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Terrorist at the Airport?

I found this on a site called: Forwarded. It consists of internet messages forwarded here and there. I love this. It should give you a little joy and a laugh before you tackle the post after this one. That one is quite sad.


August 21st, 2006

Camel Parked

Editor’s note: I apologize to any camel riders out there, this is just so wrong – but it was forwarded to me so I had to post it, that is sort of the nature of the beast.

Animals My Home Weather/Nature

Two Striking Redheads

A few minutes ago, from my bathroom window, I saw a woodpecker perched on the edge of our birdbath that rises from a garden of hypericum. As I watched, another woodpecker joined the first, and they began to drink, dipping and lifting their heads in a Sabbath-Day rhythmic pattern. I’m sure they were slurping, for I saw water sling through the sunny air around them and fall onto their sleek backs. They were beautiful birds, shiny black with patches of snow white. Their splendid heads were scarlet.

Animals My Home


There have been at least three sightings, although the first couple of times I saw him, I wasn’t at all sure of myself, and I laid it off as a wind bestirring flutter, or maybe it was a shadow, maybe the shadow of a slender limb… something like that. Then when Sam and Lil were here a couple of days before our reception and Sam and I were sitting in the living room, Sam looked over at me and spoke in his slow deliberate way, “Shirley, I just saw a mouse.”

Yep, we have a mouse, hopefully of the bachelor variety, and preferably a bachelor with no immediate plans of posting banns, and certainly one lacking visions of cozied up hearth and family. I saw him clearly when he rounded the corner of the study a couple of weeks ago, a cute little fat thing, brown—a soft mousy brown. He scuttled under a book shelf. I told Jerry.

Jerry, in a most manly way, went straight to the garage, looked over his cache of weapons and brought out three evil traps. He set the snares, greatly enhancing their mouse appeal by spooning onto each one a blob of peanut butter—Laura Scudders crunchy variety. He placed them in various spots in the study. The traps set around here for several days—always empty of mouse—until I grew so tired of looking at them and so wearied of having to remember not to step on one, that I picked them up and put them atop the dryer. Anyway the peanut butter had dried up, and since we didn’t catch anything, maybe he had left us and was now roaming the plains of Crestline, or at least was checking out the environs of the basement.

Wednesday, as Jerry and I sat at the bar, and as Jerry was holding forth on some topic of great import, his body suddenly took on a wild jerk, and then his mouth fell silent. For a minute.

He said now, “Shirley, I see a mouse.” Following the arrow of his eye, I too saw the little brown fella. Poor thing, he was confused, skittered back and forth and then ran beneath a cabinet. Must be a space there big enough, for he disappeared.

Jerry had taken himself from the bar and gone to the kitchen closet. “I’m going to get that rascal,” he asserted as he turned with a mighty broom in hand.

“What are you doing with that broom?” I demanded.

“I’m going to kill that mouse.”

“I’m not watching this!” I jumped from my stool and fled to the study.

I listened for loud thuds and soft squeals…and heard nothing.

“Where are those traps, Shirley?”

“On the dryer, Jerry.”

They’re set now around the kitchen, and have been since two nights ago. They are devoid of mouse.