Ethics. A four letter word? Of course not.

At the requested interest of a few folks I am going to spend a little bit of time going into a subject I spent the better part of two years studying and discussing at length with teachers and classmates. That is, ethical concerns associated with photograph manipulation. I'd like to begin with making two things very clear. First, and most importantly, this is my blog and is merely an editorial outlet for me. With that knowledge you can safely roll your eyes and even tell me to bugger off after reading anything I post without much concern. Second, I have a very solid personal definition of ethics that I am going to explain prior to applying this value to the notion of photographic manipulation.

To be a tad technical, which I occasionally indulge in being, I would say that ethics is a branch of philosophy that specifically deals with people and the way we treat one another. More specifically, addressing the "rightness" or "wrongness" of our actions and even further (and most importantly if you ask me) the implications of both motives behind, and results of those actions. 

If you're reading this here, you likely have already read some of my wall posts back and forth on Facebook that get into my personal feelings on this subject matter. Here is a recap of what I wrote to my first cousin, Drew: 

Ah, yes, you've touched on a lot of the primary points. Essentially, the issue comes down to audience and intent towards that audience as you got into a bit. People have been splicing negatives since photography's inception to doop the public into believing the manipulation. We simply have far better tools to achieve the same effect nowadays. The bottom line, however, is that the manipulation represents a lie. Now, is this lie dangerous or harmless? Again, intent AND representation are key. If a news outlet alters the actual event occurring in the photo in any way it becomes dangerous, unethical and even criminal. If other adjustments are made, however, such as lighting differences post-shutter snap that you also mentioned, these would not fall into the same category. For instance, a journalistic photograph viewed on my computer screen through brightly lit pixels is going to look far different from one I see in newsprint and even further changed if color information is discarded.

It seems though that many family photographs are being altered at an increasing rate these days and to what effect and purpose? Is this a dangerous practice or harmless? Intent, intent, intent. Countless women - and men - have utilized the wonders of the liquefy tool to tuck in some of those curves. All the magazines do it to the typically already beautiful rich and famous so why not the layperson? You won't see a single image posted by me of myself that shows you the acne I constantly battle with on a daily basis. But these are mere issues of personal vanity. They are lies still the same. How many young people have eating disorders as a result of those types of manipulations? Altering events, however, is what concerns me the most. Since legality is not an issue with the picture the question of ethics comes to the forefront of my mind. Yes, it is a photo for personal use, but it is also a form of posterity.

I agree with you that if the intent (there's that word again) is merely to show the effect of time then it MIGHT make sense to remove the faces of those whose changes aren't relevant to us any longer. A notation is still absolutely appropriate in my mind. Names need not even be mentioned. On the other hand, if the image is intended to show our history at a single moment in time, which, knowing Lorine seems to me to be the most likely reason (but who knows), then I feel a deep ethical problem with any alteration that would remove or add anyone. I've emotionally cut Ron from my life, I don't feel any need to physically do it through these means. We are physically connected through our DNA anyway so I will never NOT be a part of him, whether I like it or not. My emotions are mine to dictate, not his.

Here's where things really become interesting, and scary. We have this wondrous new tool in our little universe called, Facebook. People we forgot even existed begin popping out of the woodwork wanting to be our friend and then the question comes to your mind: Do I really want to add this person as a friend? Do I care what they're doing now, decades later? Will they be offended if I reject them? None of these are terribly important questions, but to those of you who may indiscriminately add everyone who asks you as friends you may eventually end up facing a photo dilemma. Sometimes, however, it happens within your own families. 

Do you remember that one night back in college 14 years ago when you got so drunk with your buddies that you snuck into the girls' dorms and started knocking on doors begging for underwears (and yes, that's the word you used, "underwears") and actually managed to score a few pairs before finally being escorted out by a pissed-off security officer? Well, your "friend" sure as hell remembers and has the photo documentation to prove it! Oh, and guess what? He just put it up on his Facebook and tagged you so your grandma, who is also your friend can now see your embarrassing, albeit fun, exploits of yesteryear. Yes, that's really you wearing the hot pink lacy number over your sweat pants. Flexing your arms really put the finishing touches on nicely. Very sexy.

