How Much Do You Know About Antlers?

This morning a beautiful buck walked casually across our back yard, solo. A little guy without much muscle tone. Probably a young dude. But, (and here's the interesting part) he had a pretty big rack of antlers. Large enough that they looked a bit out of proportion with his body, which is probably a huge drag for him. Imagine hauling around an oversized coat rack on your head. Doesn't sound like much fun, does it?

Anyway, before writing Buck Fever, I might have wondered at this awkward ratio of antler to deer. Now, however, after having done lots of research for my novel, I know a few interesting tid-bits about white-tailed bucks and their antlers. How much do you know? Try the quiz below. Why not? P.S., the answers are at the bottom.

1. Do white-tailed deer grow new antlers every year or do they keep the same antlers for their entire lives?

2. What determines the size of a rack of antlers?

3. What are antlers made of?

4. What is velvet?

5. What happens to antlers after the bucks shed them?

Answers:

1. White-tail bucks grow a new set of antlers every spring and then shed those antlers the following December.

Confession: I always thought that male deer grew one set of antlers that they lived with their entire lives. Yes, I did wonder why I rarely saw deer with antlers from January through March, but never mind that.

2. The buck's age and his diet determine how big his antlers will become each year. So, apparently, the little guy strutting across my back yard was eating well. I'm guessing lots of veggies.

3. Antlers are made of bone. They grow out of the buck's frontal bone. Sometimes on a male fawn, or baby deer, you can see "buttons" where the antlers will develop.

4. Velvet is the furry skin that covers and protects the antlers while they are growing. Once the antlers are full-grown and hardened, the velvet dries up. The buck rubs it off or it simply falls off.

5. Antlers decompose or other animals eat them for the calcium (think of dog chewing on a bone). Or, sometimes, people find them, collect them.

Okay, how'd you do? Did you get all of the questions right? Well, before writing Buck Fever, I wouldn't have answered any of my questions correctly. So, as long as you enjoyed my little quiz, you get an A. Now, go out and share what you now know about antlers.

Mickey Mouse Makeover? Really?

I heard on the radio this morning that The Walt Disney Company is going to be giving Mickey Mouse a makeover. I’m not sure how I feel about this. The author in me wonders how Mickey’s creator, Walt Disney, would feel about this.

Here’s the scoop, as I understand it: Apparently, Mickey is being groomed to be more flexible and fun. I’m not sure what this means. Is he going to be a gymnast now? Coached by Peter Pan? Word is that Mickey Mouse needs new clothes, too. Does this imply a personal shopper? Perhaps Cinderella’s fairy godmother? Or, is she too out of touch with today’s fashions? The buzz also implies that Mickey needs to work on his personality. Who knew the mouse had issues? I, for one, have read nothing about this in The National Inquirer or In Touch magazine. But now I imagine an army of therapists and coaches (perhaps the Seven Dwarfs?) guiding Mickey on the path of becoming a better mouse. To top all this off, I thought I heard something about revamping his home life, too. Please don’t tell me that he and Mini are having relationship issues. That would be nothing short of devastating. Donald and Daisy on the rocks I can see (I couldn’t take Donald’s crankiness and temper tantrums, to be honest), but Mickey and Mini talking trash to each other is simply unacceptable.

I guess I like Mickey the way he is--playful and kindhearted, but also spunky at times with a tendancy to get into trouble. “The Sorcerer's Apprentice" in Fantasia comes to my mind. Mickey mucks things up in a big way, but then he tries like crazy to make things right. I guess I can relate to this. I kind of see myself in this cartoon mouse. Maybe this explains why I am a little wary of his upcoming makeover. Sometimes people and cartoon characters are fine the way they are, even if their idea of a fashion statement equals a pair of red shorts, yellow shoes, and white gloves.

But, what do I know?

Jury Duty Survival Techniques

Do bring food and water. Especially water. This is important. Jury room confinement can be strict. And when the mid-day break does arrive, and the gates are flung open, there is not always enough time to negotiate the mad rush and long lines at the restaurants and deli-type stores. Imagine three hundred jurors in addition to an entire courthouse unloading onto one small street at the same time, and on a tight schedule. Ugly.

Do bring a variety of reading and writing material. Otherwise, if you are anything like me, you might be cross-eyed after the seventh hour or reading the same book or editing the same manuscript. Also, in a jury waiting room, the levels of conversation tend to rise and fall, so you may need to adjust what you are reading or working on based on your ability to concentrate.

