Category Archives: Animals
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.
When Marine Sgt. Ross Gundlachserved as a dog handler in Afghanistan, he told the yellow lab who was his constant companion that he’d look her up when he returned home. ”I promised her if we made it out of alive, I’d do whatever it took to find her,” Gundlach said.
Yahoo News On Friday, he made good on that vow with help from some sentimental state officials in Iowa who know how to pull off a surprise. Since leaving active duty to take classes at the University of Wisconsin this summer, Gundlach, of Madison, Wis., had been seeking to adopt 4-year-old Casey.
The 25-year-old learned Casey had finished her military service and had been sent to the Iowa State Fire Marshal’s Office, where she was used to detect explosives.
Gundlach wrote to State Fire Marshal Director Ray Reynolds, explaining the connection he felt with the dog. He even has a tattoo on his right forearm depicting Casey with angel wings and a halo, sitting at the foot of a Marine.
“He’s been putting a case together for the last two months, sending me pictures … it just tugged on your heart,” Reynolds said. Reynolds decided to arrange a surprise. First, he got in touch with the Iowa Elk’s Association, which agreed to donate $8,500 to buy another dog for the agency.
“We have a motto in our association that as long as there are veterans, the Elks will strive to help them,” Iowa Elks Association president Tom Maher said. Then, Reynolds came up with a ruse to get Gundlach to Des Moines, telling Gundlach he needed to come to the state Capitol to plead his case in front of a “bureaucratic oversight committee.”
When Gundlach arrived with his parents, Reynolds told them the meeting had been delayed and invited them to join an Armed Services Day celebration in the rotunda. There, hundreds of law enforcement officers, military personnel and civilians were seated, keeping the secret — until they brought out Casey.
When Gundlach saw Casey, he put his head in his hands and cried. She licked his face, wagging her tail furiously. “It was a total surprise,” he said. “I owe her. I’ll just try to give her the best life I can.”
His father, Glen Gundlach, seemed just as surprised. “It’s unbelievable … the state of Iowa, I love ‘em,” he said.
Gov. Terry Branstad officially retired Casey from active duty during Friday’s ceremony, thanking the dog for a “job well done.”
During the 150 missions they performed together, Gundlach said Casey never missed an explosive — she caught three before they could be detonated. He credits her for making it back home safely. “I wouldn’t be here … any kids I ever had wouldn’t exist if Casey hadn’t been here,” he said.
Bare Naked Islam: http://www.barenakedislam.com/
It’s always convenient if calves are born in the corral for two reasons; one, the animals have the shelter of the barn if they need it; and two, we can dehorn or castrate the calves without having to embark on a wild goose (calf?) chase across the pasture to capture them.
Anyway, we came home from our neighborhood potluck last night — and saw that Lily had had her calf! She had just dropped it, and I mean just. The calf was still wet and hadn’t gotten to its feet yet.
Altogether now: “Awwww….”
My parents flew in to visit last week and are staying in Coeur d’Alene. My Dad came in for last night’s potluck, though my Mom wasn’t feeling quite up to it. So Dad — a city boy from birth — got to see a newborn calf and he watched enraptured as the baby struggled to its feet and took its first nourishing meal of colostrum. He’d never seen a newborn calf before.
Lily spent a good deal of time licking her baby. This accomplishes three things: (1) it cleans the newborn; (2) it stimulates the baby’s circulation; and (3) it familiarizes the cow with her baby’s unique scent.
The rest of the herd was eager to catch a glimpse of the newcomer.
While we’re not positive of the gender, the elegant long head makes me think it’s a girl. Boys usually have shorter heads. Younger Daughter tentatively has named her Leto, after the Greek goddess of motherhood (since she was born on Mother’s Day).
Found at Theo
How to Raise Backyard Chickens
by A Manly Guest Contributor on March 26, 2013 in Manly Skills
Editor’s note: This is a guest post from Creek Stewart of Willow Haven Outdoor.
I’m a smart man. I have surrounded myself with a very beautiful group of girls who tirelessly landscape my yard, provide rich compost for my garden, dispose of my kitchen scraps, handle insect control around the house, keep me company, and even make me a fresh breakfast each morning. These highly productive females in my life are not actually human. They are chickens, though I affectionately refer to them as my lovely lady lumps.
I consider my small flock of backyard chickens to be one of the best investments I’ve ever made – even though they cost very little time, energy, or money. If you are interested in having a harem of hens in your life like mine, below is some insight about how to get started.
The Perks of Raising Backyard Chickens
Some of you might be wondering – why chickens? Let’s get this question out of the way first. Several years ago, raising chickens was something that only people in the country did. Chickens were associated with farms and wide open spaces. Not anymore! I would actually consider backyard chickens to be a modern cultural phenomenon. Thousands of families are adding a small flock (2-5) to their backyard, right next to the doghouse. When I bought my first house it only had a 20’x20’ backyard. The first thing I did was put in a small chicken coop with three hens, which is the perfect number for starting out. The biggest misconception with raising chickens is that you need to live in the country. This is simply not true. Yes, local regulations or neighborhood ordinances may impact your decision, but many communities are very chicken friendly or easily convinced otherwise.
