Moose, the dog

I didn't name him, he's my roommate's dog. He doesn't look at all like a moose, but he is brown. When I was asked if I could share a house with a dog, I didn't even hesitate. Of course I could. I've done it before. I lived with Shannon when she had three dogs and a cat. My roommate Charis had a dog. I normally like dogs. I normally like Moose. Here he is nearly comatose on the couch. Doesn't his belly look so rubable? Think again. That treacherous tummy is full of my cookies! A whole batch of them! I ate two fresh hot ones and left the rest to cool, and turkey butt here ate every last crumb.

My boss called to tell me I could pick up my patrol car from the shop. So I got a ride down and came straight back. I wasn't gone more than 10 minutes. It was plenty of time for this canine thief to sneak into the kitchen and scarf down every last warm, delicious cookie.

I yelled, I ranted, I called him names, and shut him in the garage. No way was he going to take a nap in his comfy bed after eating the cookies I'd made. I decided I would pretend that I didn't live with a dog. I knew that if I thought to much about him sitting in the dark garage, I'd give in.

(My roommate is out of town, so it's just me and Moose)

I left him there for 2 hours (it's a heated garage) and was planning on leaving him there all night (there is a carpet in there to. I guess it's not much of a punishment, is it?). Lucky for him, I wanted to grab something out of the garage. I came in and completely ignored his attempts at reconciliation, his wagging tail, his blinking brown eyes. But then I was digging through my stuff when I happened to glance over my shoulder at him. He was looking at me, with his head down. Just the tip of his tail was wagging, ever so tentatively. When he saw me looking at him, he slunk over, contrite. He knew I was mad and he was trying to make it better. He can't talk, he can only look pitiful.

It worked. I relented. I petted him and told him I know he's only a dog and he has no will power when it comes to food.

I'm supposed to be the smart one. I know he's a devious food stealer. His previous transgressions involve snatching a tub of butter off the counter and licking it clean. A former dog-sitter tells of him grabbing an entire block of cheese when her back was turned. Tupperware and recyclable yogurt containers that are left in the sink, magically appear on the living room floor. The other day at lunch, I made a salad. I left the trash in the sink because I was in a rush to get back to work. I came home to find pieces of egg shell, carrot shavings, and the stem and seeds from a yellow pepper all over the living room floor.

Second in vileness only to today's crime was the slurping of my strawberry.

My greenhouse garden didn't do very well this year. I didn't get a single thing to eat for all of my work. Tomatoes rotted while still green. The strawberries to, would mold before they even turned pink. It was a cold, wet, summer. I thought they might do better in the house, so I got pots and dirt and brought them inside. Unbeknowst to me, they had bad aphids. Once I noticed, the infestation was severe. But through it all, a strawberry began to ripen.

One day, I was examining that strawberry. I noticed that it smelled really good and I figured it would be ready in a few days, my first fruit of summer in late September. Better late than never.

I'd just been to town, where I'd picked up some pesticides for the aphid problem. I took the plant outside to spray it down, but I didn't want to put it back on the kitchen counter since it was dripping poison. Instead, I put the plant on the windowsill in the dining room.

This was before I knew I lived with a vegetarian dog.

Mere minutes later, I was in the kitchen making bread when I saw Moose at the windowsill. I heard his lips smacking and I knew. I knew my strawberry was gone. Taken before it's time. I charged into the dining room yelling, but it was too late. My tender fruit was in a dark doggy stomach, nibbled ever so gently from it's stalk. Only a slobbery nub remained.

Moose was banished to the garage.

I have yet to get a strawberry. The aphids are finally gone, but the plants were so badly wounded that the stalks holding green strawberries and flowers turned brown and died. I've trimmed the plants down to almost nothing and I'm trying again. With the aphids defeated, I only have to safeguard them from my backstabbing canine roommate. Wish me luck.

Asking for trouble?

Once upon a time I did some really stupid things. This is not an all-inclusive list, by any means.
1. I failed to break up with a guy when I should have. Prolonging the inevitable was dumb.
2. I bought a timeshare.

So I'd gotten a "free" cruise to the Bahamas. All I had to do was pay the departure tax and listen to a talk on timeshares. I was with Colin, the guy I should have broken up with. I told him not to let me get suckered into buying a stupid timeshare. I don't vacation that way. I don't want to vacation that way. I want to travel around, not stay in one spot. I explained this, and Colin said he would make sure I didn't buy one. Not under any circumstances! He never did listen to me.

First they tried to sell us (since Colin had to listen to) a timeshare for $10,000. That was easy to say no to, $10,000 is a lot of money. But they made it sound really good.

I thought we were free after that, but we had to talk to another guy who wanted to sell us one for $4,000.

I know I can be a sucker. I know I can be weak-willed. That's why I enlisted Colin's help!

