Category: Animals

Goodbye, old pal.

We know the deal when we sign up: We will most likely have to say goodbye to them.

Such is the reality of dogs.

And we just said goodbye to one of the greatest dogs I have ever known, Maddux the Stoic.

Maddux had a rough start to his life. I feel no need to get into specifics of that, because his first two years of life were the exception. And I feel pretty confident to say his final decade was exceptional, and that’s what I prefer to focus on.

Maddux was a boxer. My wife had boxers growing up, and always told me she one day wanted another one. When the opportunity to rescue one presented itself, we took the plunge. And we never regretted one second.

When I say Maddux was special, I know what you are thinking. “Sure, Mike. All of our dogs are special.” And I agree. They are.

But Maddux had something I’ve never seen in a dog – he was loved by everyone he encountered. I can’t even remember the number of times people told us they would gladly take him off our hands for us. (No thanks, was the answer, by the way.)

His appeal came from a combination of things. He had a stately, strong appearance. But he was as friendly as could be. And not just friendly. He seemed to genuinely care about people. Unlike any other dog I have ever met, he seemed to know when someone needed a pick-me-up. If you were having a bad day, Maddux seemed to know. He would find you in your chair or on the couch and mosey up to you, and just set his head in your lap, occasionally putting a paw gently on you. He was just telling you he was there.

He seemed to sense if people weren’t dog people. On several occasions, he bridged gaps between people who either didn’t really have a thing for dogs or straight up had a fear of dogs. And he won them over with his gentle, soothing nature and his shared kindness. He was just … different.

Like many dogs, he was protective of his pack. But he was welcoming of strangers, assuming he sensed our approval. If workers were at the house, he would often sit near them. Our AC repairman was once working on our unit, and Maddux was sitting attentively next to him. I asked him if he needed me to move Maddux, and he replied, “No, he’s my assistant. We like to talk shop.”

But if my wife and I were not there? He was on guard. I remember one time my son called me at work. He was home alone, and the pest control guy was doing his routine backyard work. Maddux was standing at the door barking, making it clear no one was coming inside. We started noticing that if we were there and the pest control guy came over, Maddux loved to go and greet him and have a chat. But if we were gone, all focus was on protecting the pack.

In the end, however, as so often happens, his body failed him. His legs began to fail. His appetite began to wane. He could no longer walk up the stairs, and we had to carry him to and from bedtime. He and I could no longer do our nightly walks. It was clear he was hurting, and you could see it in his eyes.

On his final day, our daughter came over, and we spent the night as a family with Maddux, sharing fun stories about his antics and just remembering the better times. The next day, when it was time for his final vet appointment, our son carried him into the front yard. He laid down in the grass and soaked in the sun, one of his favorite things to do during healthier times. We sat with him as he soaked in the sun. He’d earned that.

Maddux went peacefully and transitioned to a place where he no longer hurts, and he can run and frolic and be his true self. I know he is gone, but I feel like he is still with us. I will miss him every day, but I am so thankful to have had him as a part of our family.

I will miss my walks with him. My kids will miss playing on the beach with him. My wife will miss how he would weasel his way onto the couch whenever she was sitting there so he could snuggle with her. We will simply miss his presence. And countless other things. But that is the deal when we sign up. And it was the best deal I’ve ever made.

Rest well, Big Fella.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

Adventures Animals

Feeding times

There is a thief in my midst. And I plan on catching him red-handed. Or, actually, probably, fur-pawed. But I will catch this thief.

I have five feeders set up in my yard. They are primarily squirrel feeders, despite the more common name of bird feeders.

For the past several years I have had a hard time getting birds to come around to my feeders. My first thought was the pair of nesting barred owls that we hear all of the time. And then my thought was, “Well, then why are there still squirrels?” To which I answered because squirrels can clearly spontaneously replicate, and an eliminating one makes two appear. It’s a never-ending battle.

But this year, I noticed the squirrels had been joined by a collection of birds. Nothing to exotic, but it’s been nice to see timouse, chickadees, cardinals and bluejays flitting about. We have seen some bluebirds in the neighborhood, so I’ve been putting out mealworms for them, as they supposedly love them. However, I have yet to lure any over, but I have found that the broad-headed skinks at my front porch really love them, and I have taken to feeding them on a regular basis. Generally, it takes about 10 seconds tops for one of them – usually Big Boy, Scar or Mama; yes, they have names, and your point?) to appear and chow down. (Click here to see video of Mama having a snack, and Big Boy running her off: https://vimeo.com/421790749)

I had been making sure to keep the feeders full, and even added a couple of suet stations. In a matter of a couple of days, two downy woodpeckers began to appear and peck away at the suet, and it has just occurred to me that I have not given names.

