(We happy ewes?)
To determine if exposure to ram lambs whose scrotums had been shortened by the use of a rubber ring would induce reproductive activity in ewe lambs, and determine if this technique was an effective alternative to vasectomised mature rams.
Seven hundred and forty-nine Romney ewe lambs, 7-8 months of age, were randomly assigned to one of three treatment groups. Treatments included exposure for 17 days prior to breeding to either mature vasectomised rams (Vasec), or ram lambs whose scrotums has been shortened via a rubber ring (Ram SS), or not being exposed to either vasectomised or short-scrotum ram lambs (Unteased). Using crayon marks, ewe lambs were identified as having been marked during the first 17 days only, during both 17-day periods, during the second 17 days only, or not marked. Hoggets were weighed on the day of introduction of entire rams. All ewe lambs were diagnosed for pregnancy status using ultrasound.
Unteased ewe lambs and those exposed to ram lambs whose scrotums had been shortened by the use of a rubber ring were less (p<0.05) likely to be marked and pregnant to the first 17 days of breeding than ewe lambs exposed to mature vasectomised rams. Twin-bearing ewe lambs were heavier (p<0.05) than their single-bearing counterparts at introduction of the rams.
Exposure of ewe lambs to mature vasectomised rams is an effective means of increasing the numbers of ewe lambs bred and pregnant to the first 17 days of breeding. In contrast, a 17-day exposure to ram lambs whose scrotums had been shortened by the use of a rubber ring, at the ratios utilised in the present study, were not a suitable alternative to mature vasectomised rams for inducing early breeding activity in ewe lambs.
…and I broke up a ‘party’ with my big mouth.
A colleague, seventhvoice.wordpress.com, organized a Collaborative Poetry contest. In these “contests”, poets build lines of verse, one at a time, into a complete work of art. Like painting a picture, one stroke at a time; each painter adding one brushstroke.
It sounded interesting to me. I can’t paint worth a damn. With oils, I could make quite a mess. But words… … …what harm could I do?
I thought and I thought. And I recalled a story I once heard:
Charles Dickens and Victor Hugo were once challenged to write the shortest possible English sentence. Dickens wrote furiously, editing as he scribbled along, producing, “I win”. But Hugo won! His sentence:
“ ! “.
I wanted in on Seventh Voice’s contest, but I don’t have the “cojones” to go quill to quill with Dickens or Hugo.
The collaborative poem went along like this:
I used to have a perfect mouth,
That spoke of days gone by (Ruth2day)
Where imperfect syllables came out (Ian Moone)
funny, often wry (Julia Dean Richards)
As I greenly kissed your azure heaven (Lady Day)
but none listened (Ariane Zurcher)
And you hear of many truths (Boomiebol)
From the heart my words would flow (paulaacton)
Glittering in a pretentious dye (parshant)
With dirty words I just can hold back. (Silentlyheardonce)
to poison those I love, (Sacha Black)
distorted but defining (Cathmae)
We look to the heavens above (Nutsfortreasure)
The repressed taint redounded (Angel Fractured)
I thought about that contest between Dickens and Hugo. And made my contribution.
It went like this:
Yes, I’m a baaad boy.
The “Elephants” are in a rut:
[- a “Musth” see -]
the “Donkeys” are over leveraged!
And in all, a beastly situation!!
+++++++++ +++++++++ +++++.
+++++++++ +++++++++ +++++++++ +++++++++ +++++++++ +++++++++ +++++++++++++ ++++++!! +++++++++++, ++++++ + ++ +++++++++++++ +++ +++++++++++++?
On the other hand,
So you see, ++++++++! ++++++++++++ ++ +++++++++.
—– —– —–
Ultimately, ++++ + +++, +++++ ++ and ++ +++ +++++++.
Thanks for nothing.
But they’re in the process of being illuminated. I’m just in the beginning stages of each post. Hopefully I’ll remember to complete them.
Am I becoming more manic? Time will tell!
1- The Man In The Iron Lung
2- Is Conversation A Lost Art?
