We were attacked last night by the Biebers, with the lead javelina ripping at the cardboard on the doggy door. I kept yelling and going out to shoo the little bastard away, but he kept coming back and gnawing on the door with his sharp little tusks. Finally cleared the yard at about eight.
One of the amazing feats these little obnoxious Biebers do is to come right through our front gate. Here is a photo of the gate. Can you spot where they are coming through?
Okay, see that little sliver of space on the right of the gate? Yes, that six inch opening right here:
We had a pipe spacer in there attached to the adobe wall, but they gnawed right through that like it was taffy. Yes, javelina look like fat pigs, don't they? Yes, I know, they are not pigs.
But I have personally watched a whole herd go through the slit in that gate, so I know they can really slim down when they want to.
Our neighbors Cal and Jon Nelson gifted us a Bieber-Away contraption they made for their yard and they claim it works. It is a rack with four old CDs on it that spin in the wind and reflect sunlight. Allegedly the swirling light freaks them out.
I'll keep you posted on the success of this colorful little contraption.
Woke up this morning and whipped out a little study I call "Moon of the Mojaves".
Full disclosure: I went to school with a Mojave named Moon Nish at Mohave County Union High School. Mojaves are very large and Moon was six foot three. He played tight end on our JV football team and his head was too big for most of the football helmets belonging to the school. Coach Frank Baca finally found a slightly off color yellow helmet (our colors were blue and gold and the regular helmets were gold) that sort of fit him.
Baca had this weird idea that I could be a quarterback. Although I was flattered, it was really because the talented quarterbacks, Wayne Rutschman and Heber Nelson were often called up to varsity and they needed someone to hold down the fort when no one was home. One day in practice, our half back, Bill Blake was not effectively blocking out the tight end, who was, ta da—Vincent "Moon" Nish. Baca, made me drop back to pass over and over so that Moon would crash into Bill Blake and then smash me into the ground. As I dropped back each and every time, all I could see was this off-yellow football helmet coming in on the right, and then, blue sky. I had nightmares about that helmet for many years. Anyway, this is for Moon.
"What does not kill us, makes us slightly neurotic."
—Old Vaquero Saying
