Anchorage Resident Tim Newton Awoke To The Sound Of Something Running Across His Deck
“Tim was awakened by noises on our deck last week – and looked outside. In astonishment, he grabbed his camera.. and can you believe it? Mama Lynx and her SEVEN kits!! She called to them and they all lined up right outside in front of where he was standing (he was inside the screen door!) Amazing ALASKA WILD LIFE!!! They proceeded to run and play on our deck, and then in our yard.”
So the comic I had pretty much resigned myself that I would never own in the format I wanted? Apparently the universe decided that I should have it after all. I mean I most definitely didn’t get it for FREE, but I was able to get it. It’s beautiful. It’s not coming out of the plastic until I’m ready to cover it, but I can wait that long.
Seriously heavy, seriously beautiful, and so glad to have this to go with my Jessica Jones blu ray.
Next to buy in the series, The Pulse, but that’s never been hard to find for a reasonable price. Alias was just ridiculously hard to get. Even the copy I found was a fluke – it came in a delivery to a comic store but wasn’t part of their order. They’d tried to get some months before, but couldn’t. Then, there it was. And there I was, in a comic book store over a hundred kilometres from where I live, a comic book store I didn’t know existed and stumbled across completely by accident less than half an hour from closing time. And they let me layby it, since I was too broke to buy it outright. And all those things had to happen for me to have this book. Amazing.
“I snagged [Dodger] and he’s such a good dog. They aged him at about one, he acts like a puppy, he’s got the energy of a puppy, he’s just such a sweetheart, he’s such a good boy. He loves dogs, he loves kids, he’s full of love.”
No – it’s an allo cishet romance. It has a lot of queer characters and great secondary romances, though, if you’re looking for that. Definitely a book I recommend highly, though I’m pretty tired of seeing it on LGBT book lists, especially since Becky herself has spoken up against its inclusion on them.
There is something to be said for a book that has more queer people than can be counted on one hand, though, especially as they’re not all versions of the Sassy Gay Friend. I really enjoyed reading it.
Hey since I haven’t been active in forever, who wants to hear a story about how I became a local cryptid in my town?
Alright lets do this.
So I live in a small neighborhood kinda thing. Its honestly shaped like someone connected two bongs with a straw that leads out to the street, so very tiny and not a lot of people drive through cause its a dead end, and surrounded by woods Anyways, so it’s Saturday morning, like 3 am and my sister has taken her behemoth of a dog outside.
Little background, this dog is a saint bernard, lab mix, so he big. Hes also amazingly stupid. He’s only three and we got him a year ago so he still does stupid shit all the time. Anyways hes got a long lead line on him, probably 30 ft, so hes off doing whatever and my sister is kinda dazed, still sleepy.
Homeboy fucking TAKES OFF and runs into the woods behind my house, taking that lead with him and a good chunk of my sisters palm skin. Whatever he’s chasing has speed, and hes keeping up with it. So I run outside cause shes screaming his name and start to take off after him. I thought that mother fucker would get caught on a tree due to the lead but nope was I wrong. Now the woods probably go a mile back before they hit road, and then stretch around 5 miles horizontally.
I’m worried this dumb dog is gonna run into the street and get hit, so I run the mile to the street (with my very out of shape body. I honestly thought I was going to die). After like 15 minutes of tripping and trying to make my way through this damn jungle, I get to the street. At this point I still look a human so nothing happens, I dont see him anywhere, and I run back to the house cause I’ve realized I’m in a tank top and boxer shorts with no shoes and its tick season. So I change into a big ass sweatshirt and sweat pants and boots even though its almost 90 degrees out because I do not want to have to deal with ticks.
After chugging some water I take back off, this time going horizontally. I caught sight of something running so I took off, yelling my brains out, managing to sprain my ankle and rip half my hair outta my ponytail in the process. Around a mile down I lose sight of it so I turn and hike the mile back to the street just to make sure it didn’t go that way.
After that I go back to my house, and then return to the spot where i last saw him and continue walking till I’m like 2 ½ miles away.
So my trip so far has been
1 mile to street > 1 mile home > 1 mile horizontally > 1 mile to street > 2 miles home > 2 ½ miles horizontally
So I’m about ready to die. I’m covering in blood from smashing my arm, one of my eyes has turned red cause a stick poked it, I’ve got a limp, I’m breathing like a dragon with asthma, and I’m covering in leaves and sticks.
