The Passing of a Wincent

One of those little rat babies in the picture above is Vincent. I wish I could point to you which, but to be honest, I don't know. Somewhere amongst the hungry teat suckers, there is also a Ganymede, a Charlotte, an Alice, a Sadie. I didn't know the rest of the babes very well, but they must have all been quite charming.

But I wanted to talk about Vincent, who lived to a ripe old age of 2 years and 9 months. Right now, he has reunited with his old cage-mates, Mark and Liam, and is also saying hello to his siblings, Alice and Sadie and probably others. He is saying hello to sweet elegant Victoria and also finally reuniting with his mother, Penelope.

My dearest Vincent, who weonce called One-Dot because of the one dot on your back, it was a pleasure seeing you grow. I know you feel the same way.

I know that not only was it in your capacity to love me, but that you loved me fully and trusted me fully.

Dear Vincent, I hope you didn't think I was abandoning you when I brought you to the vet today. I hope that you understood that I was worried about you. I was worried about how you were hurting. I hope that you trusted me to take care of you.





 You made everything better, especially my shirts and pants. My Mountain Dew shirt is one of my favorite shirts because of you and your rat lace. I also don't know if I have anymore bedsheets that haven't met your creative little teeth.

I enjoyed our last nap together. I know you did too. You held my hand the entire time. When I got up to pee, you didn't want me to go. You are always going to be my Vincent-Wincent, my little baby.


I love you, Vincent-Wincent.

Jack's Game of the Day: Kill the Snake

Momma says she's very impressed with my snake-killing because I just get better and better at it, so I wanted to share with everyone how you can Kill-the-Snake too and have as much fun as me.

First, you have to pretend to be a mongoose. Mongooses are really good at killing snakes because its just what they do.

Second, you have to jump on the snake and bite it, then shake it around. It's okay because the snake likes that. He knows its part of the game.

Also, if you don't have a toy snake like I do almost anything else can be a snake. Sometimes I pretend Rudyard is a snake, but its harder with him because he moves around and I have to chase him.

I hope you have fun with the game you just learned! Bye-bye!

Rudyard's Game of the Day: Whack-A-Ferret

Hello! This is Rudyard. Mommy told me to tell you about what I played today. Its real fun and everyone who likes to play should play it.

First, you get under something. I like to get under my favorite stool.

Then you stick your head out and try to bite your Mommy.
But what your mommy is trying to do is bonk you on the head!

So you have to put your head right back under your stool before she bonks you. If she's not paying attention, then you can bite her.

When you bite her, make sure you don't mean it. Because I only bite for fun, but sometimes if you bite and you mean it mommys get upset. Sometimes sams get upset too. My Sam is very smart and understands I don't mean it, but it would make me sad if my Sam thought that I did mean it.

That is the game of the day! I hope you have fun playing!!

What the Children Say

We went to the aquarium today with Nat and Eli. It was great. 

Piranhas

2:00 was the Piranha feeding time. We were there at 1:45. I'm not a terribly big fan for crowds, what with my ever-oh-so-slight claustrophobia, so I found a small little tunnel place that had a good view of the piranhas and was away from all of the tall adults telling their children to hush, be quiet, and look.

Well, silly me. The little tunnel was too perfect for me. So perfect that it was perfect for children as well. So they came in a stampede, in and out.

One group discussed very seriously if fish could drown.
"Fish can't drown," was the consensus.
One child said with much conviction (clearly a student of recent education), "A whale can drown because its a mammal."
"Or she," another in the group said.
The first child nodded, as if embarrassed by his mistake. "Yeah. Or a she."


A young couple also came in, getting the same bright idea that I had. The children clustered around me, talking to me even though they had no idea who I was; but that I was wearing fish earrings, carrying around a sketchbook, and hanging out in the tunnel with them, so I must be harmless.

A very young group of boys were very eager to see the piranhas get fed. They waited and waited, wondering if it would be bits of flesh that came down. Would their be blood? What were they going to rip apart? Would it be alive?

