Another day, another installment of the crazy wacky life of yours truly. As many of you have already heard, Last Sunday, January 13th, I finally got my cow elk. And what a hunt it was. We kept playing around down in the lower stuff hoping that all the snow we’ve received would drive them down out of the really steep hills they know and love, but sadly this did not happen. or rather the one time it did happen, we were just a bit too late and some other dude got in there before us and killed one. This spooked the entire herd back up into the nasties. So in the end we gained about 1300 feet of vertical altitude before even getting my 438 yard shot, and then an additional 350 feet upward to get to her. Then the fun started. We were in some of the steepest terrain I’ve been to in a long time, and dragging an elk out in 2.5 feet of snow was a bit of a challenge. We ended up coming out of a wash canyon which had entertained a flood a few years prior, and so there were numerous parts which required lowering the animal down on ropes before we descended the 15 foot cliffs ourselves. The whole time we were headed out I kept wishing we had a camera with us. I would like to go up and get the pictures but…… uh no. As you can imagine, school has kept me pretty busy. The Nikkinator is about 3.5 weeks from her due date and reality is starting to kick me in the groin. Against my will, we have been looking into names and all the creepy things associated with having a baby. The anti-nursery is looking less and less anti every day and contains more shades of pink than I knew existed. The days of me sitting in the rocker in the anti-nursery dressed in camo with my spotting scope rested on the changing table watching the hills for large animals are now over. All too soon our house will smell of diapers, baby wipes, and a number of other smells I can’t say I enjoy. As we have been moving all this stuff in and arranging it I have noticed one thing. All the baby crap I have seen thus far contains pictures of babies which creep me out! They are far too… infantile! I expect them all to jump off the box and form ranks to advance on my position. I’d have to call Nikki and the dogs in as backup. I’m sure I could take out a number of them but we have a LOT of boxes. Also each box has to be politically correct so you’d have equal numbers of white, black, latino and asian children all of which would surely employ unique tactics. They’d be able to bolster their ranks by using the terrifying drawings that children (even fake ones from boxes) all draw. Horrific scribble children with claws (or maybe they just have purple hair, I don’t know) would organize masterful tactics of warfare involving D.O.R.A. the Explorer (Department of Observational Reconnaissance and Assessment) and Bob the Builder (the code name for their top secret engineering corps). In the end I’m afraid the house would fall to the enemy and I’d die in a last ditch effort to take out their chain of command. Since they can’t reach the cupboards and don’t have jobs, they’d have to cannibalize my corpse in the way that only overly cute children can. They’d make primitive weapons from my dried (and might I add spectacularly sturdy) bones and as the food supply continued to dwindle the tribal bonds that held them together in the early days would strain and begin to break. At first there would be just a few rebellious outcasts, but soon the resistance would grow. The rebels would seek refuge in the basement while the fascist hierarchy of governmental oppression took hold of the main floor. The Proper’s (the name of the children which were originally from the box and who had formed the Proper’s Fascist State) would attempt an assassination of the rebel leaders (most of which are comprised of the oppressed scribble children called Scrib’s) to quell the violent resistance. It would nearly succeed, but at the last second an inside informant would tip off the Scrib’s. This would cause a huge upset and force the start of the revolution. By this time the Scrib’s would have discovered my weapons cache in the basement, a whole ream of printer paper and the technological marvel that is the internet. Using these advanced tools of destruction, they’d print out images of the most horrible children one can find on the internet. These Super Scrib’s would be pivotal in the days to come as the Proper’s had discovered a stockpile of power tools and explosive chemicals in the garage and were also busy arming for the inevitable war. With the attempted assassination of their leader as the opening shot, the Scrib’s would officially declare war on the Proper’s. The war would open with a spectacular fight scene on the stairs, in which 40-50% of either side would perish. While falling back to rearm, the Scrib’s would lull the Proper’s into a false sense of retreat in which the Proper’s would advance to overcome their absolute enemy. As they advanced toward the Scrib’s stronghold in the office, D.O.R.A. would send erratic reports of well orchestrated attacks on the rear of the advancing force. An overwhelming force of Super Scrib’s would emerge from the theater and begin tearing through the now surrounded Proper’s. In a last ditch effort, General Tinky Winky Tacticus would order leftenant Big Bird to call in the “Fire”. With reluctant anxiety, the order would be given to firebomb the basement. With tears running out of their inky little faces, the Proper’s and the Scrib’s would all perish in flame. The fire would quickly spread through the whole house eliminating all evidence that either society had ever existed. Only a few insects would survive the ordeal and would later organize the stories into texts depicting the evil and prejudice with which they killed each other and themselves. These teachings of peace and acceptance would sweep through the insect world, causing ticks to undergo physical checkups to endure there are no contagious diseases before attaching themselves to a willing donor. It would implore bacteria to adhere to maximum division quota’s to avoid overpopulation and subsequent illness or death of the host body. In the end it would all amount to naught because before the word could spread more than a city block, all enlightened insects would succumb to the pesticides I sprayed around my basement or they would be eaten by birds. The moral of the story is… uh… wow I don’t even know. Uh… OH YEA, babies are evil!
