directly to Brian's January 1 post, but it should be down toward the bottom of the linked page), it's even worse up toward them.

I've been working on a hole out in the middle of one of Beta's flower beds. Yes, my efforts have to be surreptitious, which is difficult, as they seldom leave me untended out in the yard, but I've been working on it when the squirrel isn't around to bark at. Now the ground is getting so hard and dry that chunks of dirt no longer fly as I dig. All I get is a cloud of dust, which is not nearly as satisfying. And all we get is wind, with not even a hint of moisture in it.

I know Coach Brown would be willing to swap a week or two of our weather for a week or two of his, and I think I could probably get some signers on a petition to accomplish the trade, if we can figure out who to send it to.

John Stossel got Alpha's shorts in a wad

What upset Alpha the most was Stossel's use of Belgian schools as a point of comparison for his "international test scores." See, Alpha went to school in Belgium for a bit, and has some first-hand experience with some of the differences between the systems.

And he got his shorts in a big enough wad to blog about it himself. I'll provide a link for you when he gets done.

Edit: at least for now, link's up.

Friday Funny

A woman saw an ad in the local newspaper which read:
"Purebred Police Dog $25."

She thought that was a heckuva deal, so she called and ordered
the dog to be delivered.

The next day a van arrived at her home and delivered the
mangiest-looking mongrel she had ever seen.

In a rage, she telephoned the man who had placed the ad,
"How dare you call that mangy-mutt a purebred police dog?"

"Don't let his looks deceive you, ma'am," the man replied,
"He works undercover."

Impartial fools

Apparently, the wise and impartial panel, appointed by our good governor of Texas to look at alternatives after the current school finance system was deemed unconstitutional by our state Supreme Court, is looking at allowing localities to raise their sales tax rates to fund schools in lieu of those unconstitutionally-uniform property taxes.

From the SA Express-News:

A special committee looking to change the state's school tax system wants Comptroller Carole Keeton Strayhorn to assess the financial impact of several options, including an increase in local sales tax rates to lower school property taxes.

Now I'm all in favor of lowering school property taxes. It seems as if I pay a considerable chunk on my house to support the local schools, and my house isn't all that fancy.


I know pups who live in very plain, simple structures. They stay(mostly)warm and dry. And their property taxes are relatively low.





It's not as if I needed deluxe accommodations. What I have is entirely adequate for my needs in this climate, and it isn't going to break the bank on taxes. And there's room in the attic to store the seasonal stuff.





Some folks go ahead with an upgrade. They want a little more flash, or a little more space. Those pups pay more than I do. I think that overall scheme is fair. We can complain about the rates, but the system scales so that the more your house is worth, the more you pay.






And then, of course, some pups go nuts.

But every time you bump your house up a notch, it costs more bones in taxes, and a substantial chunk of those taxes go to pay for the local schools, at least they do here in Texas.


A couple of thoughts relating to all of this:

(1) A sales tax is the most regressive of taxes: 6.5 bones extra is nothing if you have more bones than you can count anyway, but if you can carry all your bones with you, 6.5 bones can break a deal.

(2) The Texas state-wide sales tax is at 6.5%. Only California and Mississippi tax sales at higher rates (and California's state-wide rate is actually only 6.25%, but they piggy-back a 1% local tax on it, so the net rate is higher).

So even though something HAS to be done, the sales tax shouldn't even be on the table, I don't care how many layers of paper it's buried under. Someone's laible to see taxing the poorest the hardest as preferable to taxing corporate campaign donors.

Harvesting gold

Been out looking for stories to harvest and tweak for tomorrow, and came across one that I can't figure out a way to use. Maybe it's because I have a limited imagination, but maybe it's because it's the best blond joke ever. Ever. and I just don't want to mess with the perfection someone else has achieved.

Sometimes the world drags us away

Been weird. Responding to fires (metaphoric fires - not real ones). Will be back soon and back-date entries so it will look as if I never missed a beat.

A mouse got its revenge against a homeowner who tried to dispose of it in a pile of burning leaves. The blazing creature ran back to the man's house and set it on fire (via CNN).

The only trusted-and-true method I know of ridding oneself of rodentia that doesn't require either a cat or a terrier (preferably one with two functioning eyeballs - you should see Ankle-Biter chase a mouse) involves a Shop-Vac, preferably one that was most recently used to suck up the booze that got into the carpet when the movers dropped the box containing most of the liquor cabinet.

You think I sometimes talk in circles? You should have seen those mice when Alpha turned them loose outside. They did a fair job of heading for cover, but it definitely wasn't a straight line.