One day recently, after the suits were fairly depleted, I replaced them both as I refilled the feeders (after first feeding the skinks, of course). It was nearing dusk, so I knew it would probably be morning before the birds and squirrels hit the buffet.

The next morning, I awoke and went outside to enjoy my morning coffee. And I glanced over at one of the suets. Nothing there. Empty. Completely gone.

I hoped this was just a one-off, and vowed to replace the suet the next time I went to the store.

The next morning, I came out again for my morning coffee. I looked at the other suet holder. Empty as well. Two nights. Two thefts.

Now, I know how long the birds and squirrels take to work away some suet, so I know this is not their handiwork. And I have a fence around my yard, so it’s doubtful some wandered through my backyard and took it. You know what? If I DIDN’T have a fence around my yard I would be doubtful someone wandered through and took it, because that would be exceptionally weird.

So now I plan to catch the thief in the act. I have replaced the suet, and have also mounted a wildlife camera on the fence, facing directly at the suet. And when that thief returns and steals my suet again, well, I will have pictures, probably of a raccoon. But at least I will know for certain.

If the culprit is confirmed, I haven’t decided if I will leave it out overnight and continue to enjoy the visits, or bring the suet in each night and return it the next morning. That’s a decision to be made later, and one on which I will consult with a handful of my nature experts, as they are really into the outdoor feeding stations. Their names are Big Boy, Scar and Mama.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

Adventures Animals Childhood Family

Do go chasing waterfalls

As I stood at the base of the waterfall, the cool mist sprinkling over my face, I thought of the centuries of time that had passed as the waters flowed over these very rocks. I closed my eyes and reflected on the steady, relentless consistency of water, unfazed by time. And then I thought, “If I slip and fall here, I will have an incredibly bad day, as that water is really cold, there are lots of rocks out there, and my phone is in my pocket.”

Thanks, brain. Always there to drop a note of treacherous potential in the most serene moments.

I tried to flush the slipping concern out of my head and get back to enjoying the waterfall. I was there with my son, and he was busy crawling around on rocks with a flashlight, looking into crevices trying to find salamanders.

We were in North Carolina, where we had traveled for a couple of days to tromp around and look for salamanders and waterfalls. Yes, oddly specific.

My son loves finding critters, and keeps a “life list” of his animal finds. He is most proud of his reptile and amphibian list (current species total: a pretty impressive 145), and is always looking to expand that species count. He identified an area that is rich with salamanders, so we decided to set off to see what we could find.

We had a great time and found some wonderful waterfalls and super cool salamanders. But, of course, we also had some interactions with people. So, a few observations:

Why would anyone feel the need to yell at a waterfall? And I don’t mean yell while at a waterfall. I mean AT the waterfall. As in screaming directly to the waterfall to see if you could be louder than it. Yet, there they were, two college dudes, screaming. At a waterfall. They paused to share a laugh together.
We have discussed this previously, but if you’re gonna bag your dog business, you’ve entered into the contract. Don’t leave your bag on the trail.
Apparently people travel to western North Carolina for Valentine’s. Who knew. Originally, we were going to stay at a friend’s cabin. But we ended up meandering around and wound up fairly far away after sunset. We were exhausted, and just wanted to find a place to crash. And nearly every hotel near us was booked. After the third, “We’re full” I asked if there was a festival or something. The woman at the hotel said, “Uh, it’s Valentine’s weekend.” Oh. I guess that’s a thing. I know what you’re thinking – my wife is one lucky gal.
There is a particular restaurant near the hotel we stayed at that has some serious drama going on. My son and I sat at the bar and quickly learned we were at Ground Zero for all the things going on in that place. It’s as if we were invisible, and the entire staff was congregating to talk about everything going on at work. And it was complex. I was texting my wife updates throughout dinner, up to and including when “Erica is doing the thing she always does,” to which the whole crew rolled their eyes. That’s just so Erica.
If you hike near places that have rocks, can you please do this one simple thing: Don’t. Stack. Rocks. I know you think it’s harmless. But there are tons of critters that live under those rocks. Even the small rocks. You’d be a little bummed if you came home and found out some giant had stacked eight houses in your neighborhood on top of each other, in particular if one of those homes was yours. So, you know. Be cool. Leave their homes alone.

