Ah, Kitty...

When I was 15, I stole a cat. 

Yes, I said that, and yes it means what you think it means. I stole someone's ten week old kitten, with malice aforethought. 

You see, they'd gotten her from one of the inevitable stray got a holt of fluffy pairings, the litters that get ignored until they're weaned, which is followed by a desperate attempt to give the kittens away. 

So, right, they gave a kitten a home, awesome. Problem is, like so many kittens in a dusty clime that don't get much attention and ew get them out of my house they can live in the shed.... she had an upper respiratory infection. Which, by itself, is usually not a big deal. They're snotty and their eyes goober up for a while and then they get over it. This kitten, however, had a bad upper respiratory infection. Like, eyes swollen shut bad. 

So, when I saw this, I told them "Take her out to the vet. He'll probably give you a fifteen dollar bottle of antibiotics for it. Last stuff I had to get from him smelled like bubblegum so it's not even hard to give." 

And I went away for a week. The next time I visited, her poor kitten eyes were still swollen and goobered shut. 

So I stole the cat. 

That first trip to the vet, for the sixteen dollar bottle of liquid antibiotics (still the bubblegum, and before we finished all you had to do was shake it and she'd come running from the other end of the house) was just the beginning. A stolen cat always costs more than one honestly acquired.

Anyway, I brought the little bundle of fluff home and started getting her better, and it wasn't long at all before she felt better enough to show some personality. She liked mom, as all cats do those who are just allergic enough to be mildly miserable with prolonged close contact.

One night, my loving mother was sitting at the table, having a glass of wine, with the kitten romping and investigating and generally being a kitten in her lap. She looked down, and started to scold the little blue-eyed furball for nosing around on the table (an ironclad rule for all FarmFam animals, Thou Shalt Keep Thy Nose Off My Damn Table) and suddenly busted out laughing. Because, you see, the kitten had her head shoved into mom's glass of wine and was drinking it. 

So that's how she got her name. Her Royal Highness Princess White Zinfandell. Ziff for short. 

Ziff came to a truce with the FarmDogs of that era, though it was a cautious one. I don't believe she ever forgave them for thinking it was funny to nose her and knock her tail over teakettle when she was a kitten.

She slept on my pillow, in a c-for-cat fitted around my head and I learned to sleep with her that way because no matter how many times I moved her she moved back, and if I annoyed her enough she'd fall back on her first preference for sleeping position, which was draped over my face. 

Once I relaxed to the inevitable, the purr vibrating through my head was actually sort of soothing. 

She was three years and some change old (and had been through an eye surgery, the follow up of which caused her to lose her taste for being picked up and carried.... well, if you figured out that picking up meant getting steroid cream smeared in your sore eye would you like it??) when I brought home FarmDog.

At first, it seemed like Ziff was going to fall into the same wary truce she had with the other dogs, but it didn't take long for her to figure out a couple of important facts....

First, that FarmDog was a young and impressionable puppy.

Second, that if you bluff em hard enough when they're little, they'll believe it forever. 

So FarmDog became Ziff's dog. Her favorite dog, privileged to be near Her Highness and tolerated to a greater degree than the others. This may have been Ziff's relaxing to the inevitable since it soon became clear that she was going to have to share the bed with the dog whether she wanted to or not.

Before FarmDog was even a year old, they had a grand relationship, to the point that while Ziff was sitting on the foot stool (AKA her throne) FarmDog could come up and rest her chin on it, without getting chased off. 

Of course, it was fifty fifty whether Ziff would groom her nose and face or reach out with one majestic paw and sink all five claws into the top of FarmDog's head, to lift the loose skin there while watching dispassionately. I think it was a test of loyalty, personally. FarmDog got to where she never even twitched, just gave Ziff sad eyes till the cat got bored with it and settled down to grooming. FarmDog learned some tricks too. If Ziff ignored her when she came to The Throne, she'd wait patiently till the ignoring got pointed (in cat, that means turning away to groom yourself) and then lunge in for a full-body lick, and back out and away before she could be caught. 

This usually resulted in whatever humans were present laughing themselves silly, and the cat giving an indignant glare at the room in general. And another Loyalty Test at the earliest opportunity.

