I love the smell of Play-Doh in the morning

Few smells are as evocative of my childhood as the unmistakable smell of Play-Doh.

In the latter stages of the 1950s Play-Doh became available, and my parents - no one's idea of early adopters - glommed on to it, and Play-Doh quickly became a staple in our house, showing up in everyone's Christmas stocking.  (Interesting, I just found out - thanks, Wikipedia - that Play-Doh began life as a putty used to remove coal soot stains from wallpaper. Demand dropped off when folks switched from coal to natural gas or oil for heating.)

Ah, the smell of Play-Doh. 

And I'm apparently not the only one that finds an olfactory Rosebud moment in Play-Doh. In fact, in 2018, Play-Doh maker Hasbro trademarked the smell, which the company:

...formally describes as a unique scent formed through the combination of a sweet, slightly musky, vanilla-like fragrance, with slight overtones of cherry, and the natural smell of a salted, wheat-based dough. (Source: Hasbro)

I couldn't have come up with anything quite so wine-loverly. All I know is that my appreciation of the perfume that Play-Doh emits is the nose version of what a judge once said about smut. He couldn't quite describe it, but Potter Stewart said "I know it when I see it." Well, Play-Doh-wise: I know it when I breathe in that delectable aroma, an aroma that:

...makes the PLAY-DOH brand one of the few active and certainly most famous scent trademarks in the country.

On beyond the wonderful Play-Doh smell, I loved the fact that, when modeling clay came in dull, muted colors, Play-Doh was vibrant. Back in the day, it came in three colors: red, yellow, and blue. But as anyone who held a color wheel in kindergarten knew, with those colors you could make orange, green, and purple. Alas, you couldn't unmake the colors, so once you'd committed to those extra colors, you had less of the basics. 

Another advantage of Play-Doh over modeling clay was that it was more flexible, more pliable than clay. 

The only downside of Play-Doh was that if you didn't get it back into its cardboard container pdq - and if the jar wasn't hermetically sealed - it hardened up and got all crusty. You could quasi-restore it with a bit of water, but Play-Doh got stale fast. 

Play-Doh has, of course, morphed over the years with all sorts of brand extensions. For one thing, there are a lot more colors to work with, including pastels and sparkly ones. You can get all sorts of accessories, like cookie cutter molds, and there are kits along a lot of different themes: cooking, playing vet, etc. Inevitably, there are tie-ins to other kiddo brands, e.g., Peppa Pig Play-Doh kits. 

The company has also been climbing up the age ladder, with themed kits - Star Wars, Mandalorian - aimed at older kids and "kidults", 13 on up. 

And now "Hasbro is unveiling its most grown-up brand to date."

The new line comprises a series of modeling compound kits that guide users through the process of turning putty into floral arrangements designed to be displayed. (Source: Wall Street Journal)

Unlike the Star Wars and Mandalorian, Blooms - the new product line - is aimed at crafters. Female crafters. 

Hasbro's CMO, Jason Bunge, has this to say about the market:

“We’re not manufacturing a new need state...We feel Blooms is meeting something that consumers are looking for.”

I'm only putting this bit in because of the term "new need state," which I guess is what we used to call a manufactured need. Anyway, Hasbro's marketing plans include:

...enlisting more than 200 creators, from professional influencers to niche fans of pottery, crafts or flower arranging. It’s also planning a full-day creator event in Brooklyn and hosting a hands-on crafting experience at the Whitney Museum of American Art in New York to stoke media buzz.

With Blooms, Hasbro may well be on to something. A lot of folks I know - including adults young and old - have taken up crafting with a vengance. It's engaging, stress-reducing, and entertaining, and, if the makers don't feel compelled to Insta everything they make, gets people away from their screens. (A while back, Legos launched a line of bouquet-crafting kits that are pretty pricey and have been pretty popular.)

Although I won't be buying a Blooms kit, I hope that Hasbro succeeds. As long as they don't try to tamper with the wonderfully evocative smell of Play-Doh. Reminds me of victory childhood, and I absolutely love it.

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Image Source: Smithsonian Mag

O, Canada: Take your geese, please!

At a distance, they are quite beautiful. That is to say, when that distance is hundreds of feet in the air, and they're amassed in chevron flight, heading over and out from town to someplace else. 

Even at rest, when swimming calmly - or just floating - in a pond, along a river - they are quite beautiful. Majestic, serene. 

On a Christmas card, they are quite beautfiul. That lovely grey, white, and black thang they wear so well, perfectly offset by a green wreath with red berries. 

And I'll give you that goslings are cute. 

But Canada geese? In real life? Up close and personal? I hate the bastards. 

They are nasty, hissing, honking menaces. They move their loosey-goosey bowels up to a hundred times a day, leaving their little green piles of poop everywhere. In all, they produce as much as 2 pounds of poop daily. What a lot of crap! Unlike bears who shit in the woods, unlike ducks who shit in the water, geese shit wherever they want. Which tends to be wherever you want to be. 

They're on the paths along the Eplanade that runs along the Charles River. They're on the paths in the beautiful Boston Public Garden. They're on the grass on the Esplanade, in the Garden, where folks like to spread their blankets out for a picnic, where folks like to let their babies crawl around. Good luck to those who get there early enough to secure a place upfront at the Hatch Shell for the annual 4th of July Pops Concert. Maybe they clean it up ahead of time, but I wouldn't sit there without a hazmat suit on.

Canada has given us LaBatt's Beer. And Molson. They've given us the fabulous Maple Leaf cookies sold at Trader Joe's. Sure, those Hudson Bay Blankets are made in England, but they've got Canada written all over them, eh? They've given us Dudley Doright. They've given us Nova Scotia salmon. And speaking of Nova Scotia, each year Nova Scotia gives Boston a giant Christmas tree to thank us for helping their people after the 1917 explosion in Halifax (when two ships - one of them carrying explosives - collided in the harbor, and nearly 2,000 lives were lost). They've given us hockey, and a terrific national anthem to sing along with when the Toronto Blue Jays play the Red Sox, or one of their hockey team plays the Bruins.

But Canada geese?

O, Canada, you can keep them. They're all yours. 

So I don't blame the Michigan Department of Natural Resources (DNR) for wanting to do something about the nasty flocks o' geese that are plaguing their state as well. 

Unfortunately, what might have been good for controling the goose population, wasn't so good for some Michiganders. The DNR's plan to gas the geese to death was killed before it started. 