A dead fish on a hook drops down at 2:00 and there is a swarm. Each piranha takes a bite then swims away. What is left is still a dead fish on a hook, except where its belly area used to be is... well, its not. It's just not there. I peered closely and saw the spine of the dead thing, still covered in bits of fish flesh.

The boys moaned.
"Where's the blood?" one whined. Clearly, he was hoping for quite the spectacle.
There was a long pause. "Maybe they drained the body already," another boy chimes in. There is a voted agreement. Yes, that was it.

Then the couple behind me speaks up. There is a young boyish photographer, growing in his hipster facial hair, and his girlfriend, who also seems to have the hipster fashion going on because of the scarf she has swung about her neck.

"I once saw someone lower a cow into a pool of piranhas and they went crazy. They ate it so fast. It was on TV. But I bet its because they were really hungry. The fish at the aquarium probably eat, like, every two hours."

"Yeah," the girlfriend agrees, her hand in the crook of her boyfriend's arm. "But they should give what the customer wants and, like, starve them for us."

Sea Otters
My favorite part were the new sea otters, which is like when you take five river otters and combine them together into one BIG BIG BIG otter.

When I first saw them, I got to glimpse one sleepy fellow come out into the underwater viewing area to play with one of the toys that had been left for him. It is amazing how sea otters move. Already I thought the river otter was graceful, but to see something so large with so much sinew move its body like its limbless and without a skeleton? Impressive. I was very smitten.

Sam was a big help for me today, getting me through the crowds. Once the crowd of children cleared from the glass, he and I jumped in and didn't let out spots go. I whipped out my sketchbook but honestly, I was too entranced to draw. The sea otter, without even touching it seemed, picked up this red ball off the floor of the tank and suddenly had it riding on his belly while he swam upside down for a few kicks. While keeping the ball in one spot, he swirled around it intimately, like he was seducing it, before playfully throwing it about and chasing it.

"What is that?" a very very very young boy on my right ear asked.
The mother attending him said, "A red ball."
"What's it doing?" the boy asked.
"Playing."
"Why is it playing?"
"Because its fun."
"Why does it want to have fun?"

I couldn't help but a raise an eyebrow at this question. Why do you want to have fun? I asked to myself. I turned to the boy and said, "Otters love to play. It's their favorite thing in the whole world."
"Do they like family?" the boy asked me.
I nodded my head. "They love family."


The otter knew how to make impressions of kids who like to smoosh their faces on the glass. When asked by his trainer, he would come up to the glass, press his nose onto it with his paws by his face, and gape with his mouth open wide.

As the otter followed his trainer and left us in his masterful face-making wake, the child he was making faces at said, "He likes me best. I'm his favorite."

I let the child think this, even though in my deepest darkest corner of my heart, I know that the sea otter was making faces at me and that I am clearly the favorite.


Out and About
Some things I overheard were not always from the mouths of babes.
I saw a large and grown man with his two tiny daughters standing outside a glass tank, pounding the glass over and over and saying, "Wake up you otters! Wake up you lazy otters! Come over here!" as his little girls shrieked and laughed, repeating what their father said. I cringed.

I also overheard a mother shouting at some fussy kid, telling her the reason you don't argue is because "I am an adult, and you are not!"  Congratulations, Mom-of-the-Year. Your child is going to grow up saying that, and she or he is going to be as equally stubborn and pig-headed as you.

I heard nice things too. Like, "Look Mommy, a fish!" which is my favorite; but only after "Look, honey, a fish!"

Before we went to look at the whale sharks, we all spent a reasonable amount of time in front of the river otters, probably around 15 or 20 mins. The entire otter family was very busily drying themselves from when they took their after-nap splash, but right before their after-splash nap.

One rambunctious female was also very insistent on trotting the best toy around, which I have seen in my ferrets. This got her in trouble, naturally, when one of the other otters wanted to take it from her. There was quite the tug-of-war.

If the children said anything about that, I wasn't listening. Nat and I did, however, get the rest of the face-dropping crowd to cheer with us when one of the otters took her toy back, forcing the other player to go join the group once again for grooming time. All of the otters scratched their butts, backs, noses, and bellies on the rocks and limbs that were around them. It was wonderful.

