It's raining again

Four tenths in the rain gauge, everything is soaking wet, the squirrel hasn't ventured away from wherever it is that he stays dry, so I have time to think. Again. And again, it's about fences and barriers.

We have a fence:


And, as you can see, it's an old (going on 30 years, with minimal maintenance) but servicable fence. The gate allows passage, both in and out. I can come in, and I can go out (when Alpha authorizes passage). The fence controls the flow.

If you follow the rules, that is.

Squirrel, of course, does not. Squirrel comes and goes at will.

I could, I suppose, eliminate everything that attracts Squirrel - make the place barren and destitute, but none of us, canine or human, would enjoy the result. No shade to lie in. No bushes to pee on. Just a fence and the Texas sun.

What's worse, to make that plan work, I'd have to insist that the neighbors do the same. Those three dogs would have to do without as well.

I could, I guess, just trap Squirrel, send him miles away, and release him.

The only problem with that plan is that other squirrels simply move in to take advantage of the vaccuum. I'd be punishing Squirrel, and gaining nothing in the process.

That leaves me, I guess, with killing Squirrel, and lying in the yard gnawing on his bones as an example.

But in the meantime, I still have to have permission to come and go through the gates. Alpha still decides what I do, and not what Squirrel does. All I can do is bark.

And all because of the fence. To me, it's a very real physical barrier. But to Squirrel, it's not even a symbol. It's an entirely artificial barrier. Oh, I can chase him away. I can bark and jump, and threaten to climb either the fence or the shade tree, and every time, I can force him to leave.

But guess what?

He comes back. Because it's better here than it is on the other side: there's water, and food, and shelter from the weather.

Take the experience of a dog who's maybe lived too long or maybe just too well: fences do a helluva lot better job keeping us in than they do in keeping anyone else out. I gotta have permission at the border, but Squirrel just comes and goes.

Kinda like the rain in the gauge...

Now, if y'all'll excuse me, the rain has stopped, Squirrel has returned, and I have barking of another sort to attend to.

You know it

This week's Carnival of Educationis up and running over at Education in Texas.

It's the 69th week, and Mike did indeed keep the dogs out of the parade.
.
.
.

Still looking

Obviously, I must be getting closer to the end of the internet because good dog jokes seem fewer and farther between. I feel as if the bottom of the barrel has been reached, and I can only share the few dregs remaining.

In one of the little towns north on the highway, Len runs his bar-and-grill-and-swap-meet (I swear to St Bernard!). Anyway, Len was behind the bar one sweltery, dusty day late last summer, doing his level best to help folks stay cool, serving frosty mugs of beer, some of the best mojitos in central Texas, and his signature margaritas. Len allows no sweet-and-sour in the place, so each margarita is made with fresh-squeezed lime and sugar. It takes a little longer, but oh, is it worth it!

The bar is full, the juke box is playing, folks are dickering over the treasures at the swap meet, when the door swings open and a three-legged dog strides in. All eyes turn, and the whole bar falls silent.

The dog's eyes are hard, and his voice has an edge on it when he says to Len, "A whisky."

Len doesn't even ask if it's a call-shot - just grabs the jug and pours a shot. The dog lifts it with his lone front foot and slams it back. "Another," he growls as he slides the glass across the bar.

From somewhere deep within, Len summons the courage to ask, as he pours, "Probably none of my business, sir, but what brings you to these parts?"

"I'm looking for the man who shot my paw."


Edited 5:11 p.m. to correct typo.

Of pit bulls and coyotes

Let me admit first of all that I'm about to make a hypocrite of myself. As much as I hate stereotyping (people all over the world, for example, characterize canines as poor typists. And as much as I might resemble that remark, I also resent it), I'm about to employ some stereotyping in an attempt to clarify my own thinking.

First, let me propose the pit bull as representative of the American populace: big, confident, territorial. Well fed. There are, for many reasons, bones galore in this country for the dogs to chew on. I'm glad I live here, and as I've said on multiple occassions, I don't mind sharing my bones for the betterment of society.

