Skip to main content

A Baby as Big as a Very Offensive Guard

We thought it about time that the little tad came to terms with the natural world; not the snikes in our yard, nor the cacti, but the real natural world, red in tooth and claw, and stuffed to the gills with straw or styrofoam or whatever big game hunters and stuffers use to display their hormones.  There is a concrete-block castle full of such critters on the outskirts of Tucson.

"That big cat up there," Someone said, "was given to us by General George Washington, or Henrik Ibsen, or Somebody, who was just happy to get rid of it."  That is not quite what Someone said, but it was what I was thinking.

We did want Jao to get used to the size of some of the beasts he reads about, remembering how surprised he was at his first visit to the zoo, and how, when a chimpanzee howled, Jao headed for the next county.  The giraffe was his first test.  Even though the giraffe stood very still, it took a braver hunter than Jao to go first, but finally he scooted where he ought not to be taught to go:  under a giraffe.

He did not mind the mountain goat, or the hard-headed sheep, or whatever it was, because he had seen a real one a couple of times at the Arizona Sonora Desert Museum, where things move around all by themselves.  The big cats were a bit more of a problem, because they seemed to be frozen in permanent anger.  But as every couch potato knows, a couch is not just a cushion; it is a barrier between Let's Pretend and Reality.  The metal alligator with the huge mouth and teeth was not to be trusted, ever, and got a wide berth.

Once it was established that all of the beasts were very slow moving, and that some of them had really nice hair, the level of bravery rose noticeably.

We are talking about returning to the real world, probably pretty soon now; maybe the Desert Museum, maybe the Zoo.  They have a baby elephant at the Zoo, and it moves around all by itself.  Maybe we will try that next.  I think the concept of a 350 pound baby might be manageable now.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Friends-- My step-father of 35 years died this morning. His name was Conrad Royksund. He was 86 years old. He was born into poverty on a farm near Puyallup, WA. He was the first member of his family to attend college and earned a PhD from the University of Chicago. He paid his way through all of that by fishing in Alaska. He spent his professional career as a college professor. I met him when I was just 3 years old and don't actually have any memories of my life befor e he was in it. He was intimidatingly smart, funny as hell, and worked his ass off. He taught me to meet people with kindness and decency until I was certain they could not be trusted. He taught me to meet ideas with carving knives until I was certain they could. I will remember him as one of the bravest, most curious, and funniest people I have ever met. He left this world with a satisfied mind. We are so grateful. Dan Hubbard

That's all we want: fairness! Not more guns and more war! Fairness!

The five police officers who were killed in Dallas are certainly not the officers who killed innocent citizens. There is more than enough tragedy to go around. "What is happening to our country?", Mari asked this morning. I had no answer.  We do have an answer.  We do not want to say it. There are lots of answers, all of them pertinent. We are a racist society, like most human societies. We are a society in the midst of enormous changes-- social, political, economic--and we do not know what to do about it. We are divided unsustainably into absurdly rich, and an enormous number of crumbling middle class families, and poor. We have guns everywhere; military guns, guns just for killing people, cheap guns, heroes carrying guns into churches and supermarkets, idiots who think guns ought to be allowed in bars and schools and ball games and beauty parlors and political rallies. Our political process is almost useless. There are good people in Congress, but there...

On Watching a Formerly Sane Man Descend into Abject Religion

If you read the previous post, you know the apparatus, pictured here, is a torture machine. There are ten of them in our house, purportedly to circulate air to dry out all the problems caused by a water leak. We live in Tucson:  it has not rained in Tucson since the Gadsden Purchase. A mudslide the size of the one in Washington State could course through our neighborhood and it would be bone-dry and stone-hard before it quit moving. I suspect it is the CIA, and probably the Border Patrol! We are, after all, only about a hundred miles from the border. I fully expect a large suburban assault vehicle to pull up to the house, and for lots of people with UPPER CASE LETTERS on their shirts to interrogate us, and I will have to explain that all the drugs I use come from Walgreens and Total Wine. But it won't work.  Our minds are going. We are getting short with each other and, if they promise to turn off the fans, I will confess to having invented the Arab...