Large Fierce Mammal

This is a whole Blue Jay

Everybody’s heard this riddle

Q: What’s worse than finding a worm in your apple?
A: Finding half a worm.

Many years ago I was driving through the Annapolis Valley on a beautiful late summer day. In the car with me were my ex- wife (front passenger seat), her mother (rear right seat), and her mother’s boyfriend (rear left seat). Everybody had expressed an interest in stopping for lunch so I declared that we would stop at the next eatery we found.

I forget where we were exactly, but the road was straight with flat fields on both sides, and I was tooling along at about 90 km/h with all the windows down.

In the field to my right was a solitary tree. As we drew nearer I saw something detach itself from the tree and propel itself with amazing speed in the direction of the highway. As my vehicle converged with the object, it first resolved itself into a medium sized bird before becoming identifiable as a Blue Jay. I judged that we were not on a collision course if the Jay maintained its path, pulled up, or did anything but what it actually did.

I forget the name of the German general who spoke the words, but it was once said, “You will usually find that the enemy has two courses of action open to him, and of these he will choose the third.” The Jay maintained altitude level with the cab of my car until the last moment and then broke into a tight left turn that terminated on the door post separating the front and rear windows on the right side of the car.

Yeah, kind of like that.

There was an amazingly solid THUD as the Jay struck, and then there was blood everywhere I could see in my rear view mirror. I stopped as quickly as I could and turned around to inspect the carnage. Both back seat passengers looked like extras from Carrie, seemingly spray painted with blood. The Jay had broken in two on impact — one half zipping through the space between the backs of the front seats and the faces of the passengers behind, missing everybody, and going straight out the left rear window. The other had passed between the heads of the two back seaters and landed on the deck under the rear window. To make the experience exceptionally cool, both pieces geysered blood and organs all the way through leaving my ex-mother in law’s boyfriend with what appeared to be a segment of intestine dangling from the end of his nose.

Besides the Blue Jay, nobody else was hurt, and I stopped at a gas station so the victims could clean up. No one in the front seat was even touched by a drop of gore, and even though I was still hungry I couldn’t get anyone to express interest in the food they were so desperate for only minutes before.

If there’s one memory my ex-wife still carries about her time with me, I hope this is it.

You never know who’s watching. Readers please note that, while certainly not innocent, the raven in this picture was in no way implicated in the sordid tale that follows.

One day in the summer of 2000, while I was on duty working police/fire dispatch in Lunenburg, I received a call from a tourist who was at one of the waterfront restaurants wanting to report that his credit card had been snatched from his hand while he was seated by the rail on the restaurant’s outside deck. He also reported that he still had the thief in sight. The tone of his voice sounded like a combination of concern and embarrassment, and as the conversation progressed, here’s the story that came out.

For background, the caller and his wife were visiting from the US and had been eating lunch at the Dockside Restaurant. You enter the restaurant from the street and walk to the back that faces onto the harbour where the deck is located. The building sits on a hill so the deck is on the second floor at that side, overlooking the street that parallels the harbour. On the other side of the street is the parking lot for the Fisheries Museum of the Atlantic.

A view of the crime scene. The culprit landed on the peak of the rightmost of the red buildings visible in this photo. The victims were seated on the deck of the white building to the right of that.

The couple had eaten their lunch, received the bill, and were waiting for the waitress to return so they could pay. The caller had pulled out his credit card (platinum) and was holding it between his index and middle fingers as he talked to his wife, apparently turning it back and forth. The sun was reflecting off the card and, unknown to our hero, it was attracting some unwanted attention from the perpetrator.

The couple were seated at a table near the railing closest to the street. Without warning, what he described as, “… the biggest fucking raven I’ve ever seen in my life”, landed on the railing, fixed him with one eye in that way that only ravens can, plucked the credit card from between his fingers, gave him one more look, and flew off. It landed on the peak of one of the museum buildings where he could see the flash from the card as the raven enjoyed playing with its shiny new prize. As I was speaking to the complainant, the bird flew off out of sight, and I assisted him in cancelling the card.

Several pigeons were questioned as well as some crows, but the conclusion was reached that the raven was some hooligan from out of town. As of this date the credit card has not been recovered.

