Lofdoc's Stories: Short and Sweet: Fish Tales and Stories of the Unusual

By LofDoc

The stories that I offer you, are a compilation of many subjects, thoughts and emotions. They are, when viewed in their entirety, a veritable snapshot of my life on this planet.

There are stories that have happy endings and, alas, many with sad conclusions. There are many animal, nature and sports stories and, best of all, stories about aquatic life (fish).

As I have encountered lifes mysteries throughout my lifes journey of 86 years, I have recorded the psychological, emotional and physical impact on the human and animal world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491806418

LofDoc

The author, Andrew Opritza MD FACP, is an 87 year old retired medical doctor. He practiced Internal Medicine in the state of Ohio for over 30 years, Although he did write medical and animal stories over the past few years, it wasn't until he lost his only daughter the he wrote, while in deep despair, his first story "In Memory of a Duck" and silently dedicated it to his own lost little duck. Over the following months, then years, he managed to write and publish two books. The first book "Lofdoc's Stories Short and Sweet -Medical and Personal Views" (July 2013); and the second "Lofdocs Stories Short and Sweet- Fish Tales and Stories of the Unusual (August 2013). The two books contain many medical, animal, and mystery stories. Lofdoc (lots of fishing doc) is his chosen pseudonym. The present book, Lofdoc's Stories Short and Sweet "An Octogenarian's Oracles" completes the trilogy. This, his final offering, has many stories that are a reflection of an active and inquisitive mind. There are stories that are nostalgic and haunting in nature, and there are many stories that are just plain fun to read. Most folks will easily relate to their wisdom and humor. When Lofdoc was asked if this third book was truly his final contribution to the world of literature, he responded by saying "I would dearly love to continue exploring new vista in the future, but at the age of 87, the laws of nature will certainly have the final say".

Book preview

LOFDOC’S STORIES:

SHORT AND SWEET

Fish Tales and Stories Of The Unusual

LOFDOC

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AuthorHouse™ LLC

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

©

2013 by Lofdoc. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/09/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-0642-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-0640-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-0641-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013914301

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

IN MEMORY OF A DUCK

BIRDS OF A FEATHER

A WINTER’S INTERLUDE

HOW NOT TO CATCH A FISH

THE GENTLE AND COMPASSIONATE ANIMAL

P.L.T.

MY CAT P.L.T. (PRETTY LITTLE THING) AND FRIENDS

CONVERSATIONS WITH MY CAT, PLT (PRETTY LITTLE THING)

FISHERMEN NEVER LIE

THE STORYTELLER

MACARONI & CHEESE

RESURRECTION

A LIGHT IN THE NIGHT

A LONELY CANADA GOOSE

A LOVING MEMORIAL TO FRIENDS

AN UNINVITED GUEST

AN UNUSUAL YEAR

ARE CATS SMART—OR WHAT?

BEER

CREATURES FROM THE DEPTHS

DON’T CROSS PATHS WITH A SQUIRREL

DONALD AND DAISY DUCK

FISH TALES

FISHING IN THE GARDEN OF EDEN

I REMEMBER

IN THE WORLD OF BARRELS

IT’S SPRINGTIME AND ALL THOSE DANGED BIRDS

IT’S THE CAT’S MEOW

JUDGMENT DAY

LUCIFER

ONE SPECIAL MORNING

PITY THE POOR FISHERMAN

RACCOONS AND MUSKRATS—OH, MY!

RECOLLECTIONS OF MY EARLY FISHING YEARS

REMEMBRANCES OF ANIMAL FRIENDS

SCALLOP (BIG FOOT)

SKUNKED AT BLACK LAKE

THE BICYCLISTS

THE CACOPHONY OF THE CICADA

THE CLOCK

THE CONNECTION

THE CROWS

THE DAY MY FISHING BUDDY JOE, WAS SCALPED

THE FISHERMAN

THE GOLDEN PEN

THE HAND

THE—JUST IN TIME—FISH

THE MEETING OF THE MINDS

THE MIGHTY DENIZEN OF BONEFISH FLATS

THE MYSTERY THEATER DINNER CAPER

THE PHANTOM TRAVEL AGENCY

THE SONG

THE TRAVELING SALESMAN

THEY’VE TAKEN OVER THE WORLD!

