Hawks frequently leave traces of their meals in my yard. Piles of feathers, usually, sometimes part of a wing. Some shrubs bear the unmistakable marks of a bird of prey that has been digesting in the branches above. From time to time, I even get to see one.

No one knows exactly what happened to this hawk, found by the side of the road here in California. The more sensational headlines surmise that the ingested bird managed to claw its way through. A more sensible theory is that the hawk was hit by a car, which caused the its crop to burst. But it’s certainly an startling photo.

In this case, gray squirrels, which are dominating the Northumberland region, once populated with red ones. It’s a highly effective, if somewhat controversial method.

Not too long ago, we had microwaving of termites. The fellow that came out seemed very thorough, and the only ones he found were in fairly isolated areas in the ceiling.

A few weeks ago, a swarm of flying insects appeared near the kitchen door. Soon after, another swarm showed up at the same spot. Today, a guy from the same company checked it out. These, he said, were of the subterranean variety.

My work gets frantic just before 1:00 p.m., and today, it was unusually crazy. Luckily, a family member left work to deal with the matter. When I emerged later, I learned that the soil around the door was treated, a substance sprayed around the door.

But even though the warranty on the previous work had expired, they didn’t charge anything. Nice people.

From the Beeb: You’re not gonna believe this one.

Via the Museum of Hoaxes. Oh yeah, Happy April Fool’s to you too!

Has someone gifted you with some bear meat? Are you wondering what to do with it? Whatever you decide, be very, very careful to cook it till it’s completely done. Not medium rare. Done. Use a meat thermometer.

If you don’t, you might get trichinellosis (also known as trichinosis), a nasty infection formerly associated with eating undercooked pork. Just because the meat was frozen doesn’t mean it’s safe. At least one species of this parasitic roundworm can survive for a long time in a freezer.

I come across this sort of thing when I’m looking for work-related info. You think I’m kidding. Actually, I was trying to find a reference to that J-Lo, Jon Voight movie that we sat through so long ago.

And people keep talking about Angelina Jolie’s ‘bump’. Now this is a real bump.

Note that this is under the ‘medical’ category.

Bear releases tend to be somewhat mundane events. Open the door, let the bear out, drive off. But sometimes, there’s a slight glitch. And when things go wrong, they go wrong fast.

Photographed by Taryn Simon, they include nuclear waste giving off an eerie blue glow known as Cherenkov radiation. A mentally retarded white tiger, the result of selective inbreeding. A peek inside the Cryonics Institute in Michigan.

From Wired.com.

Do I have a lot of work to do? Yes. Are squirrels still bothering me? Yes. Am I easily distracted? Yes.

When I have a lot of work to do at night, I am easily distracted. How could I not go to this page, which tells how to take care of squirrel dental problems. Now I know what a squirrel burrito is.

Scroll down a bit, you’ll find a link that shows how to approach a squirrel with a Dremel hand drill.

Not just one or two, but maybe 10 or 12 all over the yard. From my desk today, I spotted with my peripheral vision what looked like a cat skulking along the base of the fence. Cats I don’t mind. But for the rodents, I have a bowl of overripe fruit to lob, and I can report that a dried up Clementine is not a good substitute for a rock. Although a Clementine will not shatter a car windshield, which I did once with a rock, a smallish one at that.

Missed the squirrel. Perhaps I can construct something like this, and have some fun. Not sure how they did it.

Now you might think that this would be news only if the owner were French, for example. In which case, the owner would ignore the cat.

In this case, the cat belongs to a Chinese grandmother, who claims it can say ‘Laolao’, which means grandmother in the dialect of its owner.

It also can say ‘gan sha ne’, which translates to ‘What are you doing?’ Can a cat make the hard ‘g’ sound? Could we see a video, please?

How many cats in the world are asking their non-Chinese owners, ‘What are you doing?’ You have to admit that gan sha ne is probably a lot easier for a cat to say than ‘What are you doing?’ or ‘Where is my food?’

I wonder if it fell from near the top of the redwood tree. Lots of heavy branches litter the yard.

A flock swept into the pyracantha bush during a brief lull in the winds. It never stopped raining, and one robin decided to freshen up a bit, shaking out his feathers, and having a drink too. This is taken through a less than clean window with camera settings for indoor shooting.

One of the others decided to keep an eye on me.

After enduring the ad, you will meet the artist, who creates her own world of hybrid animal creations.