All in all, we had a great trip and saw lots of beautiful things over two days. I am looking forward to our next field trip, so we can get out there and really take in the serenity that nature provides us. And hopefully not slipping into a creek.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

Animals

Feeling squirrelly

I get that some people don’t like squirrels. They raid bird feeders. They gnaw on your house at times. And they scurry across your roof to make it sound like badgers are running across it.

But I try to give them my support.

I refer to my bird feeders simply as animal feeders. Whatever comes up there means the feeder has been a success.

I enjoy watching them chase each other in the backyard, zipping up and down trees and performing amazing acrobatic leaps.

And like any animal, if we find a squirrel in distress we will do our best to help it. Just a few weeks ago, my son was able to get a squirrel free that had gotten caught in some netting in a neighbor’s yard.

I consider myself to be a good friend to squirrels.

So why would they decide to straight up turn on me?

We noticed the problem a few months ago. The sound of the scurrying had intensified, and it sure sounded as if they were in our walls. And I treat animal issues much like I treat car issues. If there is a weird sound, I am very good at pretending not to have heard something in the hope that it will magically never happen again. My wife is not. And so it was especially bad timing when the scurrying occurred at the wall right at my wife’s back at dinner one night.

We decided we would inspect the house and see if we could find how they were getting in. My son and I went in the attic and found a little bit of gable screening had been peeled back. A few heavy duty staples later and problem solved.

OK, problem not solved.

The scurrying continued. Perhaps they were trapped inside the house now. I set live traps in the attic. Nothing.

I decided to walk around the outside of the house and see if I could find any possible way they could be getting in.

What I found is that these squirrels had gone from occasionally gnawing on a corner of the house here or there to straight up become giant furry termites. They had made a couple of giant entry points at both sides of the house, and if six of them wanted to go in side by side, there would be plenty of room.

We contacted a company to come out and give us an estimate on repairing the house (and further squirrel proof it). They came out to inspect the house, and at one point during the inspection, as we were looking up at one of the holes, a squirrel was kind enough to stick his head out, as if to say, “Yes, can I help you?”

The company that came out to give us an estimate clearly sensed how kind we had been to animals all of these years, and offered to do the repairs for free!

Yeah, not at all true.

But what is true: For the next six Christmases, my kids get squirrel home repair for a gift.

Once the squirrels are fully evicted and their mode of entry is permanently eliminated, I will get back to enjoying them again. I hope.

I will still try to enjoy their chase games. I will not shoo them from our feeders. And I of course will help an injured or trapped one if I could.

But don’t come back in my house again. Even I won’t ignore the sound next time.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike or at www.mikeslife.us.

Adventures Animals Childhood Family

Bee careful

My father has beehives. He got into beekeeping a few years ago, and he and my brother-in-law are the expert stewards of the hives.

The bees provide delicious honey, and are also really interesting critters to watch go about their daily bee lives.

Recently, we were in town and decided to go out and check out the bees. Normally, the bees are rather chill and you can walk right up to the hives and watch them come and go. But when the hives are being opened and the bees are being disturbed, it’s pretty much game on, and if you don’t want to be stung, keep a good distance.

My brother-in-law, Keith, had donned his beekeeping suit, and my son was going to be his assistant for this day. Parker suited up, and they approached the hives.

I stood back about 20 feet, as I have been there before when they check on the hives and stood closer, and let me tell you – that did not end well. My wife opted to watch the bee check-up from our car. As she said, “I know where they can’t sting me.”

The beekeeping was going well, and I was situated a good distance away watching them assess the hives. And then it became clear something had gone south. Mainly, this was because Parker said, and I think this is a direct quote, “AHHHHHHHHHHH!”

He began sprinting toward me, peeling off his beekeeper gear as fast as he could. “IT’S IN MY HAT!!!!” he screamed, as he tore off the protective top and the hat.

Fun fact about bees: they do not give up on a fight. Parker was out of the suit, but several bees were still coming after him. He began sprinting away from the hive, hoping to outrun the stings. He outran most of them, but logged about five stings on his head and neck from when the bee was in his hat.

