A Seal's Dog

First, I want to mention a Fox News reporter who said, "I was sitting in the green room while you had some guests on saying that it would be a decade or more before American companies could get any new oil from drilling in the Gulf of Mexico. I called two of the major oil companies and asked them about that. The first one said it would take one to six years. The second one said it would take two to six years." This is not the ten to twenty years that the liberal democrates are saying. The reporter also said, " At our rate of consumption of gas, there is enough oil in the Gulf to last us twenty years." This should give us enough time to develop alternatives. But why are the liberal Democrats so against drilling that they would even lie about the start-up time?
First, I don't think it would take much to make a liberal resort to lying. The liberals hate the internal combustion engine becuase it gives you, my friend, freedom. Liberals don't want individuals to have freedom; they want government to have the freedom to do whatever it wants to the individual, you my friend. They want you standing in line waiting for a government transit bus, wearing your state-issue uniform, and lugging your groceries you bought with your government-issue ration cards. It worked so well during the World Wars, it broke the liberals' hearts when the end of the wars brought freedom back.
Perhaps you will remember the cottonmouth that the dogs had chewed in half two Saturdays ago. Tasha found the snakebite on one of the dogs. It was on his muzzle, and there was no dead flesh or swelling around the bite. Apparently, it was a dry bite. I am wondering if the poisonous snakes are getting used to the dogs and when they bite them they do not inject any venom. A snake can make that decision as well as decide how much venom to inject into this victim.
Tasha also told me, "I was feeling down the other day, and Kando asked me about it. I told him, 'Right now, life sucks.
'Am I part of that,' he asked.
'Yes.'
'Will you tell me about it?' Kando asked.
'You let that vet kill your dog and said nothing about it to her!'"
Kando, an ex-Navy seal, is about as broad as he is tall (no fat) and he had taken his 12 year-old golden retriever to his vet. I've met his vet. She is a champion kickboxer, and I found her to be unemotional, and I didn't like all the gaudy rings on her fingers. Aloof and showy: that could fit some champion kickboxers. I like warm, self-effacing people, like I am.

Three Bigfoot Sightings

I scored big Monday: Three Bigfoot sightings. I will start with the last one as it is the longest:I asked a middle-aged gentleman "Have you ever seen a Bigfoot?" as we were pouring our drinks into our cups at Hardee's in Lake Butler, Florida. He said he had. I followed him to his table where he sat down with his wife, and I stood and listened. His name was James Harrell Dixon, and he said, "This was in Green Cove (Florida, near Jacksonville) back in the seventies when we got married."
"1976," his wife added helpfully.
"I was coming home one night..."
"From work," she put in.
"...and I saw him walk across a ditch four by six feet. He walked across it in one step. He looked like a human, about seven feet tall, but very hairy."
"He was very excited when he got home," his wife observed.
"It was very different back then, just a few houses. Now it's all houses. "
The couple now lives in Bardin, Florida, which has the famous Bardin Booger. James assured me, "He did live there as well as others, but (he gave me a name I promptly forgot) put on an ape suit and began walking around in it."
"He liked to hang out at the cemetery," his wife said.
James agreed and added, "I've seen many things out in the woods." One of the animals he listed was a black panther so I asked him about that. "I was sleeping outside under an oak tree one night.."
"Sleeping outside?" I asked dubiously.
"Yes, I love nature," he responded.
"He does," said his wife, backing him up.
"... and I woke up hearing snoring and thought, 'My snoring must have waken me up.' Then I looked up about five feet at a black panther sleeping on a limb of the oak tree. He was snoring."
"What did you do then?"
"I said, 'You're snoring woke me up, Mr. Black Panther.' and I went back to sleep.
Two or three times, Mr. Dixon told me that people thought he was crazy when he discussed his Bigfoot sighting.
The first story sounds credible particularly with his wife commenting that he was very excited after he saw Bigfoot, but the second one about the black panther sounds very unusual.
The other two Bigfoot sightings were found at Spyre's, the only grocery store in Lake Butler.
I was standing in line behind a tall man with a beard. He had a blue shirt with deer and antelope figures on it. I asked if he were from out West. "No, I was just out there for a while. I've lived here all my life." he responded.
"Seen any Bigfoot?" I asked.
"No, can't say that I have."
"Have any of your friends?"
"No."
We stood in line silently waiting for about thirty seconds, and then he spoke up, "My brother-in-law saw a swamp ape down in the Everglades. It was on I-75, on Alligator Alley, near Everglades City. It was crossing the road."
Judy, the cashier, heard us talking and told me, "My brother said he saw a swamp ape. He's a big hunter. He said it was in Maclenny (Florida). Some hunter friends of his would not go into the woods after that. I'll have to ask him about it for you. I thought at the time that he was just kidding or something."