I start yelling his name again and hear a bark in the distance so I take off and after like 5 minutes I spot him. He is now howling like a banshee in distress. I book it towards his dumb ass and practically tackle him, which ended up with me covered in a random assortment of shit. Cool, whatever. His leash is tied around two trees so I unravel it and he pounces on me in relief. He’s salivating like crazy so I take him to a stream near by to let him drink.
Mother fucker pulls me in. I’m too tired to be pissed. At this point now that I’m calming down I realize my boots are now soaking wet with both blood and water. I’ve got several scars on my thigh and they all got ripped open. So I’m gushing blood like no tomorrow. I soak my jacket in water and put it on this stupid dog so he wont get burnt on the way back and itll be a bit cooler. So now he looks even bigger then usual. I take my shoes off and toss them over my neck and we’re about to start the trek back when he takes off AGAIN. This time I’m holding the leash and I do not let go. He ends up slipping on a mud bank and taking me with him. With are now covered head to toe in mud, shit, dirt, blood, and whatever the hell else is in those woods.
Some how he has ended up with no major wounds, but now I have a rock lodged in my forehead and blood in my eyes. And my shoes are gone. Whatever, I just want to get home. I pick a direction and walk until I end up in the back yard of someone who lives down the street.
Lucky for me, this person has barbed wire in their back yard on the ground for some reason, which I trip on. Now I have barbed wire practically wrapped around me like some crazy fashion statement. I wanted to get home so bad I didn’t even bother to rip it off. I’d do that later and return it to the guy or whatever.
So now its like 6am, so its dark, but you can still see, and its dead quiet. I pull my sisters dog along with me, holding his collar so he can’t take off again. So heres me, covered in blood, mud, and barbed wire, limping down the street, no shoes on, with a large dog wearing a jacket, which, from a distance, you cant tell. Now I smell like whatever was in those woods, and it is a strong smell, so as I walk by any house with a dog outside, that dog starts barking. Eventually the quiet is replaced with dogs howling, barking, snarling at me. I eventually make it back to my house, but not before passing a dude getting his newspaper or whatever. He’s a good distance away from me and he hesitantly calls out asking if I’m okay. I respond with “yeah” but I’ve been yelling for like 3 hours straight so it comes out as ungodly rasp. He goes right the fuck back in his house.
I get home, get cleaned up, get the dog cleaned up, and everythings fine. UNTIL a couple nights later my mom goes to a neighborhood meeting thing and hears an interesting story.
Turns out, there had been a black bear in the woods near my house, which people had been keeping an eye out for, but instead they saw (what they thought) was a “humanoid figure covered in spikes dragging a bear covered in blood around by its neck”
For the next few weeks people were talking about how they heard the “horrific screeching” and how there was blood all down the streets and on the trees. The dude who asked if I was okay was telling everybody that the “thing” growled at him and he could see it had blood red eyes.
So now theres a rumor about a demon with razor sharp tendrils who feeds on wild animals by slashing them open and drinking their blood. Rumor states that you’ll hear it before you see it, and the sound it makes sounds like a howl and a scream. People later found my boots covered in blood and said it was a “victim” of the demon. A week later a house that was being built caught fire and that was blamed on me, as well as an accident where someone swerved to avoid something and crashed through a house. The stream turned blood red after some heavy rainfall, which was due to the mud, but also blamed on me and some more screeching was heard for a couple nights (coyotes most likely). Due to people “spotting” the demon (which was either their imagination or the actual bear) the rumor grew and grew so now its famous in my neighborhood.
So yeah thats how I became a “bear killing demon” in my neighborhood. I never corrected anyone because I was too embarrassed.
This was one of my favorite books as a kid. I checked it out of the library about a billion times.
If you’ve never read it, then you probably don’t know about The Story of Baby X!
1974. Thirty-three years ago. This anthology included a story. About a kid being raised without an assigned gender. As a positive thing.
I didn’t know I was genderqueer at the time, or that that was a thing, or… anything. But it had a huge influence on me. It made it very easy to imagine raising a kid by using gender-neutral pronouns, and waiting to hear a gender, and/or pronouns, from the kid themself.
And here it is.
Once upon a time a baby named X was born. It was named X so that no one could tell whether it was a boy or a girl.
Before it was born, scientists created an Official Instruction Manual that would help the families raise baby X.
Many families were interviewed to find the perfect parents for baby X. Families with grandparents named Milton or Agatha, families with aunts who wanted to knit blue shirts and pink dresses, families with other children who wanted a little brother or sister. All of these families didn’t want a baby X, they wanted a baby girl or boy.