Some folks have all the luck

I mean, here I am every day, patrolling the back yard for squirrels, trying hard to keep my Resolution, and these guys get lunch in the mail.

Life ain't fair, I tell you. I'm gonna go back to urban planning...

I'll be damned if I know

where this thought came from. But here it is:

Given the spate of news about the NSA skirting, under Presidential mandate, the edges of the law and the Constitution to obtain and diseminate information, how many justifiably proud members of the NRA are concerned about the fact that their bumper stickers and hats let the Feds know they own weapons?

A caveat is due: I don't belong to the NRA, in part because most banks won't accept my signature to open an account (which makes it hard to pay dues), in part because it's pretty much impossible to pull a trigger with a dew-claw, so I see more advantage in owning teeth than in owning guns.

Just another of those follow-the-scent-the-wind-brings-you thoughts, I guess.

Keep your nose active. I gotta see where that damned cat went.

Solving Problems Sunday

I'm glad I'm still young enough to believe I can solve the world's problems (or at least recognize and compliment folks who take steps in the right direction).

Was reading yesterday's Austin American-Statesman (which is maybe one, and hardly the other, but it's the closest "big-city" newspaper so I read it). At any rate, if I can get past all the digressions and perambulations, a couple of articles caught my eye. Squirrels do that, too. And rabbits. And wind-blown grocery sacks (paper or plastic, it matters not).

Anyway - damn it's hard to talk in a straight line - the first one had an intriguing headline: "Burglars Beware". It seems a family who lives in southeast Austin gets burglarized about once a year (not quite, but close enough for a pound-pup. A purebred would calculate it at once every 1.0714285714285714285714285714286 years, but that's where we go our seperate ways). So the woman of the family has made some signs basically saying she's fed up,Stop It Already, and has spent some recent time in her front yard baby-sitting those signs while her kids play nearby, and lo-and-behold, some of the neighbors have stopped to talk to her (and apparently a reporter named Tony Plohetski, as well. Hey, he's the one who brought it to my attention. He deserves credit). As an interim result, the police are coming by, and having a meeting in the neighborhood to set up a Neighborhood Watch, in addition to their regular patrol activity. So far, so good.

Now on to the second story. This one is headlined "Planners see future of city subdivisions, and it's retro." The sub-head is "Dream neighborhoods boast short blocks, no gates, zero cul-de-sacs." The City Council is, according to this story by Sarah Coppola, looking for ways to get people to rely less on automobiles and more on their own feet. The planners (not the Council, but the planners, though there is some Council support as well, notably from Dave Sullivan) envision narrower streets, houses closer to the sidewalks, and blocks shortened from the current 1200 foot average. Sullivan says, "If people can walk through their neighborhoods, they can more easily catch a bus or get to a rail stop."

And here's where the two stories start to come together: if people more frequently walk through their neighborhoods, they come to know each other better eventually, or at least recognize each other. They don't have to sit in their front yards with signs to have their neighbors pay attention to them, because they see each other every day on the way to the bus. Or the train. Or, heaven forbid, the neighborhood grocery.

See, it used to be that 13 standard blocks made a mile. That makes a block a dew-claw more than 400 feet, including cross streets and alleys and right-of-ways for the cats and the cable company. Figure 35 feet for the street and another 15 for the alley, divide the rest by two and it makes the average lot 175 feet deep. How many of y'all in those residential subdivisions and gated communities have a lot 175' deep?

I'll grant you there's a trade-off: that depth would make a 5750 square-foot lot only 35-plus-a-squirrel's-paw feet wide (5750 being the current minimum in Austin, TX (not Austin, MN, home of Spam and other fine products from Hormel (I hate when the wind blows and brings me another scent)), so that would have to be dealt with architecturally. But slow down a second before you panic and hurt yourself: if you have an alley, you don't have to have that god-forsaken ugly garage door on the front of the house. That saves you at least 20 feet right there (you suburbanites know you have a two-car garage. We do. We'd rather have an alley. It'd give the kids a safe(r) place to play, shoot hoops, roll dice, learn to smoke and drink, all the things kids do if you turn your back on them for a second. The smart ones learn to share their beer with the dog.) Besides. You get that garage out back, and when you raise chickens in it, no one will know. At least from the front of the house.

I appreciate your patience. Since you've been so kind, let me meander back to a final point: I honest-to-St. Bernard believe that shorter blocks and more accessible neighborhoods reduce crime. So it's fortuitous that the Austin paper reminded me of that this morning, as I read yesterday's paper.