I went back to retrieve the shed bee gear. The gloves and shirt were clear of bees. I picked up the hat, and saw a bee was still clinging to the mesh face protecting part. Figuring this bee would want to go home to his hive, I turned the hat inside out and gave it a few good shakes to free the bee. Turns out, he did not like that. And he blamed me.

So the next thing my wife saw from the safety of our car was me sprinting past her and the car, a beekeeping shirt being twirled like a helicopter blade over my head like crazy to try and keep the bee away from my head.

Once I was free and clear of any bee attacks, I went back to the bees (but in the safe zone), and Keith and I agreed our work here was done. I hopped in the car to head out. I lauded my wife on her wise choice at staying in the car.

And we drove about 100 yards when a heard a big BZZZZZZZZZZ in my ear. I swatted at my head, and a bee that had apparently been secretly riding with me presented itself, and proceed to fly towards the windshield. My wife was not exactly thrilled.

I stopped the car and told my to get out of the car. She did. Not my best call.

She stepped out of the car and plopped her foot firmly in a fire ant nest that was covered in sandspurs. She said … well, she conveyed that she was not cool with this current situation. I grabbed a plastic bag that was in the car and managed to use it to shoo the bee out of the car. All the while my wife was trying to delicately get fire ants off of her foot without being stabbed by sandspurs.

We eventually made it out with no more bees riding shotgun and no fire ants hanging on my wife’s foot, and eventually picked off all of the sandspurs.

It’s a small price to pay for being able to watch these amazing creatures and to enjoy their delicious honey. But next time we go check them, just a hunch my wife will let us do it without her.

Animals Childhood Family

Reality bites

Some might say that when you go actively looking for snakes, you probably shouldn’t be surprised when you get bitten by a venomous one.

Well, believe it or not, it’s actually more surprising than you would think.

The favorite hobby my son and I share is looking for snakes in the wild. My father is a herpetologist, and I have been doing this since I was a child. My son has followed that pattern. We love to get out and tromp in the woods and look for any and all critters.

And therein lies the surprise when my son called me while he was hiking with a friend and told me had been bitten. We are always looking for them. And we NEVER handle the venomous ones. Ever. That’s a rule. There is no need. We are out in nature to enjoy the amazing creatures, and unnecessarily handling a venomous snake it just asking for trouble.

I was heading out of my neighborhood on the way to the store when my son called. He had some panic in his voice. “Dad, I just gotten bitten by a cottonmouth.” I knew his general vicinity, a large park with miles of hiking trails. He told me which trail he was closest to. We settled on a rendezvous point which we could both get to in a matter of minutes.

I hung up and called home. My wife answered. I said, “Parker’s been bitten by a cottonmouth. I’ll meet you at the ER.” I’m not even sure if she said a word or just used her mom superpowers to immediately transfer herself into her car.

By the time I got there, he was hobbling up the trail, his friend helping him. I could see the puncture marks on his ankle, and his leg was beginning to swell. It was clear he was in tremendous pain. He told me that he had been in some water about calf deep (not an uncommon thing for us at all). He went to step out of the water and planted his foot on a cottonmouth that he did not see. The snake responded as was its snakey right. I imagine if something that much bigger than me stepped on my back I would not be happy either.

I arrived at the hospital a few minutes later and my wife was only moments behind us. Fun fact: Want to go straight through the ER and back into a room without even stopping to fill out paperwork first? Get bitten by a snake!

We were told that he would most likely have to be given antivenin (starting with four vials), which had to be given within eight hours of the bite. Having familiarity with snakes, I have seen many stories about the cost of antivenin. I asked the doctor how much a vial cost. He looked at me with a curious look. Perhaps he thought I was going to say, “Whoa, that seems a little steep. His leg isn’t THAT valuable.” I was not. I was just bracing myself.

We eventually had to transfer him to a different hospital, as the ER closest to us does not admit patients under 18 for an overnight stay, which he was going to have. In short order, we were transferred to a children’s hospital. Fun fact: A children’s hospital ER on a Saturday night is a super fun place to hang out! It’s heartbreaking to see little ones coming in throughout the night with various ailments and injuries. The folks who man those units and tend to the kids coming in are truly angels who walk among us.

Around midnight he was given the antivenin. The person administering informed him that this was a one-time treatment, and did NOT give him immunity for future bites. I can only assume that disclaimer has to be stated for a very good reason by someone who had previously been given antivenin. (“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU FIGURED YOU COULD LET THEM BITE YOU NOW!?!?!?!?”)