Ziff is still with us, even though she's pushing fourteen. She's still spry, most days. She's an old cat though and has her stiff and sore days. 

Since I got back to the Homestead her favorite place has pretty much been here:

Curled up on my bed. Or, if possible, two feet lower, where I usually lean against the wall with my laptop. (Why yes, that is three different blankets you see on my bed. One of them is electric. I'm a wimp, I have never denied this.)

The Schnauzers seem to have convinced her that uneasy truce is the best way to go with dogs, though it may be that she's just that old and grumpy, but she hasn't been dealing with "her" dog the same way she used to. Unless they're doing their loyalty rituals when I can't see them. Or, her uneasy truce with Biter and Jezebelle may be because when she manages to catch a mouse, they steal it, and she's not sure she's got the vinegar left in her to properly lesson them on manners.

She's lost a lot of weight the last couple of years, but it's just being an old cat. I was sitting here looking at them, Ziff in the spot she'd claimed for herself, and FarmDog on any open spot of bed that she thought might not get reclaimed by me for long enough to start a good nap, and I realized that, once the next move is accomplished, these two probably won't ever be together again.

When I went to college, it was generally agreed that Ziff wouldn't cope well with a move. She's a strictly indoor cat, by her own preference. I tried to interest her in outside when she was young and she followed me out of politeness a couple of times, but always went back in with a look of "what in the world are you THINKING going out there?!?" at the first opportunity.

At this point, I'm pretty sure a move would kill her, just from the stress. Besides... she's lived in the same house for the vast majority of her life. She stayed when I left. While I'm sure from the instant recognition and resumption of me being her person when I came back (she still likes to sleep wrapped around my head and lounges on the back of my chair and attempts to annoy me into paying attention to her at every opportunity) she'd love to be with me, I don't think she would want to go with me.

And for all practical purposes, she's coming to the end of her run. She's still pretty happy, if a little slow and occasionally sore. She gets attention and food, and gets to annoy dad. She's got her picked people that she comes out for (yes, folks, she was in the house at Blogorado, she just chose not to make an appearance... too much bustle for her tastes) and they give her attention in the age old trade for cat hair.

But she's old. She's had a good run of it and I don't regret a second of it (even if the eye surgery thing freaked me out a little. Look, I know she was just anesthetized but mostly they look like they're sleeping then, and it's not all that freaky even if they are limp like a corpse. But limp like a corpse and eyes open and staring made me nervous. She looked dead, and I had to keep checking to make sure she wasn't.)

So she won't go with me on the next grand adventure, and there's a good chance that she won't be here the next time FarmDog makes it this way. Or hell, FarmDog is getting old too. She's getting white around her muzzle and on her feet that wasn't always there, and there's the seizure thing. It might be FarmDog that goes first. Either way, once I take the next step, it's probably the last chapter of A Cat and Her Dog.

Kind of sad, actually.

Wild Animals Are... Wild

BRM posted a story about a man in Utah that got knocked against a fence by a bison, because he was dense enough to chuck rocks at it. Since he was taking pictures, presumably he did this to get the buffalo to look at him.

Now, this is a symptom that I see a lot, whenever I'm anywhere there are animals and the public, pretty much.

Darwinism has been thwarted to such a great degree that a large segment of our population has lost all ability to detect no-bullshit danger.

Folks in the gunblogging circle talk about this a lot in terms of keeping an eye out for criminals and knowing which way to jump when TSHTF. But honestly, I think it illustrates much more easily with stuff like this.

So this brain surgeon is in a state park, where they have bison, and bison are awesome and he wants a picture. Fantastic. But a picture of a grazing bison isn't good enough, nooo. He's got to have one of the critter looking at him.

So what does he do? He puts a fence at his back (leaving him handily stuck between a barricade and an animal that makes wolves think twice unless they have some extra advantage) and starts tossing rocks.

Ok, let me pause for a moment here and explain something, if you haven't been to one of the state or national parks that has resident buffalo. The American Bison has become the icon of the west. Everyone knows how there used to be millions of them, and now there's not. So when they get to see them, they ooo and ahhh a lot, and stand there like morons clicking pictures for half an hour. Meanwhile the bison go about their business completely ignoring the humans. You know why? Because they're used to them. Definitely NOT because they like them.

