So,

 

I used to worry that the trail camera would show something upsetting, like an owl catching a rabbit.

Now I worry that an alien spacecraft is landing in my yard.

Lily says

 Yesterday I was going to chase a skunk.  Lynn said if I caught it, a long hard bath would follow.

I don't always heed Lynn's threats, but when I do, baths are involved.  

It's Spooky Out There

 Lately, my trail camera footage has proved to be more intense than usual.

 

Sure, one spooky image is fun.

Two is a little bit disturbing.

Three?  Alarming.

Four?  Well, according to numerology, it's a no-nonsense number.  Hmm. How comforting.

Fun Vocabulary Word!

kyoodle  (kahy-ood-l)
verb
to bark or yelp noisily or foolishly; yap

It wasn't me.  It was the squash.

They're Back and So is My Cussing Habit

For the past several years, I have made a sincere effort to reduce my swearing.  It has gone fairly well- most of the time.  Then there are times when the effects of outside forces negatively effect my peace of mind.  After that, an explosion of bad words flow like a waterfall down a sheer cliff.

 

The latest cussed avalanche began when after a short time strolling around the grounds, Lois sported over a dozen hanger-ons.  My initial response was to yell, "I will kill you!"  Then collecting the tools to do the job, I continued, "I will **** kill you!"

Henry too, was tick ridden.  Tweezers poised, I exclaimed, "you ***** tick bastards!  You will die a **** horrible death!"

 

 

 

 

After removal from their unwilling hosts, the ticks were dropped into a deadly alcohol bath.  "Die!  Die!  Die!  You evil ****  ****!"

 

 

Later, as the Tick Killer was showering, the swearing increased considerably.   "How dare you!  You ****!" 

Two ticks were upon my body.  Gripping them between my thumb and finger, I stepped out of the shower, dripping all over the floor.  Seizing a pair of cuticle scissors, I cut each tick in half and then in half again.

"Take that, you **** parasitical ****!"

The bathroom nightmare wasn't over, though.  Soon, a horrible discovery.  There was a tick nestled between my toes.   "Ahhrrgggh!  ****!  You are not welcome here, ***** !"  

This tick too, was cut in half and in half again.  "I will kill you all!  You, and all your **** brethren!  **** ***** *****!!"

Lois, the voice of reason, suggests that the ducks be called upon to dispatch the ticks at ground level.

If needed, wild reinforcements are also at the ready.

OK, birds.  Get out there and kill, kill, **** kill.

Walking Sticks

There are different kinds of walking sticks.  For example.





 Fancy Cane

 

Shillelagh

 

This guy

 

 

Dog Bone of Contention

The dogs living in my house are designated "aggressive"  or "powerful" chewers by makers of dog bones.  These dog bone manufacturers offer toy bones that are "durable" and "virtually indestructible".  You buy these bones for your dog so they can enjoy a good aggressive chew without breaking off chucks of non durable bone material and ingesting it.  Something fun and safe for dog play.  That's the theory anyway. 

Yes.  Good safe fun.  That's the ticket!

Here we have a new durable virtually indestructible bone (top) lying beside a briefly used durable virtually indestructible bone (bottom).








That used bone looks pretty good, you may be thinking. 
Look closer.

 Notice how the bottom new bone is rounded at the edges, while the slightly used bone is sharp at the edges.

Like a shiv.

Look around my house.   Multiple dog bones. 

Multiple shivs. 

This used to be shaped like a turkey leg.

Aggressive chewer enjoying safe play with the shiv at the top of the stairs.

 

My perspective following a lively bit of fun and safe play with my aggressive chewer's shiv.  It occurs to me as I lie here:  you need a thumb to use a shiv properly, traditionally.

 

Looks like my dogs have taken their aggression to a new level.  They have expanded their power chewing beyond the chewing. 

 

 

 

It's what you might call Out of the Bone Thinking.

Pop Rocks and the Aging Dog Walker

Over the years, my dog walking customers have given me some nice surprises.  Zucchini bread.  A fancy dog brush.  Freshly picked tomatoes.  Halloween candy.

Yes, Halloween candy.  Yesterday, for the first time in my life, I held a packet of Pop Rocks in my hand.  Hey!  This is the stuff that explodes when you drink it with Coke!  I've got some Coke at home.  I'm gonna try it!