After pushback from Democratic lawmakers, DNR Director Scott Bowen said Friday, May 9, his department will pause the euthanasia pilot program this year.

“We have been working with the public to resolve human-goose conflicts for over 40 years, and our attempt to implement this pilot program was an additional effort to further that goal,” Bowen wrote in a letter to lawmakers.

“After further consideration and consultation with our wildlife staff, we have decided to pause the program for this year and will not be issuing any permits or conducting this work on any sites.” (Source: MLive)

The gas works notion was suposed to be a "last resort" option for "landowners who have exhausted all other methods of nuisance control." Those methods include nest and egg destruction. In Boston a few years back, they tried covering eggs with oil, which kept the fertilized eggs from turning into goslings, but some folks complained that it was inhumane (?) and they stopped it. Others objected when barking dogs were deployed to chase - not catch and kill! - the geese.

My cousin MB was plagued by Canada geese in her lovely pond-side backyard on the Cape. Her late husband used to go out periodically and snap a bullwhip in the air - not at the geese, mind you - and that would chase them off for a bit.

While my preference would be destruction of the eggs as a relatively benevolent way to keep the flocks down, gassing the geese, aside from the obvious associations with Zyklon-B, sounded okay to me. But there are legit reasons to oppose it:

Animal rights advocates and organizations have argued that gassing geese causes painful and distressing deaths, particularly because geese can hold their breath for extended periods.

Much as I despise Canada geese, I would not want them to suffer "painful and distressing deaths." I just want them gone, as I'm sure most Michiganders do. E-coli, avian flu spread, and just plain stepping in goose poop. So many reasons to want them gone; none that I can think of to keep them around.

Michigan DNR will continue to explore "non-lethal techniques."

Those techniques include habitat modification, elimination of feeding, scare tactics, repellents and nest and egg destruction.

Good luck, Michigan. Here's hoping you succeed. Please let us know what you come up with that works.

(Did I mention how much I hate these nasty, aggressive, noisy, waddle-in-your-way-and-hiss-at-you, continuous poop machine creatures?)

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Image Source: Adirondacks Almanack

Why we have regulations, Part one million, three hundred thousand, nine-hundred forty nine

Chances are that, at any given time, there'll be a chunk of Parmigiano-Reggiano in my fridge. Some pasta on the shelf, a bottle of olive oil, a jar of black pepper...as long as you've got some Parm just sitting there waiting to be grated, you've got the makings of cacio e pepe. Mangia!

What I had never realized until I actually looked at the label the other day is that Parmigiano-Reggiano is made using raw milk. 

This gave me the tiniest of pauses. Raw milk? Isn't that kinda-sorta Bobby Kennedy-esque?

But from a quick google around, I learned that the aging process, the salt content, the hardness of the cheese, and a few other parts of the product and process combine to make this glorious cheese safe to eat. Plus authentic Parmigiano-Reggiano comes from Italia, where they have high standards for safety and rigorous safety practices. So, blessedly rare listeria or E coli. 

But there is a reason why things like, say, pasteurization exist, and why most of us in modern times drink pasteurized milk, and eat ice cream and cheese made with it. And that's so we don't suffer from the listeria- and E coli-causing bacteria that may exist in non-pasteurized milk and milk products. Who wants diarhhea from slurping down a glass of milk with a sleeve of Oreos? Who wants abdominal cramps from gulping down a maple walnut ice cream cone? Who wants to end up hospitalized with kidney failure because of cheese gone bad?

No one actually wants these outcomes, but some are willing to risk them because for some reason they believe that raw milk is healthier for you.

I don't understand why anyone would be against pasteurization. I guess the claim is that the process diminishes the taste and nutrition of milk, with little downside. (In their view, anyway.) But it's not as if pasteurization introduces any foreign bodies; it's not as if it's a chemical process. Heat the milk, kill the bacteria. Seems pretty straightforward to me. 

Not to mention that, since it's introduction in the mid-19th century, pasteurization has saved hundreds of millions of lives from milk-borne illness. 

But raw milk and raw milk product consumption has been on the rise. I'm guessing this is among the same brigade who doesn't think that measles or polio vaccines are good ideas, either. Maybe, like RFK Jr., they also enjoy a good roadkill dinner on occasion.

Recently:

Raw cheddar cheese from Raw Farm[the country's largest raw milk distributor] has been linked with an outbreak, though no Raw Farm products have tested positive for E coli... Cheddar cheese from California-based Raw Farm identified as ‘likely source’ of infections across multiple states. (Source: The Guardian)

The FDA recommended that Raw Farm agree to a voluntary recall, but they're not having it, pointing to their products having been "negative for all harmful bacteria." (In 2024, California did recall some Raw Farms products that tested positive for bird flu.)

Frankly, I'm surprised that the FDA made this recommendation, given that RFK Jr. is a big proponent of raw milk. And is, in fact, a long-time Raw Farms' customer. Probably just a matter of time before he roots out anyone in the organizations he oversees - FDA, CDC, etc. - who isn't getting with his raw milk, anti-vax, and other quackery program.

Wish RFK would focus on the things that science actually supports, and that could have a positive health outcome. I would think we'd all be in favor of fewer crazy chemicals in processed foods.

But food regulations came about for a reason. And that was that people were getting sick and dying from contaminated food and drink. A bunch of kids getting sick from eating raw milk cheese is entirely avoidable. There are plenty of reasons why we have regulations, and this is just one of them.

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Image Source: Erewhon

Talk about school trip gone bad

When I was in kid, school trips weren't much of a thing.

Fifty kids in a class? Where were we going to go, and who was going to foot the bill?

The one quasi grammar school trip occurred in eighth grade, when a subset of our class - the good students, the goodie two shoes, the ones least likely to act up - were allowed to take the bus "down city" to see Heaven Over the Marshes (1949), an Italian movie about Maria Goretti, a 12-year old virgin martyr who in 1902 was stabbed to death for resisting the sexual advances of a 20 year old man. Maria Goretti was canonized in 1950. Her murderer, having been relased from prison and become a religious brother, died in 1970. (I remember when he died.)

On the day of our school trip, the girls were warned to sit separately from the boys both on the bus and in the theater. We may have been goodie two-shoes, but hah to that.

The film was an old timey black and white with subtitles, and was pretty boring. Plus we were all embarrassed by the topic: resisting rape as the pathway to heaven. Bad jokes were made by the boys on the bus on the way back home.