So, they're accustomed, and they ignore. That is, until you do something they aren't accustomed to, or something that annoys them. Like chuck rocks at them.

That guy in Utah? He's damned lucky that was a chain link fence at his back, and not a pipe or barbed wire fence. He's also damned lucky that that bison gave him the equivalent of "dude, knock it off" and wasn't seriously peeved. If the animal had been serious about it, I wouldn't have been surprised to hear that the man had been pushed through that chain link fence, to ooze out the other side like play-dough.

Please remember here... when in rut, bison males fight over females. That big hump? It's not fat. That's muscle. You know why they have that big hump of muscle right over their shoulders? Cause their heads are freaking heavy, and they like to hit each other with them. That muscle gives them the power to whack into each other repeatedly. It also helps hold up their skull since it's thick.... again for the whacking.

If that bison had been more than annoyed, dude would be dead. We're entirely too squishy and slow to change a buffalo's mind once it's made up. Luck, and the fact that we pretty much actively prevent these geniuses from either learning or becoming a shining example of What Not To Do has resulted in a human gene pool that I'm pretty sure could use some chlorine.

Another example, from the last time I was at the zoo. Observing the cougar habitat, I noted that the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo did something nifty for their cats, they built a section of the enclosure that went out over a tunnel the visitors could walk through. That tunnel has a glass ceiling, and in the enclosure is a sturdy branch to overhang.

I watched a group, with children, approach the enclosure. Some woman put one of the kids up on a post so that he could see the cats better. One of the cats was busily gnawing on a bone from a pile hoarded in a corner, but when the child was lifted up into sight, wandered over.

"Oh look, he likes you!"

At this point the kid, being smarter than the adult, is uneasy, because the cat is pacing in front of him. The kind of pacing you might expect to see if you hauled a quarter of a deer up and dropped it outside the fence. Kid freaks out, she puts him down, and off they go through the tunnel.

And the cat follows, pacing out on the overhanging branch and looking down at them through the glass. And they ooo and ahh, and say how neat it is, and again I hear "He likes you!"

Yeah. For dinner.

I have very little doubt that the designers of that enclosure had any illusions about what being above slow, squishy meat sacks means to a cougar. And it is a neat thing to watch them walk along that branch like they were on the ground, so everyone wins. But that window wasn't put there for the zoo patrons, oh no, that window was put there for the cats, for their entertainment and stimulation. Because when a cougar is looking down on a human, it sees dinner.

The woman was completely oblivious to this, to all of the body language of the cat or any sense of "oh if this fence weren't here, that thing would happily gnaw on my thighbone for days."

One more quick example from a trip I took to Yellowstone years back. Late August... breeding season for many wild animals with long gestation, especially herbivores, so that the little ones are starting to come off the teat about the time there's plenty of good green spring grass.

In Yellowstone all of the animals are pretty accustomed to humans. I swear I saw a moose there my first time through that deliberately posed for the flocks of people who had pulled off the road to take pictures and gawk (of course I was one of them, how often do you see a posing moose??)

Anyway, it's the same with the bison, and the antelope, and the elk. They're pretty chill with voices and cameras and people at a certain distance. Anyway, this trip, I was driving along one of the roads, going to waterfalls, and I see a bunch of cars pulled off and parked. This, in Yellowstone, is the international symbol of Wildlife In View Of The Road.

Glance over, and it's a herd of elk in a meadow. Just happened to be someone pulling out of the little pull-off area facing the meadow as I went by, so I decided to whip in and get a couple of pictures, because I hadn't seen any elk yet that trip and the bull was impressive.

Grabbed the camera, climbed out of the car and used it as a tripod since I'd need the zoom, and I hear off to one side the rustling of medium heavy paper.

When you go to Yellowstone they give you a map of the park, with all the easily accessible interesting bits marked. On the back of the map are drawings and names of the most common wildlife, everything from bison to marmots. (Or, that's the way it was when I was last there, they may have changed the design by now.)