He spent two nights in the hospital, the final 24 hours so they could monitor blood work and make sure his numbers stayed good. (I say “numbers” because that seems to be a good catchall to kinda sound medically smart but without having to actually try and nail medical terms that I may botch.)

When we left the hospital, his leg was still plenty swollen and he had to walk with crutches, which he would use for several days after.

He’s back on the mend now, and has even gone back out in the field. Yes, looking for snakes. I know snakes are not exactly beloved by many folks. But they are still loved by us. I value their role in the ecosystem and am fascinated by their mere existence. I will forever be a defender of snakes (and all critters out in nature). Yes, even the one that bit my son. We moved into their neighborhood, and we should respect them. After all, snakes have made it pretty clear: “Don’t tread on me.”

Animals Childhood Family

Praising Arizona

Thirty years ago, I went with my dad on a week-long trip to Arizona. It was one of the most amazing trips of my childhood. My dad is a biologist, and we focused on seeing all kinds of amazing critters – rattlesnakes, roadrunners and coyotes, oh my. It was a constant adventure and discovery after discovery.

Fast forward to today. My son has a thirst for adventure and discovery just as I did at that age. He loves going out in the woods tromping around with his Grampa, discovering new and exciting things. And, just between you and me, he was probably pretty much tired of hearing just how great that Arizona trip was three decades ago.

So when the chance to go back to Arizona and tromp again – with my dad and my son – presented itself, I immediately said, “Nah, I’ve got some shows I need to watch that week.”

I kid, of course. When I told my son we were going to go out to Arizona, he was just a smidge excited. I believe his exact response was, “WHAT? REALLY? SERIOUSLY?”

Prior to leaving, I told him there were two things we would be amazed at: the terrain and the weather. He had never been out west, so he had never seen what a desert looked like. He had also never felt that kind of heat. And yes, it’s a dry heat. So is your oven.

On our flight out, we had a layover in Dallas. About 20 minutes west of Dallas, my son was staring out the window, as the terrain turned to a barren, Martian-like view. It was awesome watching my son see a part of the earth that he knew existed but he had never seen for himself.

When we touched down in Tucson, my son started seeing Saguaro cactuses from the window of the plane. He was very excited by those. I assured him he would see more. Many more. He also experienced his first Arizona heat shortly after landing. He concurs. It’s a different kind of hot.

After several days in the desert, we had checked off a lot of bucket list boxes:

rattlesnakes, lizards, roadrunners, In-N-Out Burger. After about three days, pretty much the only thing my son hadn’t seen that was on his bucket list was a Gila monster. For those of you not familiar with a Gila monster, they are a venomous lizard and they look cool as all get out. But even if we didn’t find one, the trip had been amazing as we had found so much other stuff.

On our last night, my dad, son and I took a night hike through a canyon near us. There was enough moonlight that we could walk the rocky trail without flashlights. Occasionally during the hike, my dad and I would stop and sit on a rock as my son explored crevices looking for critters. My dad and I looked at the stars and talked about the night sky. We talked about how cowboys must have seen the terrain 200 years ago, and what their horses must have thought. If you have the chance to sit on a rock in the desert and talk about this kinda stuff with your dad, please do. I know how fortunate I am, and I don’t want anyone else to miss that chance.

Eventually, we turned our lights on. And we found a couple of rattlesnakes that were making their way, just doing their thing. At one point, I found one, and said, “I got one!” When my son came back to where I was, he said, “Dad! I thought you’d found a Gila monster!”

As we were finishing up the final 100 yards or so of our multi-mile hike, we

noticed something in the bushes, about a foot to our left. And there it was.

A Gila monster. My son took roughly a bajillon pictures of it. Another hiking group came up the trail and they were excited to get to see one, too. I stood back with my dad, watching my son, his grandson show the hiking group where the big lizard was. It was dark, but I’m pretty sure my dad had as big a smile as I did. I

wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else with my son. Or my dad. But the three of us together? Yeah, I’ll take that.

So, in short – Good trip? Nope. Great trip.

Adventures Animals Childhood Family Food

Gone fishin’ (and eatin’)

Post author By Mike Gibbons
Post date December 9, 2018
No Comments on Gone fishin’ (and eatin’)

My son loves to fish. Loves, loves, loves to fish. If I gave him the option of having a roof over his head or fishing, it’s pretty much time to tell him goodbye.

