Category Archives: Over the Transom

Dog, Cat, Ferret, Other

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The cat came with some paperwork, including a rabies vaccination certificate. A good thing to have. Looking a little more closely, I noticed that it includes a box for species, which includes Dog, Cat, Ferret and Other. There are enough pet ferrets for them to have their own box?

Apparently so, at least according to the organization that created the form, the National Association of State Public Health Veterinarians (NASPHV), which “helps direct and develop uniform public health procedures involving zoonotic disease in the United States and its territories,” according to its web site.

That made me wonder whether there was an easy way to find a solid estimate of the number of pet ferrets nationwide. Soon that led me to the American Veterinary Medical Association’s page on U.S. pet ownership statistics, which is a short summary of a larger report, the 2024 AVMA Pet Ownership and Demographic Sourcebook. I stuck with the summary, since the report costs actual money I didn’t want to spend on an Internet whim.

Dogs and cats are the prime pets, naturally, with 59.8 million U.S. households owning a dog and 42.2 million owning a cat (45.5 percent and 32.1 percent of total households, respectively). Average annual spending on vet care per household is $580 for dogs and $433 for cats. Interesting.

Under other animals kept as pets, the summary notes that 3.9 million households keep fish, 2.3 million keep reptiles, 2.1 million keep birds and 1.3 million keep small mammals (gerbils, hamsters, etc.), but not counting rabbits, which get their own count: 900,000 households. Ferrets aren’t a separate category, so I assume they are part of that “etc.” The full report might have the numbers, but again, I’m not buying.

A paper dating from 1998 published by the State of California Resources Agency Department of Fish and Game cites an earlier AVMA survey (1996) that found that Americans kept 791,000 ferrets that year, up from 275,000 in 1991, so it looks like the animals were on an upswing in the 1990s in terms of getting free room and board from humans in our part of the world. Other sources say the trend started in the 1980s, which sounds plausible.

A fellow I knew who was still a student at VU the year after I had graduated (1984) kept a ferret in his room, probably against university rules, but anyway he was the first person I ever knew who had one. A few years earlier, a girl I knew in high school snuck a baby Vietnamese pot-bellied pig to school in a box for her friends to see. That was surely was against the rules too, but also another story – and not a very interesting one, since she wasn’t caught and no sitcom-style high jinks were involved.

The Wiki page on ferrets cites the 1996 number, and includes all sorts of other information on the animals, some sourced, some not. Such as:

The name “ferret” is derived from the Latin furittus, meaning “little thief,” a likely reference to the common ferret penchant for secreting away small items.

A male ferret is called a hob; a female ferret is a jill. A spayed female is a sprite, a neutered male is a gib, and a vasectomised male is known as a hoblet… A group of ferrets is known as a “business” or historically as a “busyness.”

As with skunks, ferrets can release their anal gland secretions when startled or scared, but the smell is much less potent and dissipates rapidly. [Essentially a ferret fart, then]

According to phylogenetic studies, the ferret was domesticated from the European polecat (Mustela putorius), and likely descends from a North African lineage of the species… With their long, lean build and inquisitive nature, ferrets are very well equipped for getting down holes and chasing rodents, rabbits and moles out of their burrows.

One more: Ferret-legging. I’m not sure how seriously to take this.

Ferret-legging was an endurance test or stunt in which ferrets were trapped in trousers worn by a participant… it seems to have been popular among coal miners in Yorkshire, England.

That’s it for my not-at-all-comprehensive amount of ferret research, though. I’m content to assume that there are a few million out there, enough to get the attention of the folks at NASPHV. Other questions remain. Will ferret vaccination become a hot-button subject through some weird set of circumstances in our hyperconnected world? Does the (probable) incoming HHS Secretary have an opinion about ferrets? We shall see.

We Decide Who’s Naughty or Nice

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Saw some houses in our neighborhood this week with lighted Christmas lights. To that I say, no. Sure, put them up when it’s still fairly warm – as it was today, touching 60° F. But don’t light them. How about waiting until the feast of St. Lucia on December 13? That’s a festival of light, after all.

I’m sure that idea would go nowhere. The response to anyone suggesting it, at least here in North America, would be, eh? Who’s that?

Never mind, Christmas is on its way. Some places light up even earlier, and retailers have been at it for a while now. Sometimes that means oddities.

Spotted the other day on a retail shelf. Careful, though: Not intended for highway use, unless you want to scatter elf limbs on the Interstate.

I’d heard of Elf on the Shelf, which makes the joke (mildly) funny, but didn’t actually know that much about it. Turns out the Elf isn’t that old, invented less than 20 years ago. To look at the thing, you’d think it was devised by ad men of the 1920s, as so much consumer culture was.

It also turns out that they are spies for Santa. Ho ho ho. That’s awfully granular of Old St. Nick. Of course, he has a big job to do, making that list. Here’s another idea: Stasi on the Shelf.