"I don't know, I think they're some kind of deer." I hear from the direction of the paper rustling. Ok, so not everyone knows what an elk looks like, fine. When I glanced over, she looked like Mrs Suburban Housewife Supreme Model. One of those people who buys what they think they should wear to go to "the wilderness" to go to Yellowstone, and ends up looking like a moron in all the wrong brand-new gear. Her husband hand the camera.

He grunted at her a bit and futzed with it, trying to get a good clear shot I guess, it was a decent distance.

"Get closer, just walk out there!"

At this point, friends, I'm afraid I contributed to thwarting Darwinism. But I wasn't sure if the elk would get in trouble for killing a clueless tourist or if I'd have to do paperwork because I saw it.

I just wandered over and told him "No, don't walk out there."

They both looked at me like I was something they'd never had to scrape off their boots before, of course.

I quickly explained that those were elk, a bull and his harem, and that this was mating season, which meant that the bull would be very touchy and very likely to hurt badly anything that he thought was getting too close to his lady friends. Then I went back to my car, in time to see one of the rangers pull up.

So I waited for him to get out of his vehicle, and let him know he might want to keep an eye on things until the elk decided to wander off, since I had heard someone mention something about walking out into the meadow to get better pictures.

The ranger, not being a moron, went sort of pale and mumbled something about hating mating season.

I wandered off back to my car and the happy knowledge that I'd prevented myself from having to call someone a fucking moron in an official report.

Human beings, as a species, are weak, watered down predators. Take a kitten that has lived in a nice comfy room all its life and been fed lovely food every day, drop it in the woods with no other protection or weapons than it was born with, and it has a better chance of surviving for a week than most humans in the same situation. The kitten will, at least, have the sense to realize that shit out there wants to eat it.

Humans aren't at the top of the food chain because we're better than other animals, we're at the top of the food chain because we're smarter than other animals. Or, we were. Unfortunately I don't think that the trend has continued.

Pope Francis

Just a few comments on the new Pope. Bear in mind I am not Catholic, though there are Catholics in the extended family, it wasn't a faith that I was raised in or that I am intimately familiar with, beyond what pretty much everyone knows about the Catholic Church.

First, the previous Pope, rather than wait to die, stepped down. On the one hand, I have a certain amount of a respect for a man who has the humility to recognize that maybe he isn't the best man for the job, and step aside to put the good of the Church first. On the other hand, being the first Pope Emeritus in something like six hundred years brings it's own level of fame and notoriety.

No one knows why the Pope Emeritus stepped down, for sure, other than he himself. Regardless, knowing what I do of human nature, I can guarantee that he had some curiosity about who his successor would be. What part that played in his decision, who knows?

As for Pope Francis, the first Pope from the Americas, and the first Pope to take the name Francis, I wish him luck. He's assumed a leadership role over a tiny country, and the entire world, all at the same time. He'll set the tone for millions of faithful Catholics in a time in which a lot of people really need their religious leadership to be strong and sure of itself.

Not being Catholic, I'm not sure I'm technically supposed to have an opinion, but I can't help but hope that he takes more after Pope John Paul II than Pope Benedict XVI.

Pope John Paul reached out to the faithful and non-Catholics alike. His personality, demeanor, and behavior while Pope endeared him to the common man.

I have a general distrust of the leaders of organized religion. Too often they seem to be more worried about their own prestige and accomplishments than the welfare and care of their congregations. Either they focus on the honors they are due or they focus on the number of souls they can "save" (because if they convert or recruit more followers, they become more powerful).

Don't get me wrong, there are exceptions. I know several pastors that I sincerely like, who are truly and deeply concerned with the care and welfare of their congregations. I also know one former priest that, at every poor turn in my life, has offered his support and experience to help. The fact that I haven't taken him up on it is not his failing, but my own. I'm not very good at asking for, or accepting help in those kinds of situations.

In general, though, with my interactions with the leaders of organized religion of any stripe that I've encountered, there was always an impression that either I didn't count, because I didn't follow their creed, would go to hell anyway, and it didn't matter, or that they had this burning drive to convert me, to save me. For my own good of course.

So I tend to take any action or advice from religious leaders with a grain of salt, and look for that ulterior motive.

