Times of the Signs

I encountered this sign outside a fire station in a small Caribbean country. Talk about a buzzkill. Most everyone I know would be in violation of this dress code. However, now that I think of it, most birders would be completely in compliance, which is troubling.

Failure to Obey the Signs

Recently, while strolling along a wooded path (on the grounds of a classic Ohio roadside attraction) with my family, we came upon this sign (above): "Keep Off the Dinosaurs."

Our kids are reasonably well-behaved creatures, so we did not think anything of it. Well, I guess I thought the sign had a pinch of the kill-joy spirit in it, but that's life these days in the United States of Litigation.

We walked onward.

Moments later the unthinkable happened. Liam was attacked by a raging triceratops.

Perhaps there should have been a sign for the dinosaurs saying "Don't Eat the Tourists."

Thank heavens I had my iPhone with me or I wouldn't have gotten this photo of the attack. We'll need it for the lawsuit.




[ok, just kidding. Liam is fine. So is the triceratops, according to its lawyer and agent.]

Signs Along the Way

I found this sign outside a fire department compound on the island of Tobago in the West Indies.
Too many rules take all the joy out of living!

The Song in My Head

This is the front of an actual store in Holt, England. It's a toy store, as you can see from the Thomas the Tank Engine stuff in the window. But the store name and the train imagery instantly put a song into my head for the rest of that August day: "White Room" by Cream.

In the white room with black curtains near the station.
Blackroof country, no gold pavements, tired starlings.

In England, the European starling is a native bird, and one that is declining. So while we may wish starlings ill here in North America, in the U.K. people are worried about losing this highly adaptable species.

Who knows, someone may get a notion to trap a bunch of starlings here for export across the pond? If that happens, I would not be surprised to learn that starlings started showing up at this store in Holt, thinking it was a retail outlet devoted to their species. After all, starlings are quite intelligent—who's to say they can't learn to read?

Speechless, but Hungry

While navigating the busy streets of a fair midwestern town earlier this month, we drove past this sign outside a fast-food restaurant. I had no idea what a biscuit hole might be—there are all sorts of things that occur to one's mind—but two strange urges came over me after reading this sign's message:

1. I felt a pang of hunger.

2. I really wanted to roll up to the drive through and mumble, in my best Sling Blade voice: Gimme a sack o' them biskit holes and swipe on sum o' that yeller musterd, please. And gimme sum o' them french fried pataters, too...Hmmmmm.

Hello, everyone. This isn't Bill of the Birds. This is his wife. BOTB is geographically indisposed for the foreseeable future, and he has asked me, while sitting at Phoebe's basketball practices and games, attending PTO meetings, photographing our kids and dogs, cleaning closets, mowing the lawn, and continuing to carry coals to the homefire, to keep his blog going in his absence. Whoa. That almost turned into a rant. But we all know I don't do that.

Birdchick asked me to blogsit for her two Decembers ago, and look what happened.

I'm happy to report that, in addition to the partial and woefully incomplete list of responsibilities listed above, I will not be composing Bill's posts. There is only so much a Science Chimp can do. And I wouldn't attempt to match the unique mix of fabulous photography, zaniness and introspection that BOTB delivers. Instead, Bill threw together a mini-carnival of sorts. You'll be treated to the photos and musings of some cyber-friends. It should be interesting to see what they decide is fit fodder for Bill's blog, no? First to respond was Rondeau Ric.

Here he goes:

BOTB has a slight obsession with Giant Things and they show up here on an irregular basis.

My thing is signs, the odder the better.

I got a few strange looks going into the men’s room at the local bar to get a shot of this.
How often do you need to service your dinosaur?

I found driving in Scotland a bit like driving in West Virginia, narrow roads, speeding locals and single lane roads but at least they warn you in Scotland.I guess this hydrant is only good for dogs.
And my all time favourite. (Note: I am leaving this spelling intact because Rondeau can't help it. He's from Canada. I also think it's cute.--Zick)



If you have permission, is it still trespassing?

Hope you are enjoying yourself, BT3.

Zick: Thanks so much, RR. Sparkling, quirky, just right. I'll look forward to seeing what tomorrow brings in the BOTB blog carnivalette. Consider that a nudge, carnivaletters.