My Green Weekend

No, my car wasn’t in “the shop” or otherwise unavailable. It was in perfect running order. I just decided not to use it. I know I will be unable to participate in the “Bike to Work” campaign schedule for the first week of June, so I figured this was the next best thing. Therefore, my car spent the weekend tucked nicely into the garage.

Actually, I had some pretty grandiose plans for the weekend. The local paper indicated that there would be a large “garage sale” with “thousands of bikes” available for about $25 each. So, I got up early Saturday morning and walked to the sale. It was about a 35-minute walk and it was totally enjoyable. The weather was perfect, the sun was shining, the birds and squirrels and walkers and runners were active. I really decided I must do this more often. I arrived at the sale at 7:45 am ready to select my new bike. But, by this “late hour” every bike was sold. Well, actually one bike was left, but the tire was so badly twisted that it could not even be pushed, let alone ridden. Disappointed, I turned around and walked back home.

The truth is, I do have a bike. It is an old 3-speed that I bought in 1974. Now, only one of the gears works, and I have no idea which one. The best that can be said for the brakes is that they kind of slow the bike down enough so I can stick my feet down and bring it gradually to a stop. The fenders have been gone for at least 20 years. And, since I had not had it out of my shed in 4 or 5 years, I was not sure if the tires would even hold air. But, since I sort of had my heart set on biking again, I pulled the old bike out, dusted it off as best I could, and filled the totally deflated tires with air. And, I rode it.

I rode it around the neighborhood, just to make sure it could be ridden. Then, I rode to a friend’s house. That night, I rode it to a graduation party, only about a mile or so away. And, Sunday morning I rode it to church and then to breakfast. Yep, I was having a green weekend.

Sunday afternoon I walked to the store. That was not terribly difficult, as it was probably less than a mile, one way. But, the big mistake that I made was stopping to get kitty litter at the Pet Store. I will tell you; even a ¾ of a mile walk is considerably more difficult while carrying a 23-pound box of litter in one arm and a bag of groceries in the other!
But, I am no worse for the wear. Except for the bruises on my butt. And, you will be happy to know that I have no photo of them to post here!

Of Dead Skunks, Live Birds and Determined Squirrels

I am actually going to blend two topics together here, so try to bear with me for a bit. I guess that this piece could actually fit into a couple of different topics – animals, or perhaps just senses. Let me explain.

When I came home from work one day this evening, my keenly developed sense of smell (add a smile with rolling eyes here) told me that the area around my front door smelled a bit like a skunk. Not a gross, over-powering smell of skunk, but skunk nonetheless. Maybe the kind of odor you would smell if a skunk had been hit by a car about three-quarters of a mile away or something. But, since the smell was not terribly offending, I sort of put it out of my mind and went on with my evening. However, later that night, when I took out some additional items for recycling, I smelled the odor again. But now, I decided it was not a skunk at all, but probably more likely a gas leak.

Faced with a possible gas leak, I decided I had two very broad, high-level options. I could call the gas company, or I could not call them. Taking the path of least resistance, I decided I would not call. That left it up to me to decide if I should try to decide if I had a gas leak or not. I figured if there were a gas leak, then I would either die in my sleep or get blown to bits if the house exploded. At the time, the thought of dying did not bother me so much as losing sleep over worrying what might happen. So, I decided to test for a possible leak the only way I knew how – I lit a candle lighter. I figured if I’m going to die, let’s get it over with.

I lit the lighter and – nothing. Deciding that if the “leak” got worse my cats would notice and wake me in the night, I again buried my head deeply in the sand and went to bed.

The next morning I had forgotten all about the smell and went off to work. But, when I came home, the smell was back, and it seemed to be getting stronger. I took a look around and quickly discovered that the smell was not a gas leak, but, in fact, a skunk that decided to curl up and die in the bushes near my front porch. I did not pay real close attention to the carcass when disposing of it, but there were no obvious signs of trauma, so I am not sure what did in the poor critter. But, that was one mystery solved.

Now, on a happier note, I can report that my attempt to feed the neighborhood birds has met with much success. Why would I do that? You know, birds tend to do quite well in the summer without our assistance. Yes, I know that, but, amazingly, I do not always do the right thing. Here is how it came about.