But Pope John Paul II carried himself and presented himself in such a manner that, if I had met him during his lifetime, and had a chance to chat, I think I would have liked the man, and respected him enough to take his opinions and advice under serious consideration.

I think the Catholic Church needs another Pope that outsiders like me can respect. So I hope that Francis is up to the job, and I wish him all the best in his time as Pope. It would be nice to have a leader in the world that is worthy of respect.

I'm A Sucker

 I was headed out to the farm today and nearly hit a dog. It just stood there and looked at me, then jumped out of the way of the semi that was behind me.

She didn't run off, and when the semi stopped too, she headed back toward it. The driver got out and was talking to her as I made it back to where she was. Again, she didn't run off, but she didn't really appear to want to come close either.

He got a couple of snack pastries and started feeding her bits of them. When she calmed down enough to take a few bites from his hand, I hopped in my car and ran back to town to grab some supplies...

A kennel, some dry dog food, a can of wet dog food, and a bowl.

By the time I got back she'd found herself a den:

It took some work to lure her out, she'd filled up on pastries and didn't want to come out even for the smell of dog food. She growled a lot, a low kind of "I'm not comfortable with this" kind of noise, not a sound that says "I'm going to bite you" or "look at how vicious I am."

Eventually got her in the kennel (before which she'd let me pet her hip as she had her front half in the kennel with me sitting right beside the opening, because I'd put the paper plate with the water on it further in the back) and shut the door. She turned around, saw the closed door, whimpered, nudged it with her nose, then gave me this look:

So yes, I am a sucker. She's terrified, not socialized, starved and thirsty, but she's not *mean.* 

I'll find her a home where she'll get good meals and love. But I couldn't just leave her to be hit or starve. She's still got her puppy teeth, fer gawd's sake.

In Which FarmGirl Gets A Case Of The Ass

Yes, I know, bad blogger. Here's some fodder for you though. Just wrote a letter to Mr. Salazar of my state's House of Representatives. Of course I redacted my name.

Dear Mr. Salazar

My name is FarmGirl and I am a woman. As a woman, all my life I have been reminded, by cautious and loving parents, the media, and society in general, that there is a possibility that someone may attempt to rape me. 

As an intelligent and conscientious adult I have considered the possibility in light of what I might be able to do to prevent such a thing, as well as what I might be able to do to defend myself from someone who wishes to assault me without a sexual component, or steal my car or other belongings.

Since I am built more along the lines of a waif than a body builder, I had to factor that into my considerations. I am perfectly aware that if a person with the intent to physically injure me manages to get a hold of me, there isn't much that I can do about it through brute strength. So I learned some dirty-fighting tricks. I researched methods of causing maximum injury with minimum force on my part.

And I learned about firearms. I learned to shoot. I got a gun. I got a concealed carry permit. Because, you see, I don't have a police officer in a holster on my hip. There isn't a well-meaning officer of the law following me around every day all day, nor sleeping outside my bedroom door. A man with a badge and a gun does not follow me into the ladies room when I'm in a mall, or walk me to my car in a parking garage.

With my gun, I can, if necessary, personally guarantee my safety and my ability to stop any physical altercation that may endanger my life.

I have been in situations which made me nervous. I have wondered if that man was following me and wanted to hurt me. I have been made extremely uncomfortable by interactions with men, and been physically handled in inappropriate ways that might have been precursors to a rape.

However. I have never “popped a round” from my gun at another human being. It has never been necessary, thankfully. Those situations were handled by removing myself from them, or otherwise avoiding escalation. I do not want to ever have to shoot a person to defend my life, but I have made the considered decision that I can, and will, if need arises. I have also considered at what point in an altercation that level of force would be necessary.

I do not believe that whistles, lying about having a disease, or claiming to be on your period are effective deterrents to rape, let alone effective self-defense. A whistle may alert anyone near by that something is happening, but will they come to help? Or will they assume that it is a child playing with a ten cent toy just to make noise? Perhaps they will recognize the sound of the whistle as someone in distress, and act on that knowledge to lock their door and protect themselves in case the perpetrator decides to come their way next. I would like to believe that someone would come to help, but just like there isn't a police officer on every corner, there isn't a good Samaritan either. I would far rather prefer to prepare for the worst and then hope for the best, which is in fact what I have done.