In high school, I went on a couple of school trips. Into Boston to the Science Museum, where all I remember is the lub-dub heart. And into Boston to see La Traviata, where we were the only high school group and the ruffian, raucus Boston public schoolers ran around the opera house hollering and blowing through their Good & Plenty boxes to make that wonderful Good & Plenty. Better than a vuvuzela!

Anyway, when she wasn't dying of consumption on stage in Alfredo's arms, Violetta was laughing at the antics of the audience. As was Alfredo.

On a Saturday in June my freshman year, the Literary Society went to Concord to visit the Old Manse, where Ralph Waldo Emerson lived, as did Nathaniel Hawthorne. But this was on a Saturday and, while a couple of nuns came with us, it wasn't exactly an official school trip.

When I read about a school trip gone bad in British Columbia, I couldn't help but think of the paltry school trips of my youth. They weren't much, but at least they weren't perilous.

What happened to the students from the Acwsalcta School is horrific and unfathomable to a city girl. What happened was that students and teachers were injured in a grizzly attack.

The attack happened Thursday [November 20] in the Bella Coola Valley of the Nuxalk Nation in British Columbia. The CBC reported that two people were critically injured, two were seriously hurt and others were treated at the scene.

...A male teacher "got the whole brunt of it" and some children got sprayed with bear spray as the adults tried to scare the bear away, parent Veronica Schooner told the Canadian Press, Canada's state news agency. (Source: UPI)

The area where the attack occurred was, not surprisingly, remote: over 400 miles from Vancouver. The school is run by an indigenous nation (Nuxalk), and the kids are used to nature, to wildernerness. 

Heroic teachers have been credited with thwarting the attack, making sure it wasn't worse than it was.

But what a horrible experience for these kids, and their teachers.

A lot easier to watch the lub-dub heart go lub-dub, and see Violetta laugh herself to death.

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Image Source: BBC

Assisted living for penguins? Yes!

Years ago, I saw the March of the Penguins, a documentary about the life of the emperor penguins of Antarctica. Talk about nasty, brutish, and (often) short. That's the life of the penguins I'm talking about. As for the film itself, well, talk about nasty, brutish, and way too long. 

March was narrated by Morgan Freeman, but it's a French flick. And when my sisters, nieces, and I reminisce about seeing it - years ago, rainy summer afternoon in Wellfleet - we put on exaggerated French accents, hold an imagined Gauloise between two fingers, and say, "We march, and march, and march. And then we march some more. And then we die."

No, it ain't easy being a penguin.

Unless, of course, you're fortunate enough to be a senior African penguin at the New England Aquarium.

If anything, the life of African penguins is even more dire than that of the marching Antarctic emporers. Over the last century African penguins have experienced a population decline of 97%. The average life span has decreased. In another decade, extinction is predicted. 

But if you're living at the NE Aquarium, penguin life is pretty darned good on a special island of their own. 

“This is our penguin retirement home. We affectionately call it our assisted living community,” says Mia Luzietti, senior penguin trainer. Seven of them are housed here. Many have similar problems, including arthritis, glaucoma, and foot problems. Two are blind in one eye.

At geriatric island, life is easier. They have matted soft pads installed for comfort, helping their mobility.

Trainers work with them on all their needs.

A special bond develops. Life is mellower here away from the rowdy youngins.

Five of the penguins are over 30. The oldest, Good Hope, is 36, the equivalent of 118 human years. (Source: Boston Globe)

The retirees "are pampered." There are special toys. Fresh fish in unlimited quantities. And "volunteers blow bubbles to break the boredom." Some of the penguins pair off with their fellow geezers. Others stay solo. 

In the wild, and even in the other island at the Aquarium where the younger penguins spend their days, weak older penguins can be set upon by the younger crowd, kicked out of the colony. But here on geriatric island:

[Luzietti] says they get better health care than most people. There are vet teams, an ICU, and an operating room. An ophthalmologist and an acupuncturist come as needed. They don’t have to worry about politics and co-pays.

And the staff and volunteers help the elder penguins with end-of-life issues.

“I think it’s great that they’re given an opportunity to live out their lives in comfort and not have to compete with some of the other younger birds,” [volunteer Mark Weber] says. 

...we don’t ever want them to suffer whatsoever,” Luzietti says. “And that goes from the moment that they’re an egg laid to the moment that they take their last breath.’

Damn! Isn't that what we all want?

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Image Source: Wikipedia

Indifference to Running

Not that I watch much college football, or churn through a lot of brain cycles thinking about it, but one of the funner things about college football is the team mascot. 

Sometimes it's a student cavorting around in a costume, like Notre Dame's Leprechaun. Sometimes it's a student cavorting around in a big-foam-head costume, like the UMass Minuteman. Sometimes it's a student cavorting around in an anthropomorphic whatever it is costume, like the Ohio State Buckeye. Sometimes it's a student cavorting around in an animal costume, like the UCal Berkeley bear. And sometimes it's an actual animal cavorting around in its birthday suit, like the Navy Goat. (Okay, the Navy Goat is sometimes a student cavorting around in a goat costume, but at other times it's the real goat deal. I'm not sure whether there's ever an actual elephant on the sidelines, but Tuft's mascot is Jumbo the elephant, originally donated to the university, in all of its stuffed majesty, by none other than P.T. Barnum.)

Among the real animal deal mascots is the University of Colorado's Buffalo, a shaggy beast always named Ralphie, even though they've all been female:

The running of Ralphie during Colorado games is one of the most famous mascot traditions in college football. Five handlers run with Ralphie, who is actually a bison, although buffalo and bison are sometimes used interchangeably. The animals can reach speeds of up to 25 mph. (Source: NY Times)

Alas, Ralphie VI ("real" name: Ember), who served for  four years, has been retired. She was put out to pasture because she ticked off Colorado fans with her nonchalant approach to cavorting on the field.

“Due to an indifference to running, typical of many mammals both four-legged and two-legged, it was determined that it was in Ember’s best interest, based on her disposition, to focus on relaxing strolls on the pasture, which is her favorite hobby,” Colorado’s announcement said.

Ember had replaced Ralphie V ("real" name Blackout), who was dispositionally the polar opposite of Ralphie VI. Blackout took to the field with gusto, so rambunctious she once pulled away from the ropes her handlers held her back with. In her later years,Blackout kept up her aggressive ways. Unlike Ember's "indifference to running," Blackout started "ignoring cues from her handlers." So, indifference to handling. Tsk, task. 