As you know, I have been feeding at least one cat and at least one opossum and who knows what else. Well, when I put the cat food out early in the evening, a pair of cardinals always swoops down to try to feed. Cardinals are kind of cool in that it is easy to tell the males and females apart and in that they seem to mate for extended periods, at least, and frequently appear together, working in tandem to eat and eventually to raise their young. So, unlike the St. Louis Cardinals or the Louisville Cardinals, real cardinals are really pretty neat.

But, neat as they may be, they are unable to eat cat food. The pieces are just too big for their little beaks and mouths, and it was kind of sad to watch the fruitless efforts. And, since I had a metal clothes-line pole in my back yard that was not being used for anything else, I decided to hang a couple of bird feeders. I put suet in the feeder on one end of the pole and hung a classic seed bell from the other.

It took only a day or so for the entire neighborhood to discover the free meals available in my yard. The next morning I saw both cardinals and blue jays and that evening they were joined by the ever-present starlings as well as some birds I did not recognize. One in particular was very attractive. It seemed to be mostly white with a black streak down its back – maybe kind of negative view of a flying skunk.

I also thought it was a good idea to hang these feeders from the metal pole because that would keep the food safe from squirrels. I reasoned that since they were already eating some of my apple cores, they could let the birds have the suet and the seed. Wrong!! The little rascals managed to climb the metal pole, walk across the metal bar, and bend down from above to get at the seed bell. Squirrels are probably among the most determined eaters in the animal kingdom. If there is food around, they will find a way to get at it.

So, I should probably find a nice way to wrap up this post, but I cannot think of any. So, in the immortal words of Porky Pig – Tha … tha… that’s all, folks!

Weep Once More, My Lady

I love animals. If you have read this blog at all, that should be abundantly clear to you. I have been known to catch and release yellow jacket wasps from fast food restaurants and I contribute to no less than 9 different Animal Rights organizations. My yard is a veritable smorgasbord for neighborhood wildlife. And, I have come to love horse racing. And right now, I am wondering – again – if the two are compatible.

For the second time in 25 months a catastrophic injury suffered in a major stakes race has caused a magnificent Thoroughbred to have to be euthanized. In June of 2006 Kentucky Derby winner, Barbaro, broke his rear leg at the start of the Preakness. While Barbaro eventually recovered from his original injury, a resulting hoof disease, laminitis, cost him his life in January of 2007. I was deeply touched by Barbaro’s story and after his death I lead my Rotary Club in the singing of “My Old Kentucky Home” in his honor. And now, it has happened again. I had only a brief moment to enjoy Big Brown’s convincing victory in the 2008 Kentucky Derby. While the announcers had just begun to speculate – again – on the possibility of a long-awaited Triple Crown winner, word had come that the runner-up, a filly named Eight Belles (pictured), was down on the back- stretch.

First speculation was that it might have been a heart problem. Jockey-turned-analyst, Gary Stevens, tried to be hopeful, saying that they may have been keeping her down to prevent further injury or to keep her quiet. But, within a minute, we all learned that the filly had broken both front ankles and had to be euthanized on the spot. My joy turned to an utterly sick feeling and once again I had to ask myself if I were being hypocritical in watching the Derby that I have come to love.

PETA, of which I am a card-carrying and financially supporting member, has called for the jockey’s suspension, saying that he rode Eight Belles through the wire knowing that she was injured. But, there seems to be no evidence to support that claim. All indications are that she made it through the race clean and healthy with her ears perked up happily. It was, inexplicably, during the cool down jog afterwards that she collapsed.

So, as I struggle with my own ethical position, I look for hints as to what I should feel. I try to tell myself that racehorses lead a pampered life, with the best care, the best food and the best possible conditions. Horses are born to run and enjoy running. That’s what I try to believe. Even PETA, the most radical of all-animal rights organizations, is blaming the jockey more so than the sport itself. Unlike auto racing fans, who revel in the most spectacular of crashes, there is no blood-lust among horse-racing fans.

But still, again, we have death on the track. And so, for now, with apologies to Stephen Foster, we sing: “So weep, once more, my lady / oh weep once more today.” But for Eight Belles, the first filly to run in the Derby since 1999, the weeping has stopped. Let’s hope this great sport finds a way to stop it permanently for the rest of us.