Ice Daggers

Canine Capitalist

My sweet, loving, generous, carefree dog was recently transformed into a capitalist. How? He came into ownership of some items that he deems very valuable. Before that acquisition, he was just a nonchalant hound. It's a fact that when we come to own things, it affects us—even when “us” is a dog. Possessing capital changes us. It can even come to define who we are; to wit, some people who accumulate lots of stuff and turn greedy for more.

Now, simply to own things is no problem in and of itself—it's the parsimony that it can foster in us. Every living creature is inclined to surrender to greed. Give a bird and opportunity to dine on fermented grapes and it'll get drunk. Give a puppy all the meat it wants and it'll soon be barfing it back up on the bedspread. Bury a kid at Christmas time with a load of toys and he'll soon expect a bigger bedroom to hold all his stash. And, of course, we all know about Wall Street bankers.

So how did my dog become a capitalist—a possessor of (excess) property? He's always had his ball and an occasional bone to gnaw on. These, however, are merely simple possessions—not the treasures he's recently procured. A dog's life is usually quite carefree and untroubled. Its humans provide food, shelter, love, and other necessities. A dog doesn't need to own much.

But our dog just came into ownership of several precious objects: multiple deer parts. Deer hunting season recently ended around here, so deer remains are scattered around the woods; parts like legs, heads, and innards, left behind by hunters. In the aftermath of previous hunting seasons our dog was too young and naive to ramble the woods and find these treasures. Now he is older, wiser, braver... and wanders. He finds many delectable leavings.

He loves it! It's such a wonderful treasure! Now, we are fine with his eating deer limbs and organs. It's better quality food than the dry stuff we feed him from a bag; it's fresh (well... it was a couple of weeks ago), nutritious, and antibiotic-free.

Deer leavings are also abundant right now, so the dog has acquired many more morsels than he can immediately consume. Such a cornucopia! He's still alive, yet already residing in dog heaven! So he carries the pieces home that he cannot eat at the moment and buries them in secret places in the woods around the house. But now he has booty and it must be protected! He must guard his treasure from countless marauders, looters, and thieves. We chuckle as we watch him skulking in the woods—digging holes and burying his goodies.

This treasure has transformed him into a true capitalist, with goods to protect and worry over. He may have surreptitiously and cleverly hidden his hoard, but he knows that there are various critters out in the woods who also have a good nose; a sense of smell that will inevitably lead them to his stash. So, like a good capitalist, he frets. He stays out in the cold for long periods—on guard duty. While in the house, his attention is often directed outside. He even seems to have developed the scowl of ownership! The least imagined sound out there may be a signal that his treasure is about to be purloined. He frequently woofs in a possessive manner—charging to the door, anxious to be let out.

He bursts through the door, barking authoritatively, as he plunges into the woods. He's gone for an hour or more, making his rounds, digging up some parts that he suspects are vulnerable and moving them to new hiding places. He's become a neurotic capitalist! He acts suspicious much of the time. If he could, I think he'd ask me to store all his goodies in an outbuilding, under secure locks. But then again, I'm not sure he'd trust me not to steal a leg or a liver.

In the house he shirks his routine plate-cleaning duties. We depend upon him to clean up any remaining particles of food we leave on plates and pans, and now he turns up his nose at such measly offerings! Too many vegetables and spices for his delicate taste! Until his stash runs out, he's got better things to do than lick our dishes clean. A canine capitalist can afford to reject these lesser-quality offerings. He'd rather go outside, dig up another body part—fast moldering and coated with leaves and mud—and chew on some real food.

Snail

He moved very slowly, giving me an easier shot; far easier than a bird. Click to enlarge.

Adult Absentmindedness

As I have aged (I recently entered my 75^th year), I have increasingly experienced a phenomenon that most anyone over 50 can attest to: there is a chunk of memory, say, a word, that you are positive is stored deep in your brain, but at the moment refuses to be recalled. You are either thinking to yourself or talking to someone, and in mid sentence, the next word just won't come. It can be a minor irritation or it could seriously rattle your cage, as the threat of Alzheimer's comes to mind... but not that damned word!

My wife and I know each other well enough by now that we can usually save our spouse fretting over such a brain fart, by supplying the missing word for the other. That's only a minor consolation, however, since the affliction seems to continue to grow as we age. Maybe we can try learning how to read minds.