Instead, what does he do? He said he'd pay half and we could buy it together. By this time I was pretty sure our relationship was circling the drain. I think Colin knew that to. He saw buying a timeshare with me as a way to tie me to him, I think. I did to, and I didn't want to buy the timeshare with him, but at that moment, I shamefully confess, he looked so cute.

Fast forward a couple months to break up time. I told him I didn't want the timeshare. He could have it. I didn't want any money, he could take it. Unfortunately, he said he didn't want it either. So last year I paid the $400 maintenance fee and another several hundred dollars to put it on a website to get it sold. It hasn't sold. Why? Because no one in their right mind wants a timeshare!

As an aside, the timeshare company drives me crazy. They address the mail to Colin, so most of the time, I didn't get it. They call me Mrs. Colin's last name, which really PISSES ME OFF! (There may be some left over animosity towards him which makes me a little sensitive.)

So the other day, I got an email from the timeshare people. Since I've moved (and they probably addressed the mail to Colin), next year's maintenance bill had been returned. They wanted a good address. I gave them Colin's. Luckily, I could still read it through the scribbles in my address book.

So what's going to happen is this: I'm going to hear from Colin.

I broke up with him in March of 2007. The aftermath was horrifying. He called me every Sunday at the 1500 hours (usually when I was in the computer lab at FLETC). I wouldn't answer so he would call every half an hour until I did. I'd agreed to be friends. I don't know why. I guess because being friends has worked in the past, with other guys. But the calls really were making me angry. He was trying to get me back. He wanted me to explain myself over and over. He wouldn't let go.

I told him he couldn't call me for two months. I wanted him to calm down. I told him no emails either, but, like I've mentioned he didn't hear things sometimes. He wanted to buy me a laptop for my birthday. He sent me a text (since it wasn't calling) on my birthday that said, "Happy Birthday Baby" which made me so mad I nearly threw my phone off the New River Gorge bridge (876 feet high. It's on the West Virginia quarter).

In two months to the day, the calls started again. I didn't answer, knowing that crazy people prefer negative contact to no contact at all. I've blogged about this before. He called my parent's house around December 2007, my mom yelled at him, and I sent him a follow up email threatening legal action if he contacted me again. It was a hollow threat, really, he lives in Scotland. What are they gonna do? But it seemed to work. In March of this year, he did send me an email, but I didn't respond, blocked his email, and haven't heard a peep since. WHEW!!!

I have a new mailing address and a new home on the opposite side of the country. But my cell phone number is the same. So in my reluctance to pay another maintenance fee on a stupid timeshare I never wanted, I have now opened up this old can of worms.

I know what you're all thinking, "Just don't answer the phone!" And of course I won't, but my blood pressure will go up just the same. I just want to be done with him and this stupid timeshare!

Instrument of War

Did you know that if you google "Musical instrument of war" the first thing that pops up is a site on bagpipes?

"As a musical instrument of war, the Great Pipes of the Highlands were without equal, according to historians. The shrill and penetrating notes worked well in the roar and din of battle and pipes could be heard at distances up to 10 miles. Because of the importance of the bagpipes to any Highland army, they were classified as an instrument of war by the Loyalist government during the Highland uprising in the 1700s. After the defeat of Bonnie Prince Charlie in 1745, kilts and bagpipes were outlawed, the pipes being classified as instruments of war.

Never has an instrument been so loved by a people and yet so feared by their enemies as the Highland bagpipes. The pipes are a symbol of strength, the salve of the soul, and the prize of Clans."

Just thought I'd share. I love my bagpipes. So does my roommate's dog. He howls along, wagging his tail, when I play.

Shooting at 10 below

Ten below really isn't all that cold. For here. I'm glad someone thought to have us qualify now instead of when it's even colder.

Normally, I love to shoot. I've been pretty good at sticking to my goal of going to the range once a month. I think I even went three times in June.

We're required to qualify twice a year. Of all the places that need an indoor range, I think Alaska is right up there. You may say, "Yeah, but as a Ranger, you're more likely to shoot someone outside."

Yes, that's true. But shootings rarely last more than a few seconds, and we were outside shooting for two hours. If I were out on snowmachine patrol (so if I were planning to be out in the cold for an extended period of time), I'd be wearing bibs and a parka. In that case, if I needed to shoot someone it would be a race to see who could dig through the layers faster.

I wasn't wearing my snowmachine bibs or parka yesterday morning. Foolishly, I wasn't wearing my bunny boot either. Just my regular winter boots and one pair of socks. So my toes got cold. And being as how I wanted to fit my finger in the trigger, my hands got cold. And every time I covered my face with my balaclava, my glasses iced up (not fog, but ice). The rangemaster said I needed to learn to shoot with glasses on, but actually, I don't. I'm not going to rush to put on eye protection before shooting someone. To qualify, yes, I suppose I need to learn to shoot with glasses.

Of course with my face bare, I then had to press that face onto my rifle and shotgun. If it had been -40 I'd have burned myself. And it didn't really help, at least on prone rifle. I got all fogged up there anyway. And my pants froze from laying in the snow.