But then, in a horrible stereotype, we have south of the border a nation of canines with much longer to travel between juicy bones. A nation where sharing food beyond the family dish would mean starvation for your own kin. A nation of coyotes.

Now, as a well-fed dog myself, I see no real need to escape my backyard. What would be the point? I have food, and water, and shade. I have a roof over my head when I want, and a warm, comfy place to sleep at night. I have enough bones left over at the end of the day that I can share when I choose to do so.

I can, however, very easily see the temptation to migrate north to escape from a land where far too many dogs have no clue where their next bowl of kibbles might come from, or if they or their pups will ever have a bone to gnaw on or a soft, dry place to sleep. If they must choose between the hunger in their bellies and the fear of the border crossing, that hardly seems a choice, even to me.

So. This country of pitbulls expends incredible energy snorting and snuffling and growling at each other from either end of the political spectrum, either in the belief that they hold the high ground or in the belief that doing so will win them additional years in office. We will end with some sort of compromise that both sides will fault as short-sighted and incomplete, unfair or inhumane.

None of that will lessen the hunger south of the border that drives the migration, yet for some reason, many of us believe that the answer must be either to let them stay or to get a bigger stick and drive them back south of the border (and then pour an unending stream of financial and political and human/canine capital onto the border to try to keep them there).

Neither will prove a longterm solution. The only real solution with any legs or longevity, or any hope of working, requires leveling the playing field south of ours, and that, in turn, would require cooperation between the two governments: from theirs to allow foreign investment in their infrastructure (c'mon - they export oil and import gasoline?) and from ours to encourage, secure, and participate in that investment.

We have to stop looking at them as theiving coyotes before they can stop looking at us as aggressive pit bulls.

Note: my apologies to the fine pit bulls I have known and loved, and to the coyotes whose paths I've had the pleasure of crossing. Especially the three-legged one who single-handedly fought off the invasion of the feral cats. And of course, to my readers, for my having used crude stereotypes as a broad brush to gloss over many factors that complicate the issue.

Short and sweet

Have some company, and haven't yet trained them to share the coffee, so will have to keep this effort to entertain on the shorter side.

Did find a couple of newspaper ads that might be of interest, if you haven't seen them before:

FREE YORKSHIRE TERRIER. 8 years old. Hateful little
bitch. Bites

FREE PUPPIES: 1/2 Cocker Spaniel, 1/2 sneaky
neighbor's dog.

FREE PUPPIES.. Part German Shepherd, part stupid dog

FREE GERMAN SHEPHERD 85 lbs. Neutered. Speaks
German.

FOUND DIRTY WHITE DOG. Looks like a rat ... been out
a while. Better be a reward for this nasty little thing.

Other than that, the ongoing search for the end of the internet is still unsuccessful. I will, of course keep trying.

Or maybe DiMaggio??

You may or may not remember my former neighbor Leo, whom I suggested would make an excellent transportation safety inspector. I got an e-mail from him late yesterday, and it seems that Leo has finally learned to speak. English.

The problem arises when his foolish human, John, tries to take advantage:

John and Leo walk into the local tavern, and John proclaims to Mel, the barkeep on duty, "I'll bet you a round of drinks that my dog can talk."
Mel: "Yeah! Sure...go ahead."
John: "What covers a house?"
Leo: "Roof!"
John: "How does sandpaper feel?"
Leo: "Rough!"
John: "Who was the greatest ball player of all time?"
Leo: "Ruth!"
John: "Pay up. I told you he could talk."
Mel, annoyed at this point, tosses them both out the door.
Sitting on the sidewalk, Leo looks at John and says, "or is the greatest player Mantle?"

Ouch!

Just realized, thanks in no small part to 3σ → Left that I've posted on this blog (off and on) for 367 days.

Wow.

Of course, it's thanks to Hunstem for hosting the Carnival in the first place, or I'd have never gotten to the reminder.

Wow.

367 days since my first barely-articulate whines. What a journey it has been.