I've just spent some time with Facebook's Terms of Use, since the changing of it made such a news fuss last week. Anyone who has been tagged in a photograph is able to un-tag themselves from any image which results in a complete disassociation with your own Facebook page. Grandma may never look at you the same way again though if she caught a glimpse first. Facebook, however, does not engage in any practice to force a user to take down any content that doesn't break the law. So, basically, this means that any picture of you out in cyberspace is perfectly able to reside there with or without your permission so long as nobody's making a buck off it (that's a REALLY slimmed down explanation). Oh, and as long as your giblets aren't showing. 

I found that all to be fascinating, but also not at all surprising. It's actually sort of old news in the world of a photographer. I had a professor whose favorite mantra to encourage us with was to always shoot first, ask forgiveness later. For the record, we only had a few near-arrests during my course of study, but no one ever did any time. I even came very close to an altercation once in a public cemetery in Baltimore whose groundskeeper that lived on the property didn't want me photographing the entry gates with his home in the background. In a court of law, in that situation, my rights would exceed his. My lens was not, after all, deliberately poking between the curtains to see what's inside. That's why the paparazzi, as nasty as they are, get away with as much as they do. In public there is very little legal recourse against photography (in America anyway). So, keep away from peoples' windows and, obviously, don't go around taking pictures of other peoples' kids you don't know, creepy guy.

This is a fun essay with excellent examples of some of the finest, and freakiest photo manips throughout the existence of the technology. Many you likely know about, but some may surprise you: 

http://www.cs.dartmouth.edu/farid/research/digitaltampering/

Essentially, right and wrong when it comes to photography manipulation all boils down to your intentions for your audience. Along these lines, you are not responsible for your audience's reaction. You are, however, responsible for your motivations behind sharing an original or an altered photo. There is no way of getting around the fact that an alteration of a photograph from the original (ie. removing or adding people) is a falsification. That doesn't automatically make it ethically wrong. Just false, which is fine. Again, what is the intent or purpose of the image? Never forget to ask yourself that. Another favorite mantra of the same professor. 

It's not written here, but Drew pointed out the idea of making a notation of the alterations. And here is where my ethics on the matter can clearly define a "right" or a "wrong" decision. Who here likes being lied to? No hands? No kidding. A manipulation of a photograph is not a wrong or a bad thing to do. Not at all (don't forget about the intent, I can't stress this enough). Sometimes we try to do the manipulation before the shutter can even capture something. For instance, I made a deliberate effort to point Ron out to the photographers at our wedding to do everything they could to keep him out of their shots. I think he managed to sneak into one and I don't think either Dave or I were even in it. Let's just say that it's not up on my wall, but the image does still exist intact and original. 

Also, as I mentioned above regarding my own manips, I don't mind walking around every day with a zit be-speckled face completely makeup free. I honestly don't. But once it has been captured for the ages, I'd rather look back at the images of this time in my life and be able to just look at my face without the distraction of all those little annoyances that caused me so much pain. Yes, I do get the irony here. I am telling a lie to everyone who ever looks at those pictures of me that I had control over - but you know it's a lie. Ethical dilemma solved. There is no wool over your eyes, just a prettier picture of me. If only the magazines were that honest, eh? I could keep going on and on with this topic - two years builds up a LOT of conversations about it - but I'll leave you guys to mull over your own thoughts on how you feel about it. 

The most honest liar you are ever likely to encounter, Liz

p.s. Just for fun and a little personal humiliation, here are my completely unaltered shots sent in to Proactiv in 2007 (Note: I'm not very good at forming new habits, thus the continued existence of my little facial bacterial army. The uni-brow? Oh yeah, baby, that's all me too!):

Oh, Sweet Josephine! I need to lighten things up around here!

I am still absolutely out of breath and I have a stabbing pain right under my lower-most rib on my left side - from laughing to near hysterics! Yes, it's almost 5:30 in the morning, but I don't usually go to bed much earlier than this so I don't think I can chalk it up to punch-drunketieness. I figure that since I'm in such a good mood at the moment that I can feel pretty comfortable making up a few words. Oh, and, by the way, YouTube has the potential to become the suckiest bunch of sucks that ever sucked (It's basically a deal with record companies that would either charge or eliminate-all-together any videos that play songs they own the rights to and that's only, what, 80% of YouTube? It doesn't look like it's going to happen - yet - but I'll be ready if/when it does!), so I may be spending a lot more time with Vimeo in the future. But this post is all about good ol' fashioned, homegrown entertainment! May I now present to you for your viewing pleasure, the funniest thing I've witnessed in a great long time:

Star Wars: Retold (by someone who hasn't seen it) from Joe Nicolosi on Vimeo.