TRUE-LIFE MYSTERIES

THE MAHOGANY TABLE

THE MAHOGANY TABLE II

THE MAHOGANY TABLE III

THE MAHOGANY TABLE IV

THE MAHOGANY TABLE V

THE MAHOGANY TABLE VI

THE MAHOGANY TABLE VII

THE MAHOGANY TABLE VIII

THE MAHOGANY TABLE IX

THE MAHOGANY TABLE X

THE MAHOGANY TABLE XI

THE MAHOGANY TABLE XII

THE MAHOGANY TABLE XIII

THE MAHOGANY TABLE XIV

IN MEMORY OF A DUCK

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This is a true story—a true story that involved two beautiful white ducks and a large, faithful Canada goose. Although many people, in recent years, are up in arms against the large numbers of Canada geese that pollute the lawns and roads, I, nevertheless, must tell this poignant story of my gallant goose and his friends, the white ducks.

A few years ago we acquired our small cottage on a nearby lake in Northeast Ohio, as a weekend retreat. It was to be a refuge from the nerve—shattering stresses of the everyday work world. Remarkably, it was not only a balm for our frayed tranquility; it was so very much more. It opened our eyes and hearts to an animal world that was always out there but, in reality was never really appreciated. Although we delighted in the antics of the red squirrels (especially the wizardry of the "Red Barron, but that is another story, for another time), deer, raccoon, etc, it was the ongoing saga of one gallant goose and his dear friends, the two white ducks that will remain in our memories for a long, long time to come. It is their trials and tribulations and their unusual relationship that I wish to relate to you. It is, in addition, a poignant story of friendship and tragedy that is reminiscent of the human condition.

And now,

IN MEMORY OF A DUCK

One summer, about seven years ago, we noticed two white ducks and a solitary Canada goose swimming together. We thought it a bit strange, but surmised that it was a temporary arrangement.

During the ensuing months, they were seen constantly together. At times a mallard drake attempted to join them, but the goose was not pleased and viciously attacked the interloper. If the ducks swam in a direction that didn’t please him, he quickly reacted with loud honking and vigorously flapped his wings. The ducks then decided that discretion was the better part of valor and promptly returned to his side.

Three years ago, a strange situation developed. Our lawn, being lakeside, was easily accessed via a small sandy beach. For whatever reason, the goose and his friends decided that our lawn was a pleasant place to visit. In fact, after a short period of time, the goose apparently decided that our lawn was his lawn and we were the trespassers. Not only did he covet our lawn, he then claimed our swimming area also. He would swim quite close to all swimmers and threaten them (me, also) with flapping wings and loud honking. He was a force to be reckoned with!

Then, he started an even scarier tactic that caused me a great deal of anxiety and concern. It didn’t matter where the goose happened to be, when he heard the engine of my riding mower, he magically appeared, no matter what the time of day. Suddenly, he would appear and fly directly at me in dive-bomber style attacks, only to swerve at the last minute. Then, after several such maneuvers, he would land directly in front of the advancing mower in a defiant manner, only to move out of the way when collision was imminent.This behavior continued all that summer, week after week. It became prudent for me to carry a large club for protection while mowing. There never was a need for mortal combat, amazingly enough; if there had been a direct confrontation I think I would have been the loser.

The following winter was quite severe and we feared for the lives of our feathered friends, both large and small. The goose and his friends took up winter quarters in a small area of open water located across the bay from where we lived. This area remained free of ice because water drains under a causeway from another smaller lake. Unfortunately, this placed our group close to the roadway and therefore accessible to hostile animals and injury from automobiles.