Ember will be put out to pasture with Blackout, where they can compare notes on whose approach worked better.

I'm going with Ember, who was able to weasel her way into early retirement after just four years of goldbrickin' on the job.

You don't go, girl! Maybe Emagainstber didn't like being manhandled by a bunch of cowboy-hatted students. Maybe she found crowd noise annoying. Maybe she was pissed she wasn't eligible for lucrative NIL payments. Maybe she just didn't like football. 

But maybe, just maybe, Ember's slowing the line down was a protest against using live animal mascots. It's one thing for a student to don an animal costume. They're doing it voluntarily, for the joy of supporting their team and the privilege of a can't-beat-it sideline view of the game. 

Not that there's anything natural about a student in an animal costume, but when you think about it, it's more natural than expecting a real, live animal to cavort up and down the sidelines in front of thousands of screaming fans. Personally, I'd be displaying indifference to running, too. 

Enjoy your retirement, Ember, out there at home on the rane. You've earned every bit of it.

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Image Source: AP News

ATM's for doggos? Oh, why not?

Today is election day in Boston. It's pretty much a yawner. Our mayor, Michelle Wu, trounced her main opponent in the primary. And I do mean trounced. Josh Kraft's amazingly inept campaign spent over $15M, including over $5M of his own money - his own by way of Daddy Bigbucks Robert Kraft, owner of the N.E. Patriots - and limped away with 23% of the vote vs. 72% for Wu. Kraft spend $262 for each vote he got; Wu's campaign spent less than $17 per vote. 

Kraft, at least, had the good sense to drop out of the race, and thus Wu is running unopposed.

The race for the at-large city councillor spots are a bit contested. But for the most part, this municipal election is nada mas.

So since there's no nailbiting going on - wait until next November for that, should we live so long and/or still have elections - attention can be paid to lesser matters. 

And for today, that lesser matter is that TD Bank has recently  introduced an Automated Treat Machine for dogs to Boston. They debuted the concept last year in Philadelphia, exported it last spring to Toronto, and have now brought it to Boston. And why not? We are, after all, the Hub of the Universe. Or at the very least, the Hub of Our Universe.  

(And it you're wondering how dog ATMs tie, however tangentially, to our mayoral election: Josh Kraft spent a ton of money on that election, unmaking bank, as it were. Money: bank. Truly, there is no topic on the face of god's green earth - and green, by the way, is TD Bank's color - that is more than six degrees of separation from Pink Slip.)

So, onto the doggo ATMs:

The machines, which resemble normal ATMs, are fitted with paw-print mats and motion sensors, according to the bank. When a dog approaches, the device drops a free treat into a metal bowl.

Bank officials said the machines are meant to make branches more welcoming for customers who bring their dogs along...

“Whether your four-legged friend is keeping you company on your errands, or is a service animal supporting you throughout your day, we want to show appreciation to the canine loved ones of our customers,” Tyrrell Schmidt, chief marketing officer of TD Bank Group, said in a release last year. (Source: The Boston Globe)

Awwwww... (Or is it arfffffff?)

As a big fan of dogs, I think that this is wonderful idea. 

I don't know whether it's going to do much of anything for TD Bank's bottom line. Or even its top line. But in a world of unrelenting rotten news, why not a bit of furry friend pooch fluff?

Inevitably, the critics came out in the comments section of the Globe article, bitching (hah!) that the bank shouldn't be wasting depositor money on "stupid publicity stunts." Complainers - and I'm guessing most of the commenters with a gripe aren't even TD Bank customers - want more branches, longer hours, higher interest rates of savings... 

Yes, indeed, not spending a few bucks on an ATM for dogs would naturally translate into more branches, longer hours, higher interest paid on savings accounts. NOT! No one enjoys complaining more than I do, but these comments bite. Commenters are probably cat people.

Anyway, Boston's canine ATM opened a month ago at a TD Bank outlet a short walk from my house. So although I'm not a TD Bank customer, I did check it out. Alas, there were no pups there taking advantage of the treat machine. Still, what a cute idea. A number of shops in town have water bowls out for dogs, and many also hand out treats. But as far as I know, this is the only place in town where treats for dogs are automatically dispensed.

ATM's for doggos? Oh, why not? Perhaps if Josh Kraft had included it in his platform, he'd have received a few more votes. 

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Image Source: Philadelphia Inquirer

Who says there's no good news?

Babies (and puppies) aside, if there's a little critter any cuter than the axolotl, I don't know what it is. This pink salamander looks straight out of Pixar, but it does exist in real life. As well as in the videogame Minecraft. 

These Mexican amphibians have a lot more going for them than just their undeniable cuteness. Among other qualities: 

...axolotls have the remarkable ability to regenerate parts of their bodies. This includes limbs, eyes and even parts of their brains. Research labs around the world are trying to understand this incredible trait. (Source: Natural History Museum - UK)

One of those research labs is  the Harvard Stem Cell and Regenerative Biology. 

Harvard is, of course, both a major target of the type of personal animus that colors pretty much everything Trump does, and a victim of the profound research cuts his anti-science administration has aimed at researchers whether he harbors personal animus towards their organizations or not. 

Thanks largely to government cutbacks, Harvard is expected to cut its overall research initiatives by about 20%. But while donations may not cover the loss, Harvard is able to count on generous donors to help support its efforts. One of those is six-year-old Marianne Cullen of Springfield, Mass, who in September donated $1,000 to Harvard to use for axolotl research. 

“I knew they were trying to help the axolotls, that’s why I raised my money,” Marianne said during a special visit recently to the Harvard Stem Cell and Regenerative Biology lab. (Source: The Boston Globe)

Marianne learned about axolotls in kindergarten, and was drawn to them because they're "so cute."

But her reasons to support this Harvard lab went beyond the mere cuteness of axolotls. Marianne has a baby sister, Emmaline, who's been in and out of the hospital:

Doctors at Boston Children’s Hospital have treated Emmaline for immune and allergy response problems, and Marianne wonders if there could be a connection between axolotl regeneration and medical therapies for babies who suffer from autoimmune diseases.

So Marianne held a fundraising party, inviting family and friends to learn about axolotls. Then there was a Venmo fund-raiser via FB. And to top things off, Marianne chipped in $80 out of her own piggybank.

The timing of Marianne's donation was perfect, if only as a morale boost. It came in just as five of the lab's grants were being canceled. 