The “memento mori” (reminder of mortality) was a curious photographic phenomenon popular in 19th century North America. You never looked better! (Credit: Erin Zingré, Likeness – Early Postmortem Photography and the Pornography of Death)

About 15 years ago, one of my medical alarm clients dropped her panic button in her toilet. She fished it out right away, but in trying to wash it off, water penetrated the casing and caused an alarm. After the dust settled, and she told me what had happened, I went to her residence to take whatever corrective action was necessary.

After dismantling the device (these were the old days, electronically speaking) and thoroughly blowing out the small amount of visible water with compressed air, I asked the client if she had a hair dryer I could use to be certain that all traces of water had been removed. She said she didn’t have one herself, but that she was sure her neighbour had one we could borrow.

My client lived on the second floor of a senior citizens’ apartment building in Lunenburg, and her neighbour lived directly across the hall. Just before I went to speak with her, my client whispered, “She’s as dippy as the day is long, but she’ll do anything for you.”

Taking that for what it was worth, I was soon standing in the neighbour’s foyer while she rummaged in closets trying to find the hair dryer she obviously hadn’t used in years. Her search technique was amazing to watch. She would throw open a cupboard, a closet, or a drawer and root through the objects therein, sometimes pulling something out that wasn’t a hair dryer, and then tear past me on her way to the next target. As she passed, she would thrust the object into my hands with a breathless, “Look at this!” If she didn’t have a new curiosity on her next pass, she would make a comment on the one I was currently holding.

As her search neared its climax, she came by and passed me a black and white photograph of a man. Although it was in a modern frame, the photo was obviously very old. The gaunt man was seated in a wooden chair. His face was sunken at the cheeks. One eye was open, the other half shut; both eyes looked in different directions. He was wearing a dark suit that was more than a little rumpled. One side of his shirt collar was up, the other down, and his tie was askew. He didn’t look in the least comfortable.

As I studied the picture, there came a crow of success from the end of the hall followed by the neighbour’s triumphant approach with hair dryer held on high. As I relieved her of her cargo and handed her the picture, she said with obvious pride, “Isn’t that a wonderful picture?”

I had to admit I’d never seen anything like it.

“That’s my grandfather,” she said, “He was dead when we took this.”

“Hello Doctor? It’s been three weeks and I still haven’t heard back about my x-rays. I still get the headaches, and they seem to get worse when I walk through low doorways.”

The family doctor I had known since my junior high school days retired in 2001, and even though I am no longer a patient of his he is still a client of mine. He recently phoned me with a question about his security system that I handled in my usual highly efficient and professional manner.

The sad thing about it all was that, hearing his voice, and mindful of how far down the road to ruin we’ve gone in this country, the first thing I thought was, “Great! He finally got the results back on those tests!”

We all know the scenario. You go to your doctor for some reason and they schedule blood work, x- ray, you name it. Some sort of diagnostic test. As they pass you the requisition, they speak some version of, “If the tests come back negative, we won’t call you.”

Speaking as one with a not insignificant amount of training and experience in the field of emergency communications, I have a hard time accepting a situation in which it becomes impossible to tell the difference between “all clear” and “oh shit, I forgot”. At what point did the simple concept of closure leave the profession of medicine?

My late father was of the mind that, if the doctor didn’t tell you you had a problem, then you were good to go. Don’t feel you’re being rude by following up on your own health. We all respect the fact that a doctor’s office is a busy place staffed by overworked and harried people, but all that pales in comparison with the possibly life changing consequences of an illness being left to advance untreated or, worse yet, the unmitigated inconvenience of being dead, all due to an administrative oversight.

Self reliance is a virtue. Don’t play “Mother may I?” with your health or that of those you love. Curiosity may have allegedly killed the cat, but we’re still waiting on the results of the study that identifies the health risks of excessive politeness and blind deference to authority.

How a woman accessorizes for her date with you will often give subtle hints as to your chance of getting lucky as opposed to gelded.

I recently came across an advice article entitled “Everyone wants to know how to read the sexual body language.” You can read the entire article here.

After reading it twice and letting the laughter subside, I felt compelled, as your security and survival professional, to comment on its contents. For clarity, I am quoting items from the article inside of blockquote bars with my comments following each. Here we go: (more…)

Today Diana and I celebrate our anniversary so I’m directing all my creative efforts in her direction. Tomorrow we’ll return to normal programming. Enjoy what’s left of the day.

Yes, that’s Sean Connery. There has been no Photo-Shopping of any kind on my end, and if Diana had done it he’d be naked so I’d say no. No Photo-Shopping of any kind.