It was a very cold morning when we first heard the incessant honking of the goose. Looking out the window we saw two large dogs (one white and one black), attacking the ducks. The goose managed to escape by flying out on the ice. Much to our horror, one dog had a duck by its neck, shaking it violently.

I quickly drove my car (slippers, bathrobe and all) to the scene. When the dog saw me, it dropped the duck and ran. The dogs were persistent, however. As I started to drive away, they again returned to the area, intent on finishing what they had started. It was only after a considerable length of time and much threatening by me, that they were finally driven off. I was relieved to find both ducks alive, although battered and bruised.

As an aside, after many calls to the Dog Warden, the owners of the dogs were located and the dogs restrained.

The rest of the winter was uneventful for my feathered friends. On several occasions, when it got severely cold and the snow too deep, we did take them corn and sunflower seeds.

Amazingly, the attitude of the goose and his duck friends had totally changed by the following summer. It was remarkable! The goose and the ducks, in many instances, would swim close to us without fear or antagonism, and seemed not to be threatened. They had accepted us as friends!! We lived in perfect harmony with them, thereafter.

This last segment of the story is especially difficult for me to relate. A year later, one cold morning, we again heard the goose honking in wild agitation (we knew that cry for help very well). Across the bay, we saw a large brown golden retriever with one of the ducks in its mouth. By the time I got there, the dog had taken the duck far out on the ice and then dropped it. It was obvious that my little friend of seven years was dead, and that I would no longer be able to see her beauty or hear her quiet Quack, Quack.

Following the attack, I looked down from the road to their open area near the water. There, silently, stood the goose, gently scratching at a few white feathers.

EPILOGUE

I know that some people will smile and think it is silly to make such a fuss over a simple white duck, and some will be glad that there is one less duck to pollute the water. But, she was not just a duck—she was my friend, and I will miss her.

Now, you know why I have written this short story—IN MEMORY OF A DUCK.

BIRDS OF A FEATHER

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Unfortunately, there are many pleasures in this world that pass unappreciated by most of us. It is strange that we often do not see beauty even when we are confronted with it on a daily basis. What beauty am I referring to? Well, I could easily list a few examples such as: the fragile petal of a rose, or the magnificent foliage of a tree, or the omnipresent birds. Yes, let’s talk about the birds.

Oh, I know, we all blithely will say heck, I see them and appreciate them. But, do we really see them? Do we really?

How many of us have taken the time, in early morning, to listen to the wondrous song of the cardinal, or the melodious renditions of the petite sparrow? How often have we taken the time to observe the frenzied, skilled home-building, activities of our feathered marvels?

To hear their wonderful songs and calls, to watch their grandeur in flight can be a source of contentment for our harried souls.

Springtime is truly a time of renewal and a cause for wonderment. The early arrival of the male ruby-throated hummingbird, intent on establishing his territory in anticipation of a family, is a profile of determination and courage.

Each spring these beautiful tiny birds engage in fierce battles for the possession of the birdfeeder that we offer in late April or early May. The sugar water will sustain them until the insects and flowers become available. The fun begins at the feeder, which has been claimed as the personal property of one particular hummer. who tries to defend it against all interlopers.

This determined gladiator will often hide in a nearby bush or tree until a trespasser attempts to feed. Then the battle commences! Intimidation becomes the strategy of the day. As the owner attacks the interloper, the zooming and darting make jet planes and helicopter dogfights seem like a walk in the park. There never seems to be an injury or collision, however!

It appears that the gallant hummer is merely protecting what he perceives to be his property.

Watching the American goldfinch change from its drab winter feathers to a canary-like yellow is a sight that makes the long winter’s wait more than worthwhile.

Allow me to tell you a story about some games birds play.