Thursday Products

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During my junior year in college, my roommate Rich and I thumbtacked empty, flattened product packages to the wall of our two-bedroom dorm – inside the hallway closet, that is, which we didn’t use for much else. There on the 12th floor of – what was the name of that building again? – we called it the Package Art Gallery.

After 40+ years, I don’t remember the contents of the gallery, except for a flattened box that had held a muffin mix. Specifically blueberry muffins, and one of the tag lines amused us: “The most very blueberry anythings you ever ate.”

Why did we do this? As far as I can remember, collegiate whimsy. Or maybe to make a statement on art and consumerism. Why not? We never did whip up any art-speak for such a statement, but we could have. Nowadays, you don’t even have to do that, you just find a machine to do it for you, such as the amusingly named Artybollocks.

I’ve long put away collegiate things, but I could start an online package art gallery. Maybe based on things I see at discounter Ollie’s, which can indicate a less-than-stellar future for the products. Or not.

A good idea? I can’t deny having ever eaten a Ding Dong, but I’m sure I’ve never drunk any. Some postings about it when it was rolled out in 2020. Since then, less so.

Interesting idea, I guess. 

Could be entertaining. Aimed at kids. But it looks like the concept was, Let’s do Risk, in Space! But without any of those annoying geographical names. No, it wouldn’t do to have kids not know something and maybe have to ask about it. Or look it up. Or have an older kid make something up about Kamchatka.

Ask St. Joseph

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Cold rain, shorter daylight, still some green, since there hasn’t been a hard freeze yet. But it won’t be long. Mid-November has arrived all sullen and damp.

We’re not in the market to sell our house, but some things you can’t help noticing. I spotted this in the impulse-buy section near checkout at a hardware store I visit sometimes, an alternative to the big box DIY store not far away, where seeking a particular item can turn into a longish expedition.

I’d heard about burying a statue of St. Joseph to help along a residential sale – I think back around ’09, when that method was probably as good as any other. But I hadn’t thought about it since.

Ten minutes of looking around on line about the practice, and you find out at least two things: a number of sites offering instructions on burying your statue that may or may not endorse the practice, but certainly seem to say what the heck, might as well give it a go (such as here). On the other hand, there are also short essays about the superstitious nature of the practice (such as here), asserting that Catholics shouldn’t be burying saint statues upside down, or at all.

It made me wonder whether St. Joseph can help renters find an apartment that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg, which would be seriously useful assistance in the current market. He is the patron of housing, after all. Just another thing to think about waiting in line at the hardware store.

One-of-a-Kind Montana Shops

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US 287 north from Helena, Montana, is a little short on signs of human habitation.

Eventually, you come to the Census-designated place called Augusta, pop. 300 or so. Part of its Main Street is US 287, featuring the sort of things you expect in a small-town main street.Augusta, Montana Augusta, Montana Augusta, Montana

A main street in Montana, that is. Augusta, Montana

There are other ideas about what the flag should look like, and considering the wave of new state flags, it might be changed.

Then there was this house stuffed to the gills with stuff, offering that stuff for sale. A lot of stuff. A resale business dealing in stuff, let’s say. No formal name that I could see.

We couldn’t pass that by. The mind boggles at how this accumulation accumulated, and you should boggle your mind every now and then. The place was so jammed that I had to be conscious of every movement, lest I bush into something and cause of avalanche of stuff.Augusta Montana junk shop Augusta Montana junk shop

Lots of stuff outside, too.Augusta Montana junk shop Augusta Montana junk shop

Say, whatever happened to Lash LaRue?Augusta, Montana

Just curious. I’m not enough of a fan to buy a beat-up $20 comic book, though I bought a few postcards unrelated to LaRue or Westerns or even movies.

In fact, I didn’t know much about LaRue, so I later read one of his obituaries. He died only in 1996, with B Westerns having long passed him by. Even by the early ’70s that was the case, as reflected by the Statler Brothers’ catchy 1973 bug-in-amber song, “Whatever Happened to Randolph Scott?” (Who died in 1987.)

Just west of the western entrance of Glacier NP, on US 2 in the town of Columbia Falls, Montana, is Ten Commandment Park, a.k.a. God’s Ten Commandments Park. I hadn’t read that Roadside America article or heard about it in any way. But I saw it. Couldn’t pass that by either. Not retail, strictly speaking, but there were items for sale inside. Or, I suppose, available for a donation.Ten Commandments Park

The welcome center is along a U-shaped driveway that sports many billboards. Ten Commandments Park Ten Commandments Park Ten Commandments Park

Some exhorted one and all to follow a specific Commandment; others were pro-religious quotes from famed U.S. presidents; and yet others lauded Jesus.