Later, standing in my kitchen gripping a bottle of Coke, my middle-aged Sweet Tart generation mind spoke up.  Well now, since I'll be foaming at the mouth, I better eat my Pop Rocks and Coke over the sink. 





What a difference 40 years makes

Oh.  My tongue feels weird.  I think I'm too old for Pop Rocks.  Pass the Sweet Tarts. 

In and of the Vacuum/Brain Teaser, Part 2

Why IS the little bird unafraid of the vacuum cleaner while the big dog is afraid?


Imagine a flock of  birds scattered about in a half acre area.  Some are on the ground walking around, some are perched in trees and bushes, others are flying from one place to another.  When all is well they are active.  They sing and chirp and chatter.  If a hawk appears overhead the birds go silent and still.  Sound signals safe.  Quiet means danger.  Therefore, perhaps to a bird in a cage inside a house a vacuum cleaner is a reassuring safe sound.

A dog, on the other hand, is a predator.  He's a hunter.  He works stealthfully.  Picture a pack of dogs pursuing prey.  They follow quietly, waiting for a chance to leap in for the kill.  If suddenly a roaring snarling beast were to appear, charging at them, would they not flee in terror?  This is, I believe, why the vacuum cleaner frightens so many dogs.


So much for heady theories.

And what of onomatopoeia, you ask?  Such a fun word.  Onomatopoeia means a word that means a sound, the word is formed by that sound; imitates the sound.  For our purposes, we have tweet, woof, and roar. 

Echolalia is the process whereby a human baby learns to speak by parroting, or echoing, the words and sounds he hears other human beings making.  This may be how birds learn to sing.  After all, the canary breeder doesn't leave the young male birds alone in a room with a recording of Mario Lanza singing.  The birds are together in the room with other birds.  They can hear each other singing and are encouraged to sing along.  Echolalia is key to helping a creature learn the language of his fellow creatures, not creatures of a different species.  Or maybe not.

Which leads us to another Brain Teaser.  What language speaks the Vacuum?

Here's a Brain Teaser

Why is a little bird unafraid of the vacuum cleaner

while a big dog is?

--stay tuned for heady theories using words like onomatopoeia and echolalia !

Smell That?

Something smells in my house.  And it ain't oven fresh cinnamon buns.  It isn't even dog.  It's a wrong smell.  It seems to be coming from the basement.

It's probably not bugs either, but it's bugging the bleep out of me.  See, bad smells are OK as long as they are in the style of asparagus scented urine.  In other words, you don't like it, but you know why it is happening and you know it will not last long.

So what the heck is that smell?  Mold?  Dirt?  A dead animal?  Satanic visitation? (Remember Amityville Horror?!).  It smells vaguely like bitter armpit rotten stump topped off with skunk scat.  It also kinda smells like a sinus infection coupled with a garbage can that has been stewing in the garage for several days in August. Of course, I can't be sure anymore because my nose cilia have fled in fear.

Could it be the accumulation of countless odors collected in the structure of an old old house?  Is it the ramped up version of what happens when somebody has a garlic and cumin seasoned lunch?  You know, the curious dynamic that takes something that was pleasant going in and turns it into a new and decidedly unpleasant incarnation oozing out.

What can be done to kill this stench?  There are many things that don't do any good.  Walking around the house sniffing things, for instance,  has proven profoundly ineffective.  Ever hear of that volcanic rock that is supposed to absorb odors?  Well, there are several plastic mesh bags of those rocks hanging in the basement.  Every few months you're supposed to re energize the rocks by putting them in the sun.  Every few years you're supposed to rejuvenate the rocks by soaking them in salt water for 24 hours, rinse them off, then put them in the sun for several hours.  I whipped up a batch of salt water and soaked the bags.  The next day the sun obligingly came out to shine it's magic on the bags of rocks.  Now, the salted, rinsed and baked rocks once again hang in various areas of the basement.  Suspicion grows that these bags of rocks are not only symbolic, but provide only one function:  dubious decoration.

Meanwhile, outside the smelly house, the honeysuckle are in bloom.  This is the first time I can recall not finding the assertive scent of honeysuckle cloying.

Throw open the windows!  Run some fans!  Air out the house!  That's the ticket.  Dang, the temperature is in the high eighties and the humidity is also in the high eighties.  Let's hope that nice thick air will be more forceful with the smell then a delicate breeze would be.