He fishes in the morning. He fishes in the afternoon. On plenty of occasions I have called him and said, “Dude, it’s dark. How are you still fishing.”

His usual response: “Yeah, I’m packing up and will…WAIT – BITE! GOTTA GO!”

We rarely keep what he catches. Part of that is that a lot of the fishing he does is around the lakes and ponds near our neighborhood, and I prefer my fresh fish not to be marinated in a brine of lawn chemicals and road runoff.

Another reason, however, is that cleaning a fish is a lengthy investment. It’s messy, it takes a good bit of time, and it kinda smells like fish.

But every once in a while, you want to be able to catch your supper. My son had done some research online and found a new pier he wanted to fish. He was positive he was going to catch dinner. I reminded him that, should he catch dinner, he and he alone was in charge of cleaning it. He made it very clear that no one else was invited to take part in cleaning said future catch, as it was his catch, his clean. Fishermen are a prideful lot.

My daughter was home from college and she came with us to the pier. She likes to fish on occasion, but is more of a stand-by-the-rod-and-Snapchat kinda fisherperson. If she catches something, great. If not, at least there was Snapchat.

After an hour he had a few nibbles here and there. I told him we were getting close to needing to pack up, and he offered his usual closing offer, “Five most casts?” Which means 15-20 more casts, because, you know, almost got a bite on that last one…

He cast one here and there and then BOOM! His line dove. He sprung into offense, grabbing his pole and positioning himself in the perfect fishing stance, which I say because I have no idea what the perfect fishing stance is, but good chance you don’t either, so we can just go with whatever stance our mind’s eye finds appropriate.

After fighting for a few minutes, the fish broke the surface. It was a sheepshead, a beautiful black and white fish that hangs out around pier pylons. It took a few more minutes, but he pulled it in, and he measured it to ensure it was the appropriate size for a keeper. It was well within the range. Dinner time!

When we got home, my son set to cleaning the fish. Because this is 2018, he first spent about 30 minutes on the couch watching YouTube videos on how to clean sheepshead. The internet is really something.

While my son was on fish duty, my daughter and I went into the other essential component of a fish fry – hushpuppies. We had the hushpuppy mix and read the directions on the side. It said we could either use a deep fryer or bake them in the oven. I asked my daughter which we should do. “What kind of question is that?” she said. Deep fryer it is.

My son soon had the fish cleaned and ready to be dipped in a batter. My daughter tended the hushpuppies on the back deck (I learned early on that deep fryers are an outside game, lest you want your house to smell like a Waffle House for a week; I love a Waffle House, but I don’t want to live in one). Oh, the perfect fish fry was on its way.

In short order, we were loving friend sheepshead and hushpuppies. My wife is not a big fan of fried food, so she politely tasted and then went back to some spinach concoction she created for herself. But the other three of us wolfed down our health food dinner, and enjoyed every fried minute of it. Not sure when we will try and catch dinner again, but I am sure it will be before we know it. And, whatever he hauls in for the catch I’m sure will be a perfect meal for the evening. Thank goodness the internet is there to tell him how to prepare it.

Adventures Animals Family

It’s all about time

When it comes to punctuality, I have long subscribed to the old adage of “Early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable.”

This is often a difficult trait to have, especially in my family. My daughter is always on time for school or work, but apparently uses all of that on-timeness there, as she is constantly the last one ready for any family social event. This is something we should have known would be commonplace when my wife was pregnant some 18 years ago and she went in to be induced in late July. Hey, you know how when women get induced they have a baby shortly thereafter? Yeah, not in this case. Our daughter arrived 11 days later, foreshadowing a lifetime of getting to family events on her time schedule.

Our son is not so much late as indifferent to time. Early. Late. On time. Whatever. As long as there is some time for fishing prior.

My wife is rarely late for anything, but has that knack for getting places just in time, which for someone like me is sooooo much fun. There is a reason the most frequent phrase my wife says to me is “Relax. We’re fine.”

That said, I do understand that there are times when you are late for reasons beyond your control. I’ve had a flat tire on my way to work. I’ve been stopped by a train that, by my estimate, was 800 billion cars long and moving at one foot per hour. And, like everyone, I’ve been derailed by having to rescue a possum.