Do, if the opportunity arises, share jokes and amusing stories with fellow jurors in waiting. Here’s a snippet from a second grade teacher I was chatting with: While reading over the writing of one of her students, she said to him, “You know how to spell we, don’t you?” He looked up at her with the most innocent of expressions. “Oh yes,” he told her. “Wii.”

Don’t bring your laptop, unless you enjoy living dangerously. I brought mine only to be told that if and when I got called to show my face in a courtroom, I would have to leave my beloved laptop behind, in the jury room. Maybe for hours. With the two hundred and eighty people who did not get called into the courtroom. Um….

Finally, do remember that although doing jury duty time can be a complete drag, it really is a good thing to be a part of. Just imagine yourself accused (maybe unjustly) of some crime. Wouldn’t you want a fair and impartial panel of people to help settle matters for you? I sure would.

Rut What?

Yes, it’s that time of year again. The time when the white tailed deer around here are in rut. Yes, rut--when deer develop mad crushes on each other and get wild-eyed and aggressive, jumpy and high strung—totally focused on mating. Think college/university frat party. Think late night bar scene. Except that the bucks have been preparing for the rut for about eight months. By preparing, I mean that they have been growing antlers. Why? So they can slam and ram and kick other buck butt. When rut is over, those bucks will shed their antlers and mellow out. Think the day after the frat party. Think worn out after working the bars.

This whole rut business becomes kind of a big deal if you live, as I do, in an area where the majority of the population is made up of white-tailed deer. An area with so many deer that they are practically allowed to vote in local elections. Okay, I don’t know that for a fact, but it’s not a bad guess. To give you an idea: The overgrown area behind our house is home to twenty to thirty deer. Once in a while, when I get up early enough and the deer sleep in, I’ll spot them sleeping back there, all curled up and snuggled together like puppies. Adorable. It was the perfect inspiration when I was writing Buck Fever.

BUT, when these beautiful animals go into rut, I get as jumpy as they do. Most people who live with deer do. Because when in rut, the bambies leap or dash out in front of cars and bolt in every direction for reasons known only to them. In just the past two weeks I’ve seen countless deer bodies along the sides of highways and roads. It’s heartbreaking, but a sign of the rut.

Yesterday, when I drove down a side street, I suddenly realized that it was lined on either side with deer of various sizes. Usually I’d slow down. Yesterday, aware of their party mentality, my car and I CRAWLED past them. I mean, a box turtle could have passed me. Because one of the deer could have leaped out at any moment. I actually know someone who had a deer leap off an embankment onto the hood of his car. No joke. Who needs the horror of (a) hitting a deer or (b) damaging a car. Been there, done that. No need to revisit past nightmares.

So, from now until about December, those of us who share space with white-tails will live in jittery, nerve wracking states while the deer party down. And come springtime, there will be wobbly-legged, spotted babies trotting beside their much more mellow parents. Ahh, nature.

What Do You Mean I Have No Internet Connection?

“Really?” I snapped at my beloved Mac. “You have got to be kidding me. No, seriously, this is so not the time for you to be messing with me.”

But is there ever a good time to lose one’s connection to the outside world? I think not.

Despite yelling, threatening, begging, still the words YOU ARE NOT CONNECTED TO THE INTERNET burned into my retinas. I considered a down and out temper-tantrum, wasn’t above throwing myself onto the ground and pounding the floor while screaming, kind of like a terrible two. I’m not proud of this, but there it is.

“P-l-e-a-s-e,” I whined. “I’m in the middle of running a Dog Gone and Buck Fever give-away,” I explained to my stubborn Mac. “And I have a manuscript to finish, emails to respond to. Seriously, if I don’t tweet, I might die. #Kidlitchat is on Twitter in only three minutes!”

Nothing.

“Rats,” I snarled. Okay, maybe I uttered more than one word. Maybe those words were not as politically correct as “rats,” and flamboyantly more colorful. Maybe my husband did say that I had a potty mouth. Let’s just chalk it all off to “venting.” But I digress.