Swingin', Just-a-swingin'!

The 66th Carnival of Education is up over at HUNSTEM's
House. Journey over there, take a stroll down the Midway, take a ride or two, savor the candy. It's Wednesday-going-on-Thursday, my friends.

What do you expect for free?

I know, I know. It's free. Just copy the Portugese, paste it into the translator, and get English. Only it's not, really. It's Englese, or Portugish, or something.

Lately, I have repaired a vivid and increasing interest for all the people, to support its reasonings, opinions and decisions, in quantitative information. As for me, this constatação is a highly national positive symptom, demonstrating to an unequivocal predisposition for the change and perfectioning of attitudes.

As we have lived in the country of..."I find that".., decurrent justification is formidable to evidence our proper cultural metamorphosis - when generalizing itself it objetive, ... "porque"...

I am to look for to follow of very close this salutar trend, as they will be able to verify in this and next posts e, later if understanding, until opposing.
It by the way comes this of the fact to seeto hear to say of options strategical politics to obviar indicating numerical, but of nor always them the corresponding meanings to survey - exactly in official documents - that they integrate scripts of reference for the execution of measures, case of the technological Plan.

Thus, the Technological Plan if does not withhold in explicativas considerações on what if it can wait of the efforts of the country, direccionados for the promotion and valuation of the innovation and the empreendedorismo, that it is assumed will be followed, but as we will see in such a way nor.

But, as the term innovation is recurrent in all the document, e if induces, in this tónica, strong expectations - because it is mentioned as an infallible esteio of the technological development, described as strategical - I decided to materialize, for my expense, the meaning of the "instruments of measure" of the innovation.

I distribute here, with the eventual interested parties, some of my reflections, on pointers of the Technological Plan, e what me it occurs on ours politics:
The innovation is a complex fenómeno - nor always exclusively attributed only the human beings - that for its evaluation it demands a multidimensional appreciation - of form to allow to formulate trends for the answers of the power politician, duly guided for the question that if wants to see clarificada.

Even with a basic understanding of Romance-language grammar, I'm burning up brain cells forcing this to make sense.

I think I'll go chase the squirrel. Or bark at the dog next door. Those are free, too.

I cannot tell a lie...

Another glorious day in my neck of the woods. We had a nice storm last night. None of the lightning got too close, none of the thunder got too loud, and the rain came mostly straight down. Should be good for the tomatoes.

Of course, that information isn't what the two of you who stop by here on Fridays are looking for. You want the joke. You want to believe I came across a story to tell while I was seeking the end of the internet last night instead of enjoying the weather.

Here you go:

A small-town preacher on his walk home from the church one aftenoon noticed a group of boys, probably fourth or fifth graders, gathered around a puppy. They seemed to be having a very organized conversation, as first one would speak, then another.

When he got close enough, the preacher asked the boys what they were doing.

One explained. "This puppy is abandoned, and each of us wants it. To decide, whichever of us tells the biggest lie gets to keep the puppy."

"Oh, but you shouldn't lie," said the preacher. "Lying is a sin. When I was your age I would never have told a lie."

The boys looked at each other. Finally, the one who had explained spoke again. "OK, guys. He gets the dog."

Gardening too

If you haven't already seen the beautiful pics that Mamacita has posted, by all means get over there and check them out. Her pictures of fun things to chase are pretty cool too.

However, her flowers remind me that some time ago, I showed the garden that Alpha was working on, which, of course, now has flowers:

The pink one in the foreground is a Guadalupe:



Behind that beautiful pink floribunda is a dark, dark red one called Black Cherry:



In the back right corner is a Princess Diana:



There's also a John F Kennedy kind of in the middle. And a Radiant Perfume.

Up above, behind the fountain, there's a Double Delight.

Of course, as far as I'm concerned, the best part is that huge water dish that never gets empty and always tastes fresh.

Week 65

Of The Carnival is up and running over at the Education Wonks. Grab yourself a stick of cotton candy and wander around.