There were 6,000 stuffed animals by a self-taught taxidermist, placed in domestic situations such as card playing and taking meals. The auction house sold it off in lots for 336,000 pounds, although an artist, Damien Hirst, offered a million pounds for it all. The owner of the collection is now suing the auction house.

You can see samples of the collection here.

Should any aspiring taxidermist, self-taught or professional, wish to recreate some of these scenes, he is welcome to begin trapping from nature’s bounty of small animals on my property. They are currently in their prime, fat and sleek of coat after a mast year in the oaks. Haste is urged, because they are reproducing at record rates.

It’s that time of year when strange and unexpected things can happen.

Me: How far away do I have to be while you’re doing the microwaving?
Guy: Oh, maybe in the next room.
Me: Really? Not necessarily the farthest room back?
Guy: No. About five feet is safe.
Me: What does it feel like if you’re too close.
Guy: Me, I get a funny feeling in my chest. My partner, he gets a headache. That’s when we know to back off.
Me: Like a numbness?
Guy: Nah, more like a tightness right here (puts hand over heart).
Me: Now is this going to affect my internet connection?
Guy: You on wireless? It does funny stuff to wireless.
Me: No. But I gotta work.
Guy: Should be okay. (It was, except when a family member accidentally unplugged the modem when moving desks out of the way.)

Fair fight? Predator and prey, they are.

Try to kill me, eh?

From time to time, I find one in an Asian store deli. Over the summer, as a matter of fact, I spotted a glorious one. (I am always looking for photo subjects.) Alas, there is a language barrier. The proprietor failed to fully understand my meaning, perhaps. I certainly failed to grasp why anyone would pay the price I thought he suggested. The transaction was not to be.

This morning, another head rested in a metal pan next to the ducks and assorted cooked meats. For $5, it was mine. I nodded. Before I stopped nodding, I heard a CHOP! Then another CHOP! I waved my arms wildly, No, No, I want it whole! Stop!

He stopped, the head was wrapped, I paid. I pictured a split down the snout, and thought, with a little luck, maybe I could Photoshop it all back together. The family member accompanying me said he thought the ears had been removed.

The chopper and his friends were smiling behind the counter. We asked for the ears. He looked blank, then waved over a counter person who spoke English. Ears, I said. I need it all for a picture. Ah, she said, and the chopper located the charred ears from some unseen location.

Tomorrow, with a few toothpicks, possibly duct tape, I will try to reattach the parts. There might or might not be a photo posted.

Yes, yes I know online shopping is best for people like me. But then I’d miss all the drama.

At over eight feet in length, this formidable creature could make quick work of its prey with its 18-inch claws and saw blades on its legs. Nothing about the tail, though.

Droppings have been steadily falling directly over the table where I work. I had visions of insect masses in the infrastructure slowly and methodically eating the house.

He was due between 11 and noon, and being a veteran of such promises, I was stepping into the shower at 10-ish, allowing plenty of time before his arrival. There was a knock on the door.

This is the first time a service person has been early. His highly scented deodorant followed his every move, and when he ventured outside to check the eaves, he was very easy to find.

A friend had reported the results of her termite work not too long ago, so I was expecting the estimate to be in the four-figure range, and the dreaded tenting. Surprise! The infestation is not severe, limited to a few areas, and subterranean evidence is minimal.

Now if I can just get through the dental work at 8 a.m. tomorrow.

In the Arctic, three British explorers were surrounded by 17 wolves with blood-stained fur.

This is not the time to think of that Grandpa Simpson quote.

The hawk up in the redwood was annoyed by the crow. It took off, making wide sweeps as the crow kept up its harassment.

It reminded me a bit of the Blue Angels but much grander and silent.

The birds are slamming into the windows with alarming frequency this afternoon after partaking of the berries. I went out with my camera and tripod, trying to blend in with the shadows. All of them - the cedar waxwings, the robins, the finches, the occasional bluejay - took off to the top of the oaks. They chattered in tones I’d never heard before, exuberant, a little frantic, definitely stoned.

Perhaps next year, I will have the right lens for this kind of shooting.

Last year I got some pictures, but this year there are fewer berries, and I’m having trouble with the invisible part.

Either they’re very, very late, or really, really early. Or else they’re just as confused as we are, what with daylight saving time ending, fermenting pyracantha berries, vague but disturbing earth movements and springtime temps.

Yesterday after lunch the pumpkin (on my work table) that was outfitted with mini-motion sensing lights kept coming on by itself. A family member had tried to deactivate the blinking aspect of these lights, but was unable to do so Sunday night. I thought perhaps the vibration from my loud music was somehow triggering it. It stopped after a bit. When I tried pounding on the table to start it up, it didn’t work. But after a time, it would begin flashing again.