Now. Alpha and Beta have gone off to their church, and I need to hop up on the bed with the cable remote and watch mine: the Wail-and-Bay-at-the-Moon Evangelical Free Dioces of St. Bernard. According to the TV Guide, the sermon promises to be a good one.

One I (hope) I Can Keep

In the year 2006 I resolve to: Eat at least 2 squirrels a week. Get your resolution here

Thanks to Trucker Bob for the link.

Shorts in a Wad Saturday

First, since I don't wear shorts, I'm obviously talking about someone else's.

Second, this is ancient news, I realize, but Bill O'Reilly really got his twisted up about a Wisconsin elementary school a couple-three weeks ago singing, in its Winter/Holiday/Other PC Label Program, the "Silent Night" tune with other lyrics.

I wonder if he remembers how common it is to create new lyrics for well-known tunes?

Is he forgetting that we sing the words of Francis Scott Key's poem "The Defense of Fort McHenry" to the tune of "To Anacreon in Heaven", a drinking song originally written for a "gentlemen's social club" (the Crown and Anchor) in London? and call it our national anthem? Looking at the score, I think the pace we usually give it is a travesty: it's meant to go much quicker than Leann Rimes sang it Wednesday before the USC-Texas game.

And speaking of Texas, does he realize (O'Reilly, I mean. I'm back to him)that "The Eyes of Texas" is sung to the tune of "I've Been Working on the Railroad"?

I wonder if he's concerned that the Maryland state song is sung to the tune of the venerable Christmas carol "O Tannenbaum" (Oh, Christmas Tree"). Strikes me as very similar sacrilege, yet he fails to mention it.

I learned from an American literature teacher that most of Emily Dickinson's poetry can be sung to the tune of "The Yellow Rose of Texas" (try it. It works). She never told me they also could be sung to the tune of "Amazing Grace," though. Which of course means that the words of "Amazing Grace" can be sung to the tune of "The Yellow Rose of Texas," and vice versa. Does the war on all-that's-holy never end?

And yes. I'd be honored if, at my funeral, Miss Dickinson's "Because I Could not Stop for Death" were sung twice. First to the tune of "Amazing Grace," and then, as what's left of my earthly presence leaves the building, to the tune of "The Yellow Rose of Texas."

A Friday Funny

Two men are walking their dogs, a poodle and a German shepard. They decide they'd like to go into a bar for a drink.

"But we can't bring our dogs into the bar," says the poodle's human.

"Hey, no problem," says the German shepard's owner. "Just watch this." He pulls out a pair of sunglasses and walks into the bar.

"Hey, no dogs!" yells the bartender.

"But this is a seeing eye dog," says the German shepard's human.

The bartender apologizes and shows them to a chair.

So, the poodle owner decides to follow suit, whips out his sunglasses, and walks into the bar.

"Hey, no dogs!" yells the bartender.

"But this is a seeing eye dog," says the poodle's human.

The bartender objects, "Hey, poodles can't be seeing eye dogs!"

The poodle owner gasps, "Poodle? They told me they were giving me a German shepard!"

To meme or not to meme

I had a much more ambitious project in mind for this morning: I was going to bark (up close and personal) at the infernally-noisy gas-powered device that Alpha uses to suck my toy leaves off the lawn, chop them up into useless confetti, and collect them into a pile.

But my friend Ms. Cornelius at A Shrewdness of Apes tagged me with the damnable Sevens meme.

Understand right up front that I don't favor memes at all. I think they're part of a conspiracy to make sure there's no end to the internet. (I thought I'd found it the other day: the "Next Blog" button came up with the same site three times in a row, and I thought "Oh, wow. I finally made it to the end!" But then I hit it a fourth time, and sure enough, some fool had added more content. Oh, well. It helps me avoid productive work, I guess.)

So, as a gesture for a friend (and with some reluctance to reveal), the Seven:

Seven Books (Or Series) That I Love
(in no particular order):

The Oxford English Dictionary. I wish I could afford one.

The Funk and Wagnall's Dictionary , partly because of its cultural significance (Look that up in your Funk and Wagnalls!).

All of Tolkein. Read and reread. Even own the songbook. Lacks dogs, though.

All of George R. R. Martin. Still eagerly waiting for the fifth tome in the trilogy (I know). The wolfhounds are the best.

Anything by Isabel Allende. What a graceful, poetic prose she crafts.

The Bible. I prefer the King James version. But then I prefer the Oxford English Dictionary, too.

