Bringing Back Bump

As my headlights played across the Toner's back fence as I turned into the alley behind our house after a day at the office, I read the newly tacked up sign:

MISSING DESERT TORTOISE

CALL 972-123-4567

REWARD

My heart sank.  I immediately sympathized with the grief of our neighbor's Jim and Shea.  The torts are such gentle and curious creatures that are quite interesting, and it is so sad to lose one.  I considered just knocking on their door and commiserating with them.

Some years back, while walking around the block I could hear what I recognized as the familiar snorts and the thumping of a desert tortoise pacing behind the Toner's garden fence.  Later, when we adopted our own desert tortoise, Chomper, Sue was a bit reluctant to give Chomper a home in our back yard since we do not have the sandy loam of the Mojave Desert here in Dallas for the torts to dig a proper burrow.  I suggested we consult with the Toner's about the care and upkeep of a desert tortoise in Texas, especially what to do with them during hibernation.  Sue asks, how do you know Jim and Shea have a tortoise?  I said, well I heard their tortoise behind their fence one day while strolling around the block. 

You heard a tortoise?  You're sure you heard a tortoise?

Yes, I replied. 

OK, If you say so.

That was when we met Bump, the desert tortoise from across the alley.  I was deeply saddened to think he had now wandered off.

As I drove past a few more driveways in the alley and pulled into my own drive way, I noticed Chomper moseying across our back deck.  I thought, Chomper is walking with an unusual gait, and besides, Chomper does not usually stroll around at this time of day.  I pulled into the garage and then Strider and I stepped out to check on Chomper.  I counted two torts in the back yard, one settled in under the bench and the other crossing the deck.  But wait!  Isaac has already gone into hibernation and is under the secretary in the kitchen for the rest of the winter -- the two torts outside make three.  I checked to see if Isaac was still inside hibernating, he was.  I then confirmed it was Chomper under the bench and then concluded that #3 must be Bump.  I gave Mr. Bump a warm greeting and then scooped him up and we rang the Toner's door bell.  It was a happy reunion.

I figure someone in the neighborhood found Bump, knew that we had a couple of torts and kindly put the maverick tort back into our yard.  

Bringing Bump back made my week.

Chomper, Mr. Bumps neighbor

 

I Hate Meeces to Pieces!

Lying on my tummy in front if the old black and white TV set on Saturday mornings watching all the Hanna/Barbera cartoons in the first years of the LBJ administration; I learned early in life from Mr. Jinx the Cat to "hate meeces to pieces!".  Of course the object of Mr. Jinx's diatribe were two adorable cartoon "meeces" by the names of Pixie and Dixie.

I had not given Mr. Jinx the Cat much thought over the past 50 years, but the phrase, "I hate meeces to pieces!" recently drifted to the fore of my cerebellum and I again realized how much wisdom was gained from early 1960's TV. 

Last year I chronicled on this blog the adventure with the "Christmas Mouse".  Actually there were a couple of Christmeece meeses - all eventually dispatched, or so I had convinced myself.

With the coming of Autumn, our home has in years past (and once again) seemed to invite the coming of field mice into the interior of our walls, under the kitchen cabinets, scrounging in the pantry and scratching above the master bath.  Minx the Wife says to me, "We [you] have to do something about these mice! I can smell them in the kitchen, especially after we run the dishwasher.  It is disgusting and we [you] need to get this cleaned up before Thanksgiving. I hate meeces to pieces!"  In her tracking of the minuscule rodents, she pulled the chest of drawers away from the wall in the dining nook and exclaimed. "Well, well, well!  Lookie here.  Mark, come see this."  From Saturday morning cartoons, I knew that mice (Tom & Jerry, Pixie & Dixie, Itchy & Scratchy, Mighty Mouse et al) always lived in the interior of the wall and the mouse hole entrances are always an inverted U-shaped hole in the base board.  And what the wife found was a gnawed inverted U-shaped hole in the drywall just above the base board behind the chest of drawers.  I rebaited my 5 mouse traps and caught a mouse a day for 4 days straight, and I lost count of how many I had trapped in the preceding weeks, maybe 3 or 4.  

With the discovery of rodent entry point, like Quick-Draw MacGraw, I was going to head them meeces off at the pass.  Into the breach I tossed a tablespoon of Hungarian Paprika (if garlic works for Romanian vampires, maybe paprika will work for mice - can't hurt), then I squeezed a half tube of caulk into the void.  The next evening Minx the Wife tells me again, "I hate meeces to pieces" as she points out a gnawed hole in the bathroom ceiling at the top of the wall.  I pump in more caulk to seal that hole. 

I now have removed the toe boards from under the kitchen cabinets, and so Sue can do lots of cleaning and astringent cleansing of this now reeking hidey-hole under the kitchen sink.  A dirty job she will tackle on her day off of work.  I hate meeces to pieces!

In lieu of getting a cat in case the house gets overrun with meeces, I am hoping a corn snake might apply for a position at our house; free room and board with all the mice he can eat.  
Because, corn snakes love meeces to pieces!

Team Slytherin - Sunrise Reptiles

What will tip the scales to get me to slither out of bed early on Saturday morning?  A live reptile show at the Perot Museum of Science!  For heaven's snakes - I can't hiss this opportunity!  

If I were at Hogwarts, the sorting hat would definitely place me in the House of Slytherin.