OK.  Let's crank up the dehumidifier.  Something is happening!  We've had to empty the collection bucket again and again.

The Handsome One helpfully lit a scented candle in the basement.  Alas, it did not mask the smell.  On the bright side, since we did not blow up, we know for certain that the smell is not gas.

Something else must be done!  Speaking as one inclined to obsessive hand washing, how do I proceed without going extreme?  Bringing in a garden hose and blasting everything is probably over the top.  Let's tone it down a little and try a good bucket of sudsy water and a good sturdy brush.  If that doesn't work I may wait for Divine intervention.  While I'm waiting, it couldn't hurt to  apply procrastination.  This would allow the smell time to fade surely and gradually, the way my youthful skin tone did.



Smell results here.

Introducing a New Feature!

Fluffy the DogWalker comic strip debut right here at Pets and Other Critters!

Victorian Charm, Part 2.

My brother dubbed her "Nonny".  I had no say in the matter, mainly because I hadn't been born yet.  Nonny was my maternal grandmother and was, frankly, a bit of a prude.   Nonny's sensibilities ran toward the Victorian.  Though she was willing to say words such as "leg" or "tinkle", she would never say words like "gam" or "pee".

Nonny had a Pomeranian named Tinker.  Tinker knew where the Designated Elimination Area was.  It was outside.  "Do you wanna go outside?"  If she had to "go", Tinker knew a couple of barks and a quick pirouette would get the back door opened.

Once outside the order of business was, "do your dirt".  Rolls off the tongue nicely, doesn't it?  It is quaint and clean and rather enchanting.  I still use that command for my own dogs.  Call it a family tradition.  Every puppy I house train is taught "do your dirt". 

I may cuss under my breath while waiting for the dog to get on with it in a downpour but the "it" will forever remain "do your dirt".

I wouldn't have it any other way.  Thanks Nonny.

Victorian Charm, Part 1.

Got to hand it to the Victorian era.  Imagine being so very decent as to require euphemisms to describe anything remotely indecent.  These proper folks must have been a major factor in the huge number of synonyms present in the English language. 

A very nice customer brought this theory to mind.  Ms. Customer was away for a few days and asked me to take care of her cats.  For over a decade, it has been a great honor and joy to be entrusted to look after these two delightful brothers.  As the boys are getting along in years, they have been experiencing bladder challenges.  Or, as Ms. C. described it, "increased activity in the litter box". 

Indeed, Ms. C. left me a note saying she has doubled and sometimes tripled daily visits to the box in order to keep up with the additional activity therein.  Therefore, she would understand (and pay extra) if I too, felt the need to visit more than once a day to maintain the desired cleanliness level.

Now, even somebody like me, whose conversational style leans toward the free wheeling, sometimes vulgar side can appreciate the exquisite propriety evidenced in that litter box discussion.  And because I like Ms. C. and love her cats, I stepped up my efforts to adhere to the exemplary conditions expected in the boys's toilette in spite of a larger presence of material due to heavier traffic.

I may be a salty broad but I know a sweet gig when I have one, even if it means I must inhale a little more organic substance than I'd prefer.

Trespassers will be Treed

It is clear to me now why dogs so enjoy chasing critters up trees.  I treed a cat!  In all honesty it was inadvertent.  Admittedly, I am but a novice treer.  Nonetheless, due to my actions, an animal fled up a tree and stayed there (at least for a time).  Thus, it qualifies as a treeing.

The usual morning routine around here is when Lois and I return from our walk the other dogs join us in the backyard.  I then put a cup of seed in the bird feeder which hangs from the Maple tree.  On this day however, there were trespassers in the yard. Three cats were skulking around under the Maple tree.  One of the cats was that enormous clay colored cat that is a frequent visitor.  His companions were a dark brown medium sized cat and a juvenile pale calico.  When I saw them I lunged in their direction and uttered something along the lines of, "yaah!"

They scattered.  The big cat and the brown cat slipped into the next yard, presumably under the fence where it meets a raised concrete area.  The youngster went in the other direction and finding no way out, went up a tree.

My neighbor is not an enthusiastic weed puller.  This results in weeds along the fence line.  Some of these weeds grow into trees.  It was one such tree up which the cat youth found himself.  He clung tightly to a branch and his eyes revealed what you might euphemistically call concern.