America: Citadel of Liberty at Risk (please read on past this arduous title, it's as much about you and me as it is America)

I spoke very candidly and openly here last November when my inner turmoil could no longer be contained. What I know to be true in my heart has never been something I could explain very well through words to anyone. It's a funny thing, faith. I've never considered myself to be an "intellectual" and have never been able to put an effective voice to my convictions. That is probably why I generally remain so private and silent when it comes to my beliefs and opinions. Sometimes I don't understand why the pull is so strong, but I would be remiss to ignore such promptings. Again, faith is a funny thing. I have always maintained the state of my soul as merely a personal endeavor that I have protected by not sharing it. I have viewed others' souls much the same way. I am beginning to realize what a mistake this has been in this all-too-short earthly existence. While I have not turned to God nearly as much as I should in recent years I know that there have been others praying on my behalf and I have been endlessly blessed regardless of where my wandering attention has been directed. Others have shared in my spirituality for years without my acknowledgement and I have been absolutely ungrateful for it. I am reminded of the Lion King quote, one of the last truly great works to come out of Disney since Walt's passing, "You are more than what you have become." I am all too aware that I have not been fulfilling God's intentions for me here. How fortunate I am that His patience is perfect. 

Life has been difficult for me personally in nearly every way possible over the last decade and it has been incredibly distracting to say the least. Each time I face a new challenge, however, I don't reach the end thinking how glad I am that it is over. I certainly do feel some sense of relief, but even more powerful than that, I feel strength from the certainty that there are more difficulties to come that have the potential to knock the socks off of whatever I've just lived through. I take a strange comfort in knowing that. 

This post serves the purpose of helping me feel as though I've shared more of myself than I am usually comfortable doing. And I do that because I feel that there is something truly good for me to share though it is rooted out of a terrifying place. I suppose that you could call me a "sheep" in the figurative sense and to an extent it would be a fair assessment though not wholly accurate. So much of my system of beliefs is so deeply ingrained as a part of me, seared into my soul, that I simply can't deny it. Does that mean that I never find myself questioning my leaders or facing fears or doubts? That is a resounding, "no". Sometimes I rely on the eloquence of minds greater than mine to help me place markers on why I feel and believe the way that I do. These minds may be those speaking with the voice of my own heart, but just as often they are those who seep that undefinable anxiety into my gut that confirms I am hearing fallacy. What disturbs my peace and shakes my core is when that foreboding feeling comes from not merely my loved ones, but those dear people who I always felt helped shaped my beliefs in the first place. That strikes a fear and devastation in me that I have never known before.

So, what do I do? Inactivity disturbs me nearly as much as what wrought the unrest. I indicated that I sometimes rely on others' voices to speak as my own because God has simply given me different gifts to work with. I was recently blessed with a pool of resources I wasn't even seeking that offered me a great number of those markers I spoke of. I can currently see no resolve for my distress, but it may not be appropriate for me to see that anyway. I am used to adversities having somewhat clear points of conclusion and am at a loss with what I now face. So, rather than futilely fighting to change anyone or having another rant as I did late last year I believe that I will best serve my suffering heart by sharing some of those resources that are a small but significant part of what further solidifies my resolve in what I believe in. 

The title of this post may not have made a great deal of sense to you up to this point, but if you have read this far I urge you to continue on with what I will next present. If nothing else and you don't agree with any of it, you will at least know yet even more about me than you did before and that can't possibly be a bad thing, can it? I have been pretty frank in everything I've said and it is absolutely true that I am heartbroken. You may not feel that I am justified in feeling that way about you, but it may be true nonetheless (depending specifically on who is reading this, you very likely know who you are). 

I was guided to this piece by one of my dearest friends; a man with whom I hold an unending amount of respect and admiration for, my bishop. I have not stepped foot into a church service of my own volition for approximately eleven years with the singular exception of a fast and testimony meeting a few years ago in the ward where I live now. Something definitive happened this week, however. I did not attend Sunday services, but I did make the choice to show up at the 10 o'clock Book of Mormon class that my bishop teaches every Tuesday morning. With my days now ending at 4 a.m. this was quite the feat. I fumbled through the pages of the book that through time and distance had, surprisingly, not become the least bit foreign to me. It wasn't exactly like riding a bike though. The material, of course, hadn't changed with time...I had. But I'm not changed from the young woman I was at seventeen the last time I voluntarily walked through those chapel doors. I am changing back into her. Time may have dulled my mind and in some cases jaded my heart, but it has not had the power to weaken my convictions. 

