2001-02-01
Dear Diary:

When I woke up this morning and came down to the kitchen, there was Mortimer standing on his tiptoes in the kitchen window, his fuzzy nose pressed against the glass.

Mortimer on his tiptoes, peering out the window at the winter wonderland outside. I was afraid for a moment that he was feeling lonely or homesick for the store where I bought him, a store full of plush animals just like him. I had dragged him way out into the boonies, alone, completely out of his element. Could he adapt?

I needn't have worried. It turns out he was trying to watch the birds at our feeder. I'd forgotten that moose have notoriously poor eyesight so he wasn't having an easy time.

Once Paul figured out the problem, he hooked up a pair of binoculars for Mortimer and the moose spent many happy hours today just exploring the world outside my kitchen window.

Mortimer seeing the world in focus.  What a thrill that must have been, eh.

His patience was finally rewarded when a nuthatch landed on the feeder. You can imagine his excitement, eh. Yes, it looks as if Mortimer is an avid birder, among other things. He's most definitely a country critter.

Mortimer seeing his first bird, a nuthatch.  I think he has the makings of an avid birder, eh.

*Insert incredibly mournful, pathos ridden violin version of Un Canadien Errant here, playing very softly*.

I haven't broken the news to Mortimer that he may not be able to spend all his days out here in the boonies watching birds, living the kind of free range country life a moose should know.

*Slightly increase the volume of the incredibly mournful, pathos ridden violin version of Un Canadien Errant here*.

No, I haven't mentioned yet that across the ocean The Dutch Menace of Team Betronic Design (boo hiss) looms, quietly racking up the SETI@home results that could turn poor Mortimer into a stranger in a strange land.

*Alrightee, increase the volume of the incredibly mournful, pathos ridden violin version of Un Canadien Errant here, bringing it to a heart-rending crescendo*.

I ... I ... I just haven't got the heart to break it to the little buckaroo.

*Okay, deathly silence here. We're going for the major tug on the heartstrings. Are you ready?*

But it doesn't have to be that way, eh.

Join the SETI@home program by downloading the screensaver.. Become part of the biggest computer project ever undertaken. Volunteer your computer's spare time towards looking for alien civilizations out in the dark reaches of a starry sky.

And ... and ... and if the thought of a small, plush moose far from home, stuck in a country where they might make him cram his fuzzy tootsies into wooden shoes is just too much for you to bear, then why not join Team Newkirk? Your results will be added to our total, and if we can produce more SETI units than Team Betronic Design (boo hiss) by March 1, then Mortimer stays here.

Do It For The Moose.

--Marn

P.S. -- We will now return you to our regularly scheduled Big Adventure programming, with only sporadic moose updates. Mortimer is a fairly shy individual, and I think we can all agree to respect his needs, eh?


SETI@home

There has been an outpouring of sympathy for the plight of one small moose. The incredibly cute and deeply talented Paul of Rilting fame has even made a button for the Do It For The Moose Campaign.

Here's where the instructions are on how to get it.

Old Drivel - New Drivel


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Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

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2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.