One recent morning while drinking my coffee, I noticed an interesting confrontation taking place in a small sourwood tree just outside our kitchen window. A medium-sized blue jay and a large grackle were perched on opposite sides of the tree. It was soon obvious that the grackle was intent on evicting the jay from his tree. He repeatedly made threatening moves toward the jay by landing near it but never really making physical contact. This unilateral attack continued for a considerable period of time and ended when the jay flew off in defeat, I thought. Not so—the jay returned in less than a minute with reinforcements—a very large blue jay. The tide of battle had turned. Together they attacked the grackle. After a few flying sorties, the grackle apparently thought that discretion was the better part of valor and flew off to find a more hospitable environment.

As I watched the battle scene, I was reminded how closely their combative behavior resembled that of other animals, especially that of the human race! The entire incident caused me to feel uneasy and somewhat embarrassed.

One early spring day I witnessed the activities of a very wily and enterprising sparrow. I watched a robin busily constructing her home in a nearby shrub. Her nest was about half built and all was going well until a sparrow entered the picture. The sparrow patiently waited in a nearby tree and watched the robin bring twigs to the nest. As soon as the robin flew off for more supplies, the little thief helped himself to the twigs. That scenario continued for several days until the robin decided it was a losing battle and flew off in frustration. I am sure that she didn’t understand why she could not complete her nest even though she had worked so hard. I am equally sure that she didn’t know that she had been robbed by a very, very brazen sparrow.

Confrontations are commonly seen in the animal and avian world, but several years ago I was witness to a battle of the century. It was, no less, a grudge fight between my cat kitty and a king-sized grackle and his friends.

Kitty had a habit of lying under the azalea bushes which were outside the large picture windows of the sunroom. From that vantage point she could catch any dazed bird that had the misfortune of flying into the windows. For whatever reason, the grackle began a personal vendetta against her.

Whenever kitty went outdoors, the bird would give its raucous cry and swoop down to within inches of her. Soon, an army of grackles joined in the fracas with similar dive-bomber attacks toward her. It was a scene reminiscent of Alfred Hitchcock’s famous movie, The Birds!

It made no difference which door she went out, or what time of day. It could be as early as 5 a. m. or as late as 9 p.m., the birds were always there to torment her. The harassment continued for week after week without let up.

We had one cowering, paranoid cat on our hands!!!

Finally, after many days of this continued bullying, her ordeal suddenly ended due to the death of the grackle leader. It seems that the head honcho had contracted lead poisoning from sources unknown. All attacks ceased immediately thereafter. The remaining troops apparently decided that it was in their best interests to depart for a safer environment.

Well, I have scarcely touched the surface of my original premise that beauty is all around us but, for whatever reason, we often do not, or cannot—see.

There is one last story that I would like to tell you that reflects beauty other than in a visual or physical sense. It is a bitter-sweet love story between a beautiful Cockatoo and a gentle woman.

Several years ago the woman was given a cockatoo as a gift after she had lost her husband. It was thought that she needed a companion in her time of distress and anguish. It wasn’t too long before a deep bond of love developed between them. The bird would become agitated when the woman left her for even a short period of time. Their love affair continued for many months until illness intervened. The woman began to cough, lost weight and developed severe shortness of breath.

Following exhaustive medical evaluation (which included lung biopsy) it was determined that she suffered from an allergic condition termed Hypersensitivity Pneumonitis. She was allergic to her beautiful cockatoo.

Needless to say, she was in absolute denial; she was certain that the diagnosis was wrong. She refused to accept medical warning that she would die if she continued to have exposure to the cockatoo. It was only after her condition deteriorated further that she reluctantly gave the bird to a family member.

The bird did very poorly in her new home. She became listless and ate sparingly. Her future survival was uncertain. The poor woman missed her little

Friend terribly, and would often arrange with the bird’s new owners to place the cage near a window so she could see her.

