Our Wild Minikin

Before I get into the topic for this post, did anyone else happen to see the crowd at the recent Academy Awards show? One woman was wearing what must be the most inconsiderate outfit in the history of audiences:

Look at the guy to her left! He's leaning way over to get a view of the stage. By the end of the evening, his neck must have been as sore as Michelangelo's after he'd painted the Sistine Chapel. Can you imagine sitting behind this bizarrely adorned woman? Someone must have yelled out, "Who the HELL are you wearing?" If they didn't, they should have. 

A closeup view shows what looks to be an eyeball straining to see through the fabric:

I suppose a distorted view is better than no view. But perhaps not, as we will discuss shortly.

Does anyone remember a TV documentary series years ago called Wild America? It was a terrific show about North American wildlife (rather than out-of-control inner city punks), hosted by the bearded, outdoorsy looking Marty Stouffer. He and Grizzly Adams should have squared off in a bearded, outdoorsy-look contest.   

Bearded and outdoorsy, but very sweet

My wife and I — savage beasts that we are — really enjoyed watching Wild America and getting an up close look at all those feral, and often dangerous critters from the comfort of our living room and creature comforts. 

Little did we suspect that there are real perils lurking about just outside the door! Case in point: recently in a Facebook group for a nearby town, I saw a post from a woman who was wondering if anyone else had seen a cougar wandering about in the vicinity. A black cougar! 

I'm no zoologist, despite evidence to the contrary, but I'm pretty sure that a black cat of that size would be a black panther. There are absolutely no panthers in Ontario, and even a cougar in the southwestern area of the province would be unlikely in the extreme. Just as rare would be sightings of bobcats or lynxes. These cats are simply not indigenous to this area.

Once in a blue moon, someone might see a black bear. Even this is very rare in the greater Minikin area, but there have been one or two confirmed sightings. You will find foxes, coyotes, and other critters for sure; even beach coyotes!

Often enough, when someone believes they've observed a cougar in this area, they have likely seen (through somehow somewhat distorted vision) a dog, a coyote, or a ginormous domestic cat. 

Standard Southwestern Ontario Mountain Lion

Now I don't want to cast aspersions on those who claim to see cougars, bobcats, lynxes, panthers, or even lions and tigers in the area. But if one of these folks saw a chickadee, they would likely report it as a bald eagle sighting. If they saw a bald eagle, they would claim they saw a pterodactyl. 

Not a bald eagle, but a ptypical pterosaur. "Look out below!"

Speaking of dinosaurs, I read somewhere that the closest living relative to the monstrous Tyrannosaurus Rex is your modern day, garden variety chicken; the fearsome Tyrannosaurus Pecks.

Not fearsome? Try telling that to a grasshopper or a cricket!

In fact, I read elsewhere that the giant lizards of yore may have been covered in feathers! At least there is speculation that a young T-Rex may have had a downy covering.  As well, it has been suggested that they did not likely roar, but probably honked! Can you just imagine a baby Tyrannosaurus Rex with his feathery coat, letting out a tiny little "honk"? They must have been so cute!

A Face Only A Mother Could Love

Momma or Poppa on the other hand:

Hey There Handsome!

Fortunately, there are no more dinosaurs roaming the Earth. However, if that woman from the Facebook group should assert that she's seen a T-Rex, I'll chase it down for her and take care of the situation.

A woman became panic-stricken 

Her heartbeat had started to quicken

Through badly smudged specs

She saw a T-Rex

But with clean lenses saw just a chicken

 

Anyone have a recipe for coq au vin?

The Record-Setting Diet Plan

It once was my belief that it you mentioned sex and/or nudity in your blog, you would gain readership. Perhaps not the type of audience you're aiming to build, but readers nonetheless.

Well I've got news for you; if you want to rack up the views, just mention a diet plan 

My most viewed post here at Snow Shoveling In Canada by far (record-setting in a way) is The Purg-Odan Weight Loss Plan, an entry wherein I chronicle my preparation for a colonoscopy.

However, if you carefully peruse my blog, you will see on the sidebar of any page — under the heading "What The Heck Is This Blog About?" — that there is the Latin phrase "caveat lector", which means "let the reader beware." 