While the details are still being worked out, it’s possible Marianne’s donation could go directly to such a project at Harvard, linking axolotl findings to infant medical treatment.

As a benefactor, Marianne was recently invited to tour the lab, where she got to meet some axolotls up close and personal. Sounds like the lab was a fine place for a kiddo who's eyeing an eventual career as a scientist or NICU doctor. 

Who says there's no good news? That would be me, most of the time. So I was delighted to come across the news about Marianne Cullen's insight and generosity. What a great kid!

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Image Source: A-to-Z Animals

An "unprovoked attack"? Not from the water buffalo's point of view

A couple of months ago, there was news out of South Africa that a big-game hunter from Texas was killed by a Cape buffalo he was stalking. Asher Watkins, a well-to-do Dallas real estate man whose speciality was pricey ranches was the fellow who ran out of luck. 

“Asher was fatally injured in a sudden and unprovoked attack by an unwounded buffalo he was tracking together with one of our professional hunters and one of our trackers,” Hans Vermaak, whose family runs [Coenraad Vermaak] Safaris said in a statement. (Source: NY Times)

It goes without blogging that I am completing lacking the inclination or temperament to go big game hunting. My idea of a challenge is keeping my DuoLingo streak going and reading 104 books (two books per week) this year. So far, so good on both counts. But just about as far away from big game hunting as you can get, as neither of my avocations requires wealth, travel, or guns. (None of those 104 books, by the way, will be authored by big game he-man Ernest Hemingway, by the way. I've never been much of a fan.)

No one I know hunts big game, but I've known some duck and deer hunters over the years (including my Uncles Jack and Bob, and my husband's Uncle Bill). To each his own. It's not as if I don't eat duck. Big game is less understandale to me. Why would someoe want to kill a magnificent giraffe, an elephant, a cape buffalo? It's not as if you're going to load up your freezer with giraffe steaks. At least I think not.

Many big game hunters - and Watkins was one of them - argue that big game hunting is good for conservation, which may be at least a quasi-valid point. But there's something more going on, the desire for the thrill of the chase, the thrill of the kill. 

For what it's worth,Watkins (according to his obituary; yes, I am a ghoul) was a fair chase hunter. Such hunters pursue their prey in the wild, in their more-or-less natural habitat, as opposed to those who go to one of those outlets where the animals have no escape hatch. The pen may be large, but the animals are penned in. The likelihood of success is high for the hunter; the likelihood of making a safe getaway for the animal is pretty low. This sort of hunter isn't interested in a fair fight. They mostly just want the lion's head and the buffalo horns to mount over their fireplace, the tiger-skin rug under foot in their den.

But Watkins wasn't one of those guys, so in memoriam props to this hunter for that. But he was one of the guys who wanted the trophy, who wanted to pursue his "dream buffalo." I guess if you're into going after your "dream buffalo" you kinda-sorta know what your're getting into. The safari company's website has this to say about the cape buffalo:

A fearless and capable fighter

No species on the planet has a more fearsome reputation than a cape buffalo! Responsible for several deaths and many injuries to hunters each year, the buffalo is regarded as the most dangerous animal to pursue in Africa, let alone the world. Crafty and belligerent, he seeks refuge in thickets when wounded or danger approaches! Buffalo are known to charge unprovoked...Buffalo hunting is thrilling and exhilarating, placing this formidable species at the top of every hunter’s wish list! (Source: Coenraad Vermaak Safaris)

(The nickname for the cape buffalo is "black death," btw. And they're apparently pretty smart, at least by animal standards - which, come to think of it, probably aren't all that far off of human standards, at least what we see about human standards these days. Cape buffalo reportedly will rememeber a hunter they've had a run in with and, years after the fact, ambush that hunter when they run into them again.)

Anyway, what I don't particularly understand is why the attack on Watkins was considered "unprovoked." He was, after all, trying to kill the beast. I wouldn't characterize that as "unprovoked." 

Given the current vibe, blood sports are on the increase, including - despicably - the lust for killing humans. Yet hunters and safari companies are well aware that there are plenty of folks who consider big game hunting amoral-immoral-postmoral etc. Coenraad Vermaak Safaris seems to hint at this when they write: 

Although we are hunters, we are actually in the memory making business and we thrive on seeing Africa through our clients’ eyes!

Ah, conservation, fair chase, and memory making. Memory making, that is, unless you're killed in an "unprovoked" attack. Mabye the safari outfits shoud start seeing Africa through the eyes of the animals they're killing. "Unbprovoked" my hoof!

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Image Source: BBC

Polly want a crackhead?

This story is something straight out of an old Perry Mason episode - "The Case of the Squawking Parrot." Or maybe a Columbo, where Inspector Columbo, on his way out the door, turns to the perp and says, "I just noticed that you've got a new cover over your birdcage. Now, Mrs. Columbo is thinking of getting a parakeet, so if you wouldn't mind if I took a peek under the cover of your cage...." Inspector Columbo gestures towards the birdcage with his unlit cigar, and then walks over to lift a corner of the cover... 

But it wasn't an old American TV rerun that involved a talkative bird. It it was an actual English crack and heroin drug bust, case solved thanks to a parrot who knew too much:

A drug ring of 15 people in Blackpool was taken down by the tiny yellow bird — who was also seen in videos playing with drug money — after police seized gang leader Adam Garnett’s cellphones, according to the Lancashire Constabulary.

Videos allegedly show [Garnett's GF/partner Shannon] Hilton teaching her less-than-cagey critter to say “two for 25” — apparent payment for bags of the dope — “in front of a child” and “the parrot playing with money, which was gained through their illegal activities,” police said. (Source: NY Post)

It's interesting to note that Garnett was conducting business with his human and avian gang members while he was in a cage of his own. He was already serving a sentence for his prior criming, and he's now got another 19 years tacked on. Hilton's going away for 12 years, and other members of the gang have also been given hefty sentences. 

Much of the evidence in the case was collected from the cellphones of the gang members. There were those incriminating videos of the stool pigeon parrot, singing like a bird; and Hilton's phone had "a clip of what appeared to be bricks of cocaine with music with the lyric “cocaine” playing over it."

In addition, police found that one gang member: 

...kept a record in notes of his dealings, including price lists and transactions, Lancashire Police said. He was also found to have researched and sent links to stories discussing county lines to his contacts. (Source: BBC)

Another member, a fellow who lived in the wonderfully named town of Leighton Buzzard, had videos that:

...showed him walking through [Blackpool], carrying a significant amount of cash, and rapping about his criminality. 