Although, the woman tried to see the bird so that the bird could not see her, tragedy struck. One day as she was looking through the window, the bird saw her. Somehow the excited and frantic cockatoo managed to escape from the cage and flew unerringly toward her.

Alas, the window that allowed her to see her lost friend was also instrumental in her release from the worldly sins of captivity and sorrow.

And so, it would appear that the antics of the birds, in many ways, are reminiscent of human behavior—for better or worse!

After all, we are all birds of a feather, are we not?

A WINTER’S INTERLUDE

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As winters go, this winter seems to be somewhat more gentle and warmer than many of the past several winters.

I can understand why many migratory birds such as geese, ducks, robins etc., have not taken to their southern flyways this year, since there is plenty of food available.

The puzzling question is why have so many human snow birds taken the southbound Route 77 flyway? Perhaps they know something that the birds and I do not!

To be sure, there are many cold, dreary, overcast days that, at times, make one remember the pleasures of a warmer climate. But, just when real depression begins to set in, a miracle occurs!

Suddenly, a spectacular day dawns, as if by magic. The sky is a brilliant blue without a single cloud, the sun is shining brightly, the air is cold and crystal clear; a remarkable sense of well-being is pervasive.

The nearby lake now has a thin crust of ice. Superimposed on the ice is a magnificent pattern of shadows that could have been created by some giant artist who had thrown his palette in complete disarray over the entire surface of the lake.

It was on such a day that I felt compelled to drink in the beauty of this wonderful winter’s interlude.

Equally amazing as the pristine day, was the profound silence. The faint crackling sound of the shifting ice and a distant cry of a crow, were the only sounds to fracture the quietness.

It was not surprising to see some of our bird and animal friends, also enjoying the beauty of the day.

A chipmunk, with his tail straight up, bounded silently to his woodpile shelter upon my approach.

The nearby crabapple tree, with its fast depleting crop of well-aged fermenting fruit, was the scene of quite a confrontation. There, in the branches, were two beautiful cardinals attacking a poor robin who wanted a share of the remaining fruit. The robin, sensibly, soon retreated to a less threatening environment in a maple tree.

Perhaps the most interesting and poignant sight, was the appearance of a lone female duck. She was approaching slowly, from a distance down the lake from where I stood.

She advanced over the ice ever so slowly, walking with difficulty, slipping occasionally, only to regain her balance and continue on her determined journey. As she passed by me, I could hear a faint "Quack, Quack"; the far end of the bay was her destination—an area of open water!

I am still puzzled as to why that lone, beautiful, determined duck chose to walk all that distance under such difficult conditions, instead of flying. Perhaps she was unable to fly. Whatever the reason was for her undertaking that lonely journey, I know naught; but she will be remembered by me, for a long time to come, as a profile of courage and determination.

So, you see, there is beauty all around us, no matter what the season. All that is required is the vision to see, and the ability to appreciate, such a wonderful winter’s interlude.

HOW NOT TO CATCH A FISH

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There are about as many fish stories as there are fishermen in this world!! Over the years, I have heard many of these; some really strange ones, some concerning smart fish, large fish, and even some bizarre stories of fish involvement with humans and other animals. However, I’ve never heard of, nor read about, how not to catch a fish.

A few years ago, on two different occasions, while fishing, events occurred that compel me to tell anyone who will listen, how not to catch a fish.

The first distressing episode that I would like to relate to you took place one late fall day. It was one of those crisp, sunny days that was truly a fisherman’s dream come true. There was little or no wind; it was an ideal time for a final day for fishing before ice and snow, and the inevitable north winds would arrive.

So, dressed warmly in heavy boots, long johns, and an all-weather jacket, I embarked on my fateful journey in my 12-foot aluminum boat powered by a 9.9 Johnson outboard motor. I mention the boat size and motor for good reason, as you will see, later on.

