The Deer Hunt

Joe and Hank got back from Wisconsin's Northwoods today, where they spent the weekend stalking Wisconsin's deer herd.

I hate deer hunting because of the huge block of time it takes Joe away and asked him point blank this afternoon if he thought he'd ever not deer hunt and instead bird hunt more frequently throughout the year.

In reply Joe relayed the following exchange. This morning, after he and Hank were sitting out in their tent for a few hours, Hank said to Joe, "You know what my favorite part of hunting is, Dad?" Joe said, "No, son, what is it?" And Hank smiled that goofy Hank grin and patted Joe to indicate that Joe was his favorite part. Just sitting out in that cold, boring tent drinking hot cocoa out of a thermos, looking for nonexistent deer and peeing into mayonnaise jars was enough for Hank because he was with his dad.

I admit it, my heart melted. As much as I like Joe to be around, clearly our boy got a lot out of having some special alone time with Dad.

Zoo

When we woke yesterday the kids and I were greeted with a soft drizzle. Not enough to give any relief to parched grass and plants, but enough to cancel Madeleine's tennis lesson and prevent us from going to the pool. We decided to hit the zoo. (Please, please don't judge Hank by his ridiculous taste in eyewear).



Despite my irrational fear of the birds flying free in the aviary, the kids' interest was piqued by the temporary "Wings from Down Under" exhibit that friends recently described where parakeets, cockatiels and various other birds fly free and interact with visitors. I quickly gave my stick of birdseed away to the kids and was happily ignored for the whole of the time with the birds. The kids, however, quickly got over any trepidation they might have had and were delighted with the birds landing all over them.











I have to say, I think this is the best special exhibit I've seen at our zoo, and I would encourage all Milwaukee area folks to get down there to see it before it leaves.

Humane Society Trip

Madeleine's Brownie troop had a stellar idea for a field trip Wednesday night: the girls went to the Humane Society. Listen, if you have kids old enough for independent field trips with different Scout groups and the like do not, I repeat, do not let them go to the Humane Society or anything similar. All I have been hearing for the past twenty-four hours is, "Mom, can we get a dog? What? No?! Well, whhhhhhy noooooooot!?!?!?!?!?!"

Heaven help me if they wear me down.

A Winter/Spring Day

There is something wrong. Last night we were graced with another three to four inches of snow. Yes, again. Today, while out shoveling, yet again, I noticed something odd. There were birds chirping and singing. Spring like chirping and singing, yet here I was shoveling. I have to hope it was a sign of things to come. You know, like sweet chirping and singing without the shoveling.

Cat Clean-up

I am not a girly-girl. As a child I remember playing with frogs, scaling trees and walking ridgepoles. I was tough. I was a tomboy.

And then something changed. Suddenly the mere appearance of a frog would send me zipping into the house for cover. Climbing a ladder more than halfway up would make me shake with fear if I dared look down. Still though, I was tougher than most of the Guess-wearing, frosted bang havers that made up the majority of my sex as a preteen.

And I'm still pretty much the same. I don't mind getting dirty. I appreciate camping because it allows me the freedom of not caring what I look like while we're there. I can still take a lump and I'll still dive to catch a line drive headed at me.

But don't ask me to clean up after our cats. Our cats, Maisy and Moppet, are prolific hunters. You name it, they've caught it: birds, mice, rabbits, chipmunks. My cats aren't lazy; they hunt and they hunt daily. The problem is that they don't eat what they kill. The gluttonous little princesses torture their prey, kill it and then leave the carcases all over my yard and driveway. Oh, you think it's gross just reading about it? Right now there are three dead mice in my driveway. Three. And they are, as you might imagine, repulsive, disgusting things to look at.

But I can't deal with them. I just can't. Instead I choose to park my car out by the road and bypass the rodent massacre displayed in my backyard.

Call me a girly-girl. Call me chicken. I don't care. Superdad's cleaning up after the cats.

Lun Lun Gives Birth

Awwwwww, how cute!

After seven years of trying and hoping, Zoo Atlanta officials announced a rare giant panda birth Wednesday, one of only a few in the United States.

Lun Lun, a 9-year-old giant panda, gave birth just before 5 p.m. after 35 hours of labor.

The cub is hairless, weighs about 4 ounces and is the size of stick of butter. The sex will not be known for weeks.