Mosquitoes

I don’t like mosquitoes, and I don’t know anyone who does. If I make it to heaven, the first question I’m going to ask is, “Why mosquitoes? Why!?!”

As much as I do not understand their incredibly annoying existence here on earth, I must at least smile at God’s sense of humor about them. He gave the world mosquitoes, which as near as I can tell, serve no good purpose, and then to combat them, He gave us bats.

Rabies-infested flying rodents are the fix for the annoying biting insects. That’s a good one. Maybe, like Richard Simmons workout videos, the mosquito-bat relationship is meant to be a tiny glimpse into what hell is like, in order to make us straighten up and fly right.

I say I don’t like mosquitoes, but that is not entirely accurate. I hate them. That is more accurate. My strong feelings for them no doubt stem from their collective love of me. I am a mosquito magnet. If you are curious how many mosquitoes are in your backyard, just invite me over. I will stand still and you can count them all.

This time of year is when I really ratchet up my hate for mosquitoes to more of a loathing. That’s because I am a duck hunter, and ducks live in the same places as 90% of the world’s mosquitoes. My friend and duck hunting partner, Heath, does not get bitten by mosquitoes. This causes me to hate him a little this time of year, too. I have tried to figure out what I am doing wrong or what he is doing right, but as near as I can tell it comes down to body chemistry. There are two main differences that I can see between us. Heath is always about ten degrees hotter that everyone else, and he only pees once or twice a day. I am a normal temperature, and I pee about every fifteen minutes. That turned out to be the problem a few years ago. (The peeing, not the temperature.)

It was opening day in October, and we were tramping out through the marsh lands in our camouflage duck hunting overall waders. It was a particularly bad year for mosquitoes, and they were so thick that even Heath had sprayed himself head-to-toe with Off. I had so much mosquito repellant on my body, I was shiny. There were so many mosquitoes that if we tried to talk to each other we would get a mouthful. Have you ever had a mouthful of mosquitoes? I don’t recommend it.

Make no mistake, we weren’t doing the nice, friendly, camping-trip application of the bug spray, where you put a little on your hand, and gently rub it onto your cheeks and forehead, being careful not to get any in your eyes. No, we were just closing our eyes and spraying the can directly at our faces from six inches away. I was actually hoping to get some up my nose, just so the mosquitoes wouldn’t try to go there, either. Ever had DEET on your chapped lips? I don’t recommend that either.

I began the morning with two full cans of Deep Woods Off, and by the time we had hiked and slogged out to our hunting spot I was already starting the second can. I’m not even really sure what DEET is, but if it’s flammable, I had enough of it on me that morning to power a large jet engine. Our faces and hands were the only exposed skin, but we were spraying the Off all over our hats and shirtsleeves just to be safe. It was actually doing a really good job of preventing them from biting, but there were so many of them they were still crawling all over us and swarming near our heads. At one point I had a cloud of mosquitoes in front of my face so thick I couldn’t see through them. Once, when there were no ducks in sight, I actually fired a shotgun blast into one of the mosquito clouds, just to kill a few of them with the hot gasses. It’s the small victories in life that make it worthwhile.

It was an uncomfortable situation, to say the least, but it was manageable… until I had to pee.

The way I saw it, I had three options, and holding it, unfortunately, was not one of them. The 32-ounce Coke I had at 3:00 A.M. was not going to wait, and we were literally miles from the nearest indoor plumbing.

Option Number One: Pee in waders.  

Considerations: Although camouflage duck hunting waders are made out of wetsuit material, peeing in your waders is decidedly NOT the same thing as peeing in your wetsuit. Peeing in your wetsuit makes you warm. Peeing in your waders just makes you wet and smelly and gross. (I am just making an educated guess here, since I have never been foolish enough to pee in my waders. I have peed in many a wetsuit, and that is delightful in the cold North Pacific Ocean.)

Decision: No.

Option Number Two: Pull waders down and pee, as if everything is normal.

Considerations: Seven billion hungry mosquitoes, combined with their natural affinity for me, combined with the fact that we’re talking about the absolute least desirable area on my body to have mosquito bites.

Decision: No.

So far, Options One and Two are tied for dead last, which brings us to…

Option Number Three: Stick can of Deep Woods Off down pants and prepare man parts for exposure to the horrendously mosquito-infested outdoors.

Considerations: Dammit!!!!!!!!!

Decision: This is my only option, so… dammit!!!!! Yes.

Ever had DEET on your you-know-what?

I don’t recommend it.

I hate mosquitoes.

See you soon,

-Smidge

Copyright © 2013 Marc Schmatjen

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The Dog Collar

There is a chill in the air. The mornings are crisp, and the afternoons are staying cool. The calendar says November, and that can mean only one thing for yours truly: Pheasant season. I am a bird hunter, and have been all my life.

