Blogger vs. Nature: Endgame.

I like to believe that you can get a really good feel for how people see you based on the news stories that you get sent from your friends. Although I’m not really sure why I’m sticking to that theory considering that for several months, people were quite certain that my life could not go on without helping me keep up with gay porn stars who just so happened to also be bank robbers*.

Then again, I guess I did click through to read more…but mostly because I was hoping for some hilarious discovery of transferable skills between professional sexing and bank-robbing.

But wait now–how ‘big stars’ can they be if they still need to rob banks for cash? Maybe they were just extras like the pervy bartender who looks on the whole time while polishing a glass as a visual inuendo, or the jogger-in-the-park who lingers just a scootch too long when he stumbles upon–you know what? Nevermind. This isn’t important. What I actually meant to talk about today is how I woke up this morning to about six people sending me the following headline:

“Juneau woman saves dog from bear with well-aimed punch.”

For all the non-clickers out there, the important parts of the story are that this Alaskan woman–which I now picture in my head to be a three-part blend of Amazonian warriors, Vikings, and Sarah Palin–stepped into her backyard to see her dachshund flopping around in a bear’s mouth like a salmon. Her words. Not mine. I have no grasp on what nature looks like.

So, she ran right up to the bear, punched him in the face, snatched up her dog, and went back into the house where I assume she treated the dog’s injuries Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman-style before baking muffins in the shape of bear paws for the neighbourhood kids in order to teach them a lesson about respecting nature. No bigs.

And while the responses from my friends ranged from a simple, saw this and thought of you, to please don’t ever do this, I think we all know what this actually means: someday, somewhere, somehow, I’m going to die in a fight against nature’s wildest predators in attempts to defend my dachshunds.

Well, that or the newf will after I passive-aggressively point out that he should be a man which coincidentally is also how I get him to mow the lawn, cut up a bowl of fresh fruit for me every morning, and return the late movie rentals. I assure you, fighting impossible battles against Mother Earth’s creations to defend my honour isn’t that far of a stretch. Or have we already forgotten this?