As far as having a disease or being on your period, a rapist might have second thoughts if he thinks he might get AIDS, but I can't help but think that the advent of criminal science TV shows has probably driven home the DNA point hard enough that the self-protecting rapist would likely be using a condom anyway. Menstruation can certainly be a turn-off for a lot of men, you're right. The problem with this idea is that you assume rape is about sexual attraction. On the contrary, in my admittedly non-expert research, criminal psychologists all seem to say the same thing: Rape is about power, not sex. The mentality of it seems to be less about the sexual gratification than the expression of power over another person. That a rapist can force a person to gratify them sexually, and that force proves the rapist's own power.

So, any strategy aimed at reducing a woman's sexual attractiveness (and please understand here, I include any reference to “provocative dress” or any reference to a behavior other than stripping naked and explicitly inviting a man to have sex with you in this, and I'll have more to say about those in a moment) is far less than ideal, since it is targeting the wrong mindset entirely.

In general, I think advice to women to change the way they dress or behave because it might cause them to be raped is cowardly and utterly offensive. I may not approve of the way someone dresses, or behaves, but blaming the victim is never ok. Here's an example of what I mean:

An elderly woman is walking down the street on her way to the grocery store. Suddenly, someone runs up and steals her bag, shoving her in the process. She falls, and is injured. When the police officers come, they're very kind, and supportive. “I don't know why this happened,” she says, crying. “We'll, ma'am, you were carrying a purse. That does tend to attract the attention of these kinds of people.”

Does that sound right to you? It doesn't to me. Let's carry it a bit further along your line of thinking.

Same elderly woman, same walk to the grocery store, same attack. This time, however, she manages to keep her feet, and is hanging on to her purse. “Stop! Stop!” she cries. “You don't want this purse, I spilled stinkbait in it. And there's a bear trap in there too!”

The stinkbait being analogous to menstruation, and the bear trap to some unspecified venereal disease. Do you think the thief cares?

I don't.

I'm not saying that in the purse-snatcher scenario, shooting the snatcher would be the correct response. I don't believe that the answer to every interpersonal altercation comes printed on a bullet.

The answer that you are groping blindly for is self-defense training and awareness. Not only for women. I believe that every person should have some knowledge of how to defend themselves in an immediate situation. I believe that if they choose to own a firearm, they should be knowledgeable and competent in using it. If you choose to own a tool that can take another person's life, be it a gun, or a car, or a hammer, you should know the ways in which it can kill or injure another person, and how to avoid such unless it is absolutely necessary.

I do not believe that my safety is anyone's responsibility but my own. I appreciate those people in the military, law enforcement, and first responder professions who take it upon themselves to help me and everyone else when we're in danger, but I will not sit in a burning house and wait when I am perfectly capable of getting myself out.

So, Mr. Salazar, in spite of your sad attempt at an apology, yes I am offended at your remarks concerning women, rape, and guns. Your remarks painted a picture of hysterical, uncontrollable females who can't be trusted. I am certain that there are women in the world who fit that description, but I take offense at your insinuation that I and many very strong, sensible, and independent women that I personally know, much less the myriad that I don't know, are not to be trusted to own firearms. I wish I could hope that this letter would educate you or change your mind, but unfortunately, I can't. I expect to receive a form reply at best and I don't particularly expect that you personally will read it at all, but I do have the right, and the desire, to express my opinion.

Sincerely,

FarmGirl

We'll see how and if he responds.

Farmmom gets a GRRRRRRRRRRR

Recently I sent the form letter from Ruger to my congress critters on gun control.  Mainly I have gotten form letters back saying that they received my email and will respond later.  I have gotten a response from Senator Bennet.

Dear Farmmom:

Thank you for contacting me regarding Senator Feinstein's assault weapons ban proposal. I appreciate hearing from you.

The numerous tragedies that our nation has had to face over the past year have been staggering. My own family, like all Americans, has been repeatedly shocked and deeply saddened by the violence we have witnessed, and my heart continues to be with the victims and their families. As Coloradans, we know how this type of tragedy can shake a community to its core and in the aftermath of these abhorrent acts our priority should be on supporting the survivors and families, and healing our communities.