I headed straight for the ski jump platform located on the north side of the lake because, in the past, large numbers of fish had been known to congregate there. Incidentally, the ski jump is a platform that the water skiers use during the summer months to perform various acrobatic jumps. The platform is secured to the bottom of the lake with stout ropes that are attached to heavy anchors. Apparently, the structure provides a safe haven for the fish that congregate in its shadow.

As soon as I commenced fishing at my honey hole, events occurred for which I was totally unprepared to handle. I was soon to learn, the hard way, how not to catch a fish!

It wasn’t too long before I caught a fairly large crappie on my favorite lure (a jig laced with a small plastic minnow called little fishie). The fish are here, I thought. What a wonderful way to finish the season; I’ll catch my limit today, for sure!

Then my troubles began.

Suddenly, just after casting near the platform, my line jerked taut and the line zinged from my reel. I knew that I had a whopper hooked, or so I thought. I heaved back on my rod to set the hook, and prepared for a fight. But, alas, after a few minutes of hard tugging, my line suddenly went limp. I sat in the boat, disheartened and frustrated. I remember thinking, Well, I blew it. I lost a really big one!

As I sat despondent over my loss, I noticed that the water at one corner of the ramp was roiling with activity. Much to my surprise and relief, I discovered that I hadn’t lost my fish after all. The darn thing had wrapped itself around one of the anchor ropes. I then saw a large bass circling around the rope about a foot below the surface of the water.

Well, I thought, no big deal! Since it was only a foot below the water, it would be a simple matter to reach down, grab it, and untangle my line. Little did I know what was to happen next!

Reaching down over the stern of my 12-foot boat proved to be quite unwise, to say the least. Because, as I leaned over, the boat suddenly capsized, spilling me and all of my fishing gear into the cold water. Fortunately, I had chained the motor to the boat so I didn’t lose it, but my tackle box with all my lures, other rods and reels and anchor were lost, because I was stupid not to have tied it to the boat! I hated to lose all my lures, but in all fairness, I had never used 99% of them anyway.

What to do?

In spite of my heavy clothing, and even heavier water-filled boots, I managed to pull the boat to the ramp side of the ski jump and, after several attempts, pushed the boat partially up on the ramp. With great difficulty, I then succeeded in turning the boat on its side in order to drain out the water. Then what?

There were no other fishermen on the lake, my motor was useless, it was cold—I was darn cold, and I was a mile or so from home. When all else fails, you row!

It was a long and tedious journey back to my dock. I don’t believe there ever was a more frigid, fatigued and embarrassed fisherman in this world!!

Upon arrival at the dock, my worried wife witnessed a half-drowned human being with a smile on his face, believe it or not. All had not been lost. I then reached down and lifted high my prize to show her—a four pound largemouth bass!!

My second experience took place, innocently enough.

One early spring day while standing on my dock, my neighbor pointing to an area on the shore said, I saw an absolutely ‘huge’ fish swimming really close to the shore yesterday morning—right there!

I believed him because he isn’t a fisherman, but if he were, I know he wouldn’t have told me about it. I know I wouldn’t have told him about any big fish. Does any real live, honest-to-gosh fisherman, think any differently?

That was all I needed to hear; I was determined to get that fish!!

The next morning it was quite chilly and blustery, so I dressed warmly, put on my heavy boots and got out my rod and reel. Since the water was shallow (our lake is drawn down 36 inches in the winter months to protect the seawalls from ice damage) I rigged up a large hook laced with a worm and a bobber to keep the bait just off the bottom. I never use a bobber except in the spring when the water is shallow.

Approximately, 1 hour later the fun began!

Suddenly, the bobber disappeared; I hoped that it was the whooper that he had told me about. I didn’t have long to wait because almost immediately the fish broke water—it was a mammoth pike!!

After several swirling runs and jumps, it appeared to be fatigued. Now, all I had to do was to net him. Alas, I had forgotten to bring my net, and worse, the high seawall made it impossible to drag him ashore. It was also obvious that I couldn’t lift it over the wall because I had just a 4-pound test line on my reel.