What a bunch of birdbrains! 

I always have to laugh when criminal enterprises are brought down by incriminating messages, searches, and videos found on cellphones. Tell me again why they're called smartphones?

This case, of course, has the added factor of the parrot - an innocent drawn into cahoots with the criminals solely for his excellent ability to parrot what his owner was saying. No word on who's taken custody of the unnamed parrot. Maybe someone who'll help him clean up his language. At minimum he should be squawking about wanting a cracker, not yacking about the price of crack.

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Image Source: BBC

FORE!

Well, today's an anniversary that we'd all just as soon forget. Such a terrible, terrible, day...

Sure, we have a lot of terrible, terrible days, and they seem to be coming faster and furious-er as time goes by. And an unsettling feeling settles over many of us that, while no one terrible day in the current string will ever surpass September 11, 2001 in terms of terrible-ness, in the aggregate the non-stop procession of terrible days may add up to something far worse.

So on occasion, we all need a vacation from the relentness awfulness. And today's mini-vacation is brought to you by the golf caddies of New Hampshire's Mountain View Grand Resort and Spa. 

These are not just any old caddies. No, at Mountain View, you can use a llama.

Llama caddies are nothing new. There are a couple of courses in North Carolina that have used them off and on for decades. But, in terms of resorting, the Carolina llama courses are johnny-come-latelies. One that I came across was founded in 1968. Another is an upstart dating from the early 1990's. You'd expect llamas or the like to draw attention to the flashy and nouveau. But Mountain View? It's one of those ancient (1860's, not 1960's) grande dame White Mountain getaways that has hosted all sorts of grandees:

Many former U.S. presidents have enjoyed the beauty and the hospitality of the resort, including Theodore Roosevelt, Grover Cleveland, Warren G. Harding, Calvin Coolidge, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Dwight D. Eisenhower, and Richard Nixon. Writers were often guests at the Mountain View House as well; the guest register has included Robert Frost, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Stephen King. Hollywood celebrities Betty Grable, Bette Davis, and all four Marx Brothers stayed here, as did luminaries such as Norman Rockwell, Babe Ruth, John D. Rockefeller and family, Lady Astor, and even the first man on the moon, Neil Armstrong. (Source: Mountain View Grand)

Maybe the Marx Brothers should have been a dead giveaway that Mountain View may not take itself all that seriously, but seriously, one does not expect a gimmick like llama caddies at an august spot like this one. 

But here we are. 

Lloyd VanHorn, Mountain View's GM felt things needed a bit of shaking up.

“Golf can be mistaken as being somewhat arrogant and unapproachable,” said Van Horn, who used to run a resort near Augusta National before trekking north a few years ago. (Source: Boston Globe)

Aha! I just knew this cockamamie idea was imported from someplace other than New England. That said, I cannot in a million, trillion years imagine a llama on the grounds of the august holy-of-holies that is Georgia's Augusta National, home to the Masters, which can out priss and out tradition anyplace in these parts. (VanHorn is a hospitality pro with quite a resume. Most of his work has been in the south, but he's also worked in NJ, NY, and VT.) 

Why llamas? There are pros and cons. 

Llamas cannot swing a club, so they can’t play with you. They don’t speak — they’ll grunt, bray, or cry — so they offer no course knowledge. But they are pack animals, American descendants of those who hauled gear and people through the Andes, so toting clubs is no sweat.

Not that I ever golfed or caddied, but I had close second hand knowledge of the caddie life, as my brothers both caddied at Tatnuck Country Club in Worcester, and my cousins both caddied at Woodland in Newton.

Caddying was hard and sweaty work, back when my relatives were doing it. (My brothers in the 60's and 70's, by cousins in the 50's and 60's.) Most golfers back in the day didn't use pull carts (kind of like a luggage carrier for a golfbag), let around sit on their arses and ride around in a gas-powered golf cart. No, they had caddies who carried the golfers' bags on their shoulders. A good day was when you got to caddie doubles - carrying two bags at once - and if you had a really good day, you got to go out twice (morning and afternoon) carrying doubles. Oh, sometimes the golfers were cheapskates and didn't tip. But it was a way to make money before you got old enough to work in real job say, loading stuff at a warehouse (one of my brother Rich's summer jobs) or riding on the back of a garbage truck, picking up trash (one of my cousin Bob's summer gigs).

A price that sticks in my mind is $3.50 for carrying doubles. This I recall from my brother Tom, which would place it in the late 1960's. I can't remember if that was per bag or for both.

Whatever it was, it was for 18 holes. And it was sweaty, tiring, and often aggravating work. (Some of the golfers were really pricks to the boys who caddied for them.)

Llama caddies cost just a tad bit more. 

$3.50 in the late 1960's is about $35 today. Mountain View llamas fetch $150 per round. And that may not even be for carrying doubles.

Anyway, thought we could all use a bit of cheer on this terrible day. Sounds like almost as much fun as goat yoga.

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I've written about 9/11 in the past. Here's my post from 2009, which is still, IMHO, worth a read. 

If you're taking a stroll around Webster, Mass, BOLO

As anyone who grew up in Worcester County knows, the honors for the longest name for any geographic whatever - mountain, canyon, river, lake - in the United States goes to Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg, which is mostly known as Webster Lake. 

The lake's name comes from the Algonquian language of the Nipmuc and is often said to mean, "Fishing Place at the Boundaries—Neutral Meeting Grounds". A more fitting translation is "lake divided by islands", according to anthropologist Ives Goddard. The most memorable translation, however, is supposedly: "You fish on your side; we fish on our side; nobody fish in the middle." (Source: Wikipedia) 

Other than the lake, there's not a lot to distinguish Webster, Massachusetts from dozens of other former milltowns in New England. But they've been in the news of late, thanks to a water monitor lizard named Goose, who went on the lam a couple of weeks ago. Goose is no tiny little lizard that you might keep in a terrarium in the kids' bedroom. No, Goose is five feet long, and could grow to eight. (I think I read that they're second only, lizard-size-wise, to Komodo dragons.)

On one of the news stations, I saw video of Goose making his escape, pushing out a second floor window screen of its home on Blueberry Lane, landing on the roof, and leaping to the ground. That was some leaping lizard is all I can say.

The cops were called in, but they were initially unsure just what they were looking for.