It seems, in light of the inexplicable popularity of that particular post, that a number of folks are not heeding that warning and are assuming that I was writing about a real weight loss plan. This is a satire blog and people should not lend credence to many of the words published here.

I realize, of course, that most of the views and submitted comments for that post are from spammers and bots. Regardless, whoever they are, they're obviously unaware of the overall intention of this blog.

As an example, I present an actual comment submitted by one Songlung Makye.

Songlung states, "I agree with you; this is one of the best weight management resources I have seen in your blog. By the way A Foolproof, Scinence(sic)-Based Diet that's 100% Guranteed to Melt Away 12 t0(sic) 23 Pounds of Stumbborn(sic???) Body Fat in Just 21- Days !!!"

Well Songlung, let me say that I am glad you commented on my blog — in spite of your erroneous belief as to what this particular post is about.

Although I should address your declaration about losing 12 to 23 pounds of fat. I do believe you left out the umlaut in your spelling of the type of body fat that you claim can be shed. It is Stümbborn (pronounced SHTOOM-born), a city in central Germany known for its rather stout citizens. Stümbborn fat is notoriously difficult to shed mainly due to its cause from crisp apple strudels and schnitzel with noodles. 

From the civic anthem of Stümbborn:

♫ Schnitzel and strudel and rich food from Stümbborn

Can't put on pants without using a shoehorn

Noshing at Arby's and then Burger King

These are a few of our favorite things

Pound cake with frosting and pie with molasses

Pounds that will stay on our hips and our asses

Gorging ourselves till we break a bedspring

these are a few of our favorite things

When the doc cites

All those mean things — 

Unappealing stats

We eat two grams less of our favorite things

And then we don't feel so fat. ♪

I must remind myself to stay away from of any civic events - or at least the ceremonial preamble thereof - if I ever visit Stümbborn, otherwise I might have to listen once more to that drivel. Who the heck wrote that table scrap anyway? Oscar Ham-and-stein?

Just a snack for a well-known Stümbborn lyricist

I wonder how Stümbbornites, I mean Stümbborners, uh Stümbbornians, that is to say the citizens of Stümbborn would react to a question posed by my grandmother years ago at family dinner. She was serving dessert and asked my older brother, "Eric, would you like a piece of Sara Lee?" My brother seemed a little dazed. My dad on the other hand had a hearty laugh. 

And at another dinner, it was my mother who was dishing out cake or pie for dessert. She asked my grandmother — a widow for many years — if she would like a little piece. My dad, without skipping a beat, said, "Irene hasn't had a little piece since Bill passed away." This time it was granny's turn for the guffaws.

Here is a food-related "news" item from UPI:

"A pair of British friends donned ice cream costumes and crossed the finish line of the Jersey Marathon at the same time, becoming co-holders of a Guinness World Record.

Alan Falle and Scott Welsh earned the Guinness World Record for fastest marathon dressed as a sweet food (male) when they crossed the finish line together after 3 hours, 48 minutes and 12 seconds."

There's a load of malarkey, and just in time for Saint Patrick's Day! I mean seriously, what kind of record is that?

I remember when the Guinness Book of World Records had entries such as "world's longest mustache", or "tallest building" or "heaviest cat", or "coldest city", or "fastest train". But, "fastest marathon dressed as a sweet food (male)?' 

If this is the kind of thing they want, then I must call Guinness and make them aware that I just broke the record for the "longest stretch between posts for a humor blog about snow shoveling in Canada". That, dear readers, was 6 years and 357 days, shattering my own record of 1 year and 353 days.

But why should Guinness have a monopoly on listing dubious world records? 

I present to you some snippets from my forthcoming publication, "The Snow Shoveling In Canada Book of World Records" (readers should imagine some world record setting fanfare here).