Now what?

Happily, I had recently read an article that suggested a sure-fire method to boat a fish without a net; all one need do is grasp the fish by the eyes to quickly paralyze it. The article didn’t say how they got the fish to hold still long enough so that they could grasp the fish’s eyes. Nevertheless, I decided that if I wasn’t going to lose the biggest fish I had ever seen I’d have to try the eye trick; there was no other choice.

I then managed to gently maneuver the fish to the wall. My plan was to position myself right above the fish, jump down on top of him, and grasp his eyes. So, heavy clothes, boots and all, I jumped! Well, I did land on top of him, but it was no contest. I missed his eyes by a mile and I couldn’t hang on to the slimy body. He instantly shot out from between my legs and vanished—the battle of the century was won—by a fish!!

I stood, knee deep in the cold water for the longest time thereafter thinking, what an absolute idiot I am!!

What are the lessons to be learned? Well, I’ll tell ya!

Don’t always believe, or listen to advice expounded by fish experts and, don’t ever go fishing without a fish net. And, lastly, there are many ways to catch a fish, but these foolhardy methods are definitely—

Are not how to catch a fish!!!

THE GENTLE AND COMPASSIONATE ANIMAL

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One recent morning, I witnessed an act of kindness and consideration that prompted me to reconsider my thoughts about the wild animals amidst us. Yes, the considerate wild animal that stirred my sensibilities, was none other than a wild mallard duck.

The morning was one of those cold, sleeting, gray days that is all too often experienced in the late fall season. As I looked out of our kitchen window, I witnessed two mallard ducks doggedly struggling up our steep lawn toward our birdfeeder that we keep stocked with mixed bird and sunflower seed. After what seemed to be an interminable period of time, they finally, finally reached their goal. Although the male mallard had reached the birdfeeder first, being a perfect gentleman, he waited for his female companion to arrive. Then, in a manly, generous gesture, he stood aside on guard while she ate her fill. After looking around, to be sure they were safe, he decided to eat a few morsels before they flew off.

It appears that even wild animals are capable of acts of kindness and gentleness.

Early on, as a child, I was led to believe that wild animals are, well, wild animals. Somehow or other, it was thought that they were incapable of rational thinking, and were programmed to behave in a non-intelligent manner. To bolster the contention that animals are incapable of spontaneous, intelligent thought, the Pavlov experiment is often cited as proof that animal behavior is simply a conditioned, learned response. In the Pavlov experiment, dogs were exposed to the sound of a ringing bell when they were fed. It was noted that the dogs salivated at the time of feeding. After repeated exposure to food and the ringing bell, the dogs were then subjected to a ringing bell without being fed—the dogs salivated—a conditioned response, not a thinking response. Well, perhaps. I wonder if exposure to Christmas carols, and Christmas trees in July, would cause drooling by a thinking young child as he visualizes the joys of Christmas morning. I certainly think so.

Over these past many years, I have heard about, and have personally experienced many instances’ of wild animal’s thoughtful, gentle behavior. Permit me to relate just a few stories that I am sure will convince you that animals do, indeed, deserve our respect and friendship.

Who has not heard of the mother bird attempting to protect her infant offspring from a nearby predator, by feigning injury? When the mother senses that danger is near, she courageously, at great peril to herself, races back and forth in front of the threat, acting as if her wing is broken, thereby distracting the danger away from her infant. Her thoughtful act of courage is reminiscent of courageous acts of valor exhibited by the "non-wild", human animal.

Thoughtful acts of kindness and thoughtfulness are not restricted just to land dwelling animals. The whale is a mammal that is capable of gentleness and thoughtful acts of kindness. It has been seen that whales will help one another in times of distress. In one documented case, a group of whales came to the aid of a wounded comrade. Because whales are air breathing creatures, they must surface at intervals to survive. When the wounded whale was observed to be too ill to swim, and was