The point is this: As I spent hours with the very patient cable company customer service folks and Mac helpers (all lovely, I might add) I came to the very real and very harsh realization that I am a total slave to the Internet. There, I said it. Maybe that’s the first step in recovery…

And then again, maybe not. Who am I kidding? I’m a writer. The Internet is my connection to the world. *She sighs with a sense of acceptance.*

As it turns out, I had to apologize to my beloved Mac. Because the router was the problem. May it rest in peace.

Book Vote, Anyone?

It’s election day. Why not have a book vote? This is an activity that would work with a classroom of kids, with a book group, with a bunch of friends, or any group, really. The more the merrier. On a recent girls-night-out, for example, my pals and I launched into a spontaneous book vote at our dinner table. Each of us took a few minutes to talk about a favorite book until we decided on two novels that we were all intrigued by. Even our waiter was itching to get involved. In a few weeks, after we read the nominees, we will get together again, talk about the books and vote for a favorite. In my opinion, this is a playful diversion from the negativity of some of the real campaigns going on. Have I mentioned that I live in N.J.?

So, how, exactly, does a book vote go down? Okay, let me be more specific than the girls-night-out scenario. To begin, at least two participants should nominate a favorite book. Then, each person can give talks on why his or her book is wonderful. The person could also read a favorite passage aloud. In other words, campaign for the book. If a book vote is being held in a classroom or library, the campaigners might even make posters advertising the best qualities of the nominated books. Part of the fun really is in convincing others to read the books.

When the time comes to vote, participants can hold a secret ballot by writing the names of the books voted for on pieces of paper and then depositing them in a box (or whatever works), one vote per person, of course. Or, each person can place a check beside the book of his or her choice on a list of nominated titles.

By the end, participants have a little more information about books, people are inspired to read, and all involved might feel like voting can be fun. So why not have a book vote?

Happy Election Day!

Trick or Treat?

Which do you prefer? The sugar addict in me is inclined to scream TREAT as visions caramels and chocolates dance in my head. But then I remember a certain house on my block where I grew up. On Halloween, this cozy, yellow-painted ranch surrounded by a white picket fence, a house complete with white shutters and window boxes, transformed into a house of complete, no-nonsense horror. It was one, immense trick. No one approached this dwelling in search of treats. Oh no. On a kid’s scale of treat worthiness (ten being primo and one being lame), the goodies given away at this house came in somewhere around negative two. Yet, this home got more Halloween traffic than any other house for miles. Why? Because the people who lived inside it took Halloween seriously. They rigged, booby-trapped, and wired every inch of the property to be the ultimate scare experience. Every year the horrors were different. No one ever knew what to expect, but all understood that the experience was about the trick, not the treat.

The witch-themed Halloween haunts my memories most vividly. On that night, the adventure began the moment my friends and I stepped through the gate opening. A hideous, life-size witch came flying out of a tree, stopping short just before the sidewalk as cackles and witchy screeches filled the air from well-hidden speakers. Those who didn’t drop dead from heart failure, proceeded on to the doorway where a cluster of shrieking, real-life witches (and NOT the Glenda the Good Witch type, either) surrounded in purple light and dry ice fogs invited shaking hands to reach into one of three caldrons for a treat. Reach into the right kettle and get the low-rated goodie; reach into the wrong cauldron and get a mitt-full of wet eyeballs, innards, and hunks of flesh, which some craggy voice proclaimed to be the leftovers of earlier trick-or-treaters. Want to guess where my hand went? Only now, as a rational adult, can I muster up enough logic to assume that I’d palmed peeled grapes, cooked pasta, and raw chicken. But at the time, I KNEW I had my hand in guts and goo. I KNEW from that moment on that I’d never be a surgeon.

That wasn't the end of the adventure, either. On the way back to the gate and freedom, more witches popped out of bushes, screeching and cackling and lunging. Bats and black cats rigged to wires flew off the roof, the felines hissing and spitting at high volume. In complete panic, certain our lives were in jeopardy, we bolted and stumbled for the gate opening in a mad frenzy of costumes, screams and adrenalin. Would we survive this to see daylight?

Ah, good times.

So, trick or treat? Remember, though: a treat lasts but a moment; a trick, or the memory of it, can last a lifetime. Happy Halloween, everyone!

P.S. I can't end this blog without adding a very special treat that Buck Fever received from reader Sean and The Recorder Newspaper—a wonderful review. Okay, some treats do last longer than a moment:

http://www.recordernewspapers.com/articles/2009/10/29/entertainment/doc4ae5e249bb51d869786882.txt