We must have a real discussion in this country about finding ways to stop these senseless shootings. I believe a combination of improved access to mental health services, restrictions on certain weapons intended for the battlefield, and elimination of the gun show loophole are sensible steps that can protect our communities and particularly, our children. In Colorado, we support the right to bear arms and the ability of people to recreate, hunt, and protect their homes, and we want to keep the wrong weapons out the hands of the wrong people. I believe our state can come together to have a civil discussion that addresses these issues and as the President's taskforce releases its recommendations to prevent and reduce gun violence, we will ensure that Colorado's voices are heard.

Senator Dianne Feinstein of California plans to introduce a bill in the 113th Congress that will prohibit the sale, transfer, importation and manufacturing of assault weapons and high-capacity ammunition feeding devices. The ban will include 120 specifically-named firearms and will apply to large-capacity ammunition feeding devices capable of accepting more than 10 rounds. The bill will also require grandfathered weapons to be registered under the National Firearms Act and will include a background check of the owner and any future transferees. Although Senator Feinstein has not introduced the bill, she has indicated that she will do so at the start of the legislative session. 

I look forward to reviewing Senator Feinstein's proposal, along with others brought before Senate. Let us all continue to keep the communities affected by these tragic acts in our thoughts and prayers.

I value the input of fellow Coloradans in considering the wide variety of important issues and legislative initiatives that come before the Senate. I hope you will continue to inform me of your thoughts and concerns.

For more information about my priorities as a U.S. Senator, I invite you to visit my website at http://bennet.senate.gov/. Again, thank you for contacting me.

Sincerely,

Michael F. Bennet
United States Senator

Ummmmmmm this deserved a personal response from me.

Dear Senator Bennet,

          Recently I sent you a form letter on gun control.   This letter is in response to your reply.

    

          I as one of your constituents completely disagree with  your stand on this issue.  So far I am not seeing any “conversation” on this issue.  I am seeing politicians having a knee jerk reaction to tragedies. 

          I am not normally a person to become involved in politics other than casting my vote for the person that I think will represent me best and in this instance I feel I made a mistake by voting for you.  I don’t normally write letters to my representatives nor voice my opinion often.  I guess you could say I’m part of the problem.  On this issue I AM voicing my opinion.  Our elected officials seem to have forgotten that they work for US.  You and Senator Dianne Feinstein  want to punish millions of law abiding citizens for the actions of a very few mentally disturbed individuals. 

        Nothing in Senator Feinstein’s proposed bill will stop another tragedy like Sandy Hook.  It will not stop another mentally deficient individual from committing a determined act of horror.  All her bill will do is curtail my rights as a law abiding citizen. 

       I promise you this.  If you vote for more gun control I WILL become involved in politics.  I WILL work with everything I have to make sure that you and anyone who votes to limit any more of my rights will never hold office again. 

                                                                                      Sincerely,

                                                                                      Farmmom

I sent this to the email that I had from him..... I got this back when I sent my reply

Your message was sent to a non-monitored mailbox and has not been reviewed. If you would like to contact Senator Michael Bennet please visit his website at http://bennet.senate.gov/contact and fill out the webform for a prompt response. Thank you.

Me thinks they are trying to avoid me.   But I am stubborn at times so I filled out their form and we will see what he has to say if anything.

Karma

Today is my little brother's birthday, the one that died. Perhaps it's coincidence, or perhaps it's Karma that made me see a post on Alan's facebook today about how people behave at funerals.

Link here. Go read, then come back.

Got it? Good. Take it to heart.

The only thing I would add, is if you are truly close to the person mourning, it's ok to give a hug. You don't even have to say anything, just an arm around their shoulders, a quick squeeze. Physical communication is as real as verbal, and if you don't know what to say, a hug, or a hand on a shoulder, a brief moment of physical contact can communicate your sympathy and offer of support better than a soliloquy.

At Jeff's viewing... I lost it. I completely lost my shit, and I freely admit that. It was the family viewing, before the public one. It was me, R, and mom in there with him. R had already seen him, mom came as moral support for me. She'd known and cared about him, don't get me wrong, but she didn't have the kind of emotional ties to him that I did. Know what she did? Stopped halfway down the aisle to the coffin, and waited. She stood there and waited for me to be ready to leave, as did R.

