Category Archives: Animals
From TFI: http://theferalirishman.blogspot.com/
Ironically, liberal proponents of Darwinism have worked a miracle of evil by reversing a natural process at the heart of Darwin’s theories: survival of the fittest. Their all-smothering welfare state provides financial incentives for the least fit to produce as many offspring as possible; whereas the taxpayers who finance their counterproductive lives of fecund sloth cannot afford many children and are too busy working to pay their taxes to raise them. Consequently, we are becoming genetically debased: conspicuously less industrious and less intelligent with each generation as we de-evolve into a species resembling an infernal cross between domestic pigs and tapeworms. Try to imagine Obama being elected president 30 years ago. Not content to destroy the human race, liberals also inflict their sanctimonious malevolence on beasts of the wilderness:
[T]he Northern Spotted Owl is a relatively weak owl species because it is a specialist: it thrives only in old-growth forests while eating flying squirrels. It is now being threatened by a generalist: an owl species that will live pretty much anywhere, and eat pretty much anything smaller than it. This species is also highly territorial, and tough, known to harass and kill Northern Spotted Owls on sight (and even eat them).
In sum, there’s a new sheriff in town. Meet the Barred Owl — also known as the “Hoot Owl” (for its distinctive call).
While humans have been kept in check under the Endangered Species act, this tough, adaptable owl species is rapidly driving the Northern Spotted Owl toward extinction, at the rate of nearly three percent a year.
That’s nature for you. The vast majority of species that have existed are now extinct, and not because Democrats lack sufficient regulatory power. However,
if Northern Spotted Owls become extinct at the beaks of the Barred Owls, it will mean that all the work of environmentalists, and all the costs imposed on humans [e.g., crippling the Pacific Northwest timber industry, driving countless people out of work], will have been for naught. Hobbled by the sunk-cost fallacy, those focused on past investments made to save Northern Spotted Owls conclude that letting nature take its course is “not a good alternative when you consider how much resources we’ve already committed” to saving the Northern Spotted Owl.
As Noel S. Williams reports at The American Thinker, this fall federal wildlife officials will launch a “diabolical” program to “lure barred owls by propagating recordings of other barred owls, then shoot the birds to smithereens.” This program follows up on test killings of 73 Barred Owls between 2009 and 2012.
That was just for starters. Like malignant tumors, government programs grow:
The feds will spend $3 million over the next four years to kill another 3,600 Barred Owls, a plan that’s been dubbed “Seduce and Shoot.” This is merely an expanded test program (confined to 1/20th of one percent of territory occupied by the Barred Owl), and the feds contemplate greatly expanding the program if it helps stem the decline of the Northern Spotted Owl.
Noel Williams concludes,
“Our government just doesn’t seem to celebrate success, whether in business or nature.”
The supposed goal of the environmental extremists who run the government is to preserve nature in its pristine state at the expense of humans. But not even nature can escape hyper-regulation by authoritarian do-gooders, and not only taxpayers are made to pay the price for it.
On a tip from Zilla.
From Moonbattery: http://moonbattery.com/
I love cows and farming, having grown up around my grandparent’s farm as a child. That is why I enjoy Patrice Lewis’s blog about their rural life. I love cows especially. They evoke a peace and contentment so opposite today’s crazy world. They make me happy. I wish I lived close to Patrice so I could get some of that good fresh milk! ZTW
Here Rosy (whose mother is Victoria) sneaks a drink from Sparky (whose calf is Dusty).
And on and on it went.
Polly just stood patiently and chewed her cud while the youngsters took advantage of her tolerance.
From the cheeky expression on Chester’s face, he seems to know exactly how sly he’s being…
…before diving in for more.
We call Matilda our Universal Donor because of her willingness to nurse any calf. Now it seems Polly has the same penchant. I wonder if that’s a Jersey trait? Either way, Polly’s continued transition from carefree heifer to mature and patient milk cow is going beautifully.
From Rural Revolution: http://www.rural-revolution.com/
Found at Theo: http://www.theospark.net/
FORT STEWART, Ga. – The bond between a military police and his military working dog is very special. This bond is built upon a high level of trust and companionship. When joined together, they become a working team that stretch beyond the battlefield.
KHanrahan (h/t Savage) When an MP loses the other half of his working team on the battlefield, it can be very hard to deal with.
On March 11, Staff Sgt. Bak, a military working dog, along with his handler, Sgt. Marel Molina, both assigned to the 93rd Military Working Dog Detachment, 385th Military Police Battalion, 16th Military Police Brigade, were injured by enemy gunfire in a blue-on-green attack. Bak passed later that day during surgery from wounds he received.
On May 14, the Fort Stewart community paid tribute to Bak at a Memorial Ceremony held at the MWD Kennels at Wright Army Airfield.
There was nothing better than seeing those Afghan mountain peaks slowly turning from brown to white. It seemed that, as the snow melted away, US Army Sergeant Marel Molina and his Military Working Dog Bak’s time remaining in Afghanistan withered away day by day.
But Sergeant Molina couldn’t think about going home today, even though he was a short two months away. He had work to do.
No, that wasn’t right. He and MWD Bak had work to do.
Keeping his Green Beret team alive was hard work.
