It Was a Dark and Stormy Night...

And I stayed home. Because what else would one do on a dark and stormy night?

The problem with fiction writing is you have to have ideas that other people are interested in reading. And then you have to convey those ideas in an interesting manner. Already I've used the same unimaginative word in two sentences. Not very interesting. (There I go again.)

But speaking of dark and stormy nights (last night was very bright and not dark at all due to the full moon) and other creepy things, I was just driven inside at dusk fall. Again. This time not due to creepy, carnivorous, gigantic bugs (although the mosquitoes were a factor,) but by bats. And despite my admonishments to my own mother about a week ago that bats to NOT fly into people's hair, I couldn't help feeling they were getting awfully close. I know they have the whole sonar thing going on, but everyone can make a mistake, and I didn't want this bat's mistake to be smacking me in the head. Besides, he was bigger than most of the bats I've seen around.

Did you know that if you wake up with a bat fluttering around your room, you should assume you've been bit and the bat had rabies? Scary, but true. Bat bite wounds are so tiny you are unlikely to discover them. Therefore, this is bad news for the bat, because even if it wasn't a bad bat, you must still kill it and take it's body to a lab to determine if it did in fact have rabies. Very sad for the misfortunate bat. The article I read about this did not give any tips on how you should catch and kill the unlucky creature.

When Mom and I were in the Big Bear Museum, they had all kinds of (dead and tagged) animals. The note next to the bat said, "The bat is the only mammal other than birds that is capable of flight." I cast my mind back to my grade school days and came up with the definition of "mammal" which is "An animal that is covered in hair and gives birth to live young." As always, there are exceptions- I believe rattlesnakes give birth to live young, but they don't have hair. That is why in this case the insignificant "and" suddenly becomes important. A stranger example of the "gives birth to live young AND is covered in hair" rule is the platypus, which is a mammal and lays eggs. (Lesson time: There are five total species of mammals that lay eggs. Mammals that lay eggs are called monotremes.) However, laying eggs is the least wierd thing about the platypus (in my opinion, and isn't that what this blog is about?) They are venomous (also an abnormality in mammals) the females have two ovaries, but only the left one is functional (huh?) They suckle their young, but don't have teats (ok, this is getting too odd,) instead they have a trough or groove for the milk to run down and the young lap it up. Shall I go on or have you had enough? You can read more about the platypus here: Platypus - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Soo.. to get back on track and not to make a short story any longer, I don't know who wrote that card about the bat in the Big Bear Museum, but I don't think the card should have mentioned birds at all: since they are not a mammal, they are not relevant. The bat is the only flying mammal. Period. (Besides birds. Just kidding.)

ANYWAY- before I was chased inside by a bat or bats, I was practicing agility with Blossom. I am working on weaves, back crosses, the tire and the chute. The tire is going well, the chute is progressing, back crosses are so-so and I'm not so happy with the weaves. Pie and Fancy were ahead of the learning curve, Blossom is behind. And now my weaves are broken. They rusted together (I've only had them since May!) and when I applied WD40 and pliers, instead of unscrewing, the screw snapped off. Talk about "Oh, snap."

PS- If I was to go outside on a Dark and Stormy Night, it would probably be because...

Like a Siren calling me to a watery grave, and that is Siren with a capital S because if it had a lowercase s one would hope it would warn me, and thus repel me from a grave, watery or otherwise- I was drawn outside by the hot, crackling beauty of the wild electric storm dancing across the vast openness of the dry Montana night, where, while I did not drown since it was not raining, I was struck down by over 300 kilovolts of raw energy, and before I slipped into the snugly comfort of a swoon, the type of snugly comfort such as when you wear feet pajamas, but not they type of swoon such as when you wear feet pajamas, because who swoons when they put on feet pajamas- maybe if you had a foot pajama fetish- I had time to smell my crisping, burning flesh, already flaking off my bones in the same manner that whatever it is that covers a hot dog flakes off in large flaky black flakes when you've left a hot dog under the broiler in your stove too long, and wonder why bad things came in threes: I was wanted by the Taliban for a crime I did not commit (I've told them 11 times in increasingly desperate emails that I've never even been to the Faryab area of Afghanistan and I really don't understand the sin it is I am accused of committing), my sister just informed me she was marrying my archenemies, the Rancher next door at the Old Skipin' T, and pet scorpion died and my truck broke an axle (I listed those as one since they are related,) AND I just got struck by lighting for the second time in six years and eight and one half months- I suppose that is four bad things, but I've found large amounts of electricity applied directly to the brain does odd things to your counting abilities, among other things.