Moby Peck: Part I

Call me Britmael.  

I am going to tell you the tale of my stint as a sailor on the birding vessel, the Pecat, and the harrowing events that took place under the orders of its captain, Chubbs.

Captain Chubbs' reputation preceded him.  When I related my plans to join the crew of the Pecat to the other patrons of the Nantucket inn that I was visiting, I was met with surprise and horror.  

They were all "Dude, that guy's totally crazy-nuts.  Yeah, apparently he had his leg bitten off by Moby Peck -- the most fearsome owl in the skies -- and he's all consumed by his desire for revenge and stuff."

When I met the captain for the first time, his physical appearance matched the description I'd received from the inn patrons.  His left leg was missing and had been replaced by a prosthetic carved from a chicken bone. 

 He also had a crazy glint in his eye that hinted at his lust for revenge.

The crew of the Pecat was quickly assembled, and our voyage was underway...

Big Helping Bees: Redux

Thesis Break

In case there is anyone out there who cares, I'm not doing any posts this week.  I must begin the arduous process of writing my thesis!

Here is a gift unicorn:

Cats are Disgusting

My cats puke more than any animal should be able to and live.  Judging by the sheer volume of it that they lose in a "sitting," I feel like they should be dead.  How could a cat body hold that much fluid?  Sometimes the piles are as big as they are.  It doesn't seem logistically possible.

Another interesting thing about cats puking is that it doesn't seem to disturb them much.  As a human, if I puke my entire day is ruined, and there's nothing for it but to lay, shivering, on the couch for the rest of the day watching a Golden Girls marathon on Lifetime.

Not cats, though.  They just get it up, and get on their merry way.  They always eat right afterwards, too.  You'd never catch a human doing that.  I like to think they're cleansing their palates. Or, equally likely, their tummies are now empty and must be refilled.

Reinventing Yourself Doesn't Always Work Out in Reality the way it Does in Your Mind

Dangerous Dad

When my brothers and I were kids, our dad encouraged, and indeed led, many perilous activities.  This helped to foster in us a spirit of reckless abandon that led to many broken bones and a fierce independence.  There was, however, a line that he would not allow us to cross:



Whipping children, and young adults, through the snow on a sled tied to a 4-wheeler?

Catching us, and then allowing us to continue, chaining a grocery cart full of children to a bicycle (you know what happens next)?

Encouraging my little brothers to be maniacal heathens obsessed with fire?

Trampolines? 

Sleeping arrangements

In my mind, this is what I look like when I sleep:

But evidence suggests that I look more like this:

At least I know serial killers would be too afraid to mess with me.