3- Koan And Katz
4- Fear And Loathing In Psychology
5- Zen Is Boring!
6- Sit Down And Shut Up!
7- Blogging Too Complicated?
8- In The Event Of My Death
10- Its Bach-y-Rita’s Helmet, But Its Cheryl’s Tongue
12- A Matter Of Loaf And Death
13- “Left” Gets It Right. “Right” Is Right. So Who’s Left?
14- My Political Compass
16- Medical And Mystical
17- Malthus Was Wrong Says Both Right And Left, And Wrong!
I found a friend from grade school on Facebook.
|I joined the circus so part of time I’m traveling and
performing as a high wire ballerina-the rest of the
time I live in New York City and work as a dental
hygienist. Life is good!
And I responded,
The circus? Where were you when I needed you? All those floppy shoes in my closet! And me, in my baggy pants, doing my sailors jig looking for you. What a pair we would have been!
Instead, I’m a retired psychotherapist in California. You haven’t been on this website for years. But just in case, I’ve left you the keys to my locker and, if you need help, just whistle. Phew! Phew. and we’ll run off together. I have the keys to my dad’s old jollopy, jellopie, JALOPY, what-ever [thanks, wikipedia] and off we’ll go.
Its a shame you’ll never see this. I had great fun writing it. Hope all is well.
And now, we’re now corresponding. So;
There’s so much to tell. But first, the formalities. I’ve learned the hard way how easy to be misinterpreted on the ‘net so don’t get angry but I just want to correspond. Hope you have similar good, healthy social instincts too.
Enough of that.
When I saw your bio I thought, “I should have known you better”, in the day. I was so ‘spaz” then. I was so scared. Vietnam, the “Cuban Missile Crisis“, the whole 60s thing…and all I could think of was “Should I join the ”Weathermen’ or be an upstanding citizen. So I became an upstanding citizen. No serious regrets. Little ones, but no biggies. I loved, and still love, being a father. My two daughters are joys. The eldest, S., gave up a good career in non-profit management to open a knitting store. My youngest, J., is a good third grade teacher. S.’s husband owns a small, small medical PR firm. They adopted my grand-daughter, M.S., from China the same week I was dieing [sic] in the hospital after a stroke.
That’s whole other story. Later!
J. has a boy, J., 10; and and girl, M., 6. J. has my personality. Thoughtful. A little too thoughtful…he gets paralyzed by doubt. He thinks things through, and through…I encourage him to let go…most things work out well, don’t they? Otherwise we all, as a Human Race, would have been long gone. But he’s so young, poor kid, and he needs a wise grandfather. Eureka! He has me!! J.’s beau is among other things, a blues guitarist, and went back to grad. school at State to be a nutritionist. Come to our house for Thanksgiving, y’all. He’s from Dallas!
I know what you’re thinking. This guy really know how to write the shit out of a piece of paper! That’s the rest of my story. In 2002, I had my second stroke. It left me paralyzed on one side, and aphasic. I was in rehab at university hospital for months. I am The Six Million Dollar Man. I joke about it, what else is here to do.
I blog about my good fortune, and my newly acquired neuroplasticity, at http://taxi-dog.com
I’d love to talk to you. And I will! But first another story. An embarrassing one. I don’t know you! Of course I know your name. But nothing else. My elderly mind thinks we knew each other in grade school…maybe even Mrs. Callahan’s class by…what, Ditmas Park, before even The Caton School? Maybe not.
In the1980’s, at the reunion, Larry S. was saying, “You’ve got to see Jane…You’ve GOT TO SEE Jane. She’s been looking for you.” It was the scene from “American Graffiti“! I was Richard Dreyfus and you were Suzanne Somers. But I never found you!
And now its 30 years later, and I’m still looking but my stroke-leaden mind just doesn’t compute. Were you my Cadillac Girl? Was I your chubby little Jewish philosopher?
“Eliphino”, he trumpeted!