• A runner from Greece, Spyridon Louis, holds the record for fastest marathon by a runner from Greece named Spyridon Louis (male). He crossed the finish line at 2 hours, 58 minutes, 50 seconds. A record which remains unbroken since 1896!
• Local rap "artist" Mini K, has sold more records (among other things offered up at his garage sale) than anyone in the history of Minikin, Ontario.
• Adam Sandler holds the record for starring in more bad movies than anyone in Hollywood history (a verifiable fact if ever there was one).
• "The Purg-Odan Weight Loss Plan" is the world's most ineffective diet.
• Sir Charles Tupper had the shortest term of any Canadian Prime minister - 68 days. So woeful was his political career that he decided to go off in a different direction; manufacturing plastic food storage containers. This continues to be a very successful business.
• The German city of Stümbborn holds the record for using the least amount of Tupperware, per capita, of any community in the world. This is due to the fact that there are rarely any leftovers from a typical Stümbborn meal.

I did say, "caveat lector" did I not? 

Perhaps Guinness should too.

Therein Go Dog, Swearin' Go Pa, Erin Go Bragh

How, you may ask, has the snow shoveling been this season? Well, I'll tell ya, for most of January and February there was very little snow. The roads were as bare and dry as a Saharan stripper. March, so far, has been a different matter. It's a snow shoveler's delight (or hell, depending on your point of view).

But spring is on its way. 

Ah, spring! — hearts sweetened by flowers;

chill ousted by warmth

and more daylight hours

And the emergence of long buried dog poop.

Dah, dah, dog owner,

Have you any poop?

Yes sir, yes sir

Three bags scooped.

Two for the garbage,

One for a gag;

Place it on the neighbors porch -

Set fire to the bag.

Editor's Note:
Please do not attempt the "gag" described in the above "poem". The last thing I need is for some little tyke to get caught participating in such mischief and plead with their parents; 

"But I read it on that most trustworthy of blogs. You know, Snow Shoveling in Canada!"

"Go to your room." replies the strict but reasonable adult.

"For the poop bag trick?"  cries the youngster.

"No. For reading Snow Shoveling In Canada."

I wish our trusty beagle with his uncanny sniffing ability would assist us in finding those land mines. But he has no interest in locating his own. Rabbit turds are another matter. He loves those "milk duds" and could find them buried under a four foot snow drift. Eww!

The annual spring clean-up will be a much easier task this year as we were able to stay on top of the problem due to the relative lack of snow. Sometimes however, I'd find my shoe on top of the problem. Eww again!

Generally, this is not one of the things I look forward to in March, but I do happily anticipate Saint Patrick's day, if only for an excuse to have a beer or two. I'll put a couple of drops of green food coloring in my liquid refreshment to really get in a playful leprechaunish mood. 

Many, many, many years ago, in my relatively younger days, I might have headed out to a bar to partake in some Saint Patrick's Day revelry. In my case at least, things never got much out of hand. That hasn't always been the case for a number of shamrock-adorned merrymakers, as demonstrated by the Saint Patrick's Day riot of 2012 in nearby Antler River. 

But back to those days long ago. As I was about to say, me and me muckers was having a pint or two at a local pub on Saint Paddy's Day. Faith and begorrah! 'Twas at a time before karaoke was a thing. Some of the taverns then had an open mic night and people would come up and sing a song or two to the accompaniment of an organ player. 

Finian's rainbow! There we were drinking, laughing, telling jokes and stories, and listening to some patrons squawk out a few discordant tunes like a flock of Snag Breacs. Meanwhile, my brother Greg asked our father - seated at the table with us - "What does "Erin Go Bragh" mean?" Ol' Da leaned into him and said in a low voice, "It means 'go **** yourself'."

Of course Greg didn't believe him, and just accepted it as Dad having his usual fun and let it go at that. But now it was Dad's turn at the microphone. My father was a pretty darned good singer, and many there were happy to see him finally getting up for a song or two. 

Before he got into his first song, he had a few words for the crowd. "Erin Go Bragh everybody! Erin Go Bragh! Right Greg? Erin Go Bragh!" he boomed into the mic. Needless to say, my brother was doubled over with laughter. 

While we're talking St. Patrick's Days of yore, I must tell you a story of mine from my early school days. 

Grade two it was, and our teacher had a picture of a shamrock on the board at the front of class. It wasn't labeled, so she was quizzing us as to what this particular leafy object was called.

