...was really stupid when trying to take pictures.

Just kidding, that wasn't just this one time--it's all the time. I really love photography. As far as hobbies go, this should be a fairly safe one (especially when compared to that crazy/wonderful horse I risk my life on). Unfortunately, I seem to have come down with an incurable case of the Stupid. Maybe it's genetic. The simple of act of pressing a button on a magic picture taking device is becoming increasingly perilous (although this is probably true of most things in my life).

Let's take today for example. This morning I looked outside to see Chickadees staring in the window at me. They looked so very delightful on the snowy trees, and so I grabbed my camera and rushed outside, taking the time to grab some peanuts to lure them in, but neglecting shoes or a coat. Oh, and it just so happened I'd just come out of the shower, so my hair was drenched. And it was 16 degrees. I'm sure you can see where this is going. At least in this case, however, I ended up with a few photos I enjoy. My icicle hair and pained feet were worth it, and it was a minor inconvenience anyway.


A few hours later, Hoover starts yelping, kindly alerting me that there's a couple of fawns down by my shed. This time I actually did grab a coat and shoes as I ran down, only to discover there were more deer. Lots more! Here's where I run into trouble: I don't have a zoom lens. I'm lucky to have my camera at all, so I make due with the 18-55mm lens it came with. Unfortunately, this means that if I want to get a close up of something I have to get, well, close up. This works nicely when I'm taking pictures of flowers, but can become slightly more difficult when stalking wild animals.

It's hard to sneak up on deer. Impossible, really. The best way I've found for getting close to them is to move slowly parallel to them as long as possible, probably while singing a jaunty tune. You get varied results, of course, but sometimes it works. So there I am, shuffling around the deer while blabbering on about nothing to them (with the turkeys I usually discuss politics, but the deer just never seem interested), when they start moving nervously. As I pause, I notice one of them has wee little antlers, much to my delight. I creep closer, and out of the trees comes this big buck--not quite the freakshow that Bambi's dad was (I privately believe that he was secretly an elk)(can deer and elk even breed? Google says yes), but certainly formidable. Any rational person would probably realize at this point that there's a freaking huge buck escorting these little ladies around, and it's winter, and oh remember that time in Rockrimmon when that buck gored a man in his backyard? The Chloe, on the other hand, thinks only, "Ooh, pretty! I should get closer!"

Obviously, I was not gored to death, but Chuckie (the buck) did not like that one bit. I'd never actually heard a deer snort outside of Jingle All the Way until today when that Chuckie was snorting at me. And if you think that rack is impressive when a buck is just mulling around, you should see it when it's lowered at you. Fortunately, at this time I realized I probably ought to scamper. Or was scampering even the right thing to do? I know all about what to do when a bear attacks you (in essence: you die), but somehow the topic of charging deer didn't come up as much. Obviously I had no chance in hell of fighting the thing, so I ran--or rather, stumbled--up the driveway and back to the house. Luckily, Chuckie decided I wasn't a threat and just herded his little family away leaving me with quite the adrenaline rush and nothing better than this crappy photo to show for my efforts:


My tendency to put myself in stupid situations might be one thing if I had a good reason for it, like monetary profit. I don't have any such reasons though; I'm an amateur taking pictures simply because I enjoy looking at pretty things. Alas, I'm also inflicted with the Stupid. I wish today was an isolated incident, but then I remember that one day when my first reaction to seeing the bear on my porch was to run out and take pictures. Or that time I decided to try and hand feed our fox so I could get better pictures. While I didn't actually get rabies like some people were led to believe, he did take a snap at me, and the risk was real. Even without trying to get animal shots, I manage to trample through thistles, climb to perilous places, and generally be an idiot. I always think that this incident will be the last one, and now I'll be smarter. Then I see a picture I couldn't have taken otherwise, and I realize the Stupid is incurable.

For future reference, if you're being charged by a deer you're supposed to edge slowly away. I'm sure you'll use that knowledge a lot in your life.

...got a dog to protect me from lions.

And this is how he does it.

Even as I write this, Hoover is curled up next to me (he dearly loves to snuggle, which is just fine with me as almost anyone who has sat on a couch with me can attest) and snoring so loudly I need to use ASL to communicate with anyone in the room. I have never met a dog who sleeps as much as J. Edgar. After a full night's sleep, this dog slept the whole drive from Provo to Woodland Park (almost 9 hours), and then promptly went to sleep when we got home. Sure, he's got energy enough to go on long hikes and runs, but if you stop moving for more than two minutes and thirty-eight seconds, he's out.

This is somewhat embarrassing. You see, Hoover is half Rhodesian Ridgeback. According to Wikipedia, he should able to "corner and wear down a lion by taunting and goading it into confusion." Yes, that's right. A freaking lion. J. Edgar Hoover should be able to put a lion where he wants it and then wait for me to mosey up and shoot the thing if I feel so inclined. This is important. You realize that up to 700 people are attacked by lions each year, don't you? (And don't try and tell me I'm safe just because I'm in Colorado; I have vivid recollections of reading my friend's book about man-eating lions, and most of those were American house pets until the day they woke up and decided, "Gee, this would be a good day to see if I can rip off someone's scalp. Humans probably taste much better than this Meow Mix crap.") So as you can see, it's important to have an African Lion Dog around. If any of those nasty felines come around, Hoover should take care of things--in theory.

Does he look ready to taunt or goad anything?


Even if he were able to stay awake long enough to fulfill his lion-related duties, I'm not sure Hoover is up to it. Don't get me wrong, I admire him intensely. I have witnessed him leap over objects as tall as me from a standstill, I've been dragged across the floor when playing Tug o' War, and I've tried very hard and very unsuccessfully to outrun him. When he stays awake, this dog is a machine, and I have yet to see him matched in athleticism. Unfortunately, he is also the biggest coward I know.

Please understand--I appreciate cowardice. After all, a healthy dose of fear is probably all that keeps you from stomping up to a grizzly and trying to swing dance. Fear keeps you alive. But I'm supposed to be the one who's allowed to be cowardly, not him. I shouldn't have to escort him outside after 5pm because he's terrified of the dark woods.

On the other hand, at least the dark is a semi-reasonable fear. His others, however? Not so much. Hoover has shown an aversion to writing utensils, reflective surfaces, Michael Jackson, brooms, and body spray--among other things. As my mother and I watched General Conference on my laptop, Hoover took it upon himself to warn us that Elder Andersen was probably going to crawl out of the screen The Ring style and kill us. Did the dog actually try to protect us? Nope. Rather, he alternated between yelping and backing away in terror.

Ultimately, any lions out there are probably going to eat me with little opposition. Or they would, if they weren't busy spending their days the same way as Hoover.

Maybe I'm safe for now.