I spent part of the late afternoon at another house caring for a disabled relative. The dog next door, normally quiet, never stopped barking. The relative, usually napping in a chair, was extremely restless and fidgety, unable to keep still the whole two hours. I was somewhat irritated, because I usually try to get some work done on the laptop, but found it hard to focus for those reasons.

When I got ready to leave, I asked the returning family member if rain was forecast since it seemed so gloomy out. He told me it was clear.

Well, it was and it wasn’t. Six o’clock, a darkish cloud or fog maybe over the foothills. A strange stillness.

The official word (USGS) is that there is no such thing as ‘earthquake weather’.

No less than Aristotle believed that winds in the deepest underground caves were the cause of earthquakes. Which brings to mind this poem by Matthew Arnold, where he mentions ‘Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep,
Where the winds are all asleep. . .’

If you thought the choices in toothpaste, for example, were daunting, you might visit the hardware store and check out the caulk section (aisle 18 at the local Orchard Supply). In paint, not plumbing.

A new tool in my arsenal against the continuing ant battles. Over time I will seal every possible entry point, because I’m really tired of writing about ants. Especially after a family member reached up for the shower head only to find his hand covered with a multitude.

If you’re in need of aquarium sealant, which I needed a few weeks ago to patch a fountain, the hardware store is a better choice than the pet store. The sealant is hanging there alongside the 30 kinds of caulk, and you’ll save at least $5.

I miss my old dog, who always managed to tell me in no uncertain terms that it was going to rain. It wasn’t a conscious act, he didn’t come up, put his paw on my foot, and whine while looking up at the sky. That would have been kind of cool, actually.

No, he just did his usual, leaned his weather-sensitive fur against the door and then sink into a daily torpor broken up by the postman’s visit and regular trips to my various flowerpots. But there was never a mistake, even on an otherwise brilliantly sunny day. Brutie and I knew it was going to rain.

Now that he’s gone, the Argentine ants are trying to take up the slack. I’m not quite on their wavelength, and their collective attempts over the past six weeks have failed. (It did rain yesterday, but I had no idea it was coming.) I couldn’t help but notice their insistence at every crevice in my bathrooms, and their improved resistance to Terro ant poison. Stomping them didn’t work, as it seems every pair of shoes I own has soles designed to protect small insects. My fly swatter didn’t work either because the bathroom tiles have small indentations that provided just enough shelter for a fleeing ant.

Am I going to seek out another golden retriever? Oh yes. Not just yet though.

Yesterday I went to the neighborhood chain grocery because oxtails were on sale. I refuse to pay $5/lb, which seems to be the going price elsewhere. Before chefs and foodies made them trendy, oxtails were considered offal by many. Here they were $2.99/lb, a veritable bargain. I generally toss them in a big pot, and simmer for about four hours. The meat takes on a silky texture, there’s nothing else like it, especially when there’s a chill in the night air.

Trouble arose at the meat counter when I could only find one package. Summoning the butcher, I told him I needed more. He scratched his head, always a bad sign.

Butcher: I think that was the last one.
Me: When will you have more?
Butcher (looking sheepish): I really don’t know. Not today.
Me: I guess I should get a raincheck?
Butcher: Sure, ask at the checkout.

The checkout woman was a kindly sort, pointing out that I neglected to get the free 12-pack of Coke since I bought four. Wow, free Coke. The bagging clerk seemed to take his job seriously.

Bagging clerk: Paper or plastic?
Me: Plastic.
Bagging clerk: Hmmm. Oxtails. What part of the cow does that come from?
Me: (Silence. Restrain from the first impulse, which was to slap him silly.)
Awkward pause on all sides.
Me (peering carefully at the clerk): Uh, the rear part, the tail.
Clerk: Oh, really? You can eat that?
Me: You cook it a long time, yeah.
Checkout clerk: Soup. In soup, right?
Me: Yes.

See, vegans miss this kind of fun.

When I was very young, maybe four or five, my dad took me to the huge fish market where he bought his shrimp. It was a cavernous warehouse full of men wearing bloody aprons and wielding very large knives. The floor was slippery with viscera. I did what any self-respecting little girl would do, I threw up on the spot.

When I go to the fish market now, I’m usually looking for a good specimen to photograph, and if I manage to refrigerate it in time, to eat. There was a very clear-eyed, fresh fish from Australia on the ice yesterday, and as I leaned in to look at it more closely, the remaining dregs of pistachio in my system nudged my gastrointestinal tract in a very unpleasant manner.