In my experience, there are many benefits to raising a small backyard flock. Let’s explore some of my favorites.
- Fresh Eggs: Fresh eggs are the most obvious reason, or as I like to call them, “Hen Berries.” Hens will start laying eggs at about 6 months old. They will consistently lay an egg every 1-2 days for several years. These eggs, especially when the chickens are given kitchen scraps and/or allowed to free range, are more flavorful than anything you’ll ever find in the store.
- Composting: Chickens are amazing compost factories. They will turn almost any kitchen scrap into a nutrient rich garden additive – poop. They love vegetable scraps, bread, grains, and even meat scraps. We’ll get more into food later.
- Landscaping and Insect Control: If you allow your chickens to free range (roam out of the coop), they will meticulously landscape around your trees and shrubs. They will also hunt down insects like trained ninja assassins. I often call them my little T-Rexes. I’ve seen them eat every kind of insect you can imagine, as well as snakes, mice, minnows from the shallow edge of our pond, and even a fallen baby bird. They are vicious killers and their distant connected ancestry to majestic birds of prey can be seen when you look into their eye. However, they love fresh grass and plant shoots as well and will happily weed your garden (or planters) once it is established.
- Pets: Yes, that’s right, chickens make great pets. When you raise and handle chickens from small chicks they will gladly eat from your hand, sit in your lap, and follow you around the yard. They will also happily poop in your lap as well. They’ll come to you when you call and wait for you at the door. They have great personalities. They are incredibly curious and forage for food tirelessly. They rise early and like to go to bed just before dusk. They are absolutely the most low maintenance pet (except for maybe a goldfish) that you can own. As long as they have fresh food, water, and a clean coop, they will be happy as can be. They aren’t needy like many animals and are just as happy when you’re not home. I leave my hens for days at a time with no problems.
Read the entire very informative and entertaining article at:
The Art of Manliness: http://www.artofmanliness.com/2013/03/26/how-to-raise-backyard-chickens/
Found at The Daley Gator: http://thedaleygator.wordpress.com/
Found at Mad Medic:http://maddmedic.wordpress.com/
I agree with the Irishman – I don’t feel very motivated today. ZTW
From Feral Irishman: http://theferalirishman.blogspot.com/
Found at Mad Medic: http://maddmedic.files.wordpress.com/2013/03/rhinos.jpg
Found at Rural Revolution
OFF TOPIC: Two herds of elephants trek 12 miles to mourn the loss of their friend – Lawrence Anthony
When author and legendary conservationist, Lawrence Anthony, renowned for saving the lives of countless elephants, died on March 7, 2012, a large procession of elephants walked at least 12 hours to Anthony’s house to pay respects to their special friend.
TUMBLR It was their way of silently saying goodbye to a man who recognized their humanity and valued their lives. It is also a remarkable proof that animals have the capacity to grieve and mourn the loss of those close to them…not limited to their own species.
Lawrence Anthony, a legend in South Africa and author, bravely rescued wildlife and rehabilitated elephants all over the globe from human atrocities.
For 12 hours, two herds of wild South African elephants slowly made their way through the Zululand bush until they reached the house of late author Lawrence Anthony, the conservationist who saved their lives.The formerly violent, rogue elephants, destined to be shot a few years ago as pests, were rescued and rehabilitated by Anthony, who had grown up in the bush and was known as the “Elephant Whisperer.”
For two days the herds loitered at Anthony’s rural compound on the vast Thula Thula game reserve in the South African KwaZulu – to say good-bye to the man they loved. But how did they know he had died March 7? Known for his unique ability to calm traumatized elephants, Anthony had become a legend. He is the author of three books, Babylon Ark, detailing his efforts to rescue the animals at Baghdad Zoo during the Iraqi war, the forthcoming The Last Rhinos, and his bestselling The Elephant Whisperer.
There are two elephant herds at Thula Thula. According to his son Dylan, both arrived at the Anthony family compound shortly after Anthony’s death.“They had not visited the house for a year and a half and it must have taken them about 12 hours to make the journey,” Dylan is quoted in various local news accounts.
“The first herd arrived on Sunday and the second herd, a day later. They all hung around for days before making their way back into the bush.”Elephants have long been known to mourn their dead. In India, baby elephants often are raised with a boy who will be their lifelong “mahout.” The pair develop legendary bonds – and it is not uncommon for one to waste away without a will to live after the death of the other
Anthony was convinced that they could communicate on another level. And now here they are, every night, coming to say goodbye.” is what a friend had to say after seeing what took place following his death.
Found at Bare Naked islam: http://www.barenakedislam.com/