Vincent

After my long list of Events of the Day from yesterday (okay, it wasn't really that long), I want to add in a separate pose the well-being of my widdle baby Vincent Wincent.

He is still mostly the same, but last night he gave me such a scare. He has a wart looking thing (well, we're not really sure what it is) on his side beneath his left shoulder blade. It's in an easy scratch spot. Well, you guessed it: he scratched too hard so that when I picked him up last night he was covered in blood.

I was pretty upset, even though I knew it was just coming from the scratch. Sam and I got it under control. Vincent didn't appreciate the prodding. I put a compress on his abscess, but I really should have gotten rid of the accumulated puss. I've realized that when there is too much of a puss build up, he has more trouble walking than average. I realized this when I gave him a cracker last night for being such a good sport; he tumbled on his side and couldn't get up without my help.

Oh Vincent, my little thing. Anywho, we'll take care of the abcess puss tonight.

The Events of the Day

Again, no school and no work. I'm going insane. I paid for classes out of pocket and that pocket money will never be returned to me if I don't work. It seems that they will be opening up for tomorrow though. We'll see.

Jack and I had our first successful cuddling session, where he even went out of his way to wash his paws and face. This is great because his paws are very gross and dirty and he could use some cleaning. We cuddled for a little under 5 minutes, which is a record for Jack.

I tried on my new knee pads that I got for bellydancing. It is so I can do floorwork without injuring my knees. They are a smidgeon too big, but with the sewing machine I am capable of combating any challenge. Sam tried them on and said that they were perfect for praying and cocksucking. He thinks he should create knees pads of his own and market them towards Catholics and prostitutes. Under different titles of course. :P

The knee pads go along with another great story: Yesterday, when I got them, I was looking for soft knee pads. All I could find were the hard ones in the skating area at Academy Sports. So I asked an employee if he knew where the other knee pads were. I said I was looking for soft ones, not the hard ones. He said, "We don't have those. But you could try All Sports or Toys R Us." Clearly I gave him such a questionable look that he finally said, "But maybe you could try our volleyball section. Is that what you need?"

I went to look. Soft knee pads. Yes. That's what I needed. Dumbass.

Also, I started up my car (making sure it still knew how). I was delighted that it did and I let it run for a bit so it could get warm. I scraped off most of the ice and snow that was still covering it. There's a wee bit on the top, but I can whack that part off with a stick.  I still need to switch out the windshield-wipers and bulbs that I bought for it.

PS: I hurt the muscles around my left shoulder blade. I don't know how. Was it karate-chopping the snow off the car? I don't know, but it hurts madness.

Expeditionary Expedition, Pokemon, and some Ferrets in the Snow

Sam and I hiked 6.2 miles in the snow today.
That was 3.1 miles to Nat and Eli's house, and then 3.1 back.
It took us two hours to get there, and 1 hr 45 mins to walk back.

When we started our journey, Sam had a good slide in the snow on his butt.

These are the sorts of prints we saw in the snow:
dog
people
deer
squirrel
stick (of the walking variety)


Also, we saw a family of five deer cross the street. They were really close and gave us a look before they crossed.

Also, and this is way before the hike, Sam and I watched a squirrel dig in the snow for his nuts. The little guy's head popped in and out and in and out... he was being very wary of predators. In the end, he found his nuts! Huzzah!

Apparently, a squirrel will bury his nuts in all sorts of places and forget most of those spots. Why do they forget? I don't know. Probably in the same way when I play Pokemon Diamond and I bury some gems in the underground, I usually forget where I put those gems. Why would I forget? It would be beneficial for me to remember.... I could buy furniture for my base, or plushie dolls, or even traps. Oh the world we live in!

 [These images were pulled off the interwebs. They are not mine. For shaaaame.]






Now, please enjoy my ferrets, who of course also partied in the snow:





These were the from the night before... the shudder speed was slow to take in everything, but I'm sure you can see how excited they are:

Input

I'm trying to come up with a comic series about naturalists, critter and plant conservation, and trying to make these ideas relatable and realistic towards my audience.

I want to do this as a webcomic, since those are my only means of publishing at the moment.