I backed away. Today I took pictures of pieces of paper.

You probably thought I killed it after taking pictures last week. That’s what any sensible tomato grower would have done.

None of the pictures came out well because it never stopped moving its mouth parts. It was late afternoon, and where I was shooting, it was not very bright. I didn’t want to turn on the lights, which might have made it twitch. Not only did it move more than I thought it would, it produced an enormous amount of droppings. No doubt because of its nonstop eating. Didn’t the plant-eating dinosaurs do this?

So I put it under a plastic dome, actually the lid of a spindle of CD-Rs. Left it with plenty of fresh tomato leaves, courtesy of a lush patch of cherry tomatoes. Plus the half-eaten green tomato.

The next day, I didn’t want to face the subject, which seemed quite active, moving around its pen on top of an outdoor table. I could see it out of the corner of my eye as I worked. The leaves were wilted.

I still wasn’t up to it the following day, or the next. But I kept feeding it. It kept crawling around the perimeter, kind of like a fat green train.

Before I knew it, almost a week had passed. Normally tomato worms don’t bother me, although they must be one of the most repulsive-looking creatures, especially when you find them on your healthiest tomato plant. But my previous episode with the pistachios left me a little more squeamish than usual. Perhaps there is a little pistachio left in my system still.

A family member remarked that the worm looked less than happy. Perhaps, I suggested, it was preparing for its next stage of development. He couldn’t find a suitable container for it (although he didn’t look very hard).

I am very relieved. Sometime I will discuss the writhing mass of larvae in the compost heap, but not today.

Word has gotten out over the past few years among the pest community that my tomato patch is nothing to get excited about. This year is a little different, and the plants are still producing a surprising amount. This afternoon, I noticed that the tiny dog from a neighbor’s yard must have gotten in the garden and left its droppings on the tomato leaves. They were that big.

I had hoped that the hornworm had matured and gone away, but no. It had eaten most of one tomato and started on this one. But what I actually had was a free model.

Albeit a messy one, and noisy on top of that. Try putting one on a clean sheet of white paper. When it moves around, it makes a rasping sound, which could be the mouthparts trying to ingest the paper. Who knows. It will remain under cover till tomorrow when the light is better. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of tomato worm food.

We were only gone a few days. The squirrels removed the rocks from all the pots and planted their oak tree crop. In the kitchen sink, the Argentine ants set up camp, extending their reach to the dishwasher. The yippy yappy that lives behind us learned to enter the yard via a loose fence board.

It met my eye when I glanced out the window this afternoon. This triggered a huge startle reflex on both our parts, because the only eyes I meet in the yard are those of birds. In the case of this animal, its standard bark is the one that sounds as if someone jabbed a rusty but sharp, barbed spear into its rear end. It continued to bark as I coaxed it toward the opening in the fence, hesitant as I was to simply fling it over. From the safety of its own property, it kept up a steady racket.

A few minutes later, it taxed our hospitality again, announcing its whereabouts to all. I dispatched another family member, who decided to take the flashlight that is as long as a human leg. He reported that the guest departed in all due haste without encouragement. Another family member came home and patched up the opening. If the animal tries again, it will encounter a board with a nail.

Another day or so and deer would no doubt have come into the picture, starting with the bougainvillea and moving into the vegetables.

It has been in the queue forever since most of the family members aren’t into this sort of thing. But work has been unusually stressful, so it was time. All I knew was that it had to do with penguins, Hugh Jackman and Robin Williams were part of the voice talent, and it was probably uplifting.

If you haven’t seen it, that’s all you need to know. Oh yes, and there’s music.

The barbecued beef ribs were a bit overcooked and on the dry side since I forgot to add more sauce. I was feeling creative, so the beans came out of a can, but embellished with my famous sauce.

They started down the redwood tree when I was deep into my book (She’s Come Undone by Wally Lamb) and half asleep. Still upset at losing all my goldfish, I got my flashlight and shone it outside. Nothing. Not that I could see that much with the shrubbery.

About an hour or so later, the sound of claws on bark woke me. I thought I would try to figure out how many there were instead of a futile attempt at spotting them. Clickety clickety whomp. Clickety clickety whomp. Six at least. From what I can tell today, they went through the tomatoes, knocking down some ripe ones, not eating them. There is a new bare spot near the mint plant, looks like something large has been rolling around.

