October 08, 2004
End of the road for St. Bernards?
Another service displaced by modern technology.
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Stupid decision. There should be more dogs, not fewer. Dogs are better than heat-seeking technology in snow and ice.
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To play devil's advocate, it could be said that with technology (which did away with the dogs) has provided alternate forms of transportation and road surfaces, alternate forms of communications such as cell phones, and navigational technology such as GPS. How many people up on the mountains are going blindly unprepared? However I do feel that there is a tradition here that is sadly disappearing into the gaping void of "progress".
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The article that broke the sad news to me also altered my longstanding mental imagery of these saintly dogs:
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If I ever get trapped in an avalanche I will hope they'll use the best they got to try to rescue me. I don't care if it is cold logic machinery or big hairy drooling dogs.
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Dog gone...
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Bees - that may be your pest poem yet.
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Oh, dear, make that "BEST".
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a pest poem... for Path So he sought with the lobstir claw of his propencil the clue of the wickser in his ear. --Jams Joyce, Finnegan's Wake I found this. It tickles me fancy. I did not do anything but break Joyce's prose into phrases. So it is now a poem. At least it is acceptable as a poem to some: it is called a Found Poem when some ninny like myself does this. So what is a poem? Is this one? And if it is, who wrote it? /In which beeswacky puts his pest foot forward and out of his mouth again rodeo no rode the six hundred chiz chiz
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Sweet beeswhacky. Everyone wrote it. And, poems are where you find them. You, of course, know one when you make it. Or do you? I think,sometimes you make one when you don't know it. Sometimes flashboy makes one, but refuses to see it. Alnedra is a poem unto herself. So, tell me, what makes a poem?
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Five little letters, Path. a p o e m
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If poets are artists, Path, then it's whatever a poet says is a poem or writes as a poem. You might be interested in this: Szymborska says, more or less, it's what may happen when a poet confronts a 'sheet of paper', a possibility.
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POX! This.
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How many people up on the mountains are going blindly unprepared? A lot more than you'd think. City dwellers especially think that the streets of New York are as dangerous as you can get in this world. (I know, I used to be a city dweller.) Transportation, etc. aside, the dogs still have the best equipment for finding people. Transport them up the mountain by helicopter, and then let them do their thing, replete with GPS receivers on their collars. I fear this decision will eventually result in a loss of life.
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"But the dogs, which eat up to four and a half pounds of meat a day, have not rescued anyone for 50 years." Seems like they've become a tourist attraction.
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Yeah, yeah. I'm talking about dogs in general. Hey, don't stop me ranting, OK?
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But the dogs ... have not rescued anyone for 50 years. ... but who knew they lived so long? You know, I went looking for some cute Saint Bernard pictures and soon found this shit: "Professor Su of the Shenyan Saint Bernard breeding site and dog meat research laboratory says as well that "dogs have been very useful to humans so far, but it was primitive not having thought to profit from the dogs' meat"." End of the road, indeed.
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I do not like thee, Doctor Su, I see no need to eat dog stew I won't be eating what you do and hope your dinner chews on you. /not entirely kidding