I will allow the document to follow to speak completely for itself because my own words would fall short of articulating any portion of its contents with proper justice. I am endlessly grateful to all of you who have attentively given me your ear and I encourage you now to give Ezra Taft Benson your undivided attention. It's about a 10-15 minute read so please, if you can, make this time available. For me, this is currently where my hopes and even my fears lie.

A Vision and a Hope for the Youth of Zion

Thank you once again for allowing me to share more and more of myself through this oddly fortuitous medium. If anyone is interested in reading any of the other resource materials I spoke of, please, just let me know. 

Sincerely yours, Liz Perkins

Oh, I can see the forest in spite of the tree. Metaphor time! Get ready to wax philosophical.

I had an English teacher in high school who tried to shy her students away from using cliches in our writing because she personally hated them. She thought they were, in themselves, cliche. While I looked up to this woman a great deal, I have always thought that if you have the urge to write, WRITE! Don't allow any deterrents be they spelling or grammar concerns, or even the pet peeves of someone whose opinion mattered to you at some point in your life.

So, as usual with my writing lately, inspiration struck this morning right when I woke up - not in the middle of the night this time at least. I've had one of my best friends on the brain for the last two days because, as a gal who has always written from her heart, she had been making some statements recently online that just downright ground my gears. This virtual world allows us to have some very strangely altered relationships. I got a little pushy with her, but in our entire history together we have always been able to respectfully disagree - as we do now. That is all fine and well, but one thing she said got me started down a particular train of thought. This whole "can't see the forest in spite of the trees" business you're waiting for me to finally getting around to talking about. Those of you nut jobs crazy enough to regularly follow this blog. She didn't actually use the forest/tree phrase, but our exchange brought the old adage into my mind.

I've wondered about how that concept works and have come up with a theory for myself. What I'm talking about specifically is how people view the world, which from this point on is going to be loosely referred to as a great big forest. What we are seeing when we look up are representations. Each tree represents a person, a pet, a material possession, an event and so on. I have my own forest that is not merely a single tree and the same is true of everyone else. My body and soul are even comprised of separate trees; neither of which are in wonderful shape. My own great forest overshadows but does not block my view of the world's vast forests. It does, however, alter my perception of them.

I've said many times that I am no activist, though I do write the occasional letter to any powers that be I feel need to hear my voice when there is an err I cannot overlook. Farmington's mayor got an earful from me last week, in fact. But that's another story for another day. I don't concern myself much with the majority of the sea of arbores. It's not, as the cliche says, because of the singular tree or even my own little forest of trees in front of my face blocking my vision of the rest. It is because some of my trees are on fire, or are wilting with age or some type of deprivation, or have broken limbs. When I do take those moments to gaze upon and sometimes study those backwoods, jungles and thickets around the world...I see that mine are not the only trees in pain or danger. Sometimes I only find open glades where someone has nothing in life to keep them waking up in the morning. Even looking still further I will come across skeletal landscapes where people have once had everything and lost it all in one or a series of cataclysmic events - perhaps devised by themselves in some cases whether intentional or not. For instance, a person with a fatal drug addiction.

Here's the kicker though. While for one person, their view of a particular tree may be gaunt, to another, that same tree may be lush and full and its fruit within reach (we're not all pine trees either, by the way). We are each multifaceted that way and in our perceptions of each other.