And my very favorite: whatever I'm reading at the moment. In this case, it's Joseph Campbell's Creative Mythology.

Hehe - bet you thought it was going to be Old Yeller and Big Red, dincha.

Seven of my Favorite Movies (Or series)

I'll quote Kurt Vonnegut: "I don't like film." He says it because for him, "Film is too clankingly real." I don't like it because you can't put it down for a second or two to think about what just happened, or what was just said, or to quickly write down a quote to tack on the wall.

The first time I read The Hobbit, I wrote down some of Gandalf's words: "It is not our part to master the world, but to do what is in us for those times in which we are set, uprooting the evil in the fields that we know, that those who come after may have clean earth to till." Try writing that down while the movie is flying by.


Having said that, though, film can indeed play a role, if what I want is mindless relaxation and tears of laughter:

Monte Python and the Holy Grail

Blazing Saddles

The Groove Tube

Christmas Vacation (although that one's a little too sentimental for me).

Can you tell it's been a while since I graced the doors of a movie theatre? On the other hand, I saw Wicked on Broadway last July and loved it. Saw Spamalot, too, and bought the "I am not dead yet" t-shirt. Can we count that as six, please? If I think of another I'll get back to you.

Seven Things I Just Can’t Do (Or Don’t Wanna)
Pass up a chance to sprawl in the sun and soak up the day.
Stay quiet when there's a squirrel in my trees.
Control my laughter when I visit Hoss or Karla (or a couple others, but if you use their blogrolls, you, too, can find funny stuff).
Go more than a couple days without talking to family.
Take all the voices seriously.
Find the end of the internet.
Think of seven movies worth watching.

Seven Things to Do Before I Die

Catch that squirrel.
Get Alpha back to blogging so I can tag him with memes like this.
Watch all Alpha and Beta's grandkids grow big enough to actually play with. Grandson #1 is getting close, but the others are still too young.
Pass this test.
Get back into some phase of helping young pups figure out the ways of the world. Retirement has any number of advantages, but there's more to life than finding the end of the internet and chasing squirrels.
Learn to drive Alpha's '74 MG. I do OK with the pickup, but the MG's a stick.
Find a meme where I can take all of the questions seriously.

Seven Things That Attracted Me to Blogging
I don't think it was so much "attraction" as it was "last resort."
Having a place to write is having a place to clarify thinking.
I needed a home base from which to comment on people's blogs.
It gave me a spot to put a site-meter.
It's a wonderful way to avoid doing other, less-pleasant things.
It's a good place to practice typing without looking at the keys.
A blogroll just really looks goofy sitting on a page all by its lonesome.

Seven Things I Say Most Often
It's a beautiful day.
I wanna go outside.
I wanna come in the house.
Come down here and say that.
Dammit, Ankle-Biter, fer chrissakes go outside. No wonder you have to sleep in that cage.
C'mon, Alpha, let's play. Don't just sit there!
The food dish seems to be empty.

Seven Impractical Things I Think Would Be Really Cool Anyway
Honest politicians. Seven of them. It's be a start.

And no, I'm not gonna tag anyone I know, although I'm thinking about maybe Tigger, or Hubert, or Stubby, maybe even Sammi and Boomer , or Maggie or Bonnie. Like I implied, I don't know these rabbit and squirrel chasers personally, but given their interests, it would be fun to see what they have to say about the Sevens.

Blame the squirrels

If I remember correctly, it was Linus (of Peanuts fame) who observed first that leaves do not fall from trees: they jump to escape squirrels. My observations (strenuous and extensive - I spend many hours daily surveilling the back yard) confirm that hypothesis. So those of you with bare trees can blame the squirrels.

To that, however, I'd like to add a corollary: the wind howls because it has no friends to play with. I have observed that a 30-mph wind in the summer, when the trees are clad with leaves in all those marvelous shades of green, that sweet wind we hear, whispers, rustles and rattles, but never a howl. That is, quite simply, because the wind has friends to dance with, to play with, to make music with. It has no reason to whine, or to howl, or to scream.

Then, though, comes the fall. Then comes the season of squirrels racing limb to limb, frightened themselves of approaching winter perhaps, but scaring the leaves into losing color and jumping from their secure perches, into leaving those gentle breezes with no playmates, and the gentle breeze becomes an angry wind, howling and screaming, and doing its best to squeeze in through crevices, all in search of dance partners.

So there you have it. Squirrels are the culprits. Hunt them down. Send them to me. I will chastise them.