Mountain Woman

I dreamed last night of Mountain Woman and then woke up. Half-asleep, I immediately flashed onto themental video clip of Mountain Woman and I going in her old Porsche to her Porche mechanic during the last visit of our romance . MW lived in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and she was the love of my life. In the last days of the romance , things had become paramount in her life. She and her new boyfriend were enraptured with the Z-240 that had just appeared on the market. MW had also bought an ancient Porsche that looked like a ladybug or horseshoe crab. You would have thought Ladybug was a human being, the way she talked about it. We drove into the Porsche repair shop which was in a rural area near where MW lived. The mechanic, a young, burly man with a hard face was regaling a group of men outside the grimy shop, and they were laughing at his latest story as we drove up. MW got out and walked over to him while I stayed inside the car. I think she wanted to find out something from the mechanic. The mechanic quickly closed the distance on her, mauled her playfully, and then grabbed her by the waist with both hands and lifted her high into the air. Strong too. MW was all smiles.
When she got back into the Porsche, MW must have read my thoughts for she hissed, "I'll do anything to learn how to fix Ladybug." It was the only time I had seen her when she was not absolutely beautiful.
As soon as that video ended, I was filled with near-panic. How could I have been so stupid? This was the love of my life, and this was what it amounted to? Did my life have any meaning?
Then I began the what-ifs. What if my dad had seen himself as a father and not a rooster, and he had counseled me and tried to give me good advice instead of harping about getting rid of me and even killing me?
I want to stop now and say that if anyone makes my mother aware of this, he or she is a ruthless low-life. Leave my mother alone and let her live in as much peace as possible. She had earned it. Besides, I love my father and feel closer to him now that he has crossed the River Styx to the other side. I imagine him smiling at me and being completely benevolent and supportive.
But he's still the big ham.
To continue my what-ifs: What if I had banished any thoughts of physical intimacy with Mountain Woman until we had a couple of dates? Would that have changed anything? Would I still be dreaming about her forty years later? I conclude reluctantly that even if I had been rooted in the love of a kind, wise father and had also waited for intimacy and just listened to MW, I still would have fallen for her. But maybe not so hard. Maybe I could have said to myself, even others, "Yes, I know I shouldn't, but she's so beautiful, so full of the joy of life, that I can't help myself."
To try to be fair and balanced, I had my problems too. I had my affairs in my hometown.
If we had married, I might have strayed until I had found out I had the best had home. But by then, the best might have been gone. So who knows? You can't second-guess the past, but you can learn from the past and not repeat its mistakes. I greatly believe that advice is highly underrated, and my advice is to banish sexuality from your thoughts the first couple of dates. Just talk and listen to your date. Objectivity and sexuality at the same time are mutually exclusive. Get a good idea of what your getting into by listening to the other person's past. The past is prelude. Do this, and maybe forty years from now your dreams will be sweeter than mine.
peternickerson12@yahoo.com