I brought up my lack of activism above for this reason. For me personally, it would be far less responsible for me to take any time at all away from the dangers that portions of my own forest face to go chasing down some giant oak bursting into flames ten thousand miles away with a tiny little bucket of water. I'm not saying that one person can't make a difference by saying that so please, don't allow that to lead you in that direction. I can see the representation of that oak clearly through my television, radio and newspaper. What I can never see clearly, however, is who or what started the fire in the first place or why; or how that one guy who showed up was able to get his hands on such a big hose. Try to keep your minds out of the gutter with that one. It's difficult, I know. At any rate, I can only see what scant portion of the story has been chosen to be told by, once again, the powers that be. Ah, the media. Notice I made a point not to say "liberal media"? EVERYONE's guilty on both the delivery and receipt sides. Viewers, listeners, readers are all just as much to blame for swallowing what we are fed without question. It only encourages the hands that feed us to eventually start throwing banana peels in there. What? You mean they really ate that? Well heck, I've got some old coffee grounds and egg shells I've been meaning to get rid of so let's toss those in there next week and see who bites then we'll simply call them our "target audience". While all of that actually is good for compost, which is good for trees I'm still going along with the metaphor here so please keep playing along. Humor me. Before long anyway, the temptation would become too great and they'd just start tossing in items that are bad for the compost like chicken bones and cheese. Just look at the Britney Spears fiasco in recent years where all that everyone wanted was for the paps and the media to leave her alone and yet there the world was gorging on every gruesome moment of it, buying up the magazines and gluing their eyes to the train wreck. As a trained photographer I know exactly how to make you believe what I want you to believe through my imagery. So, just how far am I comfortable ethically going with that power? Far less than some. Somehow, I don't think photo-shopping a clear complexion for myself is going to wind me up in purgatory. Many others have far more to answer for.

My point? My little theory about this forest thing has two clear options though I'll concede that there may be any number of alternate possibilities. First, those who do run off with their buckets and hoses have safe and happy groves waiting around for them when they get back home. These individuals, I must note, may or may not be responsible for the flourishing state of their forest. While rare and improbable, it's a possible scenario. Second, these crusaders have altered their perceptions to the point that they do not place themselves in the position of caretaker or even just an overseer of their forest whether it be in ship shape or crumbling away. This second option could also have any number of variations to it, but I think I'm making at least a little bit of sense with that general statement. I hope. I could get into some very specific theories regarding peoples' motivations for doing the things they do, but I'm no psychologist and they'd all be hypothetical gibberish anyway. I'd rather not bore myself (or you) with that either.

My dashes of cynicism (with media in particular) only exacerbate my reluctance to join up with any cause I am not the founder of. Believe me, I do know how that sounds. I'm comfortable with that though at this stage in my life where my little forest is in such chaos. Even if it was one of the flourishing landscapes that sometimes feels like such a rarity, I would likely feel and act the same way. Do I fully understand that there are starving children, murderers, pollutants and so on in my own backyard and beyond? Of course I do. I cannot force myself to care too much about any of that though outside of my little bubble of space. Again, yes, I know how that may be perceived. At the same time, I'm not too concerned with those perceptions either as I am very comfortable in my own skin, faults and all, and the decisions I make every day. I'm the one that has to live with myself, after all and my conscience is clear.

So, basically, what I'm saying about perception is that while I can see the forest in spite of the tree, so to speak, I will continue to direct my concerns where I feel in my heart deserve or require the most attention from me as an individual. This is not a defense, mind you, I already have discussed here and elsewhere that I feel no need to defend myself for being me. It is merely a delving into something I've loosely thought about for several years and finally had enough of a spark of inspiration to dive into it at more length. Again, these damn politics being my inspiration for writing?!? That's crap!

I can't have a post without at least one picture so for the sake of keeping with tradition and also having a little bit of fun, this is how I see myself as a tree:

The weeping willow, very dramatic (in every sense of the word) and a little all over the place and very protectively covering that which really makes me tick.

But, once you're past all the exterior flash and protection, I'll show you another side that reveals far more about me. Don't go trying to get past that bark though if you know what's good for you. Even I don't like looking there. And no, that's not a nude joke. Just one last piece of the metaphor.

Bitty Babies Everywhere!

'Tis the season for many new babies to come into the world. My oldest brother's family just welcomed the beautiful Samantha Skye Schott on the 9th of this month:



Then, the next brother down the line is expecting another boy the day after my birthday this May. And then even the NEXT brother down the line will bring another little girl into the family in just a few more weeks. Oh, it doesn't end there! One of my dearest, and newest friends (Hi, Meg!) only has about six weeks left before boy number 4 comes along! Finally, I just learned this morning that another absolutely dear friend of mine growing up (Hi, Liz!) is expecting another little one this August. Now, this note goes directly out to Heidi (Kait too, for that matter) whenever she makes it over to my blog again: If you get pregnant before me, given, I'll squeal with delight, but I also might pitch a fit. Oh no, not a fit?! Oh yes, a fit.

