Posted on 07/19/2009 5:40:44 PM PDT by LA Woman3
By now that polarbear has a good idea just how many nasty little sharp rib blades we have and won’t be trying that again ~ unless the meat is cooked first.
Thank goodness that nobody had a gun! Someone with a gun could have shot someone else by accident! Someone might have gotten hurt!
Mark
Perhaps Ted was thinking that she should have been shot to protect the poor polar bears. : )
“How on earth did the ATF and FBI kill all those people in Waco and overlook Ted?? I mean he’s a major threat to their power”
Ted still lived in Michigan then.
A good gift for the missus.
On that estate was where dad found himself in an almost storybook lifestyle. He had a pet bear that grew too big for the home and was banished after wandering into the great hall where a massive dinner party was being staged for over 300 people. The bear grabbed a corner of the table cloth and pulled all 300 place settings from the single long dinner table kept for such events. That's china, silverware and crystal glasses. Bear disappeared and my dad never found out what befell his pet.
HIS dad (my grandfather) was something of a legend for his own adventures. That man kept a Siberian Tiger he'd raised from a cub. Everywhere my grandfather went on the estate this huge beast went along on a massive chain. But my grandfather always carried a large Webley .455 revolver at his side. When my dad asked why he was told gently that the beast never stops being wild and it's necessary to be prepared for a sudden reversion to type. That moment came when the cat and my grandfather were resting near the enormous fireplace one evening. The tiger licked grandfather's hand. Like all cats, the tiger had a really raspy tongue and it scraped off the scab of a wound (IIRC) on my grandfathers hand. The instant it happened, my grandfather stood, drew and shot the tiger dead as it was snarling and tensing it's muscles to attack. That cat promptly wound up in front of the fireplace. As a rug.
The last pet story I got from my dad was his assigned security. The revolution was brewing and commies and bandits were roaming the countryside.
My grandfather gave his son (my dad) a small pack of Russian Wolf Hounds on a common multi-tailed leash that could be controlled with one hand. Those dogs went everywhere with my father whenever he was outside the house in the Urals. They stayed on the estate and never came to Moscow. When my dad's family got onto a liner to come to this country (first class, not steerage) just weeks before the bloody full out Russian Revolution, I don't know what happened to those dogs. They were probably turned loose into the forest maybe to live off the commies. One can only hope.
My dad always understood the critical importance of firearms when it comes to staying safe from both four and two legged predators. He was careful to impart those values to me at a very young age.
“They have his body on display at the preserve. He’s in a loincloth.”
There’s an image I won’t get out of my mind for awhile.
And before I finish my first cup of coffee this morning!
Palin/Nugent 2012 bump
“An insane lady lifts herself over the barrier so she can pet the 1,000-pound polar bear. Not surpisingly, she ends up in the jaws of the carnivore. All the zoogoers can do is watch.”
And Cheer?
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