Meanwhile, the local birds who are familiar with our morning routine, had witnessed this occurrence.   Sparrows perched in a group on the Weiglela.  Pigeons waited in a row on the phone line.  Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal hung out in the Forsythia.  A Blue jay squawked from the Red Maple in the neighbor's yard.  After I put seed in the feeder, the birds descended.

The adolescent cat loosened his grip on the tree branch and looked around, weighing his options. He could climb down the same way he climbed up.   Or he could move out onto a branch and leap onto another branch then into the shrubs.  But he would need squirrel dexterity to pull that off.  His remaining option was to jump onto the neighbor's roof. 

Some birds pecked at the seed in the feeder and some on the ground while the cat remained in the tree.  A Blue jay perched in a branch at eye level to the cat and jauntily cawed, "in a bit of a bind, aren't you, Bucko?"  A half a dozen Sparrows clustered in the Pussy Willow tree and gazed smugly at the captive kitty.  "Nah, nah.  Bet you wish you had wings, eh Pal?"  Mr. Cardinal perched at a discrete distance while his mate used the feeder.  He cheeped, "hey, Young Fella, you ever hear of  karma?"

Nature can be cruel.  But it isn't every day that it's playground taunting cruel.

Before long, the big cat and the brown cat returned.  They stood on the neighbor's front lawn.  Because the Forsythia bushes blocked the view, we can only assume that they were talking junior down.  Indeed, the kid jumped from the tree onto the roof.  For some time, he moved from side to side of the roof.  Cautiously, he would lean over an edge and peer down.  One imagines his mentors on the ground advising, encouraging their protege'.  Pretty soon the lad leaped onto the awning over the porch than plunged some ten or twelve feet onto the lawn. 

He must have made it.  A peek around the Forthesia hedge revealed no cats in the grass.

Not Scared, are you?

Most of us know a dog who is afraid of thunderstorms.  I once had a dog named Esther.  During storms she would hide under my bed shivering and panting.  There was no consoling her.  She would not come out from under the bed even to enjoy the distraction of say, a rawhide chew or a let's go for a ride type positive experience.  The dog was just plain scared out of her wits.

If the lightening and thunder show occurred during the night, I would lie on my bed feeling the vibration of Esther's trembling beneath me. This is the only time it ever crossed my mind that the bed frame might give way and collapse under my weight.  It was as though Esther's irrational fear was contagious. I was unable to sleep, not only due to the crashing storm outside and the sound of Esther panting and the unrelenting movement of the bed as Esther quaked but because my mind would not let go of the stupid idea that suddenly just as Esther lay vulnerable beneath the bed- it would crush her. This experience convinces me of the power of association.  Let's call it the Esther Effect.


We're told by experts that a dog who is afraid of thunderstorms can be reconditioned from a fearful reaction to a positve (or at least neutral) reaction. Buy yourself a recording of a thunderstorm and play it softly while feeding the dog treats or playing.  Little by little as the dog grows more nonchalant, turn up the volume of the phony storm.  The theory is that in time, the dog will not be afraid of thunderstorms because he's been having fun during the formerly scarey business of driving rains and flashes of light and boom boom thanks to a positive simulated storm experience. 

Sounds great, doesn't it?  You can redo an unpleasant reaction into new improved blase' courage!  Trouble is, you make some progress in your desensitizing then a real live storm comes along and you're back to square one.  Oh, well, slow and steady wins the race.  Don't give up!  Try try again!  It'll be OK!  You can do it!

In my household, roughly half the residents are afraid of storms and half are indifferent to them.  The scaredy cats run to The Handsome One for comfort.  It's done quite casually, we just sort of loiter in the general vicinity of THO and the other brave ones here at Bad Dog Ranch.  We hang around hoping that something will rub off.  You know, the Esther Effect.

Fear takes its toll.

Esther (on the left) as she appeared on sunny days.  Her companion's name was Heather.  It is not known whether or not Heather was afraid of thunderstorms. 

She's not even Embarrassed

Is there such a thing as Doggy Pride?  Do dogs feel a strong sense of duty and fidelity to dogdom the way Americans do to their country?  Or is Doggy Pride more like loyalty to a team?  Could it be that dogs just sort of hang out, possessing only a vague notion of self respect like a forty year old who has never done anything his entire life other than be a student? Or is the dog thing all unthinking instinct?