More Black Panthers

Just minutes ago, on the way to the library to post this blog, I got a black panther sighting from J.R. Eddy, a middle-aged man. As a boy, he had seen a black panther on the New River.
Yesterday, Audrey Wise, an eighty-one year old woman and a native Floridian, and I made a little expedition to Lake Butler, Florida to look for panthers. I saw seven deer, including one with antlers, a rabbit, and a wet hawk sitting of a fence post.
Mikah Singleton, another black panther researcher and a good telephone buddy, in Georgetown, South Carolina, has just begun a twenty-four hour panther hotline for South Carolina. His number is 843-267-4896. He has received a very interesting sighting: A woman driving along a rural road about twenty-five minutes from Mikah's house saw two black panthers walking along the side of the road. She eased her car up to them and saw that one was carrying a kitten in her mouth. I have read that panthers will change their dens frequently probably to escape flea infestations and to minimize the chances of predators finding the dens. Mother panther is reported to stay away from her young as long as thirty-six hours while she tries to bring down food for them. She has to have them well hidden if they are to survive foxes, coyotes, bears, dogs, and even snakes. The woman told Mikah that the cub was not solid black but a mix of brown and black.
In all my reported sightings, cubs of black panther mothers, have been solid black. However, I don't recall any of the reporters being as close to the cubs as this woman was. John Lusk, Director of the Eastern Puma Field Research Society, has told me that he has reported sightings of black panther mothers with cubs who were not solid black.
Mikah is coming at the black panther controverys from a public safety perspective: People should know that there is a large, black cat frequently being seen. I agree with that but am afraid people will begin shooting them. In gathering my reports of sightings, several women have stated both verbally and on paper that they were frightened by the unexpected appearance of a large, black cat on the road. One woman said that she and a man driving another car both pulled off the road because they were so shaken by the large, black cat that crossed the road in front of them.
If Fish and Wildlife or the Department of Natural Resources doesn't want to recognize the black color phase of the puma or panther, they should at least notify the public that people are reporting large, black cats crossing roads. That way, people will not be so upset when they see one. That would be the decent thing to do for the folks who are paying their salaries and paying for everything they use at work. Several years ago, two young women, including a sheriff's deputy, crashed their cars at night and died in Union County. One woman was killed at the spot where another woman had told me that she had unexpectedly seen a black panther, and it had frightened her. I wonder if the two young women who died had seen a black panther, become confused, even frightened, and had lost control of their cars.

Pistol and Rattler

One day I came home, and as soon as I got out of the truck, I heard dogs yapping hysterically and the ominous buzz of an angry, coiled rattlesnake. I grabbed my Ruger Mark-IV .22 calibre target pistol from the truck and hurried toward the deadly chaos. As I rounded the far end of the house, I saw a very large rattlesnake up against the side of the house. His head was out and only inches from the face of the alpha male, Tanner, a big, yellow lab. Tanner has gone on to the celestial hunting grounds since then due to heart disease (We put him down when he began to suffer trying to get oxygen), but he was the perfect boss dog because of his laid-back nature. As I found out later, three dogs had already been struck by the rattler. They were our alpha female, our natural alpha male who could not take the leadership position becaue he had been injured by a truck up at the paved road, and a yellow lab who was the inquisitive thinker of the pack. But Tanner was now in imminent danger of being the fourth dog to be struck. The snake was about twenty feet away, with the back of his head toward me. I knew if I hit him in the back of the head though, the little bullet would zip through and hit Tanner in the face. I quickly aimed at the tail of the snake and fired. The shot was true and it disabled him so he was anchored and could not strike Tanner. I hurried over and finished him with a head shot and then quickly checked the dogs. I found the three dogs bleeding from bites on their faces, throats, and chests. As calmly as I could, not wanting to excite them any more as that would just cause the heart rate to increase and the deadly toxin to spread more quickly, I put them into the back of the pickup and drove to the vet's. On the way, I called Tasha, and she left work immediately. She called the vet's to tell them I was on the way with three snakebitten labs. I got there so quickly the dogs were not yet swelling from the poison. The dogs and I were immediately ushered into an examining room, and Dr. Dutch, the best vet I have ever had, came in. Because of the lack of swelling, Dr. Dutch asked, "Are you sure it was a poisonous snake?" I assured him it was. Just then, Tasha came in. I needed to go back home and see if the snake had bitten anyone else, just to be safe. I told Tasha, "Don't let Dr. Dutch dismiss this. They're going to be swelling up and needing antivenin in a couple of minutes!"
With that, I roared back to the property to make sure no one else was hit. I put the big timber rattler into a feed bag and hurried back to the vet's. I found Dr. Dutch shooting the dogs with antivenin as they had started to swell soon after I left. I dramatically dumped the snake on the floor by his feet, but Dr. Dutch was a veteran and never flinched. He remarked that it was indeed a very big rattler and continued working with the labs. The labs were now very quiet and in pain.
All three pulled through, and it was a $2,100 bill. I just read that it now costs about $2,000 a dog for a snakebite.