I am NOT looking for anything Captain Planet-esque. I want it to be realistic, because I feel the realistic situations are in themselves fun, adventurous, and interesting.

So, what sort of input do I want/need/crave?
Characters!
What kind of person does the everyday American want to see out in the rainforest doing surveys?
What kind of backgrounds are individuals interested in?

And of course, any other input is good too.
Like what sort of critters/plants do folks want to see talked about? What's really important? Of the SEVEN THOUSAND endangered species in the world, what would really help the locals understand the importance of species conservation?

That's all I can think of for now. ANYTHING is good. This idea is not very grounded yet, and I'm trying to pull it on down.

Swearing

I am eleven years old, staring at myself in the mirror. The door to the bathroom is closed and locked, the ventilation is on.

I form the first letter at my lips. "F."

Licking them, I think, "I am in sixth grade now. I am not a baby anymore."

Yes. Time to grow up Clara. Time to do grown-up things now.

Mark Twain was smoking cigars well before my current age. I can certainly say a word without an issue.

My upper teeth lightly bite down on my lower lip. "Ffff," I say. "Ffff."

I breathe in. "Duck," I say. "Stuck. Muck. Freakin."

I think of all the words my dad says when he swears:
Mexican Dog Doo.
Crap in a hat.
Balogny.

I think of the words my mom says when she swears:
Merde. Merde, merde, merde, merde.

 I had been told in the past by my dad that I wasn't allowed to say "Frickin'" because it meant something worse. I retorted, "Well 'dang' is the okay word for 'damn.'"

I can say damn. Well, sure I can say 'damn.' I read the word enough, hadn't I? It was everywhere, in all my favorite books. Everybody damns. I remember in elementary school a kid telling me that if the word was in the Bible, you could say it.

Damn and Hell.
But not the f-word.

I tighten my lips across my teeth, my dimples showing, and pushed out the air. "Ffff," I say. "Uck," I say.

"Ffff."
"Uughk."

Softly, the words come out inaudibly. I make the motion with my lips, no voice escaping into the loud bathroom around me.

Again, I try.
"Fuck," I whisper. "Fuck fuck fuck." I smile briefly, then quietly stay still, wondering who may be around to listen. No one. No one I know of. It's just me.

"Fuck," I say again. Satisfied, I turn off the ventilation in the bathroom.

I am prepared the next day to bewilder my friends. They will see how clever and mature I am. They will all be impressed. They will all want to hang out with me.

Truth be told, I don't know mostly anyone in my class. I know most of the boys and girls in my class, having graduated with me from elementary school, but I didn't call them 'friends' in all senses of the word. I have partners I can hook up with when doing projects and people I can sit at lunch with. But at the end of the day, when I go home, I am on my lonesome.

It doesn't really bother me.

But today is the day to impress. I will say the word, and it will be as if the universe kowtows to my very whim. Clever Clara. Mature Clara. Wise Creature Clara.

I have written a short skit that my teacher lets me use class time for working on. I want to perform it. I thought it would be fun. Besides, all the individuals who want to work with me are individuals that I like. And as far as I know, any child that can be taken out of class to do what he or she wants is a happy child. I like to make people happy. Performing the skit will also take time out of class, and so the rest of the class will be equally as delighted for my distractions.

When rehearsal time comes, I have difficulty keeping everyone's attention on my instruction.
I am a harsh and demanding director. I want to read the script out loud, mark it, then have them memorize it. Everyone wants to add their own take on the scenes. They want to add characters, start fights, be absurd. I don't want any of it.

That's why I practiced using the word that would make everyone respect me. I'd never heard anyone say it unless they were on the television, and only then when it was a movie we had popped into the VCR. If it were a movie on the television channels, the words were typically bleeped out.

So my word is a big deal.
This is the word that will "make me or break me."

Everyone is running around.

"I want to be an angel," says one girl.

"I think we should have a battle and the angel should come in and say 'stop the violence!'" another adds.

Everyone is giggling. I don't understand the joke, but I giggle too.


