Shut up!

I woke at first light one morning last week to the barking of a dog.
My dog.
Even half asleep, I could recognize his voice.
He was raising a ruckus at the far end of our property, upset over some early morning walker or the paper boy. Next to me my wife still slumbered, or at least pretended to, so instead of my usual “Shut up!” I whistled and soon heard Jem race past the bedroom window.
Had Barb been awake I probably wouldn’t have yelled “Shut up” either. She prefers “No bark!” and in her presence that’s what I try to use or I’ll hear about it.
Mom and Dad would be proud. “Shut up” wasn’t allowed in our house when I was a kid especially if directed toward my sister. I think we used “Quiet!” when the dogs began to bark.
But somewhere in my sordid past, I made the switch to “Shut up,” and as is the case with a number of descriptive profanities I picked up along the way, I have a hard time making the switch to a more acceptable command like “No bark.”
“Dilly darn” it all anyway, I’m no Ned Flanders.
My younger daughter also has an affinity for the phrase. But her “Shut up” in no way calls for quiet. Leslie uses it to mean “You’ve got to be kidding.”
Which is often how my dogs react.
Especially Spot who barks with enthusiasm when fed, let out of the kennel or taken on a walk. She howls with delight when I’m readying my hunting gear and barks non-stop when I load the shotgun.
“No bark,” has no effect at all in those instances and reminds me a bit too much of a New Age parent asking an ill-behaved child if he needs a “time out.”
“Shut up!” at least gives Spot pause and still works magic on two-year-old Jem who remains a teeny bit afraid of me.
The whistle that morning only worked because he thought he was going to be fed. By the time he realized he wasn’t and returned to the far end of the yard, the ogre that had raised his ire was gone.
I’ll put up with the occasional bark. I enjoy hearing different canine voices. It’s incessant, non-stop barking I can’t tolerate. And I can’t believe “No bark!” is the rememdy.
But I’ll try, especially in the presence of my wife, to be more genteel in disciplining my hounds. She may just tell me to “Shut up!” if I don’t.
And she won’t mean “you’ve got to be kidding.”
Parker Heinlein is at pman@mtintouch.net.

Getting kids hooked on fishing

Getting a kid hooked on fishing isn’t always easy.
Sometimes the fish just aren‘t biting, the weather’s inclement, the tackle’s too complicated. Sometimes the kid would rather be doing something else.
But every once in a while it works and you can see it in their eyes, and even if they wanted to, they can’t throw that hook.
My two oldest granddaughters came up for a visit the last week in July. It was their first trip away from home by themselves.
Barb and I weren’t sure what to expect. We planned to take them out in the boat, but didn’t know how they would take to trolling, which was how we had been catching fish lately.
Teagan, at 7, is already an experienced angler. Her dad has taken her fishing at the lagoon near their home in Livingston since she was tiny. Her little sister Hayden, 5, fishes too, but still prefers dolls and stuffed toys to spinning rods and crankbaits.
Following a short run down the lake, we slowed to trolling speed, dropped the lures in the water and I handed Teagan a rod.
Hayden crawled up on the foredeck and started playing with her dolls.
I half expected Teagan to join her after a half hour or so, but it wasn’t a minute later and she was into a fish.
“I’ve got one,” she announced calmly, then proceeded to start cranking on the reel, the rod bowed with the weight of the walleye.
I was tempted to help her reel, but instead just watched and soon she had the fish alongside the boat where I netted it and pulled it aboard.
“Wow,” said a breathless Teagan. “That’s the biggest fish I ever caught.”
We put the 2-pound walleye in the cooler turned the boat around and resumed trolling. She caught a few more before her sister said it was time to quit fishing and ride the tube.
We fished the next morning and Teagan got skunked. But it took nearly two hours of fishless trolling for her to lose interest.
She was hooked.
Teagan caught five walleye and a whitefish on the third morning, delighting in the struggle to land them.
Barb entertained the girls that afternoon while their exhausted grandfather took a nap. They each made badges from construction paper, Teagan’s declaring her the “Champion of Walleye.”
She wore it home the next day after vowing to come back and fish every summer, “Even when I’m in college,” she told us.
Whether or not her siblings will become fishermen or not is yet to be seen. I’m sure their father will give them the opportunity.
And I certainly hope they take the hook.
Parker Heinlein is at pman@mtintouch.net

#@%&*! environmentalist!

Our language is constantly evolving.
New words are added. Old ones change in meaning. Others lose their ability to stand alone.
Environmentalist is one such example.
I can’t remember the last time I heard it used in casual conversation without an accompanying multi-syllable obscene adjective as in “----ing environmentalist.”
According to Webster’s New World College Dictionary an environmentalist is either 1) a person who accepts the theory that environment is of overriding importance in determining individual characteristics or 2) a person working to solve environmental problems, as air and water pollution, the exhaustion of natural resources, and uncontrolled population growth.
Neither definition appears to warrant an expletive. The dictionary, however, fails to mention the more commonly accepted Western definition – an obstructionist yahoo who works to prevent regular folk from making an honest living, seeks to limit public access to public land by opposing off-road motorized travel, and cares more for the welfare of wild animals than of man.
Wow! What an #!$&@&%!.
And while that definition may not be correct, it’s widely accepted across the West. Folks in the rest of the country give environmentalists little thought, most of their corner of the world already logged, mined, tilled and covered with pavement.
There’s still a lot of wild, undeveloped land out here, land those ----ing environmentalists would like to see stay that way. The water remains pretty clean and a few rivers, such as the Yellowstone, flow relatively unfettered from beginning to end. Those blankety blank environmentalists saw to that when they fought plans years ago to dam the Yellowstone at Livingston.
But smoke from wildfires across the West clouds the skies every summer, compliments of those !$%@!$&-$!%&#!$ environmentalists who fight the logging we’re told would prevent forest fires. Log it thoroughly enough and there wouldn’t be anything left to burn. When was the last time there was a forest fire in Indiana?
Environmentalists catch more flak than Exxon-Mobil, Walmart or the Chinese government. They’re apparently to blame for the high price of oil, the slumping dollar and the declining real estate market.
I have no doubt that Webster’s first definition is right on the money – we are a product of the environment in which we live. Unfortunately, as that environment becomes dirtier and more crowded, we become angrier and more divisive and choose to blame our problems on the folks, who by definition, are working to solve those very problems.
I choose to believe that the yahoos lining their pockets at our expense, big oil and big business for example, are the ones who more aptly deserve
the obscene adjectives.
But what do I know? I’m a bit of a ----ing environmentalist myself.
Parker Heinlein is at pman@mtintouch.net