No entry planned for today, so I suspect this will be a mishmash. For those of you tired of waiting for photos to load, you shouldn't have to worry with this one.

First off, thanks to Andrew for the warning on the PayPal scam emails. Had two already, and wisely ignored them, but nice of him to let us all know.

This is to Rift, since she no longer has a guestbook and I'm too lazy to go to her other site:

I think the other fellow is right. When he has canids mark surfaces with their paws, they are tools, not artists. They have no idea their paws are leaving those marks, nor do they care. Evidence the heelers' looks of bewilderment when I get mad over muddy paw prints in the rig, or when the wife scolds them for paw prints on her work clothes.

This is not to say that dogs are not artists. Canids do not live in a visual world. Much of their perception is olfactory. It is quite possible that when a dog rubs the top of its head in cat pee, or the entire back in a dead nightcrawler, it is expressing art, as they perceive it.

Hence, again, the looks of bewilderment when we dare to complain about their masterpiece.

Received a wonderful photo in the email today, from an internet friend. Of her wedding. Beautiful setting.

She identified herself as the one in ivory in the photo.

And it struck me that I had never received that kind of information before. In my life, I guess it has never been needed. But with the internet, friends that you have never met, and particularly those that have just created a same-sex marriage, suddenly you don't automatically know which marriage partner in the picture is the one you know.

A different world.

I like it.

Going to spend all of next week in the town 120 miles west of here. At noon, I found out a friend is spending next week at a meeting of her profession in the town by Chief Washakie's hot springs. Fun comparing notes.

Whereas our meetings are about 80 percent males, hers are about 70 percent female. They also drink to mingle and visit, but do it in the hospitality room so they won't get hit on so much by drunk men.

We either drink in the bar, where the women supposedly are, or by a keg out by the pool.

They also get bottled water at their meetings. But she and her friends pitch the water and fill the bottles with wine.

I guess that would help any meeting. Might have to try it next week (Reminds me... I still need to make room reservations. Hate doing that. May just decide to commute every day.)

Going back to dogs...

Rift also made deprecating remarks about the intelligence level of dogs. Naturally I have to respond.

First off, their intelligence level varies greatly between breeds. But what I wanted to comment on is how some "scientists" test intelligence.

One of the criteria for high intelligence is supposed to be self awareness.

Normal means of testing that is to put a colored mark on the head or face of an animal, and see if they notice in a mirror. If they don't, the conclusion is that they are unaware that that is themselves they see in the mirror, and are therefore not self aware.

It's bullshit.

Having been caught sneaking my hand up behind a heeler who is staring in a mirror, I can assert that they do know that is their own reflection in the mirror. And perceive the hand seen in the mirror to be a threat to themselves coming from behind.

We have also placed stickers and ribbons upon our heeler's heads, and had opportunity to watch their reaction in a mirror.

Which is none.

It is not that they don't see the defect in their image. It is not that they do not perceive that image as being of themselves.

It is that they don't care.

Again, they're not visually oriented.

Make a dog stink like something flowery and unpleasant, and I will guarantee you they are self aware. They know the stink is on them, and not someone else. And will take drastic measures to remedy the problem.

Wife and I celebrated Friday the Thirteenth by going out for Chinese dinner. As we were finishing up, we were joined by a friend dining in the same restaurant. And visited for probably over a half hour, as the staff waited to clear our table. A fun visit. And I'm going to steal one of her stories, just because I want to share.

She grew up on her grandparents' ranch. Grandfather had traps set out for a coyote that'd been stealing chickens, and caught a badger by mistake. Which the dogs killed before he could call them off.

Leaving an orphaned badger kit a little bigger than palm size.

Which she and her sister raised. On dog food and milk. It favored her sister, and would allow her to take it out and carry it around, draped across her arm. The short, stubby tail wagging back and forth as the back feet peddled in the air, the badger mumbling and grumbling all the time.

Come fall, they let it go in a valley where the public did not have access. And he stayed, all winter. Grandfather would go out and whistle, and the badger would throw its head up to look back. Then resume being a badger.

Come spring, he finally left. Realizing there was more to life than diggin' gophers, and he needed to go find one.

Wonderful story. And she had others just as good, but you know how we feel about badgers.

And the latest Foxy Loxy news. She has been granted full run of the garage.

And has discovered the pet door. Sneaking into the kitchen to steal food from the dogs' bowl, and drink from their water bucket (even though hers are full).

That is all.