Flying Fish, Old Toads, Newfie Horses, and A Joke or Two

“If you’re too open-minded; your brains will fall out.”  Lawrence Ferlinghetti.  

UGH!  I am one giant mosquito bite.  The worst is the one on my butt cheek.  Nothing more embarrassing than being caught scratching your ass.  I keep having to stop typing, so I can drag my nails across it.  Hence, the short sentences.

I’m not quite sure what purpose the mosquito serves.  I know…they are a food source for birds, other bugs etc.  But there are lots of small, flying insects that don’t give those of us at the top of the food chain giant, itchy welts.  Why must we have ones that bite?  And spread West Nile?  I know.  Who am I to question God and His infinite wisdom?  Sorry God.  I’m just really itchy.

1)  Let’s face it.  The “land down under” is a unique and wonderful place.  It’s hard for we Canadians to imagine a road trip filled with koala and kangaroo sightings, picking a fuzzy kiwi fruit off a tree, or mastering our boomerang throw.  In comparison, we seem boring.  Beavers, moose, maple syrup taps, and hockey pucks.

Our festivals are ordinary too–winter carnivals and plough matches.  You never hear a Canadian say, “had a great time flinging fish last night, mate!”  Why is this?  Unlike our Australian counterparts, we have never truly learned to appreciate the skill and finesse required to participate in a good, old-fashioned “Tuna Throwing Contest.”  Who needs a Noble prize, an Oscar, or Olympic Gold when one can achieve true greatness by becoming the official Banska Tuna Toss World Champion!

I wonder how this tradition came about?  Was someone suddenly overcome with the need to fling a fish?  Maybe some poor children deprived of water balloons were forced to resort to pelting one another with seafood.  Who knows?  (I’d love to hear your theories).

Either way, it breaks my heart to know that somewhere in this fare land there is a small boy whose fish chucking abilities will go to waste.  Pity.

2)  Today was a very “toady” day at our house.  In fact, without trying, my husband and I encountered four of the bumpy looking creatures in various parts of our yard in just a couple of hours.

He was trying to get one to move into a cuter picture pose (well, cute for a toad) and I said that we had probably scared weeks off the poor thing’s life.  Surely, a toad couldn’t have YEARS shaved off it’s life!  Turns out that I was highly mistaken.

According to BBC and many other sources, the common toad can live for up to 40 years.  Yes “four-zero.”  Who knew?  A pet toad is a much wiser investment than your French Poodle or your Tabby Cat.

Okay… I will have to put you on hold for sixty minutes.  Must go watch  Howard Stern on American’s Got Talent.  

I’m back.  Thanks for waiting.  Here’s a joke from Tom Cotter, NYC stand-up comedian and AGT hopeful…””I used to go over and bounce on my neighbor’s tramparlene. Yeah, their daughter’s name was Arlene.” Haha.

3)  The Weather Network has the best polls, but then again, I love polls.  Any chance to give one of my many strong opinions is A-okay in my books.  Yes, I wear flip-flops.  I think our summer will be hot and humid (which really is a no-brainer).  No, I’m not afraid of thunder storms.  These are all easy questions and I was quick with my answers.  But then I came across one that stumped me–does Newfoundland have its own breed of pony?  I correctly hazard a guess and say “yes.”  It only makes sense.  Why put “Newfoundland” and “pony” in the same sentence unless it is true?

Turns out that our ultra-friendly, joke-providing, good-natured neighbours from the east also boast an equestrian treasure–the Newfoundland Pony.  Who knew?

They are noted for their strength, stamina, and the fact that they are easy to keep.  I would tell you their height, but it was stated in a unit that I am totally unfamiliar with–“hh.”  If you know what “hh” is, let us know in the comment box at the bottom of the blog page.  It would be greatly appreciated by us all.

Well, I’ve never met a Newfie that I didn’t like, so I’m sure their ponies are loveable little creatures too.

And one last Tom Cotter joke:

On the morning of my 16th birthday my family tried to surprise me with a car…but they missed.

2 responses

  1. Hello Kim, this is your father. HH stands for a common measurement of height for horses and is short for HANDS.One hand is about 6 inches (I think).

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