I used to have geese so here’s a tip for everyone:
If a goose is attacking you, don’t run. No matter what, stand your ground. They can fly but when they’re mad, they don’t usually try to fly. Hold your hands in front of you, ready to grasp. When the goose gets close, grab it by the neck bit closest to the head and squeeze. Not tight enough to choke the goose, but tight enough so they can’t break free. You can hold them until they calm down or just do the next step right away. The next step is literally just to chuck them as far as possible and run for your life. It makes the goose know you’re in charge and you have a better chance of getting away. Trust me I’ve done this so many times that I’ve lost count
I can’t tell if this is a shitpost or actual advice. But I do know geese are the fucking worst.
Actual advice! Just yeet a goose
Yeet the geese
reblogging for all my other canadians who know one day we’ll need to 1v1 a goose
I often see foxes referred to as “catdogs” on Tumblr, but I wonder if folks realise how true that really is.
There’s a phenomenon called convergent evolution that occurs when two taxonomically unrelated species exploit the same ecological niche. The features that are needed to best take advantage of a given niche are pretty much the same everywhere you go; thus, over time, those species will become anatomically and behaviourally similar, even though they’re completely unrelated.
And foxes? Foxes are what you get when an ecosystem has no native small felines, so a canine species evolves to take advantage of the ecological niche that would have been exploited by a small feline, if one existed.
In other words, a fox is literally what you get when a dog tries to cat.
So, in a way…
#omg #I knew I had a huge reason for loving foxs #other than #you know #loving fox
on a similar note, hyenas are what happens when there are no dogs so felines fill that niche, Hyenas particularly spotted hyenas are wolfcats
listen i know you’d be shot for breaching security or whatever if you tried, but the fact that you can swim in those giant tanks of water they use to cool the spent fuel rods in nuclear power plants without suffering lethal levels of exposure to radiation makes them a temptation of biblical proportions
When she was 10, a white boy pushed Auntie Rosa,
and she pushed him back. Auntie Rosa’s grandmother told her, “You need
to be quiet, you need to stop being so vocal.” She was told, as black
people, we’re not allowed to do those things to whites. Her grandmother
was concerned that she’d get hurt, that she could even get lynched. But
Auntie Rosa told her grandmother, “Let them try to lynch me.” She was
that bold, even when she was young.
Sometimes I
struggle with social media because it seems there’s always somebody
belittling Auntie Rosa. I recently saw someone post that my aunt wasn’t
really black. Or people say that she was strategically placed on the bus
in Montgomery because she was lighter skinned. It’s amazing to me that
they would think that. Yes our family ancestry is part African American,
part white, and part Native American. Auntie Rosa considered herself
black and was treated as black. We have a lot of work to do in this
country regarding colorism, but whether you’re light or dark — and this
is still true today — you are black in America and you’re going to be
treated accordingly.
People also think that her not giving up her seat
was all a planned, staged thing for the media. Maybe you’ve seen that
famous picture of my aunt getting arrested and the man fingerprinting
her — well, that’s not even from December 1, 1955. It’s from the second
time she was arrested. (Yes, she got arrested more than once.) By the
time that photograph was taken, word had gotten out across the country
that Montgomery had started a bus boycott. So that’s when the media
showed up to take a picture.
My aunt wasn’t even paying attention that day she
got on the bus. She had been avoiding that driver’s bus for 12 years. He
would stop at her stop and she wouldn’t get on. That particular day she
wasn’t paying attention because she was thinking of Emmett Till, who
had been murdered that summer. She already paid her money when she
realized it was that driver, but then she figured she’d go ahead and sit
down. She didn’t stand up when the driver demanded that she stand up
because she kept thinking of him being killed. She was that angry. Keep
in mind, it was legal for bus drivers back then to carry handguns — my
aunt could have been shot and killed on that bus.
Once
word of mouth spread about what happened to my aunt, it helped people
have a little bit more courage than before. You have to understand, my
aunt was a known person in the community. She became the recording
secretary for the NAACP almost 15 years before she refused to give up
her seat on that bus. Everyone knew her based off of her writing down
stories like Recy Taylor’s: Oh, she was the lady who held my hand
when my uncle got beat up. She got my kid involved in a youth program to
read books. She was the one who came and tried to get me to register to
vote. They were shocked that something could happen to nice Mrs.
Parks. Before then, many black people were like, “Oh well, that person
should have not got arrested. They should have just gotten off the bus. ”
She
wrote in one of her journals about her feelings of hurt after she got
arrested. She worked in the department store where she was a seamstress
for the next five weeks after that and then they let her go. During that
time, her black coworkers didn’t speak to her — that whole five weeks.
She would say good morning and they wouldn’t say anything. It was very
disheartening. They looked at her like she was stirring up trouble for
them. My aunt explained to me that it was because Jim Crow was telling
them, “This is the best life you’re going to have, and you can get
killed if you resist.”
People also don’t know that my aunt went through a
lot of financial hardships after what happened. She had health issues
and developed ulcers and couldn’t afford the medication. She didn’t get
real, stable work until 1957 when her brother, my Grandfather McCauley,
convinced her to move to Detroit. She sacrificed her privacy, her job,
her marriage, her health. She never talked about that with people,
though. She just didn’t want to burden people or make them feel sorry
for her.
It still breaks my heart to remember my aunt
telling me how many times it took for her to get registered to vote.
Back then, they made black folks take a literacy test knowing that many
couldn’t read or write. It was a trickle down effect of the lack of
education for black people. But Auntie Rosa, she knew all the answers
backwards and forwards, but year after year they denied her. And
finally it was a white woman in the office who said, just let her
register to vote. My aunt had been persistent, showing up. “I’m here to
take the test so I can get registered to vote.” And then I think about
how, as soon as I turned 18, all I had to do is go sign a card.
Yes,
I’m glad that Oprah spoke up about Recy Taylor and about my aunt. I
know people might still try to belittle my Auntie Rosa by saying, “Oh
she was just a little seamstress.” But that “little seamstress” is proof
you can be anything out here and still make changes in your community.
My aunt felt passionate about civil rights — it was a passion she felt
in her soul, and we all have to tap into that. Whether it’s working with
children or with the elderly, or voting rights or women’s rights —
working at a homeless shelter or women’s shelter or getting trained to
volunteer on a suicide hotline on the weekends. We can all do a little
thing and the ripple effect of it can go a long way.
rip tumblr 