Sergeant Molina listened intently as Captain Pedersen, his Green Beret Alpha Team leader, discussed that day’s mission with the Afghan local policemen. But Molina barely understood a word of their exchange.
He was always impressed that many of these Green Berets could speak Pashtun, one of the predominant languages in Afghanistan.
Looking over his shoulder he spied the 100-pound working dog lying in the back of the Razor, his thick mahogany coat with black tipping made him a picture-perfect German shepherd, fit for the movies. The dog dozed in and out of wakefulness, but Sergeant Molina knew in a snap of his fingers MWD Bak would be focused on one thing—finding buried explosives.
The Green Beret team knew this as well. MWD Bak had already used his extraordinary explosive-sniffing skills to unearth six improvised explosives that surely would have wiped out the entire team by now.
His Majesty MWD Bak could lounge anywhere he wanted. It didn’t matter when, where, or with whom. The three-year-old shepherd was always ready for duty.
Sergeant Molina scanned the group of Afghan local policemen and thought he recognized a few of them. The Green Berets frequently patrolled with the local men, trained with them, and tried to assist them in policing their country. But it was hard to keep them all straight with their constant turnover.
The Afghan men were a ragtag bunch with look-alike uniforms in varying states, pockets and pouches stuffed with who knew what, in gear strapped to their chests that included an American AK-47.
Today for patrol, their motley crew consisted of a squad on infantry from the 3rd Infantry Division, a handful of Green Berets, Sergeant Molina, and MWD Bak. Captain Pedersen shook the hand of the Afghan local policemen’s leader and turned to brief the Americans. Then all hell broke loose. Gunfire, screaming, and pleas for help filled the air.
An Afghan local policeman turned his AK-47 on the group and shot wildly into the group of Americans. Sergeant Molina felt something slice through the left side of his neck. He dropped to the ground next to Captain Pedersen.
Pedersenwas lifeless, shot through the head. The man never stood a chance. The same bullet that had ripped through Pedersen’s head was the one that ripped through Sergeant Molina’s neck. It was ironic to think that being shot through the neck was lucky. But in Afghanistan everything is relative.
In seconds the shooting was over and the rogue Afghan local policeman was gunned down by a Green Beret. But not before the policeman had injured a handful of American soldiers, killed Pedersen, and members of the infantry squad participating in that day’s mission.
Blood flowed from Sergeant Molina’s neck, but he couldn’t feel the pain yet. He stood up and his knee felt like he had hit it on a rock or gotten a “charlie horse.” Then he saw blood dripping from his right knee and a hole in his pants.
Adrenaline rushed through his body as he wobbled over to a fallen comrade and began to conduct first aide on the fallen man. The soldier was a lot worse than Molina. He would be lucky to make it.
Once a medic relieved him, Molina pulled security on the other Afghan policeman and then assisted in disarming them. With the threat neutralized and the adrenaline subsiding, Sergeant Molina realized he hadn’t heard from MWD Bak.
Initially when Molina had dropped to the ground he had seen Bak lying calmly on the Razorvehicle. The dog had nerves of steel; he had been hit before with shrapnel from a rocket-propelled grenade and barely whimpered. “Bak, come here boy.” A spike of fear shot through his body when Bak didn’t move.
He rushed to his dog and panic ripped through him as he realized Bak’s once mahogany hind legs were wet and dark with his own blood.
“Medic,” screamed Molina as he ripped open a box of field bandages and tried to locate the entrance wound. As he touched Bak, the dog’s eyes fluttered and Molina knew he was losing consciousness. He would go into shock next. The medic arrived and handed a catheter to Molina who inserted it into Bak’s leg. The dog needed fluids immediately.
“It’s all right buddy, Daddy is right here, pal. You’re going to be fine,” said Molina as he watched his battle buddy gasp for air. Molina knew the dog had internal bleeding. Molina wondered what that bullet had ripped through inside Bak.
The MEDVAC chopper landed and loaded them all. Molina lay by Bak’s side the entire time. Sometime during the flight Molina began losing consciousness, but he kept an arm around Bak, reassuring him that everything would be all right, praying that everything would be all right. But it wasn’t.
As Molina lay in a hospital bed at Bagram Airbase awaiting surgery, the veterinarian came in with a somber face. Tears streamed down Molina’s cheeks. He already knew what was the veterinarian was going to say. “I’m sorry, Sergeant, but Bak bled out internally. He’s left us.” They had been so close to going home. Now only one would go.
Sergeant Marel Molina received lifesaving surgery at Bagram Airbase Afghanistan, was evavced to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany and then to Walter Reed Hospital in Washington, DC. He has moved from crutches, to a cane, to walking on his own. He has high hopes for being completely off aids soon and is very close to a full recovery.
Physically he will heal, but mentally he will never be the same. He will never forget his battle buddy Military Working Dog Bak and the images of him lying on that chopper, bleeding out, and Molina powerless to help him.
Bak wasn’t a piece of equipment, and he wasn’t just a dog, Military Working Dog Bak was a fellow soldier, who died fighting for this country. Sergeant Molina and many other soldiers are alive today because of their fellow soldier, Military Working Dog Bak.
As a country we celebrate Memorial Day to remember the men and women who fought and died for this country. But for those that fought beside them, we also think of our four-legged soldiers who made the ultimate sacrifice.
Please remember Military Working Dog Bak and the others like him who made the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom.