...Continued from Donnelly Dome: Yeti Attack Part II
Dr. Heitnutts squints as he crushes a nugget between forefinger and thumb. He watches carefully as bits crumble, and drift slowly through the breeze. He scribbles notes, makes calculations, and categorizes each detail per the method set forth by the American Scatological Society.
The American Scatological Society has four traits by which it measures feces: size, texture, density, and color. By examining these qualities in a sample, one can determine the health and diet of an animal, as well as a general sense of its type (herbivore, carnivore, omnivore). It is a crude method suitable for novices, but it has its limitations. The system that I developed, for which I was politely asked to leave the Society, includes four additional elements: distribution, symmetry, taste, and smell. It is a more holistic approach and if properly used, can tell us not only the diet and health of the animal, but particular species and mood. I find it to be far more practical, for it models the way animals in the wild examine and categorize scat. For instance, a deer that comes across a pile of dung might approach it cautiously, noting the size and area it encompasses. It sniffs and nudges it with a nose, determining the freshness. Then carefully nibbles a piece. With a few tentative chews it recognizes the particular flavor of its cousin Bob, who had been missing for a week. The deer prances off to warn friends and family of a hungry bear in the area, and to make memorial arrangements for poor cousin Bob.
These two conflicting methods have always been a rift between myself and Dr. Heitnutts. Though he maintains his membership in the Society, despite his association with me, he displays a latent fecalphobia. It is because of this fear he can never fully comprehend the elegance of my system, nor embrace the knowledge it can teach us. I suspect him of orchestrating my removal from the Society.
"I'm not sure what it is," Dr. Heitnutts says. This is quite an admission. Even though he clings to an archaic, flawed method, his knowledge is expert. It is easy to see that it's not the smooth, almond shape of moose droppings, the squat patties of buffalo, nor the squished date appearance of bear. These are all common droppings, and abundant in the area. Turtle conducts his own experiments, flinging it against rocks and into the nearby pond. I'm not sure if he is testing for aerodynamics, splatter patterns, or some other quality. His method might be the next leap in our work, something to make my system as irrelevant as the Society's. Or he's just exercising his need to toss shit around whenever he sees it. But after a few throws he looks as perplexed as the rest of us.
It is a puzzle. We seem to be dealing with some sort of omnivore. There are bits of undigested bone fragments, as well as seed husks. The trail of droppings that leads to the larger pile suggests dehydration, or constipation. However, with a pond nearby and the beginning of the seasonal melt, this seems unlikely. A small taste should solve the question. Most mammals have anal glands which tend to flavor their excrement in a way particular to their species. Wolf scat tends to have a smokey-oak taste, whereas bear tastes of curry and is slightly intoxicating. Certain aficionados of the orient prize brown bear over most others as a seasoning and aphrodisiac.
I take a small pinch from the mound and pack it behind my lower lip. Instantly I spit it out in disgust.
"My God, Danglewood! What's gotten into you?" Dr. Heitnutts asks. His outrage turns to terror as the smell of black licorice wafts from my mouth.
"Yeti!" I manage to choke out, then fall into unconsciousness.
To be continued in Donelly Dome: Yeti Attack Part IV...
Dr. Heitnutts squints as he crushes a nugget between forefinger and thumb. He watches carefully as bits crumble, and drift slowly through the breeze. He scribbles notes, makes calculations, and categorizes each detail per the method set forth by the American Scatological Society.
The American Scatological Society has four traits by which it measures feces: size, texture, density, and color. By examining these qualities in a sample, one can determine the health and diet of an animal, as well as a general sense of its type (herbivore, carnivore, omnivore). It is a crude method suitable for novices, but it has its limitations. The system that I developed, for which I was politely asked to leave the Society, includes four additional elements: distribution, symmetry, taste, and smell. It is a more holistic approach and if properly used, can tell us not only the diet and health of the animal, but particular species and mood. I find it to be far more practical, for it models the way animals in the wild examine and categorize scat. For instance, a deer that comes across a pile of dung might approach it cautiously, noting the size and area it encompasses. It sniffs and nudges it with a nose, determining the freshness. Then carefully nibbles a piece. With a few tentative chews it recognizes the particular flavor of its cousin Bob, who had been missing for a week. The deer prances off to warn friends and family of a hungry bear in the area, and to make memorial arrangements for poor cousin Bob.
These two conflicting methods have always been a rift between myself and Dr. Heitnutts. Though he maintains his membership in the Society, despite his association with me, he displays a latent fecalphobia. It is because of this fear he can never fully comprehend the elegance of my system, nor embrace the knowledge it can teach us. I suspect him of orchestrating my removal from the Society.
"I'm not sure what it is," Dr. Heitnutts says. This is quite an admission. Even though he clings to an archaic, flawed method, his knowledge is expert. It is easy to see that it's not the smooth, almond shape of moose droppings, the squat patties of buffalo, nor the squished date appearance of bear. These are all common droppings, and abundant in the area. Turtle conducts his own experiments, flinging it against rocks and into the nearby pond. I'm not sure if he is testing for aerodynamics, splatter patterns, or some other quality. His method might be the next leap in our work, something to make my system as irrelevant as the Society's. Or he's just exercising his need to toss shit around whenever he sees it. But after a few throws he looks as perplexed as the rest of us.
It is a puzzle. We seem to be dealing with some sort of omnivore. There are bits of undigested bone fragments, as well as seed husks. The trail of droppings that leads to the larger pile suggests dehydration, or constipation. However, with a pond nearby and the beginning of the seasonal melt, this seems unlikely. A small taste should solve the question. Most mammals have anal glands which tend to flavor their excrement in a way particular to their species. Wolf scat tends to have a smokey-oak taste, whereas bear tastes of curry and is slightly intoxicating. Certain aficionados of the orient prize brown bear over most others as a seasoning and aphrodisiac.
I take a small pinch from the mound and pack it behind my lower lip. Instantly I spit it out in disgust.
"My God, Danglewood! What's gotten into you?" Dr. Heitnutts asks. His outrage turns to terror as the smell of black licorice wafts from my mouth.
"Yeti!" I manage to choke out, then fall into unconsciousness.
To be continued in Donelly Dome: Yeti Attack Part IV...
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