Despite all this, I shot pretty well. I thought my rifle target was absolutely amazing since I couldn't see the dang thing half the time.

Memories of Nepal

I ran across a photo contest that wanted entries of travel memories. So I was looking through my pictures of Nepal. I've got hundreds. I saw Everest and hiked to 15,000 feet. I rode elephants in the jungle and saw rhinos. I've got some really nice pictures. But my favorite photos are the ones of the people.

Like this girl in Bhakatpur standing in her doorway.
Or Seita Tamang, who signed my travel journal.

Joti Thapa and her little brother. We played tag and duck, duck, goose with those kids.

I don't want to go to Africa and return with nothing but fantastic pictures of lions and giraffes. They won't mean anything. My memories won't be tied up in them. It will be neat to see all those things, but they won't mean that much once I'm back home.

Going to Nepal, I felt kind of obligated to see Mt. Everest. Wouldn't it seem silly to miss it when I was right there? But in my travel journal after the flightseeing trip, this is what I wrote:

"On the flightseeing trip while I was looking at the mountains that just kept going, I thought of the little Nepali girls who are taken from their homes and sold into brothels. I thought of how lost they would be if they tried to find their way back home. It made me cry. Not the mighty creation of the awe-inspiring Himalayas, but the thought of those little girls being swallowed up and lost forever."

I was so happy I had those posters about sex trafficking that I stuck to buildings in all the villages I went to. The lady who gave them to me used my pictures (me standing next to posters in random villages) on her website. They're trying to advertise what I did to other trekkers, so word can be spread and more posters taken to more places.

Another journal entry:

"It was a whirlwind tour. It seems like we went all over the city [Kathmandu]. But the neatest thing I saw all day was while we were stuck in traffic on the way home. A little girl was standing on a stoop and when she saw me in the van, she lifted a little green squirt gun, gave me the cutest little imp grin, and pulled the trigger."

I don't want to go to Africa and be so caught up in safaris that I never connect with the people. I'm still looking for volunteer opportunities, but so far the cheapest I've found is $1400 for two weeks. I might do it anyway.

Auntie Liz

Two days ago, at 1508, I became an aunt. I'm not really sure what my duties as an aunt are, but I suppose I have some time to figure it out.
Her name is Aurora. Here she is with her two grandmothers.
And here with my little bro! My little brother the dad! Incredible.

I thought I would get to meet her at Christmas, but my brother will spend this Christmas with his inlaws. I won't get to meet her until January. I imagine right now she's kind of boring anyway, in a new baby kind of way.

She was 7 lbs 3 oz and 18.5 inches long.

More wolves

This is one of the wolf pups that was hanging around my house all summer. Wolves are my favorite of the parks "Big Five." Can you tell?

Wolf pups

This isn't the pack by my house, it's a different one that I saw this fall. I just got the pictures back. This little guy picked up one of those little yellow lane markers and carried it off. Very cute.

My next adventure

Africa. Specifically South Africa. Possibly Mozambique as well. I'd like to go to Zimbabwe, but they seem to be having some political issues at the moment.

Unfortunately, I seem to be having problems finding a place to volunteer that doesn't cost a ton of money. Why does volunteering have to be so popular?

I really enjoyed my time in the Indian orphanage. I wish I could find a similar set up in Africa.

Never fear, I'll still have a good time. I don't know what I'm going to do yet, exactly. I'm not going until March, so I have time to plan. I've got relatives in Durban and Cape Town. It would be nice to meet them. And I've booked a wilderness trail in Kruger National Park. I wouldn't mind meeting some South African Park Rangers. I wonder if they do "ride alongs"? And would I get a rifle to?

I think I might like to learn how to scuba dive off the coast of Mozambique. I've wanted to learn to dive for a couple years.

Have any of you been to Africa? Any advice?

Blood Lessons

I pre-ordered a copy of Charles Remsburg's new book back in July. The book arrived a couple weeks ago and quickly became one of my favorites. I finished it in two days. The reason it took that long is that I kept working out. I'd read a chapter and I would be compelled to exercise. I'd have to go for a run or beat my punching bag until my knuckles got bruised (even wearing gloves. I guess I just bruise easily).

I promptly loaned my book to a coworker because I think it's an important book for LEOs to read. The title is self explanatory and it says in the intro (written by my other favorite author, Lt. Col. Grossman) that a wise man learns from his experiences, but a truly wise man learns from the experiences of others.

I think I was to hasty in loaning the book out. I find that I want to read it again. I ordered two more copies to give to friends.

I encourage all LEOs who read this blog to go get your own copy. Right now. Blood Lessons isn't a bunch of "cops who got killed" stories. Most of the officers won, but they recognized that there were things they could have done differently. Let's learn from them. Remember your when/then thinking and mental imagery. Don't let yourself get complacent; evil doesn't take time off.