The gophers have made part of the backyard a treacherous spot for walking around despite the scattering of human hair, a recommended but questionable deterrent. I’m thinking I should just hire a skilled bow hunter. There is actually one in the family, although he lives elsewhere.

We thought the raccoon problem was solved, and got 6 new fish (3 Shubunkins ) for the pot pond. Each night, security was a length of garden mesh anchored by a heavy board. This new set of fish was much friendlier, crowding round at the surface at feeding time. I was getting ready to name them.

This morning, the mesh was off to the side, and all the fish eaten. Large raccoon tracks led up to the door again. Family members have volunteered to dig a three-foot deep pond. This depth is proven to be deadly to certain predators, including the occasional egret or heron.

To be continued.

A few months ago, I bought three small koi. Two were suicidal. I only discovered this after putting them in their big pot, going to the garage for a cold soda, and returning to find them flopping about on the stepping stones, gasping. They contracted a fungus, having brought on wounds with their foray into a drier environment, and departed for a better place. The remaining koi hid from us in fear and trembling.

Last night there was a mighty rustling in the big tree out back. This happens on warm nights, and once I got the kids to sit out there in the dark to see what was lumbering about. Elsewhere, this might be foolhardy, since you just never know when Sasquatch or other form of wildlife could appear.

But whatever it was sensed them somehow, because for once the boys were silent. Not surprising since even when they were quiet, they seemed really noisy.

We decided the varmints were either raccoons or possums, since neighborhood cats would not be crashing into garbage cans or making such a racket.

This morning, a family member reported that the filter in the pot pond had been removed, and the quivering koi gone. All that remained were a few shiny scales and a set of tracks that led to the front door and back to the pond.

Maybe it wanted to come in and use the bathroom.

Last week as we headed back from SF in the afternoon, we saw three separate groups of deer near the edge of the freeway.

Most urbanites will never need this information, but you never know. Includes video.

Lunch at Park Chow on Sunday was crowded, as can be expected on Father’s Day, and there were infants and toddlers in abundance. We were seated at an outside table. After a bit, we noticed the dogs. Not every diner was accompanied by one, but almost.

Because the short ribs (excellent as usual), held most of my attention, I failed to realize how strange it was to be among so many dogs at a restaurant. There was a dog bowl of water on the patio. A tiny creature came under our table, but turned up its nose at macaroni a previous diner had dropped.

Later, I learned through the power of the internet that Park Chow is a ‘dog-friendly’ spot. And that the outside tables generally go to those with dogs in tow. Which might explain the looks we got from the dachshund/sheltie mix, the bulldog and the spaniel as we were leaving.

But this being San Francisco, no one was drooling.

Photographing herring is not the challenge that photographing Bombay duck turned out to be. Having herring and durian in the fridge at the same time means periodic wafting of odors that might get unpleasant as the temps rise. So far, the higher notes of herring are dominant.

Durian can only be described as hovering in the bass range. If ever there was a food that could walk out of a refrigerator on its own momentum, durian would certainly be it.

The other night I got to the library right after supper. As it happened, I needed to head for the restroom first. There by the door was a little girl, maybe 6 or 7, cowering in great discomfort. ‘It’s locked’, she said. Not being of clear mind, I nodded and backed up. After a few seconds I remembered that this restroom was a 3-seater.

By now, the child had covered her lower quarters with her hands, and was making whimpering noises. ‘I really got to go,’ she said, ‘I mean, I GOT to go real soon!’

I turned the door handle - there was no one inside. I adjusted my cape, and let her through.

Which brings us to the subject of the day, one I’m sure that has been puzzling readers for some time.

We followed Reggie’s remarkable ability to elude would-be alligator catchers at Lake Machado for some time. Not the entire 18 months that he laid low, but a good while.

Now he’s been caught, and city officials are thrilled. But it sounds like Reggie put up a good fight.

Maggots win. Where antibiotics have been largely ineffective, maggots step in (squirm in, perhaps) and cure a group of diabetics with MRSA-infected foot ulcers.

As an experiment, I removed one of the plastic bags protecting my rear-view mirrors from the constant onslaught of little birds who ferociously attack their own images. As I was doing so, I thought I heard a loud territorial sound coming from said birds, but I could have been imagining things.

They really have better things to do, as in caring for their nestlings who could perish from hunger while Pop is distracted. Maybe I should slip a few creme eggs into their nests.

But it does involve rabbits. Giant German rabbits that yield up to 15 lb of meat each. A breeder sold 12 to a possible North Korean breeding farm.

Alas. The original breeder now fears the worst.