You know the old saying; the only thing better than owning a swimming pool is having a friend who owns a swimming pool? The same is true for dogs if you are a bird hunter. I don’t own dogs, but my friend does. Actually, he’s also the one with the pool. He’s a really good friend!

I had been toying with the idea of getting a dog of my own, but there was an incident the night before opening day a few years back that changed my mind forever. I never realized how dangerous dog collars could be.

During the summer my friend had purchased two new remote collars for his pair of German Shorthair pointers. Dogs are supposed to stay close in front of the hunters during the hunt, but occasionally -- especially at the beginning of the season when they are extra excited to be back in the field -- the dogs get a little overzealous and get too far out in front. Just like my children, when dogs are excited about what they’re doing, they apparently lose the ability to hear their master’s voice. That’s where the remote collars come in. (For the dogs, not the kids.)

The collars have two modes of operation. They have an audible tone that alerts the dog that his or her attention is needed, and a small electric jolt that commands the dog’s attention if the tone is ignored.  My friend’s brand new setup had a single remote that controlled both collars, and it wasn’t until the night before opening day of pheasant season that he realized he hadn’t even taken them out of their packaging yet. He put the two new collars on the wall charger, got batteries for the remote, and, being male, threw the directions in the trash can.

It was getting late, and we were meeting the next morning at oh-dark-thirty to hunt. When he decided it had probably been long enough, he took the two collars off the charger and began packing everything up. Then he had a thought: These collars were new, and the last thing he wanted was to be out in the field thinking the collars were working when they weren’t. He also wanted to make sure he knew which collar went with each set of buttons on the dual remote, so he wasn’t accidentally calling the wrong dog. He needed to test them.

He grabbed the remote and tested the audible tones. They worked great, and he was able to verify which buttons went with which collar. So far, so good. Then he tested the electricity. He put the power setting on level 1, and put his index finger on the silver contact inside the collar.

He pressed the button with his thumb.

Nothing.

Hmmm.

He touched the silver contact in the other collar, and pressed the same button.

Nothing.

Uh oh. Maybe he didn’t charge them long enough. Or maybe setting number 1 is such a small electrical current that it’s hard to actually feel.

Go to level 2.

Press the button.

Nothing.

Other collar, same button.

Nothing.

What is wrong with these things?

Let’s try level 4.

Nothing.

Dang it! I need these things to work tomorrow. They must have been charged up OK, because the tone works just fine, and it’s nice and loud. Maybe the electricity levels are just really light?

Try level 6.

Press the button.

Nothing.

Other button.

Nothing

Other collar, same button.

Nothing.

Other collar different button.

Nothing.

Damn it! Are these things defective? What kind of crap did I buy here?

All the way to level 10.

Nothing.

These things are broken! Now what?

Hmmm…

Maybe you have to be touching both silver contacts inside the collar?

Press the button…

Level number 10 on a remote dog collar is likely made for when your dog is over 20 miles away, or possibly when he is defiantly eating one of the birds in front of you, despite your verbal threats to his life. But even if you hit your dog with level 10, he would only feel a momentary shock. It turns out, however, that if you yourself are holding the button down, and receiving the level-10 shock, it works a little differently.

Since your body runs on electricity, adding more can cause your muscles to contract without your consent. If one or more of those muscles happen to be holding down a button, you may find yourself temporarily unable to release said button. It’s sort of an electrical “Catch-22.”

When my friend’s upper body hit the ground, his thumb finally came off the button. He found himself on the floor of his living room, still clutching the now smoking dog collar, having fallen forward over the ottoman, legs in the air behind him, face in the carpet, and drooling. There was a strong taste of burnt metal coming from the fillings in his molars, and he was pretty sure his heart had stopped for at least ten to fifteen seconds.

It was 10:30pm when he inadvertently Tasered himself. By 11:00pm he had somewhat regained his sense of direction and smell, but despite needing to be up at 5:00am, he stayed awake for another three hours, afraid if he fell asleep he might slip into a coma.

When he arrived to the hunt the next morning, I had never seen a man so deprived of sleep looking so wide awake. Or so surprised.

After I heard the story -- and after I got done laughing -- I gave up any notion of ever owning my own hunting dog. I don’t need any more electro-shock therapy in my life. I get enough already from my home improvement projects.

I’ll leave the dog ownership up to my good friend. (And the pool ownership, too.) Come to think of it, it’s a good thing he wasn’t standing next to his pool that night. That could have been ugly.

See you soon,

-Smidge

Copyright © 2011 Marc Schmatjen

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