"Clover!" came the first guess.
"No," replied teacher.

A quick succession of guesses came next, all followed with a "no" reply.

"Four leaf clover."
"Three leaf clover."
"Green clover."
"Clover leaf," and so on.

Now I had my little hand up the whole time, holding it as high as I could, waving it back and forth with furious frenzy. I knew the answer. "Pick me, oh pick me! OH, OH, OH!" my mind shouted. 

Eventually, the teacher saw me and let me have my guess. "Finally," I thought, "now I'll give this class a much needed botany lesson."

I stood tall and proud and exclaimed, "Ramshock!"

The teacher just said "no" and went to the next student as if I had just blurted out the standard "clover" answer.

I've lived down the embarrassment since then. I mean, this was grade two after all. But at least I was a helluva lot closer than anyone else. Obviously, the teacher wasn't impressed much. Incidentally, a shamrock really is just a clover. And don't you think Ramshock would be a great name for a heavy metal band?

Attention grade two students:

Left to right - Shamrock, Ramshock

Returning now to current Saint Patrick's Days; another way I celebrate is to make some Irish Stew.

Here's the recipe:

Ingredients:
1 batch of any beef stew (a can of Dinty Moore will do)

2 or 3 beers

1 bottle Irish whiskey

Directions:

Warm up stew

Pour 1/4 cup of beer into stew

Add 1 tablespoon Irish whiskey

Drink remaining beer and whiskey

Pass out

On awakening, put stew in refrigerator

Eat a bowl of Lucky Charms cereal (if you can, that is. They're magically delicious, don't ya know?)

Editor's Note:

Please do not attempt the above recipe. It was just a joke. If you do attempt it, well you'll just have to go to your room - without your supper.

I should mention another noteworthy date that takes place two days before the annual shamrock shindig. That would be the Ides of March. The only thing it's known for is being the anniversary of the assassination of Julius Caesar. Not really a day for celebration, but I suppose you could host a toga party and serve Bloody Caesars.

I generally think of March as a miserable month (and I’m sure Caesar could have lived without it). But with Saint Patrick's Day and the NCAA College Basketball Tournament, there's enough madness to keep me distracted until the warmer days of April.

 

Finally, to all the kids out there; if your parents should send you to bed for reading Snow Shoveling In Canada, just say to them with a smile and a wink, "Erin Go Bragh!"

A River Doesn't Run Through It

Unexpectedly and forgoing fanfare,

I loom up from the fog of quietude,

Emerging like a reverse shipwreck

On the Blogger Sea

It's true. I'm back after a seven year absence. Wow, talk about writer's block! That was more like writer's great barrier reef.

Those who are familiar with my blog will notice a slight difference in tone for this post. Yes, I'm the same old wacky smart-ass, but this entry will deal more with truths and setting the record straight, rather than my usual facetious and frivolous fare. At any rate, this particular issue has been bugging me to the max and I really needed to get this off my chest.

The subject matter may not, well, matter to most. After all, who knows or cares what goes on in the relatively unknown environs of a relatively unknown snow shoveler, right? It's not as if this blog will grab the attention of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (we might just see about that). On the other hand, who doesn't need a little geography lesson now and then? You never know if "Grand Bend Watershed" might come up as a "Jeopardy" category. 

My home is located within a 2 minute walk to the shore of Lake Huron. The closest notable town is Grand Bend, which is technically a community within the municipality of Lambton Shores. 

One of the picturesque features of Grand Bend is the lovely watercourse which meanders through the village before flowing into the harbor and finally emptying into Lake Huron. Surprisingly, a good many area residents do not know the name of the flow nor do they seek the name of the creek. Parkhill Creek it is.

However, if you do a Google search and query what river runs through Grand Bend, you will see a resulting snippet for the Ausable River. This should be startling news to anyone alive today. Why? Because the Ausable has not snaked its way into Grand Bend since 1875!