Like most seemingly inscrutable questions, the answer is probably a combination of things.  Inscrutable things, probably.

A close friend of mine is a sheepdog.  (Please see Hairballs- not just a cat thing, May 24, 2010).  She has had a problem with hairballs for some time now.  Today we visited the veterinarian and left with a tube of "Cat Lax".  The label reads: a palatable formula for the elimination and prevention of hairballs in cats".  And as of today- Cats and Lois.

I gave her a dose just now.  She's not even embarrassed.

Why the heck am I so embarrassed?  It's not like she's using a litterbox.

Worse than Skunk

In the pantheon of bad odors, skunk spray ranks pretty high.  But there is a far worse stink than skunk oil.  Skunk poop or suspected skunk poop- at any rate, confirmed wild critter poop- is just about the worst thing I have ever inhaled. 

Naturally, because this smell is so awful, some dogs feel irresistibly inclined to roll in it.  This morning, one of my dogs did just that.  For reasons that we humans will never fathom, this dog opted to become one with the stench. So she rubbed her head on it, leaving a path of hellish rankness from her cheek down her neck all the way to her shoulder.

One of my other dogs pointedly sniffed at her neck, tattle tale syle.  This alerted me.  There was a dark smudge visible on her hair at the side of her neck.  I leaned in to sniff the smudge and almost threw up. The dog who committed this heinous roll will henceforth be referred to as Stinky.  We'll call her Stinky too.  That is, when we start speaking to her again.

The only, and I mean ONLY bright spot in this wretched episode is the fact that excrement washes out more readily than does the oily stuff that skunks spray.  Yes, for the horrific dung- lather rinse repeat x 3 did the trick.

By the way, for skunk spray clean up you'll need:  White vinegar or 3 % hydrogen peroxide, baking soda, and dish detergent.  (The ratios are roughtly: 1 liter, 1/4 cup, 1 teaspoon.) Repeat lots of times.  Or call a professional.  Some companies have portable grooming stations inside a van which they'll park in your driveway while they deskunk your dog for you.

But if you're like me, you wash your own.  Therefore, I have a stash of assorted doggy shampoos always at the ready. To eradicate Stinky's impromptu putrid adventure, I went with a deodorant version offering a pleasing Cucumber Melon bouquet.

 I was framed!

Rose throws a wrench into the safety net

It is wonderful to have a bunch of dogs. Each has his speciality or role in the household. One likes to play. Another is up for any adventure. Still another, is serious about guarding the house and grounds. Then, you have the cuddler.

Alas, with this gang of canine diversity comes a dark side. Example. Some of you may recall last fall, Lester underwent spinal disc repair. The bulged disc was removed and Lester made a fabulous recovery. But we've had to make some changes to keep Lester from blowing another disc.

The freedom he enjoyed for the past twelve years to jump up and down on the furniture has been terminated. Jumping up isn't so much the problem, you see. It's the jumping down. The motion of a dog's spine during the act of landing from a height is kind of like the beads on a necklace clanging against each other. Only the beads are Lester's discs and the necklace string is his spinal cord.

Thus, there are some new rules around here. And accompanying those rules is a physical barrier to punctuate the point. So Lester can be kept safe from clanging his beads, a gate has been put up between the dining and living rooms. The dining room has no sofa, stuffed chair, or ottoman to jump on, so Lester is holed up in there with a cozy blanket under the dining table.

Meanwhile, the rest of the pack can lounge on the furniture in the adjoining room. The other dogs didn't seem to flaunt their continued furniture privileges and Lester does not whine about it, even though he is wont to whine when dissatisfied.

Things went fine for weeks. But then a certain mixed breed of uncertain lineage (other than a theoretical certainty that there is some nosy bossy ever active TERRIER in there) named Rose, figured out how to penetrate the barrier. Here's the thing, Rose likes to move around the house. She keeps busy- up the stairs to mess up the bedspread. Then back down the stairs to mess up the pillows on the love seat. Next, down to the basement to mess up the blanket in her crate. These are the sorts of things on Rose's daily agenda. So clearly, this gate cramped her style. Never mind that the gate represents saving Lester's life, if you want to get all dramatic about it - and we do. Rose sees it differently. To Rose the gate represents oppression. "Mr. Gorbachev tear down this wall."