What, you haven’t?

It happened a few years ago, when I was taking my son to camp. I don’t remember how old he was, but I know he was still young enough to have been in the backseat. I know this because I remember having room in the front for a possum.

We were pulling out of our neighborhood when I saw a guy on the side of the road. He was standing next to a live mammal trap, which held an incredibly unhappy possum. Granted, that adjective is probably unnecessary, as I have met quite a few possums in my day, and I have yet to meet a happy one.

I pulled off on the side of the road, and engaged the gentleman. He and the possum were having a disagreement of sorts, and he did not want the possum to have the ability to return to his place. After a brief discussion, I convinced the man to give me custody of the possum, and I agreed to take it and release it far away so the two would never cross paths again.

I went back home and got a pet carrier and in short order had the possum secured and in the front seat. I am fairly certain the man who had trapped the possum has questions about me to this day.

My son and I drove to some remote woods and released the possum. It scampered off into the woods, and, most likely, used its possum-honing skills and made it way back to the nearest highway, as is the possum way.

We were about 30 minutes late to summer camp that day, and my son did get to share a great reason for his late entrance by bouncing in shouting, “WE RESCUED A POSSUM!!!” Granted, several folks did ask what in the world possessed me to pull over and haggle with a stranger over a possum.

And, yes, one of those people was my wife. Granted, she’d have done the same thing. But somehow, she’d have done it, released the possum, and still made it to camp on time.

Adventures Animals Childhood Family Vacation

Road trip!

I have recently completed a road trip with my kids, and I can safely say it included the perfect amount of buffalo slobber.

This road trip was done over their spring break, and we set off on a whirlwind tour of roadside attractions and off-the-beaten path adventures, which is really the only way to spend spring break.

It was just the kids and me, as we realized too far into the drive that we had left my wife back home. Either that or she was in Omaha on a business trip. I can’t remember.

Our first stop was the Wild Animal Safari in Pine Mountain, Ga. As is often the case, I didn’t tell the kids where we going, as I love to see the looks on their faces when we arrive at a destination. The Wild Animal Safari is just what the name says. You drive your car through this great big rolling field, and feed buffalo and Texas longhorns and wildebeests as they mosey up to your car and occasionally stick their giant heads in through the window. Fun fact: buffalo have horrible breath AND copious amount of slobber, some of which was distributed into the car interior and my kids courtesy of a well-timed sneeze.

After the safari, our next stop was the Little White House, the retreat for Franklin Delano Roosevelt. At the entry, there is an FDR mannequin in a wheelchair, complete with his dog Fala. Neat, we thought. When we got to the actual house, there was another mannequin in a wheelchair on the front porch. And then the mannequin lifted his hand and started perusing the brochure he was holding, because it was actually an older gentlemen (who sat remarkably still) waiting for his family to finish the tour.

Our next stop was at the Lunch Box Museum in Columbus, Ga., which is, without a doubt, the single greatest museum ever created. With thousands of lunch boxes on display, it is an amazing walk down memory lane, especially if you’re a child of the 70s or 80s. Happy Days, ALF, Six Million Dollar Man, Holly Hobbie. You name it, chances are it was there. There was also one lunchbox that featured “The Exciting World of Metrics,” apparently designed for the kid who wanted the Fast Pass to an awful elementary school existence.

The next day we made our way to Macon, Ga., where we stopped at a place

called Reboot Retrocade and Bar, which has dozens of old-time arcade video games and pinball machines, each costing just a quarter. Draft beer and some Galaga on a Tuesday afternoon? Don’t mind if I do.

Fortunately, kids are allowed in the bar in the afternoon, so mine were able to experience life in an 80s arcade. Minus the draft beer, of course.

Our final stop was at the Museum of Aviation in Warner Robins, Ga. If you’re ever passing through, I highly recommend you stop in and walk through the history of aviation and see some amazing aircraft, including an SR-71 Blackbird, which may be the coolest plane ever built. I’m talking Six Million Dollar Man mailbox level cool.

We hit a few other spots along the way, sometimes just pulling off on the side of the road because we saw something interesting, such as an abandoned football stadium or a hunting and fishing store called The Funky Skunk. We also caught up with some old friends along the way, which is always a treat.

Upon arriving home, we all agreed it was a quirky and cool road trip, the kind we love to embark on. Maybe next time we can remember to take my wife.