—– —– —–
This post should have gone away by itself. Died an ignominious death. Gone to an ‘elephants graveyard’ of ‘never forgots’. [Now that was a pun on a pun. Cool!]
It all started as an idea about my bad circulation. In brief, my right side is paralyzed due to a stroke and my feet get discolored. Grey and scaly. Thus, “alligator feet”.
But apparently, the are very many people who are embarrassed by their feet. The internet, as I haved learned, is choked with such complaints. Which leaves me with nothing new to say.
Well that’s not good! I wasted my writing time and produced nothing? ! I’ll be damned if that will be the end of the matter! So I guess I’ll stuff it down your throat rather than show you my frustation.
Its not pretty! But its my “not pretty” and I’ll take the consequences.
And so…my “Idea That Went Nowhere”!
—– —– —–
Let’s take a look at Alligator Feet!
Channel 10, WALB, South Georgia, reports “Food Bank distributes alligator feet to the hungry”:
The web’s premiere natural history store, The Bone Room, http://www.boneroom.com/index.html, specializes in natural science and all things once living.
Lucky Mojo www.luckymojo.com/alligatorfeet.html is both an online magic shop and a real magic store that you can visit. We carry a full line of hand-made spiritual supplies.
And that’s when I finally gave up the ghost.
Such is The Loneliness Of The Frustrated Blog Writer!
— — —
There! That was painless?! Dan and I can agree about at least some things. With humor there may be hope.
And thanks for sharing your idea.
late last Thursday night, i awoke with a start. it had dawned on me that my film school movie report was due in the morning. not the next week. tomorrow!
i have a strong super-ego. too strong. i may write like a mad man [no. not a madam!], but i live like a regular person. my shame-filter has a hair trigger. My goose was cooked. Wake Up, Little Taxi, Wake Up Little Taxi. Its Time To Go….where?!
i joke, of course, you know me by now. but i was crying. inside. doing my little wheelchair dance inside. that’s what shame does. my insides were in turmoil. i had to defecate twice in a hour. my stomach was leaden.
it was very late at night. my blogging has been all consuming. responding to comments, learning rss feeds, social network log-ins, widgets, twitter, del.icio.us, … … …and i’m all aflutter with my hypo-hyper-mania at the best of times. and… … …its Friday!
Does a grown man cry?
there was nowhere to go! what could i do? i’m 67 years old. say “the dog ate my homework”?
i want to tell you that i acted like a man. i want to tell you that i courageous and took my medicine. that i improvised well and got applause. but that that did not happen.
by 3:30 AM, i had exhausted myself worrying. i take the public service bus to the university at 8:00. still pacing, awaiting the bus, i took a detour to a nearby shop for coffee. coffee??? “get on the f@@king bus” i commanded, out loud.
on the bus, stone-faced. i live in an urban area, but there are little patches of wilderness along the way. i tried to meditate.
whatever there was to rescue from this situation, i was going to rescue it. but i was crying, sweating, holding my innards.
the bus reached its destination. i was still thinking, “you don’t need to do this”. it was the last session of the class. and i would never be able to walk the campus again. “Hey, aren’t you the guy who missed the last class. Whatever happened to you?”
a last look at the seminar’s office, and… … …
… … …
oh, i can’t tell you how many tumultuous emotions were in play! An astonishment of fluttering vultures. an BDSM nightmare, with whips, chains, masks, and gags. Butt [sic] all the gags were on me!!!
one last timid opening of the door.
i was 1/2 hour late. from all the worry, the sleeplessness, the ‘virgina-reeling’, wheelchair dizzying nightmare i had produced for myself.
And someone else was leading the class!!
My Report Was Next Week.
— — — —
Reigniting the spirit of a nation grown cold.
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Consumed by Everything
GORDON M. HAHN
A social scientist's exploration of his psycho~social concerns; by the League of the Grey
The Maverick whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is hoar; Is gone...He went like one that hath been stunned, And is of sense forlorn: A sadder and a wiser man, He rose the morrow morn.
doG said "Write"; so he wrote -|- doG said "Bow", so he wowed.
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