Snakes and Dogs

In eleven years, we've had five snakebitten dogs, but never the same dog bitten twice. There is talk that a dog builds up an immunity to a snakebite , but I don't believe it. I think I've seen coverage of people bitten twice, and they sufferred severe reactions both times. Years ago, our lawnmower repairman claimed to have been hit on two separate occasions and claimed "it felt like being on fire." He didn't mentioned hospitalization nor did he show me the bitten areas so I am not sure of his veracity. We lost our first dog to a cottonmouth bite down at the pond. Tasha said, " I called the puppies and Maverick. Maverick came up from the pond, but the puppies stayed. Then he went back, and I am sure it was to protect the puppies from the cottonmouth."
Tasha immediately took Maverick to the emergency vet and found out that because of a shortage of antivenin, the vet had none. The veterinarian later said that she had considered dispatching her to the University of Florida animal hospital to secure some vials of antivenin but decided against it. Instead she treated Maverick with fluids and monitored him. That was a mistake because when Tasha transferred him the next day to our regular vet, he said Maverick needed antivenin and gave it to him immediately. But the beautiful, black lab died a very painful death later that night. Hawkeye and I were in Virginia on our way to a fishing trip at Smith Mountain Lake. We had our bass boat with us and were almost at the lake when Tasha called us about Maverick being bitten. Much to Hawkeye's anger, I aborted the trip and we drove the thirteen hours back to Florida. I got to the animal hospital a little before dawn and called for Maverick hoping he woud hear me and rally. Then I went home and waited for the staff to open the hospital. Soon we got the call: Maverick had died. I will always remember this scene with Maverick: Once we took him to the vet's for a checkup as he was running a temperature. The vet could find nothing wrong except his temperature. I brought him back to the property, and for some reason, my son, Hawkeye, and I began throwing a frisbee to him. He was a young dog, very enthusiastic and tireless. As we threw the frisbee and he retrieved, it finally dawned on me and I shouted, "Hawkeye, what is wrong with me? Maverick's running a fever, and we've tossed this damn frisbee to him about a hundred times." That is just one of many lapses of judgement I've had since coming to Florida. I don't know if the summer heat has baked my brain or it's simply age.

Snakes

This morning Tasha and I let some dogs off at the vet's. When I picked them up later, I got snubbed for leaving them. Except for one dog, they climbed into the
Toyota and went to the back of the SUV without paying any attention to me. They were miffed. The only dog who would have anything to do with me was a female who had a horrible experience. Two years ago, she birthed eight beautiful puppies. They were black and white, little fluffy balls of love with dark eyes that let you see deep into their souls. At night, all eight would sleep under the part of the bed where I lay my head. We couldn't keep them, and Tasha delivered them to a heroic friend who takes in dogs and finds them good homes (she hopes!). This lady displayed the puppies and their mother at Pets' Mart. The poor mother had to watch each of her children being taken. No one wanted her because she tested positive for heartworms even though she had been treated and cured of them. When no one would buy her, Tasha asked if I wanted her back. Of course I did. That experience has made her very insecure and though she did not like the experience of being left at the vet's - I could hear her barking when I came to pick the dogs up - she did not have the confidence to snub me. She spent the trip home sitting on the passenger seat and licking my right hand. We saw a hen turkey with four poults cross the road in front of us. A lovely sight which will become rarer as dreaded development continues.
This weekend my son Hawkeye called and told me that he had seen a most unusual sight.
He drove two miles down a sand road to his favorite lake to fish and at the boat ramp had seen eight young bobcats at the garbage can there. Where did that many bobcat kittens come from?
Saturday afternoon when I returned from Tampa, I found a dead cottonmouth in the front area. The dogs had ripped it into two parts, about twenty feet from each other. It was a big, old snake as the top of it was completely black. I immediately inspected the dogs for bleeding snakebites and for any sign of swelling. I found nothing, nor were the dogs depressed as they will be after being bitten. I surmised that a dog had caught the snake crawling away from him, grabbed him by the tail, and snapped him until his back broke. Or the dog got extremely lucky and found a cottonmouth with no venom. I've read that forty percent of the time, a poisonous snake will have no venom. I would not want to rely on those odds. Whatever happened, it was a miracle that no dog was poisoned. To Be Continued