PLEASE PLEASE DO AN INFORMATIVE POST ABOUT HOW MUCCH YOU NEED TO WORRY ABOUT THE BITS OF DEAD ANIMAL IN YOUR YARD I live in a suburban area and this is Fascinating to me.

gallusrostromegalus:

Dead Yard Animal Alarm Levels depend on several criteria: What animal, whether it’s whole or in parts, and where it’s located.  This guide is scaled for the colorado rocky mountains in particular but should be applicable for most of the continental US.

This is a humorous and largely non-gory take on the weird shit that ends up in your yard sometimes. Warnings: Discussion of animal death, predation, your weird-ass neighbors Under the cut:

Keep reading

this is a Good Post, although having grown up in an area with both a) a lot of farms and b) a lot of very ambitious coyotes, I feel like bits and pieces of various livestock in the yard were a 2/10 on the ‘be alarmed’ scale at best. We would call the appropriate neighbors for live donkeys/pigs/cows/etc wandering through, but once the coyotes had gotten them, well, the coyotes were in charge of disposal, too (and were generally much better at it than the human neighbors). The dog I grew up with would often turn up with an entire haunch of donkey or deer, looking smug at having been once more blessed by the Coyote Gods (we knew this was not great, but getting a not-so-fresh donkey leg off a smart and determined 100 lb husky mix is…. challenging).

robotmango:

me: [sees a joke post that says leonardo da vinci did the sistine chapel]

me: i need to correct this!!!

me: …no. wait. i’m not on earth to humorlessly fact check tumblr

the shrieking fleshless skeleton of michelangelo di lodovico buonarroti simoni, kicking down my door with one putrid rotting boot: what the FUCK. what the FUCK. that fake fiorentino piece of SHIT couldn’t find a ceiling with BOTH HANDS if an earthquake DROPPED it on TOP OF HIS HEAD

there is a random banana sitting innocently on a seat of this bus, and every single person who glances at the seat with intent to settle there makes the same dubious face and chooses a different row. This single intact banana is commanding its own row, which is frankly impressive. no one has yet touched it, moved it, or reported its presence to the driver.

….we are all held in the banana’s mysterious spell.

enoughtohold:

when we first got married i had to psych myself up every time to say “my wife” to a new person. it was awkward because with “girlfriend” a lot of people would just assume i meant “friend,” and of course “fianceé” is gender-neutral when spoken, so we’d always had plausible deniability. but the meaning of “wife” is pretty unavoidable. still, i made myself do it on principle, and slowly but surely it became natural.

now i love saying “my wife,” to everyone all the time. i love saying it to the old woman distributing the strawberries at the farm share, asking if she knows where i can still get rhubarb because every summer i make my wife a pie. i love saying it to the gay employee helping me at crate and barrel, telling him i’m buying these glasses because my wife and i both had them growing up, and seeing his eyes light up. i love saying it to friends of friends and to new acquaintances and to potential coworkers and to the women at the laundromat. i love being aggressively out, and i love having such an easy way to be aggressively out. i love being the first woman with a wife someone has ever met, making our existence part of their reality. i love being visible for other lgbt people who might feel a little less alone knowing i’m there, which helps me push past the fear when it comes. most of all, i love not hiding. i love saying “my wife” and i love my wife.