The good news is that the birds are leaving my plastic-bagged rear view mirrors alone. But the sound of something hitting the wall near where I work has returned. When it happened yesterday, I ran out to look, but nothing was there. I’m off the shingles medication, so nothing is tampering with my perception.

There are two wheeled pot platforms leaning against the wall, but they don’t appear animated. When I ran out just now, I surprised the sleek black cat spotted earlier by a family member. I would guess that it’s going after the little bluebelly lizards that hide in the downspouts. I like these lizards, and don’t want their tails removed, as cats will do for endless amusement.

For some weeks now, the small black-headed birds have been making a mess of my car, specifically, the rear view mirrors. The birds nest in the ivy groundcover and other places nearby. This year, they have taken a keen interest in the mirrors wherein they find rivals of a particularly tenacious and persistent sort. Neighbors have stopped to tell me how determined the birds are when they hammer at the mirrors. I’ve seen them on other cars too.

Today when I approached the car, I couldn’t help but see that the mirrors were once again encrusted. Not just the tops where they perch, but the front door windows were heavily embellished as well. The mirrors themselves now had blurred patches from constant attention. Earlier I overheard a conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Bird:

Mrs. B: When are you going to help with this nest?
Mr. B: I’ve just about beaten him.
Mrs. B: Did you see my ‘to do’ list? We need more material.
Mr. B: He can’t take much more of this punishment.
Mrs. B: How do you know if you win?
Mr. B: I win when he goes away.
Mrs. B: It’s like a video game, isn’t it? The man sits there all day, killing and maiming unbeatable things while the woman does all the work.
Mr. B: Take that, you jerk. I’m the man! I’m the man!

Which is why there are plastic bags neatly rubberbanded to my mirrors. After spending more time than I wanted scraping down the encrustations. Time I could have spent admiring the goldfish I bought last night to go in my deer scare minipond.

So say researchers in a new study, which finds that Fido’s tail will wag to the right if it likes what it sees. If he spots something scary, the tail wags in the opposite direction.

If it fluffs up something fierce and doesn’t wag at all, maybe you’d best make yourself scarce.

But only under duress. (Isn’t that just like a cat.)

Agui has been filmed saying his name while his owner pretends it’s bathtime. Not sure if it’s up at Youtube yet.

Clearly this wouldn’t work if your cat is named General Custer or even Fluffy.

I didn’t mean to. But what with one thing and another, forgot. This morning around 6:30, I put it back in the fridge. Around ten or so, I took pictures.

Will it be eaten? Not sure. Would you?

An African grey parrot’s 950-word vocabulary stuns researchers. Hmmm. Almost a thousand words. Isn’t that more than some politicians can manage?

For awhile, I had four or five kinds of pears waiting to be photographed. Then the holidays came and went, and I honestly don’t recall eating these. But I bet the fruit flies have fond memories.

That’s one new term for today, the other being ’spent hen’.

Or should I say, a whiter shade of white. Scientists are amazed at the unusual brightness of the white beetle, whose secret is a shell covered with ultra-thin scales.

For one thing, it will hard to find a vet due to distemper and rabies issues. Then, of course, they bite and are tremendously destructive.

An early morning (too early it turns out) trip to IKEA, a breakfast there to kill the 30 minutes before the store part opened, and the list is getting smaller. On the way to the car, there was a large, reddish splotch on the garage floor with feathers here and there. I had to stop.

A seagull seeking shelter from the cold, only to collide with an SUV in a hurry? A sacrificial chicken? All answers come, it seems, if you wait. As we neared the exit, what should bob into view but a pigeon.

A Saudi Arabian Airlines flight was disrupted when dozens of rodents escaped from a passenger’s bag, and began dropping on the heads of other passengers. Did he get through security by disguising them as lumps of coal? See previous post. Or by cooling them into a state of torpor? See post before previous. Has he been reading my blog?

Perhaps it is more correct to called them ‘exploding rats’ since only dead ones were used.

Agents of Britain’s Special Operations Executive (SOE) had many other tools, including cow dung bombs and fake logs full of grenades.

Of course, all this was before Q’s time, back in the days of WWII.

They say that war drives technology. Sometimes it does, and sometimes it doesn’t. In the case of the bat bombs, there were a few problems in the plan, just as in the Russian anti-tank dog project discussed earlier.

Yes, I wish I had a more powerful lens or two. The geese have been flying over too, not quite as noisy as these guys though.

They seem to go for the chest, or maybe that’s the largest part presented to them at the time of the encounter.