Motivated by an innate need for freedom, Rose addressed this impediment. Pretty soon, Rose was able to move the barrier just enough to stroll through. Since Lester is smaller than Rose, he figured out that he could follow suit. All of a sudden, there is Lester sitting on the ottoman! Alarm! If he is up there, he'll eventually jump down! Clanging disc beads!

Enter THO (husband/The Handsome One) and some hardware. Fittingly enough, the metal thingies are called "No nosing hardware for gate". So now, the unit doesn't look as pretty as the catalogue version of Mahogany Free Standing Dog Gate, what with the hook and all, but the barrier is secure. At least until Rose figures out how to rappel.







That's right. The intense little black dog with a touch of gray is none other than Rose.

Fun Stuff

Us critters here at the Bad Dog Ranch live in Oakland County, Michigan. So we'd thought we'd pass along information about some fun stuff going on in our area.

(then scroll all the way down, if you dare)

****************

Oakland County Parks Upcoming Dog Programs and Events


A 2011 Annual Vehicle Permit or daily pass is required for park entry.
For more information contact Laurie Stasiak at 248.858.4929 or stasiakl@oakgov.com


March 6, Dog Park Etiquette, Red Oaks Dog Park 1-2:30 p.m.
Dogs may attend but must be on a 6 ft. leash.
Learn tips to help you and your dog get the most out of your dog park experience.
This 90 minute discussion will be led by Joanie Toole, Administrative Supervisor for the Oakland County Animal Control Division and the Oakland Pet Adoption Center.
The Oakland Pet Adoption Center has been aiding animals by providing shelter and care while trying to find them new, loving homes since 1980. The Oakland Pet Adoption Center is also a “no kill” shelter and works to find homes for the 10,000 animals they take in every year. Visit them at www.oakgov.com/petadoption or call 248.391.4100.

March 12, Canines, Coffee and Conversation, Lyon Oaks Dog Park 9-11:00 a.m.
Enjoy free coffee, treats and conversation with canines and friends!

April 9, Canines, Coffee and Conversation, Red Oaks Dog Park 9-11:00 a.m.
Enjoy free coffee, treats and conversation with canines and friends!

May 7, Canines, Coffee and Conversation, Orion Oaks Dog Park 9-11:00 a.m
Enjoy free coffee, treats and conversation with canines and friends!

May 7, Rattlesnake Recognition for Dog Owners, Orion Oaks Dog Park 11- 1:30 p.m.
Michigan's only venomous snake, and a species of special concern, the Eastern Massasauga Rattlesnake will be featured at an informal expo at the Orion Oaks Dog Park. Live snakes and other displays will help everyone identify this protected reptile. Dog owners will learn how to respond if they encounter a Massasauga Rattlesnake on the trail.

May 14, FidoFest, Red Oaks Dog Park 12-4:00 p.m.
Pet Expo featuring vendors, demonstrations and activity.

June 11, Canines, Coffee and Conversation, Lyon Oaks Dog Park 9-11:00 a.m.
July 2, Patriotic Pooches, Orion Oaks Dog Park
July 9, Canines, Coffee and Conversation, Red Oaks Dog Park 9-11:00 a.m.
July 31, Yappy Days Pet Expo, Orion Oaks Dog Park
Aug 6, Canines, Coffee and Conversation, Orion Oaks Dog Park 9-11:00 a.m.
September 10, Canines, Coffee and Conversation, Lyon Oaks Dog Park 9-11:00 a.m.
September 10, Dog Swim, Waterford Oaks – Pre-registration required
September 11, Dog Swim, Red Oaks – Pre-registration required
September 17, Rattlesnake Recognition for Dog Owners, Lyon Oaks 11- 1:30 p.m.
October 8, Canines, Coffee and Conversation, Red Oaks Dog Park 9-11:00 a.m.
October 15, Doggie Tailgating, Orion Oaks
October 22, Howl-o-ween, Lyon Oaks Dog Park 12-4:00 p.m.
November 5, Canines, Coffee and Conversation, Orion Oaks Dog Park 9-11:00 a.m.
December 10, Canines, Coffee and Conversation, Lyon Oaks Dog Park 9-11:00 a.m.



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Wondering why we're called Bad Dog Ranch?

This is just one reason.