Don't get me wrong, anyone, I'm not at all baby crazy and we are not planning anything just yet or ever (don't take me too seriously on that second part). These things just always seem to come in waves and when I started doing a head count I got a tad dizzy. Of course, it may just be that I'm finally "that age". You know, the age where everyone you know has or is starting to have kids so it's inevitable that there's going to be crossover. It has just been crazy to have THREE of my sisters-in-law pregnant at the same time!

I'm pretty sure that our kids are hanging around in pre-existence, if you believe in such things, which I do...anyway, they're hanging around rolling their eyes at me and Dave just waiting for us to get our shit together. Yes, eliminating indiscriminate cursing will probably be that last thing to go. That really is the least of my concerns involved with bringing a new person into this earthly life. I won't go into my hesitations, but they are many. So, I want to send a collective congratulations out to those I've mentioned and all other expectant families out there in the world. You are more courageous than I.

WARNING: Graphic content follows

So, one of the many interesting nuances of living in an area that can still be considered semi-rural is that we receive occasional visits by roaming wildlife. Most of these visits are relatively friendly, but some are rather invasive and violent. Yes, yes, I know that my home sits on land that was once a mere foothill where deer and vermin and predators and so on could roam free. But this land was cultivated and altered by man many years before I ever got here and certainly several generations prior to any wildlife that currently strolls around down here.

That being said, I generally welcome most of these visits. I put out feed for the wide variety of local birds and find their antics amusing. We even encountered a deer once that had come over the embankment at the back of our property to get a drink in our pond. I've run a snake or two off the property as well for Dave's sake - he gets the spiders, I get the snakes. We have a completely symbiont life system taking place on our small little patch of earth that even includes us.

You see, we have also brought our own animals to live on and share this land. This has an affect on the wildlife as well. We feed the wild birds, but we also have ducks that require a similar grain-based feed. Mice and rats have a hard time reaching the bird feeders and the scraps that fall don't seem to be much of a lure when there is an ample and easily accessed supply in the duck pen. Snakes are then attracted to our property for the relatively easy access to our resident rodents. We are not in the least bit adverse to poisoning or even shooting any of these pests and do so when necessary. Though, to be fair, the only dead snake we have ever recovered from our property was not poisoned but run over in the driveway. Think what you will of all that, but these are both dangerous and possibly diseased animals that I do not want living in that close of proximity to my family if I have any means to do something about it. So, we occasionally utilize our means.

Our beastly dog, Ebony, generally deters most larger wildlife by her presence alone. Her scent is all over the yard and she adds to it everyday. But sometimes the lure to our wild yard is just too strong. There are regularly hawks and small eagles circling our neighborhood, but I've only once ever seen one actually in our yard and it didn't appear to be hunting. We have seen several raccoons, or possibly the same one several times hanging about our garbage can at night. Among all of these, the only critters that ever really bother me are the raccoons and rodents. Even these, however, are rarely ever actually seen - mostly just the evidence of their presence. In the winter, for instance, we will see rat trails in the snow going from hole to hole leading up to their food supply in the duck pen. Aside from disease, have you priced chicken scratch lately? Corn prices have shot it through the roof and I simply can't tolerate (or afford) sustaining a bunch of rat babies.

I have always worried about having the ducks out in the yard because of all of the wildlife activity, but in nearly five years of keeping ducks we've not once had a predator attack. Until two nights ago. They have a sturdy coop and are fenced in behind a 4' fence on one side and even higher on all other sides. There is a hill, however, that comes up to level with the top of a small part of the 4' fence and that was the point of entry and exit for our vicious visitor. Like the others, it left evidence. More than just the wreckage it also left distinctive tracks that I have deduced down to most likely coyote, or possibly a large fox.

I was in a rush to leave that morning because in my arduous job searching lately, I've been going through the multi-step insanity that is the Postal employment hiring process and had to make it out to a medical assessment within the hour. As I always do, I took a quick peek into the pen as I drove past it after rounding the corner and saw a crumpled looking white pile and I knew something had happened. My first thoughts were directed to the rat poison I had just put out the day before. I had jammed some way up under the coop where a rat hole had been dug and worried that one of them had managed to get their head down the hole and eaten some. What I found was decidedly worse in some ways. Only made slightly better by the fact that I wasn't directly responsible for killing my own pet, I found that two of my three ducks had been brutally massacred sometime in the night. As my pets, however, I also have a responsibility to protect them. Sometimes there's only so much you can do, but I am finding now that there is far more that I can certainly do to keep my remaining girl safe from harm.