Finally, scientists found the Jones family The Jones family wanted to raise a healthy, happy baby, no matter what kind. They wanted, most of all, to raise a baby X.
The Jones promised to take turns holding X, feeding X, and singing X to sleep.
They promised to never hire any babysitters, because babysitters might try to peek at baby X’s secret.
The day the Joneses brought home their baby, everyone asked, ”Is it a boy or a girl?” To which Mr. Jones replied proudly, ”It’s an X!”
No one knew what to say. They couldn’t say, “look at her cute dimples” or “look at his husky biceps!” And just saying “kitchy-coo” didn’t seem right either.
The neighbors were unsure, and the relatives were embarrassed. “People will think there is something wrong with it!”
And the Joneses didn’t understand this. “What could be wrong with a perfectly healthy and happy baby?” they sat and wondered.
Suddenly everything changed for the Joneses: The cousins who sent a tiny helmet did not come and visit anymore. The neighbors who sent pink, flowered dresses pulled their shades when the Joneses passed their house.
The Official Instruction Manual had warned the new parents this would happen, so they didn’t worry too much. Besides, they were having too much fun raising baby X.
Mr. & Mrs. Jones had to be very careful. Because if they kept bouncing baby X up in the air and saying how strong and active X is, they’d be treating baby X more like a boy. But, if they cuddle and kiss baby X and tell it how sweet and dainty X is, they’d be treating baby X more like a girl rather than an X.
So they consulted the Official Instruction Manual, and the scientists prescribed, “Plenty of bouncing and plenty of cuddling. X ought to be strong, sweet, and active. Forget about dainty altogether.” [Continued below the cut]
I knew this story, not from the original book, but from when I studied childcare way back when. So, it’s out there, being taught to early childhood educators, in Australia, at least. Free to Be…You and Me
I just got off the phone with mom, and we came to the realization that my family has lived in a series of unplottable houses for a couple generations now.
-The First Unplottable House is on my dad’s side of the family, in Delphi, Iowa. The directions to it are the stuff of Buried Treasure: Turn off the county road with a fraction in it’s name, to the Named Dirt Road, then turn at The Discount Eggs Sign on to the Unnamed dirt road that takes a meandering path THROUGH a corn field, DO NOT take any forks on that road or the farmer will shoot your ass, then take the paved road that dead-ends on ALL the way to the end- No, farther, the road keeps going it’s not a cliff-The only indication that You Have Arrived At The Correct Driveway is that a fat gray pony will charge the car, screaming, then escort you the rest of the way there.
It’s on the side of an enormous river, they’ve owned the property since 1911, and that’s the ONLY route there.
-The Second Unplottable house is in Bedford, Ohio and belonged to my mother’s parents. It’s at the corner of two side-streets, right across from the tiny Italian grocery store. Due to strange development decisions, the house is about 30 feet above street level and rendered invisible by a chestnut tree so majestic Hyao Myazaki would probably put it in a movie. The driveway, however, is VERY visible from any of the surrounding houses, the grocer, or the street.
At least in theory and old photos, becuase if you actually GO there, your eyes slide right past it to the neighbor’s lillac bush, or to the retro neons of the grocery store or up the Chestnut tree. it is literally HARD to look at that driveway, all the world around it wants to pull you away.
-The Third Unplottable house is in Salinas, CA, home of my paternal grandparents. It is the single most BORING house possible- like, if you were to ask a third-grader to draw a prototypical house, they would draw my grandparent’s house. Utterly Unremarkable.
Except for the part where my Grandfather, spurred by his success with the “non-fruiting” peach tree, decided to plant a California Redwood Tree, and it grew to approximately 150 feet over the course of a few short decades. It is the tallest damn thing for miles around, and SOMEHOW deliveries keep being missed, mail is delivered to the neighbors, and any non-blood family that tried to visit would end up on the other side of town.
-The Fourth Unplottable House was the one I grew up in CA. The Directions to it are as follows: It’s the Bright Orange house Right Across From The School. You know, the one with six flamingos and the Volunteer Avacado Tree.
SOMEHOW, we got everyone’s mail but OURS (we still wonder about the letter from Fort Knox for Mr. Thomas Saxophone), the other kids got lost trying to visit and ended up in Mr.Phan’s yard on the other end of the block. Officer Brown, Mom and Dad’s friend, who had GPS back in the early 90′s becuase silicon valley, regularly got lost looking for our place. The Flamingos did nothing.