"I didn't even know what a water monitor was," [Webster Police Chief Michael] Shaw said. "When they told me that there was one lost up in Blueberry Hill, I thought it was person that was gotten lost checking water meters." (Source: Boston Globe)

No reason why Webster PD would be a familiar with water monitors. They're not exactly native to Massachusetts - they hail from Southeast Asia. But occasionally they're kept as pets. And occasionally they do escape or are "freed." (Probably when they grow in size to five feet or so.) Over the years, they've been spotted in the wild Arizona, California, Texas, and Florida. (You can't legally own one in Massachusetts, but since when does that stop anyone?)

Webster PD searched the area, and even brought the drones in. No dice. After a couple of days, the search was called off. Then, a week after Goose made his great escape, it was seen just over the Connecticut border. 

Although water monitors aren't supposed to be all that aggressive, and "are not known to attack humans or dogs/cats," they are venemous. And they do go after fish and critters in the wild. (A water monitor's gotta eat, you know.) If cornered, they might attack. So animal control is warning folks to not try to confront or capture Goose if they come across it.  

The federal Nonindigenous Aquatic Species index has this to say:

 "The potential impact of these huge, aggressive predators on indigenous wildlife almost certainly would be negative should they establish themselves," the index says, noting that "their size and aggressive behavior" could make them dangerous. But water monitors haven't established themselves anywhere in the U.S.

Since they haven't "established themselves anywhere in the U.S." it's unlikely that Goose will find a cadre of fellow water monitors with a colony it could join up with. Phew. Water monitor colonies are just what we don't need.

Meanwhile, the good citizens of Webster have been enjoying the notoriety:

One Webster resident, Pete Tarbox, has even taken to wearing, and kayaking in, a lizard onesie.

“I bought the manly lizard suit because of the buzz around town,” Tarbox told Boston.com. “I thought I’d add to the vibe.”

“I hope they find him safe and sound,” said Tarbox, who has been checking his property for signs of the lizard. (Source: boston.com)

I'm sure that the Websterites were all bummed to learn that Goose had migrated to Connecticut. Wherever Goose was, they had something to talk about other than their lake's long name. (And someone - a grownup someone - actually owns a lizard onesie? Not much doing in Webster, I guess.)

Goose, of course, might just have meandered back to Webster. So even with its wherabouts unknown, Websterites were no doubt strolling around Webster, Mass, or cooling off in Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg, remained BOLO. If you were swimming in the lake, imagine coming across a five-foot lizard? (On second thought, don't imagine it.)

As it turns out, Goose - perhaps missing the comforts of home, like 3 squares he didn't have to hunt and gather on his own - was found in early August back in Webster. Goose was not returned to his "owner," as ownersip of water monitors is illegal.

Goose is now living his best life in an animal refuge.

And the folks in Webster have a tale to tell that doesn't involve the tongue-twisting name of their lake.

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Image Source: Wikipedia

I can think of a lot worse ways to go

Last month, a small plane crashed near the Sugar Valley Airport in NC. The pilot and one passenger were killed. Another passenger was seriously injured. 

Small plane crashes are nothing new or rare. In late June, there was a particularly sad one in Beverly, Mass, when a 30 year old pilot - an aeronautical engineering PhD whose wife is expecting their first child in the fall - was killed when his plane crashed shortly after takeoff. 

Earlier in the year, a Massachusetts family was wiped out in another horrific small plane crash in Upstate NY. Two surgeon parents, their two young adult children, and the about-to-be-engaged partners of those children. 

Then there was the June Sugar Valley accident, which occurred because the pilot: 

...had lifted a wheel after landing to spare a turtle on the runway, the National Transportation Safety Board said in a preliminary report. (Source: NY Times)

A communications officer at the airport had let the pilot know that there was a turtle on the runway as the plane was preparing to land. 

The pilot landed but then lifted the Universal Stinson 108 plane’s right wheel to avoid the turtle.

The pilot then hit the throttle and try to take off again, but the take off was rocky. Just off the runway, the plane crashed and burned.

It was unclear whether the pilot’s decision to lift the tire to avoid the turtle caused the crash.

It sure sounds like things gang agley because the pilot was trying not to hit the turtle. 

Sure, the pilot could have been trying to avoid the turtle because he thought hitting it would knock his plane around. Or maybe, as I like to think, he didn't want to kill the poor creature. I like to think that his last act of life was one of sweetness, a split-second kindness that went wrong.

When those piloting small planes die, I tend to think that they died doing something they loved. Because anyone I've ever known who flies small planes - and I've known a few - absolutely loves flying. And there are worse ways to go than doing something you love. (Or course, this doesn't extend to the passengers who are just along for the ride.)

So sure, it may have been stupid to take a risk to spare a turtle who couldn't move fast enough to get out of the way, but I'm going to go with the pilot died doing something he loved - flying - and while trying to save the life of an animal.

I can think of a lot worse ways to go.

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Loose Lips Sink Ships

Honestly, I can almost, kinda sorta understand people who enjoy hunting. I'm by no means a vegetarian. It may not be my cup of tea, but if someone wants to shoot deer and ducks for home consumption, have at it. And if a hunter wants to go out and cull the herd, killing a few whatevers - deer, wild pigs - to help with wildlife managment. Well, that's fine, too. 

I'm less tolerant when it comes to big game hunting and/or those who go to those big game farms where they put the animal in front of the "hunter" and line up the shot for them, akin to shooting fish in a barrel. 

And when I see one of those big game hunters - looking at you, Don Jr. - sitting there grinning, resting on the carcass of a magnificent animal, maybe holding a tusk or tail, I'm truly nauseated. 

Those dens with the mounted heads of animals gracing the walls, a bear- or leopard-skin rug on the floor? Let's just say I' pretty sure I know who you voted for. Unless, of course, you've had them for, like, forever. After all, in my living room, I proudly display the steer horns that were once over the bar of Worcester's Rogers Brothers Saloon, which went out of biz with Prohibition. (I think that steer horns might have been something of a decorative thing back in the day. While Charles and James Rogers were originally farm boys, when they reached the age of reason they fled the farm town of Barre for the big city lights in Worcester. I don't imagine they roped the steer those horns came from themselves.)

The worst are those who illegally hunt for protected species. When it comes to them, I can't help but thinking WTF is wrong with you.  

Which leads me to a story I saw a few weeks back about a young couple who got nabbed for illegal hunting when, on a flight, they bragged to a couple of fellow passengers about their illegal hunting exploits. And those fellow passengers turned out to be wildlife officers. The officers weren't in uniform, but they did tell Byron Lee Fitzpatrick (24) and Shannon Lee Price (28) what their jobs were. 

