In defense of dog treats
Because I live out in the country, in the exotic and mysterious Far East of Long Beach, my property is overrun with wildlife: Raccoons, opossums, coyotes, and squirrels, as well as mice, rats, cats and other assorted vermin. And those are just the animals with feet. Throw in crows and their scrub jay cousins and you’ve got a lot of thievery and other assorted misdemeanors on your hands.
The worst are the more clever ones, those being raccoons, crows and squirrels, all of which have figured out how to overcome the problem of not having opposable thumbs to the point where they could build a piano if they thought they could get a peanut as a reward.
Every late night and early morning we’re awakened by all manner of vandalism in the backyard: breaking glass, containers pushed off shelves, the loud gnawing of the plastic caps of jars full of peanuts that I thought were cleverly hidden.
Their preferred food are the Milk-Bone treats we buy for our dogs to enjoy during cocktail hour out in the Barn.
First, either the raccoons or the squirrels chewed through the cardboard box of treats and ran off with as much as they could carry. So I bought a hard plastic screw-top container to prevent pilferage. The thieves were undeterred and spent what must have been hours chewing into the lid and creating a hole large enough to allow them to abscond with several Milk-Bones.
Next, I found an old heavy-gauge milk crate that fit nicely over the box of doggie snacks and that kept the bandits at bay for a few nights until they chiseled their way through the crate and then the box and scampered off with more of the treats.
They never take too many because the snacks are the large size, and for a squirrel to eat one would be the equivalent of me eating a picnic ham. Still, I’m not in the wildlife-feeding business, so I went to Amazon and bought a chew-proof container about the size of a cookie jar, which the animals dispatched quickly by simply knocking it over.
Finally, I returned to Amazon and bought a small galvanized steel garbage can with a locking lid, big enough to hold a 10-pound box of Milk-Bones. Finally, I had the solution. I could hardly open it myself.
The next morning I went out back and a squirrel the size of a small child was perched atop the Barn gate munching loudly on a Milk-Bone while defiantly staring me down, like it was saying, “Go ahead and call the cops.”
Turns out, because I’m stupid, I had left the top off the steel garbage can.
I’ve given up now. The animals have won. I still keep the lid on the can, but I leave a couple of Milk-Bones out for the wildlife.
Hot vs. cold
After our column last week about the perils of heat, faithful reader, correspondent and longtime L.A. Times reporter Dick Barnes sent an email saying that cold weather “kills many more people than heat,” which contradicts our expert Bill Patzert, a retired NASA climatologist.
The truth of the matter is, well, there is no discernible or agreed-upon truth, with NOAA — the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration — contending that heat kills the most people, while the Centers for Disease Control agrees with Barnes, that cold kills considerably more.
Who’s correct? Well, both, or neither. One of the points of contention is the CDC tosses in deaths by influenza in the “cold” category, which gives that a considerable boost, since the flu hits hardest in the winter months. Heat-related deaths hit spikes that can kill a lot of people in a short period of time. Other health/climate agencies and experts also disagree with one another, mostly over methodology.
Either way, but numbers of fatalities in both categories are expected to increase dramatically in the coming decades, with the numbers only somewhat tempered by the increased use of adaptation — that is, air conditioning.
‘Slow’ viewing
Lots of stuff is coming through the streaming services now, but you should drop everything and watch the fourth season of “Slow Horses,” trotting out now on Thursdays on Apple TV+. The show, centering on a group of less-than-stellar spies overseen by Gary Oldman as a comically unpleasant agent in charge of the misfits, has been one of the best shows on TV over the last few years, with Oldman stealing every scene. It’s a bleak fact that it’s been ignored annually by the Emmys — maybe next year.