R is not a physically expressive person. We've been tight since we were seven, and I can count on my fingers the number of times that she has hugged me. I've hugged her a lot, and she puts up with it from me though it's not her bag, but I'm a toucher with those I care about. That day, R and I were both mourning, and she knew better than anyone that no words would help. We both already knew that if the other needed anything, we'd be there for them. We both already knew that he'd died far too young. We didn't have to give each other our sympathies.

What she did instead was put her arm around my shoulders while I stood there staring at the young man who should have lived to attend my funeral and cried. She squeezed, just a little, just the beginning of a movement reminiscent of lifting me up that way. It communicated caring and support and the offer of any help I needed, though all of that was already understood.

When I was ready, and walked out of that room that held the shell of someone I loved, mom was there. She hugged me, and when she asked "You ok?" it didn't mean "are you done with hurting over this" or "don't make me feel bad that I don't feel as bad as you, so buck up camper" like so many people mean when they ask that question. It meant "are you ok to walk back to the house, or do you need a minute?"

Because, if you didn't know already, grief can do some messed up things to you. I've dealt with it more than I wanted to in my lifetime, and I know I haven't seen everything. But I do know, first hand, there's a real chance that it can physically impair you.

Certain friends at certain funerals, I've stayed close to. I'm not trying to make them feel better or make the hurt go away. Mostly, I've wanted to make sure someone was paying attention, to catch them if need be. In a literal sense. I've also wrangled children to allow the parents a few minutes to grieve without worrying about where the kids are and what they're doing.

Out here in nowheresville, when someone dies, you bring food. Everyone always ends up with way more food than they need, but it's a concrete way of communicating sympathy and caring. It's a way to ease other burdens than the grief.

You bring food, or coffee (people are always hanging around houses where someone has died, and the family is never sleeping enough... It's easy to run out of coffee) or disposable plates, cutlery, and cups. You ease the family's burden in regards to food, or clean up, to give them one less thing that they have to pay attention to. They've already got their grief, and funeral plans, and simply dealing with the number of people who want to help but don't know how. Bring them food, and they don't have to think about cooking. Bring disposable things to use and that takes care of dishes.

Those are things that help reduce the burden. Not the burden of grief, you can't touch that, so accept that you can't. The burden of daily life. You don't have the right to tell them not to be sad, and you don't have the right to take any of the funeral burden from them, unless they specifically ask you to. You can say "If there's anything you need, let me know." That's ok, as long as it is an honest offer made without expectations. Don't say it if you don't mean it, and I mean three am they want someone to come hang out with them and make cookies mean it, just as much as "hey can you pick up my dry cleaning and bring it by" mean it.

I think it's awful that people don't trust the real offers because they know so many of them don't mean it, not all the way. And yes, I have gotten out of bed at three in the morning to drive somewhere so that I can be with a friend and make cookies. That's what they needed. Mostly to not be alone at that hour, but the process of making cookies helped them too, and that's what they asked for.

Don't hover. I spent days at Jeff's parents house when he died, but I was never hovering. I was making myself useful. I brought food when I showed up, or ran errands for them, or herded the kids, or shaved the dog. They asked me to help with some of the funeral stuff, so I did. I helped put together the music, and the photo slideshow. I helped write his obituary. I did exactly as much to help as they asked me to, in regards to the funeral. Then I stopped, and did some daily chore, or got something done so they wouldn't have to worry about it later (like shaving the dog.)

That is the way you behave around a grieving family. If you can't figure out some way to be materially helpful, express your condolences and walk away. It's not rude, it's not awful of you. If you're not part of the close family, or friend enough that you might as well be (Put it this way, if I weren't close enough to this family that Jeff's mom would tell me "Go find your dad" referring to Jeff's dad when she was distracted, I wouldn't have been around nearly as much) then they don't need you. If they do, they'll let you know. Otherwise, feel free to express your sadness for them, and move on.

Trust me, they'll appreciate that far more than you hovering over them and getting in the way.