"Okay, let's get back to work," I say. No one is listening to me. I bite my lip. "In this next seen the character Mellot and his friend Geppo are..."

No one is listening to me.

"I hate when people don't wear the right kind of clothes," one girl is saying to another. "When they wear crappy stuff and they're worth more than that. They just trying to get pity." The other girl nods knowingly.

I look down at my bedraggled terry-clothed jacket. Raggity with nasty food splotches on it. Does she mean me? But I like this jacket.

"I think we should get back to work," I say softly, and still no one listens. They are still chatting; still coming up with their own ideas; still making jokes that I am not sure what they mean.

"Can we fucking start?" I ask.
I hold my breath.
I look around.
Into the eyes of....
...no one.

No one cares.
No one is listening.
They are too busy.
Or maybe they have heard it. Maybe their dads don't say 'Mexican Dog Doo' when he drops something on the floor. Maybe their mom isn't French and doesn't say 'merde merde merde' when she's pissed.

Maybe everyone says goddammit.
Or shit.
Or maybe even fuck.

Maybe no one cares about the word 'fuck' anymore.

Maybe its not a big deal. Everyone says it. I bet everyone says it. What's the use of it if everyone says it? Isn't it true if you overuse a word, it just becomes normal vocabulary? Maybe fuck doesn't mean anything.

When we do the show the next day in class, I let everyone do what they want. I giggle and pretend that I'm having fun. I say that I'm proud of my skit when I'm not. Eagerly, my classmates put their notebooks away because they don't care what I say. They just want a distraction. The instructor lets us take the rest of the class time off until the bell rings. It should be a good day, and I'm sure for the majority it is.

I decide that words don't make you mature or clever, and give up on using fuck as a word of power. Instead, I use it the way it seems to be perceived: everyday vocabulary.

And thus, my swearing sailor's mouth started at 11.

Knightly

Last night, Sam and I decided to go on an adventure to the huge garbage bin on the other side of the apartment complex. It was 12:30 am. We had a big bag of garbage, filled with empty fish cans, dead cockroaches, empty boxes, and ferret poop. The contents don't actually matter.

I was being lazy last night and refused to put on proper pants. What I wore were my white pajama pants and my house shoes (for proper shoe wearing also required too much effort).

As we walk to the garbage bin, we come upon a small predicament: a very large puddle of water. We are in a narrow area with narrow walking space, so there is no real way around it. I curse at my laziness, for this is what I get.

Well Sam had not been lazy. He put on proper pants and proper shoes. He took the garbage from me, walked across the puddle. and dropped it. He then came back and offered his back for a piggy-back ride.
Hurrah! Piggy-back rides! When was the last time I got one of those?

Safely on the other side of the puddle, we jolly two skipped to the garbage bin and threw the bag in. We walked back to our apartment, meeting the same puddle on the way with the same solution, and I safely arrived home non-soaked (I did, however, tromp about in the grass and my pants got wet. But that is besides the point of this story).

Our quest was over! Safe return home! The dragon was slain!

As an afterthought, however, I still wonder why the garbage bag went first.

Biology

My first class in almost a year's worth of no-classes, and I must say I am scared shitless.
Biology is my only class this quarter, and already I am afeared it is too much. I'm sure my nerves will settle once I settle more into the school life.

Both Sam and Natalie have assured me that I will be okay. Sam looked over my notes after class (it was six pages full) and we lightly discussed some of the things. At work today, Nat told me that she would very happy to study with me because then she could see what she remembered (Nat has a wildlife biologist major, like the one Sam's working on).

And even though this is all very comforting....
well, panic and fear can be quite unreasonable. And so, naturally, I am flipping out.

I am telling myself I will do fine. These are the reasons I will do fine:


A) I am going to be a Critter Nurse (or as Athens Tech calls it a Vetrinary Technician)
B) My biology teacher also uses the word 'critter'
C) I lurv critters.
D) Um..... I don't know. Critters?

Ode to Yowling Cat Outside our Apartment Complex

Every day
every hour
every moment
you are ceaseless.

I fucking hate you.
Shut up and let me sleep.

It's true. I loathe PETA

Via: OnlineSchools.org