-My parent’s current house is the second house on the right after two right turns off the state highway that runs through town. Sounds easy, right?
Except that due to a couple small trees and a bend in the road, the house is invisible from the road. I have to stand out in the road if i want my pizza delivered. The Mailman is the only person who could reliably find the box, but he drives a subaru that’s older than my sister from the passenger side by leaning over, and delivers mail based on the aztec lunar calendar, so he’s probably not actually human. I tried to host a party, tied rainbow balloons to the mailbox, and all nine friends had to be waved in from the street.
-My current apartment building Does Not Exist, according to my Bank, medicaid, Google, and City Hall which was a bit exciting when I first moved in and had to call everyone that yes, I was sitting in a building that really exists.
Unless it’s my classmates, becuase they can apparently come to parties I don’t host. This Friday I had a friend telling me she had a great time at my place last Teusday… when I was home alone. She assures me that I held a houseparty with “Those polish things you make” (I make great mini klatchky, but haven’t served them to her) and that “You were definitely there, we talked about Carvaggio and you drive me home”
The only thing that offers any explanation is that you were drunk at the anecdote about your recent house party 🎉 nothing else is explainable
I’m deathly allergic to alcohol, and was definitely at home alone, emailing a former professor about werewolves. Got the chatlog and everything.
Guliya’s roommate recalls me dropping her off at the dorms, which is really peculiar. Another classmate, Jeff, was at the party with Guliya, and they thought it was my place too. Jeff is a jackass and I’d never invite him to my place.
God, I hope I don’t have another doppelganger.
… /another/ doppelganger???
The year is 2014, October. I have the beginnings of what will prove to be a rotten cold, and I decide to take the precaution of getting an enormous bowl of Pho from my local Vietnamese place in hopes of staving off another respiratory infection.
No sooner do I set foot in the door, and Mrs. Nguyen snaps up and shrieks YOU!! and I am much distressed and confused, because I adore Mrs. Nguyen. She kept My Intended alive last passover when the cafeteria covered literally everything in flour.
She insists that some time in august I had dined with a large group of friends and then skipped out on a $200 dollar tab. This is even more distressing and also impossible, as I had been in Oregon at the time, and only have like 3 IRL friends. She is livid, and absolutely insistent that it was me, and that I pay the tab or she’ll call the police. Being very distressed and not eager to have a panic attack in front of police, I pay up $216.87 and am banned forever. I go home in tears, without my Pho and am very sick for a fortnight.
Two months later, it’s Polish Butter Christmas, and I locate the source of my woes.
Polish Butter Christmas is the invention of my Intended’s friend/domesticated internet troll, where everyone deemed a friend or at least interesting party diversion is invited to their house and we all consume massive amounts of Traditional Polish Cooking, which is about 60% butter by weight. everyone eats way too much, most people also get shitfaced and i usually end up on the floor playing with 4-6 corgis, depending on who’s invited that year. in 2014, it was all six of them, rustling under the table like a pack of obese furry sausages.
Among the guests invited are myself, my Intended, The Troll’s girlfriend, and her friend. The latter is 5′2″, whiter than mayonnaise, with bright purple hair and green glasses. I also am 5′2″, glow under black lights, had bright purple hair and still have green glasses. We learn furthermore, that we have the same first name and live on the same side of town. This is laughed off as Most Amusing, at first.
The celebration goes on, and I become steadily less amused as I learn that Not-Me is a BITCH. Racist jokes, yelling at the dogs to make them cower becuase “They look so funny!”, and generally abrasive and cruel. Everyone is uncomfortable and Troll confides quietly to me in the kitchen that she is not invited next year, but needs an excuse to throw her out, or his dad will have a fit. Troll’s family is as much a gang of cryptids as mine, and cannot go around Un-Inviting people without Due Cause. So we agree to suffer quietly and laugh about it next year.
Eventually, the conversation turns to “Youthful Shenanigans”, and while most people have the sense to tell stories where they did something dumb but not actually illegal, Not-Me recounts with utter glee “That time me and my hoes dine-and-dashed that one chink place hahaha”
I suddenly put two and two together and realize that This Bitch Has Personally Wronged Me.
“You CUNT.” I tell her, furious at the realization ad the fact that she’s been steadily ruining Polish Butter Christmas for the last three hours. “Mrs. Nguyen thinks I did that! I HAD TO PAY THE TAB!”
