Been through the desert....

As I was walking through the woods I came across this "deer with no tail", which of course brings to mind the old song: "Been through the desert on a horse with no mane." (Oh all right, I know the words are really "a horse with no NAME, but that wasn't as funny.)

Anyhow, this poor girl has no tail and Steven said that it was probably bitten off by coyotes, which isn't funny, but yet I can't help but envision a Wiley Coyote type leaping after this deer and ending up sputtering with nothing but a mouthful of deer hair as the deer leaps gracefully off into the distance. Sadly though, the coyotes try to "hamstring" the deer by tearing at their haunches and slowing them down. This girl was lucky to get away, and she seems to have healed up quite well, there was no blood and while she seemed a little too docile and let us get closer than she should have, she eventually took off like a shot and didn't seem to have any sort of limp.

Cute?

Could this little guy be any cuter? His mom must have been somewhere close, but we couldn't spot her. He was very curious and srood and stared at us for 3 or 4 minutes before he flagged his tail and scampered off. That's the closest I have ever gotten to such a wee one.

My Mum.

Just look at my beautiful mother...here she is, about 21 years old, in her uniform. Below, you'll see her a little more casual, outside of the barracks with her gigantic camera. She was a military photographer. I remember so well the brilliant flash of those cameras and the "whoosh" sort of sound the bulb made as it basically burned out. Imagine, each time you used a flash picture, you had to replace the bulb, and then you had to hide in the dark to change the film. She developed her own photos though, so at least we didn't have to wait.

This is one of the covers of the military magazine. My mom took the picture, plus that is her in the photo. Just think, that was Remembrance Day 55 years ago today.

Butch Cassidy?

Everyone has two sides of their family, well, really, much more than that, but it boils down to the maternal side and the paternal side. On my paternal side, there are soldiers back to the 1800's, who fought in every concievable war. That's the Irish side..."the Fighting Irish" isn't just a sports team! The other side, well, they apparently liked the Butch Cassidy personna! This is my great-great Grandfather, not a fighter, although his grandchildren (my mom and her brother) were military.

Nov 11/08

These are my Dad's medals, and below are my Grandfathers (my Dad's dad)

My great-uncles, (brothers) Both fought in WW1. My Grandfather fought in WW2 and my Dad was in the Golan Heights/Isreal/Egypt. My uncle was in Cyprus, my great-great Grandfather was in the Boer War, in South Africa.

Kinda sad....

Someone else who was feeding the goose with the broken wing decided to go to the local newspaper to see if there was something that could be done...someone who could help the poor thing. The conservation officer was contacted and so was raptor rescue, but sadly enough, there was nothing they could do. Or perhaps I should say that there was nothing they wanted to do. Unless, they added, it was a rare bird, such as one of the trumpeter swans that also stops here. So, in their wisdom, they decided to go to the park the very next day and "dispose" of the goose. I am quite sure that it was a very fast and painless death, and seeing as how the goose was tame, he probably wasn't afraid either, but the whole thing breaks my heart. And to make it worse, upon checking his little goose body to see what caused the injury, a .22 bullet was found in his wing. And...if that isn't bad enough, the day after this, no less than FOUR people phoned the newpaper, saying that they lived on farms or acreages and had room for an injured goose, especially a tame one. Too late at this point, but isn't that typical bureaucracy...jump first and investigate later? I just found the whole affair very sad.

Probably not a good idea....

So I was wandering through Wal-Mart yesterday, in the baby section. I have a new niece and I was looking for something cute to purchase and I came across the onesie's. They are the handiest things...instead of little undershirts creeping up and getting all tangled, they stay nice and smooth and crinkle free; they're cool and comfy, and it made me wonder why they don't make onesies for adults? No underwear "ride-up", no panty-line, how unfair that they only come in miniscule sizes.



Mind you, when a baby wears one, people grab their thighs and say: "oh...look at those precious thighs, all chubby and sweet...look at her little arms and all those extra folds, why she even has them on her wrists...and could anything be more adorable than those double chins?"



I wonder if my friends would say that if I opened the front door wearing a onesie?

~I base my fashion taste on what doesn't itch.
~Gilda radner.

It's a Canadian thing.

Hockey. Who knew I'd ever end up such a fan? For my friends who read this blog who live in lands where there is no such national sport as hockey *Gasp!* this is a little idea of how silly we are sometimes. Our team colours are blue & white, so we therefore must dress in those colours.

One must also purchase the appropriate gear to wear as well.

Any friends worth having will also don the aforementioned apparel.

When the Ice score, we all stand and make a "chopping" motion and holler: "Ice! Ice! Ice!", thus the small double-headed axe in Tim's hand. Such is the life of a hockey fan. We sing songs like: "I wanna drive a Zamboni" and any Canadian, hockey fan or not, can recongnize the opening strains of the hockey night in Canada theme...Dah da DUH da Daaaaaaa!