In 1974, Sir Sean Connery was in an incredibly shitty movie (“starred in” would be a bit extreme) called “Zardoz”. This post bears a picture from that film of Sir Sean in his man diaper (later refined and brought to perfection by Borat) brandishing his .455 Webley revolver. It’s a big gun and I don’t see a holster. I saw the movie, but can’t remember where he put it when it wasn’t in his hand. Sorry. I won’t even comment on the boots although I would pay to hear what he said when first approached with this costume.

Forget about James Bond, take a good look at the photo, then consider that Sir Sean has starred in a number of incredible movies since “Zardoz”. In fact I recently read that Catherine Zeta-Jones has “… a derriere as tight as Sean Connery’s smirk ….”. That puts Sir Sean’s smirk in some good company indeed let me tell you.

In 1989 Sir Sean was voted People Magazine’s “sexiest man alive”. Even more, in 2000 he was knighted by The Queen, which is why I keep calling him “Sir Sean”.

So the next time you think you’ve been embarrassed to death and can never show your face in public again, revisit this picture and soldier on.

Rural Nova Scotia has spawned some strange ditties.

One of the summer jobs I had while attending university was as night watchman at what was then called the “Adult Residential Centre” at Dayspring, Lunenburg County. A vast and rambling structure known locally as “the poor farm”, the ARC dated from darker times when the mentally ill and the destitute, unwed mothers cast off by their families as irretrievably soiled and disgraced, the malformed and the mutated, as well as those who were then referred to as “mentally retarded”, were thrown together under the care of the state. Before the pharmaceutical industry gave us drugs to lock up the mind, physical restraint was the norm, and the building contained a basement and several attics full of thick walled spartan cells complete with heavy rings set at convenient locations on walls and floor. Most of the building was demolished when what is now LaHave Manor was built, absorbing staff and “residents”. What’s left of the old structure is the two sections at its furthest extremities, now employed as offices and meeting spaces by the Municipality of the District of Lunenburg as the Municipal Activity and Recreation Centre or MARC, and an almost forgotten cemetery on the summit of the hill behind.

On one ward that housed most of the lighter needs cases lived an old guy named Albert who was as spry as anything but crazy as a coot. Lovable though, and he’d sing for you, with very little encouragement, a strange ditty I’ve never heard anywhere else. It went like this:

I went to the store to buy a jum,
Knocked on the door but nobody come!
Oh he smashed through the window
And he broke through the glass,
Down came old Jesus slidin’ on his ass!

Never mind what the hell a “jum” is. Albert was from somewhere way out in the woods and singing this never failed to break him up.

Now rewind slightly to the early seventies while I was still in high school and my mother worked at Lunenburg’s Harbour View Haven home for special care. Every Sunday, one of the local clergymen, a different reverend each week, would rotate through conducting services for the residents. At this time, a tiny birdlike toothless crone the staff referred to as “Nanny” kind of fitted the same mold as Albert, only less spry. She needed help to get around. She also had an entertaining way of eating the hard candies she liked that kind of looked like she was trying to swallow her own head as she sucked them into oblivion.

Now Nanny had a ditty of her own, and an interesting sense of timing. One Sunday, while seated with her thin white hair fluffily quoifed amid the flock attending the weekly service, she found herself still bursting with song as the hymn that was being sung ended. So into the silence that briefly existed between the end of the hymn and the start of the sermon she dropped this gem:

Asshole asshole,
Daddy shot a bear!
Shot him up the asshole,
Never touched a hair!

With all due respect to the clergyman of the day, I don’t know how you follow an act like that.

For your edification dear readers, this is a selection of words of wisdom, presented in no particular order, that have stuck to me along the way.

No snowflake ever falls in the wrong place. ~ Zen saying

If your anger goes forth, withhold your sword; If your sword goes forth, withhold your anger. ~ swordsman’s axiom

Better to do a little well, than a great deal badly. ~ Socrates

Either do or do not. There is no “try”. ~ Yoda

Like picking fly shit out of pepper with boxing gloves on. ~ My father, Lawrence Whynacht, on the subject of things that are very difficult to do.

