Images

Bobcat (Lynx rufus)

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This bobcat was taken from the wild and turned into a house pet, then was terribly malnourished and confiscated by the state. He eventually wound up at the zoo and, under their care, was given medical treatment and moved over to a diet of true meat (as opposed to the frozen fish sticks he had been eating). This photo was taken on the first day he was allowed outside in his new home. You can tell that he’s not entirely sure what’s going on.

One year later, I visited again. I could get no photos because, once he became healthy, he became a wild animal once again and it was no longer safe for me to be near him.

Photographs are a moment in a time. At the time I took this photo, he was a sick, scared, wary little cat. Today, he is a powerful, dominant near-wild animal. While I’m somewhat sad that I can’t get photos of him anymore, I’m happier at the same time.

White Chicken

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Things white chicken says:

“Of course I prefer to hang around with other chickens like me. It’s just a class thing.”
“Privileged! I had to WORK for what scratchings got.”
“I prefer to be referred to as a chicken of European descent.”
“We live in a post-breedist barnyard.”
“I don’t understand why those hungry chickens get extra feed. I work just as hard as them.”
“Actually (despite the fact that birds have five different types of photo-receptors), I’m colorblind.”

Antelope

Antelope
Here, we see an adult antelope teaching a young one how to fight. Shortly after this shot, they entered a training montage through which the young antelope become quite skilled, grew to the age of maturity, and became ready for his final battle with the bully that had oppressed him his entire life.

Bush Dog (Speothos venaticus)

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As noted earlier, bush dogs have no sense of humor. Its very presence offends its senses, so it must block its nose to keep even the hint of humor in this joke from befouling its environment.

Joke: A sibyl, a haruspex, and a rhabdomantist walked into a bar. The sibyl said, “There’s going to be this big flood, and it’s going to be terrible.” And the haruspex was looking at this dead animal, and he said, “Yeah, it’s going to rain hard and wipe everything out, and it’s going to do all kinds of damage.” And the rhabdomantist said, “That’s terrible! Why…I’ll be out of a job!”

Blue Tree Monitor (Varanus macraei)

Halfway up, he pauses, questioning.

His instructions were as specific as they were simple. Climb to the top. Do not speak. Do not look back.

Violating any rule would bring ruination. It would be the end of all he had worked for. Stealing the map from the mammoths of Lyrcea. Choosing a reed from the Minnorie, making from it the flute, and charming the guardian of the gates. The eons of walking across the shards littering the floors of the caves of death. Arrival. The endless days of debate and negotiation. All for the goal he finally achieved, that he knows is almost his. Behind him, unseeable, unhearable, unsmellable, trailing.

At least, he thinks. He hopes. But he how can he know?

Can he really trust the lords of the dead? Stories abound, of tricks and lies, of slippery words and slithering tongues. True, he’d done his best. He’d driven a hard bargain, given up less than he had feared. Yet, was it too little? Should it have hurt more, cost more?

He re-runs the talks in his head. Did he err? He had traded years of his life and half of his soul. Was that enough? What was the value of a year, to those that lived forever? What was the value of a soul, to those that had a multitude? He had wagered his skill against their champion, and won. But had he? For a champion, she had seemed flawed. Surely she could have sustained higher trills and more mournful lows. Why did she give it less than her all? Was he truly more motivated, as he had thought? Had she felt some measure of pity?

Or was it a trick?

It may have been. Perhaps in a century, stories would be told of his folly in the underworld. How he had hazarded it all and been played a fool. He wants to look back, to calm his fear and assuage what remains of his soul. A slight turn of the head, a shift of the eyes, and he can know.

But no. He will climb to the end. Or until, unable to continue, he will fall, damning himself and his love forever to death. No. If he is to fail, it will not be from weakness.

He pauses, tensing his muscles, resting a mere moment, then continues his climb.

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