Fitzpatrick and Price were apparently not aware that loose lips sink ships, so they kept yacking away about their hobbies.

Specifically, [they revealed] how they had once illegally hunted a mountain lion, and how they were smuggling the skull of an endangered turtle in their carry-on bag. (Source: NY Times)

Not content to brag about their own illegal hunting exploits, the couple went on to implicate the family member who'd gifted them with the sea turtle skull.

And they [also] showed the officers a video of a trophy room that belonged to Mr. Fitzpatrick’s uncle, Harry Vern Fitzpatrick, that had stuffed mountain lions, wolves and a wolverine on display.

When they got off the plane, the couple - after looking around to make sure there were no nosy TSA officers nearby - showed the wildlife officers their sea turtle skull. The sea turtle is:

...a federally listed endangered species that is illegal to possess and transport, according to the agency.

The officers figured that they had probable cause that there was some wildlife criming going on. Enough probably cause to look further into the hunting practices of Fitzpatrick and Price. So they got a search warrant, and: 

The day after the flight, officers arrived to execute a search warrant at the couple’s home in Chico, Calif., and found Mr. Fitzpatrick and Ms. Price processing a deer they had hunted illegally that day, the agency said...

Officers also found mountain lion claws, taxidermied animals including a ringtail cat and a barn owl, an illegally hunted spike buck and several illegally hunted deer with tagging violations, the agency said. Ringtail cats are a protected species in California, and mounted raptors like the barn owl are illegal to possess without state and federal permits. 

Fast forward a year, and Fitzpatrick and Price reached a plea agreement and were assessed fines and "put on one year of probation that bars them from hunting."

The fines were pretty modest - state fines of $1,865 for Fitzpatrick, $1,015 for Price, and $1,000 federal fines for each - but things didn't end with the loose-lipped couple. 

Remember the uncle whose trophy room video they'd shown to the officers?

Uncle Harry's home was searched and he ended up being fined $605 for violating state regulations and put on 6-month probation. 

Bet he was just thrilled that his nephew had ratted him out.

As part of the plea deals, all the contraband animals were forfeited by the defendants, the agency said.

Hah! 

Hah for now, anyway.

What do you want to bet that federal wildlife regulations will get DOGEd away, and that states with protections in place will be threatened with things like, say, the refusal of federal disaster aid, unless they shape up and do what Don Trumpleone wants them to do.

In the meantime, one can only hope that the young folks here - and maybe even near-geezer Uncle Harry - come to their senses and realize that hunting and otherwise messing with endangered species is a pretty low-life way to go.

On the other hand, I hope that these lunkheads don't ever wise up to the fact that sometimes loose lips do sink ships. If they've got more stupid and stupidly illegal things up their sleeves, that is...

That's the Woody Woodpecker Song

I don't imagine there are many Baby Boomers who didn't, at some point in their childhoods, use the Woody Woodpecker laugh. The online version of that laugh - which was the vamp to The Woody Woodpecker song - says that the laugh sounded like: Ho-ho-ho ho ho, ho-ho-ho ho ho.

But Woody's "ho" was not a hardy Santa Clausian "ho." It was more of a dirty laugh "ho", more like a "ha-ha-ha heh heh ha-ha-ha heh heh" kinda "ho." (Judge for yourself: Woody Woodpecker laugh.)

Imitating the Woody Woodpecker laugh served a dual purpose: it was just plain fun; and, as if just plain fun weren't enough, it was something that adults found ultra annoying. And Woody himself was a pretty annoying, abrasive character to begin with, so extra points for that.

Everyone loved Woody Woodpecker, and my sibs and I had a special fondness for him because there were woodpeckers in the woods next to our house, with plenty of wood to peck on. 

It's been a while since I gave woodpeckers in general, or Woody Woodpecker in particular, much thought. But then I saw a wonderful article in The Boston Globe that reported on a pileated woodpecker - the kind of woodpecker that Woody is - that's up to no good in the town of Rockport. 

Day after day, a pileated woodpecker has been smashing the side view mirrors on cars throughout the [Squam Hill] neighborhood. A rough count is about 20 mirrors, based on interviews with neighbors, but it’s hard to keep up because it’s still happening.

In one instance, the woodpecker cracked the windshield of a pickup truck while the driver was sitting inside. (Source: Boston Globe)

Residents are pushing their side mirrors in. They're swaddlng those mirrors in plastic bags and towels. This is no sweet little birdie they're dealing with. And there may be more than one of the avian miscreants out there. 

“This thing is huge, and it doesn’t sound like a normal bird, it sounds like a monkey in a tree,” said Devin Mock, who said he came out of his Squam Road house recently to find four of them on the windshield of his brother’s truck. “I’ve seen little woodpeckers before, but these suckers are gigantic.”

They may not exactly be gigantic, but pileated woodpeckers can run up to 19" long. (Tall?) Other types of woodpeckers, which are more common in Massachusetts than our feathered pileated friends, tend to be a lot smaller. (The pileated ones are roughly the size of crows while the other guys are closer in size to robins.)

Anyway, here's what/why is happening up in the quiet seaside town of Rockport, which is perhaps best known for being the location of Motif Number 1, a fishing shack that's been called the most often-painted building in America. As in painted by art students and amateur painters, not as in the walls are painted to keep the shack standing. 

...it is well-known that songbirds will mistake a reflection for a rival and attack, especially during spring mating season. And this is a bird-friendly neighborhood, with feeders everywhere and abutting the massive Dogtown Commons, a five-square-mile wooded conservation area that covers much of Rockport and Gloucester.

“It’s likely a single male bird, establishing territory, perhaps for the first time, and when they see a reflection in the mirror, they view it as a competitive male,” said John Herbert, the director of bird conservation at Mass Audubon. “And this is the time of the year when their hormones and testosterone are at peak levels for aggression.”

Turns out, most birds peck at windows. It's that the pileated woodpecker is big and macho enough to break glass. (Wild turkeys have been known to do the same in many Boston and suburban neighborhoods.) Unfortunately, there are still a few more weeks left to mating season. The upside, say the neighbors, is that they're all talking to each other about it.

Me? I'm just wondering whether the pileated woodpecker has a Woody Woodpecker laugh.

Ha-ha-ha heh heh, ha-ha-ha heh heh.