Mark gets a hug from a colorful Corn Snake
Snakes give me that warm-fuzzy feeling

The newly opened Perot Museum in downtown Dallas was offering a chance to see the "Unhuggables" - a show featuring reptiles and a tarantula; and as charted members of the museum, we had "Members Only" access from 8:30-10 that Saturday morning.  I had to strike while the opportunity was here.  We rode the DART train into downtown and hiked a few blocks to spend the morning with live reptiles and some that were extinct.



Sue handles Rosie - a Rosy Boa

 

A Corn Snake goes over Mark's shoulder to check out
the skeleton of the extinct dinosaur at the museum's entrance

We toured a few other floors, took a peek at the workings of the solar system and cosmos, and then a visit to see the mosasaurs and other reptiles that inhabited the Cretaceous Seaway, shallow continental sea that covered what is now Dallas just 94 million years ago. 



A large Cretaceous turtle (the size of a Volkswagen)
that was excavated just east of Dallas

Later, we filed into the auditorium to watch The Unhuggables - Lizard Tales and Creature Feature; lots of kids for the show that was aimed at them, but I included myself among the enthusiastic kids, only I sat in a chair and not on the floor upfront.  And I did not volunteer to go up and hold one of the creatures, even though I wanted too.  Mr. C (the emcee) pulled from various crates, a Mexican King Snake, a Chilean Rosy Tarantula, an African Spurred Tortoise and an African Spiny Hedgehog, a Blue-Tongued Skink from Australia and a Burmese Python that was missing some of its pigment.

What a good morning!

I want Mr. C's Job
Leminy - A Burmese Python (with albinism)



I decided that if I didn't get some lunch, I'd end up looking like this guy above.  So we head out to the food trucks at the new city park a few blocks away. 

See if they have any Corn Snacks - I don't know where that craving came from

Choose Your Weapon

Is the pen mightier than the sword?
Is the power of the spoken word more effective than an armed mob?
Is a picture worth a thousand words?

In preparing for life and the battles there in, what implement would you choose to face the world?

Of course the honorable antagonist would always advise his adersary, "Choose your weapon!"  It is not good to go into the fray feeling disadvantaged.  Choose what you can best handle and that which affords you the best opportunity for success and survival.  Though perhaps the metaphor is a bit militaristic, I think it is always wise to selectively pick your battles in life, and when you have selected your "high ground", be equipped with the tools, training and vision that afford you the best opportunity for success.

The call came to his mother last week; "Mom, once my phone is recharged, I've got something we need to talk about.  Talk to you then.  Bye!"  Well, there was enough in that brief conversation to get a parent's imagination running like a squirrel trapped in a barrel of squirrel snakes.  Is this going to be good or bad? - maybe neither.  Or maybe really horrible.

Our son phones back in about an hour with the news that he has come to believe that he would rather emphasize broadcast journalism rather than the print/digital direction he was currently following.  The emphasis would remain with sports, just a sports broadcaster TV/Radio) rather than a sports writer (Newspaper/Digital reading medium).

My advice was, finish what you have started this semester and then make the switch at the end of term.  My rationale being another class is just that much more experience and education (you never know, it just may turn out to be useful some day down the road).  Grant's thoughts were along the line that the class in question: Intermediate Writing, was at this point a waste of his time.  His rationale being that he has already worked for a summer at a newspaper, he already knows how to write from that experience and it would be best to drop Intermediate Writing posthaste (which, as he argued, would give more time to devote to his other classes).  Mom's advice was talk to your counselor and see what the faculty has to say about your new choice and the process to change direction.  And so, it was agreed that Mom was right.  Talk to your advisor, then pick your battle.

Grant called the following day with the news from his advisor [I thought I detected a note of glee and satisfaction in his tone]; "I HAVE TO drop the Intermediate Writing course.  It is only for those who are in the print/digital department.  A switch to broadcasting means I have to drop it - and if I do it by 5 PM today, you get half the course fee back."  And so it was thus settled.

Actually, I thought he was going to select broadcasting from the start, but when he chose print/digital (writing) I was quite OK with that.  After all, my son would be the fourth Suneson generation to be a writer/communicator, and the first to get paid to do so [note: this blog is non-commercial].  The art of crafting and telling a good story has been honored by all people throughout every age since the distant time when language first came among men.  Grant's experience with the local campus radio station and his own coming recognition (and recognition by others too) of his quality voice tone and adroit use of words, his intelligent phrase construction and smooth cadence play well for broadcasting.  He has chosen and his trade, he has chosen his tools, and I believe he has chosen wisely.

If you're going to adjust your life's course, college is the time to do it.  After all, his father while facing a third semester of calculus chose not to become a civil engineer, and fell comfortably into the more ambiguous world of geologic exploration, a blending of science and some element of the art of following hunches.  His mother confesses too to becoming disillusioned with a Communications major and then pursued a geologist and a geology graduate degree in studying volcanic rocks (maybe not in that exact order), before becoming seminary certified as a Christian Educator.

I came to the point in my sophomore year that I really could not see myself designing storm drainage and sewer hook ups for Tulare County for a career, best to follow your passion and live a life of few regrets.  Good for Grant and good for everybody else who has taken their own measure and made the choice to move to a place in the world where they best fit and where they can draw upon their passion to make the place of their chosen stance more than bearable.  Stand with confidence that you have chosen well and live your chosen life with a passion.  All else is static and dead air.

Pick your battles.
Choose your weapon.
Pick your major. 
Choose your sweet skills.
Choose a life of passion in your own convictions.
Set a course - not because you are confident that you will quickly get there, but rather set a course that you are confident you will enjoy traveling.
Enjoy the Journey!