The Bugs (and Their Allies) Are Taking Over, and the Dogs of War Are Growling

When you go camping or hiking in the woods, you should be prepared for encounters with unfriendly animals.We are, after all uninvited guests in the homes of fierce creatures. We can't really expect to waltz blithely into the den of an uncivilized bear or mountain lion and not prove to be at least a minor irritant to said inhabitant. It is was with little surprise, then, that I read the recent news story about the hunt for the predatory mountain lion stalking and assaulting young bicycling women. While not excusing the lion's behavior, I felt that such an uncultured creature probably couldn't help itself when it happened upon the scantily clad lady on her bicycle. I mean I've known of some reasonably civilized wolves that would've been hard pressed not to do the same under similar circumstances.

Now, don't get me wrong, I am by no means suggesting that the woman "had it coming" for dressing so suggestively (after all, to a wide-eyed country mountain lion, those spandex biking shorts can appear awfully appealing). I'm just saying the attack didn't raise my eyebrows.

Similarly, when reading any of the hundreds of stories out there about Doberman, rotwieller, or poodle attacks, I'm not surprised.

When you take an animal whose natural instinct is naturally averse to being tied to a telephone pole and allowing small children to pull its whiskers, give it silly haircuts and stupid names like "Pooky" or "Mr. Buttons," you have to expect some residual resentment that will one day boil over.

The same thing goes for white tigers.

Taken individually, these stories did not raise any questions in my mind.

But should they have?

After reading a story yesterday about Asian carp flying out of the water and injuring fishermen in their own boats, I'm beginning to wonder.

Scientists are saying these carp are driven to attack because of their irritation by the vibration of the boat motors. However, I feel they are missing a key connection, here.

The fish are attacking fishermen.

Dogs and tigers are turning the tables on their perceived oppressors, mountain lions are taking back the night, and sea lions are trying to sport 100% authentic redneck-skin jackets.

Clearly there is a insidious conspiracy afoot in the animal kingdom, a conspiracy so subtle and far reaching even the Illuminati and the Priory of Sion should stand up and take notes. This conspiracy has no more nefarious purpose than stage a coup designed to knock mankind from his role as head of the animal kingdom.

Now I can already hear you neigh-sayers out there shaking your heads and chomping at the bit to label me a crackpot humanist, but hear me out.

I would be the last person to risk social chaos and anarchy that comes with panic-mongering if I didn't have more proof than a handful of mere newspaper filler articles.

When I lived alone in my cabin a few years ago, I heard the wild dogs howling blue murder in the long dark reaches of the night.

My landlord's dog barked, too.

More recently, though, I've seen the conspiracy at work in my own backyard.

I woke up this morning to the sound of tap-tap-tapping on my bedroom window. While I first thought it was the pitter pat of rain on the glass, I soon realized it was too regularly structured to be mere happenstance.

The more I listened the more the sound resembled that of a pointed object; it was simply too high pitched to be something as blunt as falling acorns or rain drops.

A beak, possibly?

When I left for work a mere hour later, I witnessed a murder of crows (an uncomfortably apt collective designation) gabbling in my backyard. At first they seemed unaware of
my presence, but presently one turned its head, and I could feel its beady little eyes meet mine.

We stood there for only an instant, but we knew each other then with a clarity bordering on religious revelation. He and his cohorts had been plotting the demise of my kind, and they knew I knew it.

I had stumbled upon a cabal in the course of its scheming.

The entire congregation of fowl turned toward me then as their squawking came to a stuttering silence.

We stared at each other.

Me and the birds.

Unsure who would make the first move.

Eventually they flew of en masse and I shakily climbed into my jeep and left for work.

Crows watched me from the power lines all the way to the highway.

Coincidence? Don't bet on it.

For years the lesser beasts have had to sleep at night in rapidly dwindling forests and eke out a living on the meager scraps we've left them, drinking from rivers and streams poisoned by guess who?

They've had enough and are taking natural law into their own hands.

They must be stopped before things get worse.

Before they manage to turn even our best friends and house pets (the Uncle Tom's, if you will, of the animal world) against us.

It's a dog eat dog world out there, so we need to get them before they get us.