I had to go in.Ten Commandments Park Ten Commandments Park Ten Commandments Park

A fellow of about my age, large and gray bearded, was there to greet me. Frankly I expected a bit more witnessing from him. Instead, he told me to look around, let him know if I wanted to buy anything, and he offered license plate-sized Ten Commandments and Jesus magnets for free. Also, a few free snacks. That was it.

Virtual Lightbulbs & Cats

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Something new in the world of robots asking whether I’m a robot.

Or at least something new to me. Previously I’ve tended to run into a challenge to click on buses or motorcycles or traffic lights or the like. Maybe those have been cracked by nefarious robots pretending to be people, and so we need cats to foil them.

Whatever the case, there was a reason for the CAPTCHA photos of objects you’d find driving.

“In 2012, Google started snippets of photos from Google Street View,” says the Grove Street Auto Repair Blog. “By 2014, the CAPTCHA system was primarily focused on training AI. Google has mentioned that by this time, they used CAPTCHA to teach self-driving cars, such as the new rideshare Waymo vehicles.”

I think I’d read about that before. It’s a steep learning curve for the robot cars, apparently.

Down in Oklahoma

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Received a collection of postcards from my brother Jay recently, who picked them up at an estate sale, where occasionally one finds such things.

One of them featured some period-specific doggerel about Oklahoma, with 7-24-40 written on the edge, which no doubt was when the card was new. It wouldn’t have been the only gag postcard of roughly that vintage. The card was printed by Curt Teich (it says Curteich on the card), as so many were, on behalf of Mid-Continent News Co. of Oklahoma City. No copyright date.

Nothing like a wild-and-woolly oil patch, eh? That’s the vibe, of course, but some specifics are a little hazy. The populace is “boost”? As in, prone to steal? And what was it about wearing dresses to their knees for big girls and wee ones? A sideways comment on Oklahoman female morality? Also: “whist out” in the morning? The context is clear enough, but that’s a turn of phrase that seems lost to time.

A Quiet Suburban Spot

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Rain blew through last night and so did cool air. Dropped temps by about 20 degrees F. compared with yesterday, making today feel like a pleasant day in October. The days ahead look to be warm and dry: a nice run for declining summer.

Spotted near a suburban street recently in Du Page County.Bloomingdale descanso Bloomingdale descanso

I parked – off the road – and took a look. I drive this street fairly often, maybe twice or three times a month, and hadn’t noticed this descanso before. That probably means a recent accident, though a simple search using the street and town names and a few other items turned up nothing. A look at a fatal accident database with a helpful map pinpointing the incidents (just the kind of thing to set your teeth on edge) told me there was a fatality on that road in 2017 involving one car, one drunk driver, and one death.

If this were that person’s memorial, it seems odd that it was take so long, so I doubt it is. My search wasn’t conclusive, but that was as far as I wanted to take it. Someone died unexpectedly on this uncrowded, obscure suburban street, and someone wanted to remember that person.

A Normal Car

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When I see a car decked out like this, I admire the effort that went into it. Spotted in a large parking lot in Normal, Illinois, a little over a week ago.

That effort is more than decorating the car’s surfaces. Cars move around. This isn’t going to be set and forget. What happens when you drive on the highway in that machine? Or a hard rain falls? Or wind gusts, even when it’s parked? Things fly off, of course. Lose, replace, lose, replace. The enthusiast who owns this car has to work at it that much more, and more often.

So – interesting to look at, but I wouldn’t want it in my driveway.

Not a Ford Falcon, But Still Evoked Childhood Memories

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What’s that, I thought from far up the street. Possibly a Ford Falcon? Not a model you see much on the streets any more.

I got closer and no, it was a Chevrolet Bel Air. I’m not enough of a car aficionado to pinpoint the model year, but it looks early ’60s to me. Still not something you see much on our 21st-century suburban streets.

My grandmother drove a Ford Falcon. Shorter than the Bel Air, if I remember right, and somewhat rounder. It was the last car she owned, an early or mid-60s model. Again, I’m not enough of an expert to know the exact year, and it isn’t something I would have asked grandma.

I have scattered, but fond memories of riding in that car. It was gray and mostly, I believe, she drove (when I was with her) the short distances to shops she traded at, such as the Handy-Andy grocery store on Broadway in Alamo Heights, or to Brackenridge Park for my amusement.

Oddly enough, besides reminding me of grandma and the Brackenridge Park Eagle, the memory of that old car makes me also think of survivorship bias. There was no seat belt in the back seat, though the the front had lap belts. I usually rode in the back as a kid and, of course, survived the beltless experience. I consider this good fortune.

Some older people – my age, and I’ve seen it in writing – thus come to the conclusion that making children wear seat belts or other safety devices while in a car is merely the heavy hand of a nanny state. Hey, I survived my belt-free childhood in the ’60s! That’s an example of a statement that’s true but also dimwitted. Are there no children (or anyone else) in their graves from that period who would have survived had belts been in use?