If only the dog could talk

It makes my brain happy to know scientists are getting closer to understanding what sperm whales are saying to each other. Not HOW they communicate, but WHAT they might actually be saying.

“Carole, would you mind scratching behind my left flipper? I’ve got an itch back there I just can’t reach.”

“Seriously, Jack? Look. See that coral reef to your right? Scratch your back on that. How you ever survived before you met me I’ll never understand.”

According to a recently published study in the journal Nature Communications, “sperm whale vocalizations are more expressive and structured than previously believed…and its communication system is, in principle, capable of representing a large space of possible meanings, using similar mechanisms to those employed by human sound production and representation systems (e.g., speech, text, Morris code, and musical notation).”

“Holy seacow, Carole. I’m not asking you to scratch it all night long. Just a minute or two. Please?”

“Fine. But next time, use the coral. Or ask one of your octopus friends.”

Many years ago, we believed humans were the only species on Earth who were capable of complex communication. Today, we know that every species communicates in some form or fashion, some more complex than others. A bee can give direction and distance to food by performing a unique waggle dance. An octopus who doesn’t like you will shoot a stream of water in your face. And then there are the prairie dogs. Their whistling can describe a variety of different things about a person walking by their burrow.

“It’s the short one again. Just meandering. Wearing red. Someone needs to tell him red doesn’t go well with his complexion. Maybe a light blue would be better. And look at those shoes. He’d never catch any of us even if he tried. No danger here. Everybody relax.”

Sure, you, I and my Aunt Edna from El Paso will never be able to have a conversation with a prairie dog, or share recipes with a Ringtail Lemur, but that’s not the point. Just knowing that the sounds they make are a lot more than senseless chatter gives me hope that one day I’ll understand why this little dog at my feet keeps whining at me.

“What is it girl? You hungry? You want to play fetch? You need to go outside and take care of business?”

Silence. Slight head tilt. Quizzical doggie look.

“Ok, girl. I guess we’re going outside. Let me get your leash.”

And then there are the trees with their roots stretching underground, communicating with other trees through the fungal network, or as German forester and author Peter Wohlleben calls it, the “woodwide web.”  The trees share water and nutrients, as well as signal warnings to each other whenever danger is near.

“Again? Why me? Can’t that dog find some other tree to pee on?”

“It’s called paying your dues, little sapling. We all had to go through it at one time or another, and look at us now. Standing tall. Braced against the wind. Living much longer than a multitude of other creatures who inhabit this world. And why? Good genes and dog pee. You should be thankful.”

“OK. Fine. But I’m still not happy about it.”

I’m not really sure I want to know what sperm whales have to say. I imagine me diving into the ocean and hearing something that starts off sounding like, “Kevin, you let another one in the house. Would you please do something about that?” and ends up sounding like, “Sorry, honey. I’ll swat him out of here quicker than you can say ‘Ahab was a nincompoop.’”

Cowboy philosophy on good looks

 

Making the best of Summer 2024

I’m not sure how kids these days spend their summer vacation. I haven’t kept up with the trends. I don’t know what’s “in” and what’s “out.” I wouldn’t know the difference between something that’s dope and lit over something that’s sus and vanilla.

I probably sound a bit Grandpa just asking the question, but since I’m okay with that, let’s move on.

Do kids climb trees anymore? Do they play with sticks? Do they have the recipe for a perfectly juicy mud pie? What about tying knots? Can they tell the difference between a granny knot and a clove hitch? And have they ever helped crank into existence a tub of homemade vanilla ice cream?

I tell ya, we have some good school districts around here, but there’s plenty of good things parents can do with their children during summer break that isn’t taught in school. Unfortunately, the time is short, and if you don’t use it wisely, you’ll be heading down the pathway to ever-lasting regret. 

When I was young, we lived in a house that had two mimosa trees in the front yard. They were perfect for climbing, sitting, disappearing into the upper branches so as not to be found. The house where my own children grew up is surrounded by mostly pine trees. Climbing them wasn’t in the cards. 

So, I should have built them a tree house. We could’ve climbed the rope ladder and spent the night gazing up through the branches at the moon and stars. Learned the names of every constellation. Watched for satellites.

A lot of limbs have fallen out of those trees over the years. I’d gather them up and put them in a pile to burn. I remember once or twice even roasting some hotdogs and marshmallows over those flames. But once or twice does not a family tradition make.

I should have lit more bonfires over the years, roasted more hotdogs, made more s’mores. My kids could’ve invited their friends over and we would’ve sat in lawn chairs and sang silly songs. Told Dad Jokes. Chased fireflies.

My daughter loved making mud pies. She got the recipe from her mother. I’m not sure what I was doing. Obviously, not getting my hands dirty. But now I know that with kids, you’ve GOT to get your hands dirty. Dig holes in the ground. Pick up frogs. Blow on dandelions so that they explode like supernovas. Having to wash your hands is a small price to pay for playing with the universe.

I have a bag of rock salt that has been in my kitchen pantry for years. I bought it thinking I would gather the kids together during summer vacation and we’d all crank away at making some homemade peach or maybe peppermint ice cream. I even bought a new ice cream maker just for the occasion. 

But, way too soon, the kids were gone. Off doing this or that. Getting jobs. Getting married. Going places. Having kids. And here it is again, summer vacation, and that bag of rock salt is still sitting there, having no qualms about whispering into my ear, “You blew it. You had your one chance, and you blew it.”

I hope you and your children have a good summer vacation making sand castles, painting pictures, watching lizards crawl across the bedroom window, enjoying all those things that long-lasting memories are made of. Don’t blow it. Summer 2024 ain’t coming back this way again. 

Texas hot is hot! Not like some Midwest baking. Caliente hot!

 #haiku