There’s facts about dogs, and then there’s opinions about them. The dogs have the facts, and the humans have the opinions. If you want the facts about the dog, always get them straight from the dog. If you want opinions, get them from humans. ~ J. Allen Boone

If you think it’s expensive to hire a professional to do the job, wait until you hire an amateur. ~ Red Adair

None are innocent. There are only those weak enough to believe they are, and those strong enough to revel in the knowledge that they are not. ~ Jacob Strauss, Magus of the Shining Hill

Don’t start vast projects with half-vast ideas.~ Unknown

We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be. ~ Kurt Vonnegut

When I want you monkey, I’ll rattle your chain. ~ My mother, Evelyn Whynacht

If you are going through hell, keep going. ~ Winston Churchill

You are permitted in times of great danger to walk with the devil until you have crossed the bridge. ~ Bulgarian proverb

He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

God grant me a good sword and no use for it. ~ Polish proverb

May those that love us love us, and those who don’t love us may God turn their hearts, and if He won’t turn their hearts may He at least turn their ankles so we’ll know them by their limping. ~ Irish toast

A man can never have too much red wine, too many books, or too much ammunition. ~ Rudyard Kipling

An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered. ~ G. K. Chesterton

Black as the Devil,
Strong as Death,
Sweet as Love,
And hot as Hell.
~ how the Tuareg tribesmen like their coffee

You can make a shit house look like the Taj Mahal if you shoot it from the right angle. ~ My Father, Lawrence Whynacht, on the subject of why some people and places look great in pictures, but like ass when you see them in person.

Practice doesn’t make perfect. Practice makes BETTER, but it doesn’t make perfect. ~ the incomparable Diana Kleszczynski

When I was younger, I could remember anything, whether it had happened or not. ~ Mark Twain

Those who won’t listen have to feel. ~ My mother, Evelyn Whynacht

When the Fool Killer comes lookin’, you better be hidin’ in the tall grass. ~ African warning

No man meets a friend in the desert. ~ Arab proverb

The thorn defends the rose, yet it is peaceful and does not seek conflict. ~ Unknown

Are those pants too tight Toulouse? ~ Toulouse Lautrec’s tailor

Never give a sword to a man who can’t dance. ~ Celtic Proverb

If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went. ~ Will Rogers

In 1984 I moved into a large house on Lincoln Street in Lunenburg. The layout of the stairway to the second floor prevented me from taking my bedframe up to the master bedroom, so I had to sleep on the mattress on the floor as a stopgap measure.

On the first night I slept in the house, fagged out with the toils inherent in moving, I crawled under the sheets, my faithful beagle/spaniel mutt Jasper curled up at the foot of my makeshift bed.

Jasper had a very low growl. Almost inaudible, and he was sparing in its use. Nevertheless it was the sound of his growl that woke me. Opening my eyes and raising my head to look down at him, I could see his silhouette against the wall. He was looking straight at the bedroom door which was to my left, and a ball of fur was raised on his shoulders. When I looked at the doorway I saw why he was growling.

What I saw in the dimness was a little girl, I would guess about five or six years old, standing in the doorway smiling at me. She had long hair and was wearing a plaid jumper with an old timey cut. When our eyes met and I registered what I was seeing I yelled, “Hey!” and quickly began to get off the mattress. At this point I really felt I was looking at a child.

I heard her giggle and saw her run off. In the five or so seconds it took me to get to my feet, pull on my robe (she was a kid after all) and reach my bedroom door, the little girl had gone to stand grinning mischievously at me from the doorway of another bedroom across the landing.

“Wait!” I called as I moved toward her. She stepped inside the room and I saw the door begin to close, but it wasn’t quite shut when I reached it.

Tired and getting irritated at incompetent parents who let their kids run riot through strange houses in the middle of the night I grabbed the door and pushed it ahead of me as I started to enter the room. Suddenly I felt the door stop as though it had hit a solid obstruction, and then it flew back at me. The edge of the door hit me in the forehead and the impact threw me backwards onto the landing.

Now really pissed off, I went back and kicked the door fully open. There was no resistance this time, and my strike threw the door open hard enough for the door knob to break through the lathe and plaster wall as it impacted against it. Stepping into the room I saw … no one. The room was empty except for a couple of boxes I had placed there earlier in the day.

The next day I had a beautiful bruise on my forehead, and I checked with everyone I knew who had ever lived in that house to see if any of them had ever seen or heard of the mysterious little girl. Nobody had.

I never saw the little girl again, but to the end of his days, Jasper wouldn’t enter that room, giving it a wide berth, and a suspicious look whenever he passed it.