Had a really great weekend with Puppetcancer
, and quite sad that it's back to my life in Madison, separated from him, if only temporarily. Even if it's just a temporary thing... it still sucks. There will, however, come a time when we're together permanently, of that, I can assure you. Two people who love each other as much as we do don't stay apart for very long.
We tore it up at the Henry Vilas Zoo here in Madison on Saturday, I have a handful of photos I'm going to clean up and post on here to show you the critters we crossed paths with, one of which being an enormous Bengal Tiger that I personally wouldn't want to meet up with in a dark alley... and, uh, come to think of it, that same rendez-vous with this big ass kitty might be even worse in a well lit room. Either way, the guy was magnificent, and I was exceedingly grateful for the thick barrier of plexiglass that was probably the only thing preventing him from eating me. I'm certain he was considering it and weighing his options. He just had "that" look in his eye that predators get just before they turn you into a light midday snack. Again, thank God for plexiglass.
The other favorite enclosure of mine was the Prairie Dog colony, full of what looked like morbidly obese squirrels. John and I watched these little dudes for about fifteen minutes -- they were THAT entertaining. One would grab a carrot from one of the bowls of food or from the ground, start eating it, and someone else would notice, walk up, get all up in the first one's face, trying to take it... and then the guy who originally picked up the carrot would start peeping at the one trying to snake it, the two slapping at each other in attempt to claim the carrot. They could only go at this for about five seconds before they either exhausted themselves or forgot what it was they were fighting about in the first place. Or both. From time to time, the general "gimme that/gimme that back" peeping turned into one issuing a call to arms, at which time, everyone stopped what they were doing, forgot about the carrot and went on Red Alert. You could hear a pin drop in that little pen... but when they realized that it was a false alarm, they went right back to a Prairie Dog cat fight over carrots. I could have entertained myself and my date for hours had I thought to stop at the grocery store first and purchase a bag of produce, toss it into their pen and watch the fun begin. By "fun," you realize, I really mean "chaos." Those are some scrappy little fat guys who will throw down over a strawberry... for, like, a minute, until they're worn out from the effort. It never occurs to any of them to, I dunno, go over to the overflowing bowl of food and pick out their own carrot, strawberry or any of the other goodies in there, no. Bob over there has a carrot, and I want THAT ONE. I don't want my own carrot that I could obtain much easier than scrapping Bob for his by waddling six inches to the right, I want THAT ONE! That one that Bob's got, I want that one! GIMME! Peep! *SlapSlapSlapSlap*
That was the display we witnessed for over fifteen minutes, and let me tell you, I had no idea Prairie Dogs and their battles over produce could hold my attention for that length of time that ought to embarrass me more than it does, and would, had I any common sense about it. You'd think that'd all get rather dull after, oh, five minutes... nope. That's like a Prairie Dog live episode of our equivalent of The Jerry Springer Show. They don't fight over mates or unfaithful lovers or wonder who their Baby Daddy is... it's about carrots. Oversized rodents duking it out over vegetables. If you don't think this is amusing, go to the Henry Vilas Zoo and witness this for yourself and tell me it isn't the funniest damned thing in the whole zoo. I'm personally surprised this hasn't been filmed as a reality/talk TV show, to be honest. I'd watch it, and I'd watch it gladly, and furthermore, I'd do it without the aide of drugs or alcohol. It's probably quite telling about me as a person that a Prairie Dog royal rumble over rutabagas, a beat down over beets, would entertain me stone cold sober. I should be more ashamed than I am to admit that the mere thought of this makes me gigglesnort.
Also, I'm really tempted to teach myself to draw Prairie Dogs so that I might illustrate to you, (pardon the pun), what exactly I witnessed. Would also like to sketch out what I think must be going on in their little minds while they smack down over strawberries. Y'know, besides the obvious, "GIMME!" I think this was my roundabout way of warning you that this kind of artwork may be on the horizon here on my dA page, as well as a general statement of, "I don't blame you for not viewing it." I guess you had to be there.
Spent a few hours in the ole' office today, which went well enough. Nothing too crazy, definitely nothing mundane... so very rarely is my workplace mundane, minus the weekends when the clinics are closed, and even then, it's just a slower kind of crazy. If you're looking for an example, here's a good one; I sit near enough to the on call nurses who take phone calls from patients, triage them and ship them off to doctors on call as needed... I overhear the damnedest things, many leading me to wonder in my mind, "what the Hell did the patient say that THIS was the nurse's response?!" My favorite was a very casual response a nurse had to a conversation I can only imagine; "Did you get the entire tick out of your butt?"
Dudes, don't even tell me that your brain wouldn't come to the screeching halt that mine did if you heard someone say that. My brain's momentum slammed it into the forefront of my skull, and after recovering from the impact, shouted at me, "WE HAVE TO FIGURE THIS OUT!!! What the Hell was said that THAT was the response?!?!" This is a commonplace occurrence in my day -- overhearing strange responses and wondering what in God's name the question had been. It's a very messed up game, and you would think you wouldn't want to play it, but you do. You know you do. I've come up with some great scenarios to explain some of the things I've heard. That's the benefit of being seated in earshot of the on call triage nurses -- nurses say the damnedest things. Or patients do. I'm still curious how a tick got into somebody's butt. Were they not wearing pants? Who goes out into the woods without pants? Furthermore, "did you get the entire tick out of your butt?" ... does this imply part of the tick is still in there??? Ack! So there's part of a tick out of your rear end, and part of it still in there???
It's about that point in the ongoing debacle where my mind simply shuts down in interest of self preservation and says, "I don't even want to know," because if I keep on pondering partial ticks in butts, my teeth will promptly flip themselves inside out and start eating my brain. At least if that happens, I'm near the on call triage nurses, they'll know what to do. .... I think.
God love you like I do, my Darlings.
Mandi L. P.