*Graphic Warning*

I couldn't say if this creature built up in ferocity as it went or if it started strong and ended lamely. I tend to believe the former because of what I found. When I spun my car around and rushed down the yard to assess the situation I was greeted by a gruesome and infuriating scene. The back of my drake's neck was completely missing and his upper back had been rather brutally gouged into as well. The rest of him remained virtually unscathed aside from a few minor punctures. The female that was killed had also been attacked from behind but only insomuch as to end her life. I found the remaining female that had survived cowered in a corner next to the lifeless and mutilated bodies of her companions. Upon initial inspection she appeared to be okay aside from being terribly frightened. I was in such a hurry that all I knew I needed to do at the moment was to move the bodies. With Christmas having just passed I happened to have a few boxes that worked. These were no small birds mind you, weighing in at about 10-12 lbs. each and being roughly twice the overall size of the average house cat.

I called Dave once I hit the freeway to let him know the contents of the two boxes so as to keep the dog away from them and for him to dispose of them while I was away because I simply couldn't do it. I replayed the visions of the wounds over and over again in my head on the way to my appointment becoming more and more upset. I tried to push my thoughts elsewhere, but could not succeed. I am not the person who feels bad for the gazelle when the leopard finally makes that swipe that takes it down. I have compassion for the fact that the predator/prey relationship involves pain and suffering. This was not a predator seeking a meal. It was a slaughter. As awful as the scene was and this may sound, I would have felt much better to have cleaned up my good friends if they had even been partially devoured. It just feels like senseless destruction, almost malicious.

At any rate, Dave and I built a door for the coop to lock my lonesome gal up at night for the immediate future and managed to find a chain link dog run for sale on craigslist that has a roof structure and 6' walls. Who says functionality can't be cute?

Much as I would like vengeance on the sneaky bastard, I will instead seek my peace of mind by doing everything I can to outsmart the instincts of such critters. The Perkins residence will soon be home to a venerable duck Fort Knox.

In memory of Dr. Drake Remore and his Little Nurse (lighter). Big Nurse (darker) already misses them both.

So, maybe I'll be a writer when I gets all growed up.

I've been writing away quite a bit lately, which has been making my 100+wpm little fingers very happy. All this writing is also starting to give those fingers a good reason to begin drawing again, which also makes them very happy.

Here's the skinny: I woke up around 2 in the morning two nights ago with the hamster wheel spinning away in my brain. I woke up thinking about all of the rambling writing I've been doing as of late and how I should direct my focus into a new project. But where to dip my cup into the pools of inspiration? Well, I used to draw nearly every day. Whether for school or simply because I felt like it, I've built up quite an extensive portfolio over the years. While lying in bed trying to figure out why I had woken so abruptly in the first place and then working to reconcile the flashes of streaming thought, an image entered my mind. A drawing I had done about ten years ago after seeing the movie, "The Fifth Element". The opera diva led me to create a series of drawings:






But one drawing is missing. THE drawing. My organizational skills, while seemingly quite obsessive are actually borderline chaotic. I tend to keep things in piles in various locations around the house. My parents observed this of me and my bedroom while growing up, particularly in my teenage years. It's a habit I still have. Whenever I don't have the time or the will to really organize something, be it the laundry, the mail, shoes, anything, I will make piles to revisit at a later time. Organized chaos. So, the same is true of my personal effects. I have drawings on printer paper, lined school paper, graph paper, napkins, post-it notes, whatever was available when an image simply had to escape my mind and become part of the world. There are about four or five places that these have ended up being tucked away in various corners of the house. Not one of those places I scoured turned up the drawing. All of the others I drew within that approximate time frame were found. 

The significance of this drawing is that it sparked a train of thought that began to develop into something exciting. Something that kept building and building up strength and energy just like a locomotive. By 2:30 I couldn't stand it anymore and accepted the truth that if I didn't record any of this right NOW that I would certainly lose nearly all of it by sunrise. I slid out of bed as quietly as I could because both Dave and I were already sleeping restlessly because he had final exams the following day. I turned on the computer and began to write a short story about the man in my drawing. About three or four lines into it, it began to rhyme. Two hours later, "Crimson the Collector" had a life and a voice of his own.

I am now feverishly trying to recreate my vision of the missing Crimson. I know what he looks like and now I'm trying to convince my fingers that they still know what they're doing after a long hiatus from daily drawing. Stay tuned for more on bringing Crimson the Collector to life.