Sunday, August 19, 2012

High and Low

Fifteen minutes ago I noticed two black buzzards in our drive-way.  At first I thought they might be mating.  Hard to tell about these curious creatures since, when they are not gorging and flapping at some furious food frenzy, they do a lot of just plain standing around and staring.  But then, after a few more minutes I saw one of them drag out from the grass yet another freshly flattened armadillo that failed to cross our road safely.  Bummer.

Speaking of Accidents--It has been a bad year for the Florida parasailing industry, very bad—too many fun-seeking tourists going back in boxes.  Just the other day another visitor was sailing high above the Atlantic over on the wrong side of the state when her harness broke.  Broke!  Just flat broke!  From photos the young woman looked to be overweight, but not outrageously so.

For anyone wondering how high 200’ is (which is how far the lady fell) just go into the city and take an elevator to the 20th floor; or look at your community water tower and imagine that times 2.  The horror and sadness of this most recent incident was magnified by the fact that the dead woman’s husband was strapped in tandem right beside her and saw the entire plummet.

My bet is that today there is no line whatsoever waiting to go parasailing ANYWHERE in the Sunshine State.  In fact, I am willing to wager that, except for a few stunt monkeys, drunks and others of marginal mental capacity, that there are no people parasailing anywhere, period. 
I reported a few months back about the 300 lb. man falling 300 feet from his parasail up in Tampa and splattering. When this chap hit the water he was doing about 150 MPH. 

300 Lbs. + 300’ + 150 MPH = V-8 juice.

Update—From two the number of vultures in the drive-way have now grown within five minutes to ten or more gorgers.  I thought that I might move the armadillo from the drive to spare Michelle the gruesome sight upon her return (she loves armadillos).  Ha!  The food fight is on with every bald buzzard fighting for its share of fresh possum on the half shell.  So many are bolting down, in fact, that the over flow is hopping around on our roof (I hear them now—sounds like giant, awkward squirrels lumbering about).  This all happened so quickly that I really do believe that had this been me and not the little armadillo, by noon only the bones of this blogger would remain for Michelle to find.  As is, only the armor-plating of the little beast is now left.  Truly, these ugly, hopping birds are nature’s feathered garbage engineers.  With all the road kill, the folks on this island absolutely revere them.  Even the mascot of Lemon Bay High School over on the mainland is called the Battlin' Buzzards (just kidding—I think they are the Manta Rays).


Phuny for the Day