“Oh, uh my bad, haha…” She laughed awkwardly.
“HA. YES. FUNNY. WE ARE GOING TO THE PLACE, YOU ARE APOLOGIZING TO MRS. NGUYEN AND PAYING ME BACK YOU INSUFFERABLE BITCH.” I yelled, grabbing her arm and dragging her towards the door, Corgis yapping excitedly at our ankles.
“Whaa? No! fuck you!” She said, winching her arm out of my grip and doing an amazing four-inch-heel-sprint for the bathroom, locking herself in.
She has made a rather serious error in the Troll is both 1. a 6′6″ Sasquatch of a man, and 2. TOTALLY WILLING to take a crowbar to the bathroom window he’d been planning on renovating anyway, esp if it mean he gets to haul a bitch out and toss her into the back of the minivan with the three least-obese corgis, so that we may drive her, sobbing about injustice the whole way.
Nothing in my life will ever be so satisfying as dragging Not-Me into Pho 67, and seeing the look of horror and recognition cross Mrs. Nguyen’s face as she realized what had happened, then having Not-Me withdraw the money from the ATM at the front.
We then returned to Polish Butter Christmas and had a splendid time feeding buttered pork to the corgis.
But you see why I am loathe to deal with another one.
Every sentence that gets added just reinforces that this is a Neil Gaiman story in the Sandman universe near the Ocean at the end of the Lane.
And no one’s gonna question the werewolf email to Prof?
Congratulations on being the first person to ask about the werewolves! Prof Hoffman teaches a course called Freaks And Monsters, which was THE BEST literature course I’ve ever taken and she was the first person to get my idiot brain to understand symbolism.
I’m writing a book about Crypids In America and was emailing her to see if she had any recommended reading for me, and to introduce her to my Botany professor becuase I think they’d be friends. She was a little late replying to me becuase she’s in Rome documenting gargoyles, but she and Botany prof are planning an expedition to Moscow to retrieve a book for rare mushroom plates before the crazy cat lady who’s keeping it accidentally destroys them.
You sure the party doppelganger is not the same doppelganger as Bitch Doppelganger?
THANK YOU FOR ASKING BECAUSE I HAVE AN UPDATE.
So last night I’m out walking Charlie at 2AM becuase it was the first break in the lightning we’d had since 6PM, and I go around the corner and literally for half second I thought I was about to walk into a mirror becuase I found my local doppelganger and this time it’s WEIRD.
I’ve got weird curly brown hair that goes kind of Bride-Of-Frankenstein when it gets long, have a weird hound mix from AZ, and am art major with a science background. I grew up in the bay area and moved to CO in middle school. I’m a night owl with a bad habit of signing up for morning classes. I’ve got a super-common first and middle name, and a less-common irish surname. I’m in 105D
SHE has got the same hair and face, her dog is a weird hound mix that’s like a paletteswap of charlie also from AZ, possibly the same ranch, She’s a biology major with an art minor, grew up in CO and moved to the bay area in middle school, is a morning person with afternoon classes. We have the same first and middle names, in reverse order, and she has the other spelling of my last name. She’s in 105A.
Statistically, some of this is not surprising- both combinations of names are common, and there was a lot of cross-traffic between CO and CA in 2004, all Rez dogs are shaped the same, and Art/science isn’t that odd a major/minor combo.
She did throw that party back in novemeber, and I was much relived, and she was glad to find out I exist- We’ve somehow gotten into the same circle of art/science/queer friends without meeting up, and Guliya was bugging her telling stories of My Shenanigans, and attributing them to her.
We’ve arranged a coffee-date with Gulia and are gonna show up in the same outfit just to fuck with her.
I am now following you just because I don’t want to miss finding out what happened with the coffee date.
Oh my Zod. ::also follows::
How old is this post? Did the coffee date happen? Has Guliya’s head asploded? I must know!
Yes, I too must know.
Also I live near Bedford and really want to find this house that has a driveway with an SEP field generator.
IIIIIIITS MOTHAFUKKEN UPDATE TIME!!
So the date got put off for a bit because of school issues, but Doppelganger and I managed to coordinate outfits and met up at the local coffee place half an hour before Guliya arrives, and plan our strategy.
This coffeehouse has bathrooms located at the end of a U-shaped hallway, so I was going to wait in the hall and Doppelganger in the main part of the cafe. After a bit of chatting, D would get up to use the restroom and we’d swap places. The idea was to see how many times we could swap before Guliya noticed something was amiss. I hear Guliya arrive, and wait.