In fact, there are plenty of websites that still make the claim that Grand Bend is situated on the Ausable River. I’ve taken it upon myself to set the record straight, even if I have to surf the entire Internet for any site mentioning both Grand Bend and the Ausable River. Already I’ve convinced two or three to make corrections, including a Government of Ontario travel site. I’ve sent emails to another half dozen or so.

Many of these websites have not responded which leads me to believe one of three things:
One, they don’t care what the dammed (in Parkhill) waterway is called;
Two, they stubbornly and defiantly hang on to the belief it’s still the Ausable despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary;
Three, and most likely, these are old sites which no longer have a working or caring web administrator.

Another website I’ve called upon to make changes is one for a U.S. federal agency; the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. I’ll keep you posted as to how it turns out  (and I’m not holding my oceanic or atmospheric breath on this one).

As seen above, they, NOAA, are apparently using a map (or portion of it, at least) that has to date back to a time before my grandpappy was born, and I’m no spring chicken! They confusingly show the Ausable emptying into Lake Huron at Port Franks (which it does), yet flowing also to Grand Bend and emptying into the lake there. Additionally, this mystifying map also shows the river flowing from Grand Bend to Port Franks (or is it Port Franks to Grand Bend?) just inside of the shoreline! That, I suppose, is the Old Ausable Channel. That’s quite the geographic anomaly.

Oddly enough, you can tell this map is from an American agency since the outline of that circuitous course looks suspiciously like a map of the contiguous U.S. states. It’s a sloppy cartographic effort to say the least.

However, there are many such maps to be found on the web (not like the one above. I sure as heck hope you wouldn't find too many like that! I'm referring to the one above that one). Are these remnants from the 18th or 19th century which were discovered by someone who dusted them off and decided to trust them as graphic gospel truth? Could they have been purchased from “Ye Olde Mappe Shoppe?"  I’m half expecting to see an “X marks the spot” label on these charts to show where old pirate treasures are buried. I truly don’t know where they are digging these up (pun intended).

To the disbelievers and doubting Thomases who remain unconvinced that the mouth of the Ausable is at Port Franks and only at Port Franks, I urge them to take a virtual canoe trip via Google Maps. Start upriver at a point well-known for being home to the Ausable — say Arkona — and follow the river down until you reach County Road 18 (Bog Line/Parkhill Drive). At this point, switch to satellite view and zoom in. Then continue on your "voyage" until you come to an old bridge spanning the river. That is the River Road Bridge.

This is the point where a channel was cut to allow the Ausable to outlet at Port Franks. From here it is a rather direct route to the harbor at Port Franks and then on to Lake Huron. 

There is no way you can get to Grand Bend from the Ausable. Well, you conceivably could, but you would practically have to be Lewis or Clark to do so. First you would navigate down the Ausable to River Road Bridge. There you would pull your craft out of the water and then make an arduous five kilometer portage along the dried up old Ausable river bed until you reach a point known as Devil's Elbow; the point at which the Ausable River and Parkhill Creek used to meet (I remind you, that was before 1875). Then you would put your canoe into Parkhill Creek and continue on your journey, about fifteen kilometers downstream, until you and your aching bones finally float into Grand Bend. From here you can make your way into the town's charming harbor thanks to another channel which was cut in 1893 allowing Parkhill Creek to run into Lake Huron.

Now some people might ask me why I care so much. Let met put it to you this way: What if you told St. Louisters, uh St. Louisees, I mean St. Louisites, that is to say the good people of St. Louis that the river that runs by their city was the Rio Grande? You know what they would say? "Show me." And, of course, you would not be able to show them as you would not find any evidence that the city's magnificent Gateway Arch overlooks any river other than the Mississippi. 

Therefore, if there is anyone out there that still believes the Ausable River runs through Grand Bend, then we should adopt a little Missouri (state, not river) attitude and say to them, "Show me."

References

Government of Canada: Ecosystem Ausable River: action plan

HistoricBridges.org: River Road Bridge

Ausable Bayfield Conservation Authority

Southcott Pines Park Association

Wikipedia: Grand Bend

Friends of the Old Ausable Channel

And there you have it; the truth, the whole truth, and nuttin' but. No funny business like my previous posts. Although I will admit there was some smart-assedness there. I just can't help myself.