I decided to grasp onto a little consolation a few years ago, when I conjured up the notion that my brain is not deteriorating—it's simply the case that I've continued to cause it to soak up so much new and wonderful information that it's become fully saturated with knowledge. As I add more new things, some of the old, stale things necessarily get pushed off my mental plate—they get purged from my memory banks. Although I liked the sound of that notion, it really was little comfort, since I had to admit that it might just be wishful thinking.

Then I was rescued this last spring, when researchers announced that they had discovered the cause of something dubbed “infantile amnesia.” Although this refers to a person's general inability to recall events before about age three, the process can also occur later in life, the scientists said. The cause (the culprit): something called “neurogenesis”—when new neurons in the brain rearrange its connections and destabilize existing memories.

We humans are born with an incomplete brain. (If it were any more complete than it is at birth, our head would be too big to squeeze through mom's birth canal.) So, in the first few years we grow many new neurons at a rapid pace, as our skull doubles in size. All this new gray matter disrupts existing neurons, trashing some of those early infant memories.

So what about us elders? Up until a few years ago, neuroscientists believed that an adult brain cannot grow new neurons—only kids can. Now we know that's not the case. We old farts can do it too.

Where does this leave me (and countless other elders)? Well, if we are able to generate new neurons, there's the possibility that they then muscle in and trash some of our earlier memories. Aha! That's why I can't remember that word! My earlier notion that new knowledge is pushing some old memories off my mental plate is not so unlikely after all. OK, so I lose a few memories: but look at all the new ones I can gain at my age!

Now... what was that next neat idea I was gonna write about...?

Solar System Uncertainties

Just a few years ago our solar system endured a major blow, as its sum of planets was reduced from nine to eight. What was for nearly a century regarded as our most outlying planet from the sun—Pluto—abruptly became downgraded to a dwarf planet. This was a controversial move on the part of the International Astronomical Union in 2006, as an immediate argument arose as to what constitutes a real planet and what is a dwarf. Pluto had many supporters who strongly disagreed with its demotion.

There are countless rocky bodies orbiting our sun—everything from grains of dust to small collections of rocks (like asteroids) to the monster planet Jupiter. When our solar system whirled into existence, nearly five billion years ago, from a collection of gases and rocks, most of that gas collapsed into a ball at the center and ignited into our sun. The rocky pieces circled around that solar center and gradually formed planets, as the stony chunks of material bumped into each other, coalesced, and slowly grew larger.

That process continued for a billion years or so, as our solar system settled into its present form. But what is the difference between a planet, a dwarf planet, a moon, a “Kuiper Belt object,” a big asteroid, a meteoroid, and a comet? (A “what” belt?) How do we differentiate the largest of these, a planet, from its lesser companions? The definitions have evolved, as we learn more about the nature of our solar system. Recent discoveries of thousands of planets orbiting other stars have added to the quandary. We are discovering that there are a wide variety of solar systems in our galaxy—some of them quite different from our own, and that knowledge alters our perspective of our own system even more.

But back to Pluto and its demotion: It was downgraded, primarily because it is so small, but also due to the fact that it orbits within the Kuiper Belt—a region beyond the orbit of Neptune (the eighth and last “real” planet)—which contains countless objects like Pluto; many of them are so-called "minor planets.” We are just beginning to detect some of these rocky aggregates, which are too small to be designated as planets, but large enough that gravity has shaped them into potato-shaped lumps and even spheres. Should we call them proto-planets? Wee planets? How about dwarf planets?

In fact, two other dwarf planets have recently been discovered out there: Sedna and 2012VP₁₁₃ (this one is so new that it has yet to be named). How many more minor planets may be discovered out in the Kuiper Belt? Are there even a few more major planets lurking out there? Is our solar system still waiting a more precise definition?

The space probe New Horizons is now approaching Pluto and will fly by the new dwarf planet, this coming July. It will undoubtedly vastly increase our understanding of what once was designated our ninth planet. As the probe continues on out into the Kuiper Belt, it likely will add much to our understanding of our planetary system. Many astronomers' breaths are being held in anticipation. I think I'll breathe now.

Braille Mushroom

The markings on this shroom reminded me of braille language. I wonder what message a blind person might discern.