After about 15 minutes, D comes down the hall, gives me a quick update on the convo so far- the self-inflicted-illness of a professor and the astonishing number of bears about- and I go out.
Guliya notices NOTHING.
We talk more about bears and the terrifying lack of life skills some freshmen have and I go back, complaining of bladder issues. D and I swap places 3 more times like this, before Guliya notices that we seem to be ill and she can recommend a specialist, so we decide to end the game. We both walk out while Guliiya is texting someone and sit down across from her.
Knowledge is often described as “dawning’ on people, the soft illumination of understanding. This was like watching someone get caught by the totality of an unscheduled eclipse. She looked up from her phone, delighted to continue the conversation and watching her face collapse into wall-eyed horror is something that I will treasure for ages.
“There are two of you!”
“Yes!” We said, in unintentional creepy unison.
She stared at us for a few moments, surprise giving way to puzzlement, then, relief.
“Thank Fuck.” She sighed. “I was beginning to wonder when the hell you slept.”
Apparently she had conflated out two identities into some sort of double-major two-jobs constantly-awake superbeing and had been worried about keeping up with Us.
“I mean I don’t anyway. I have terrible insomnia.” I said, unhelpfully.
“Which one of you has the rant about Carvaggio?” She asked.
“That’s both of us.”
“And the one who nearly got eaten by bears?”
“Still both of us.”
“Well how am I supposed to tell you apart?” She grumbled.
“I’m the one passed out on the chemistry building couch, they’re the one on the figure-drawing couch.” D offered.
“We can only sleep when surrounded by dangerous chemicals and poor judgement.” I explained.
“It reminds us of our home dimension of Madness.” D continued.
“Fuck both of you, and any other of you out there.” said Gulia, downing more macchiato for strength.
“Don’t be mean to 27.” I said.
“He had nothing to do with this.” D continued.
Guliya snorted macchiato out of her nose at that one. We apologized, she thought it was hilarious and now D is #9 and I’m #426.
One of my neighbors had a REALLY FAT golden retriever she adopted, that needed to be put on a diet, but even super-low-cal food wasn’t working, becuase Ella was still hungry and would open the cabinet to eat the whole bag. Vet suggested that she needed a filler Food so she could feel full without the extra calories, and suggested canned green beans, which are mostly fiber and lean protein.
Ella fucking LOVES green beans. She does a dance for them if you mention them. Her ‘sibling’ the police academy washout shepherd, thinks she’s insane.
Even if your pet doesn’t like green beans*, offering them a canned green bean is inevitably HILARIOUS becuase they’ll either be thrilled or otherwise make strange faces. Results so far:
Ella (golden retriever): Overjoyed. gets up on her hind legs to dance without prompting.
Sampson (Black shepherd): Offended, yells until you give him REAL treats.
Cody (Gentleman shepherd): is concerned, becuase this is Obviously Not Food. Gently takes it to be polite, leaves it out in the yard.
Minx (Domestic Shorthair cat): Smelly Toy Is Hilarious, batted under the couch.
Tiger (Really Fat Domestic Shorthair cat): Total disgust, hissing and sulking in the Prosciutto box. Came out and ate it later anyway.
Wanda (corn snake) we didn’t expect her to be interested but she spent like three minutes licking it.
Sadie AKA Marquis De Sade (Hyacinth Macaw) ignored bean in favor of dumping can on the floor, sticking head in can and screaming. Did not attempt to bite, which is Very Nice for her.
Arwen (Australian Kelpie): ate bean, waited until humans were out of the room to consume rest of the can, got costco-sized can stuck on face and pooped green for three days. Regets nothing.
Empanada/Anderson Cooper/#3 (Plymouth Hens): Excited screaming, kickboxing tournament over possession of beans/can. #3 was ultimately victorious, becuase She is Fattest.
Big Angus (scottish highland cow, I know, ironic): very polite and delicate acceptance of beans for appx 1700 lbs of beef, will now run full-tilt across pasture to meet me, which scared the crap out of me tbh.
Will post further updates as I am allowed to try.
*Please always cionsult a vet before making any dietary changes or offering your pet new foods, but green beans are pretty safe for most pets you can keep in America
Gave cockatiel bean. He gently took it, threw it into my face, and laughed at me
Literally every time someone has tried this with a parrot of some kind, it’s resulted in rage, destruction or mockery, usually all three.
knitting in the dark 