Trouble with Tribbles II: The Tribble-ing

Captain's Log, stardate 4528.6. It appears that our tribble complications have resurfaced. Long range sensors have indicated a large mass of biological material which first officer Spock has identified as tribble in origin. I can only assume this is some sort of childish prank by the Klingons as retaliation for the little incident on Deep Space Station K7. I have ordered an intercept course with the biomass. A huge furry mass fills up the viewscreen.

KIRK: Mister Spock, is that what I think it is?

SPOCK: Indeed. It is, what appears to be, a giant tribble. Although, how it reached that size or how it's surviving in the vacuum of space is beyond me. Additional studies of the phenomenon are required for further understanding.

UHURA: Aww... it's adorable!

A deafening purring fills the ship.

UHURA: (holding her hands over her ears) I think it likes us.

KIRK: (also holding hands over his ears) It does seem that way.

McCoy bursts into the bridge.

MCCOY: What's that godaweful racket!

The ship suddenly lurches. Crew members fly across the bridge.

KIRK: Mister Spock?

SPOCK: ...

MCCOY: (Pointing to the viewscreen) That thing is trying to eat us!

Shocked glances bounce around the bridge. Spock raises an eyebrow.

SPOCK: Logically, that would make sense. It is a tribble afterall.

KIRK: Any sign of the Klingons?

SPOCK: No. Nothing.

MCCOY: Tribble? Klingons? Not that anyone is bothering to ask me, but I think we are going to find out what happened to the Klingons and we aren't going to like the answer.

The ship lurches again.

KIRK: Mister Scott, I'm going to need all power to the forward shields!

SCOTT: I'm givin' her all I can, sir!


The giant tribble eats the Enterprise.


SPOCK: I found the Klingons, sir.

MCCOY: Told you so.

The cat's name is Tribble. Oh the irony.

On a side note, we never did get to play Star Trek Catan that night.



"Some day you too will wander the wooded wastes, wrapped in your own tattered hopes and fears." She said.

"With each step you will feel your bindings tighten their grip." She said.

"With each other step you will feel your bindings falling, tattered, to the forest floor, soiled and left behind." She said.

She shuffled back into the barren trees of winter, white hair and white wrappings fading, and becoming one with the white bark.

As for myself,  I turned my attention back to the Boreal chickadee I had been admiring a little while before; a new species for my life list.


Sketchbook: Puppy


Sally knew that the puppy liked flowers. Every morning she waited on her porch for the puppy to come visit her. Some days it didn't come, but most of the time it did.

She used one of her pink bed sheets to give the puppy a pretty bow for its hair. It seemed to like the bow.

And the flowers.

It would let her climb up on its back and ride on its silky soft fur as it swam in the ocean, riding the big waves that sometimes crashed on her beach, sending fluffy sea foam into the air.

She loved her puppy, although she was beginning to wish it hadn't eaten her parents. She was beginning to miss them.

But only a little.

She had the puppy to keep her company now.

Photo: Spike


At long last, it had come down to the two of them.

Ozzie squinted in the harsh afternoon sun. He tilted his hat to shade his eyes. Distracting glare would not be good at a time like this.

"So, it's just you and me now," said Ozzie to the figure about five paces ahead.

"Yup," said the figure. "This garden ain't big enough for the both of us."

Ozzie nodded, mostly to himself.

He remembered the day when it happened. It began when one of the squash plants had crossed the path and silently smothered the neighboring radishes. It wasn't his squash or his radishes, both belonged to rival gardeners, although he was silently glad. He never did like radishes.

That's when the war started. First it was stampeding cantaloupe, then a 'Big Girl' tomato broke free of its cage and smashed a bed of infant carrots. Peas and bean vines were set loose upon neighbor's spinach and chives.

Ozzie tried to stay out of the cross fire, but that all ended the day a troop of nasturtiums ambushed his strawberry patch.

He had wept upon the discovery of the bruised, battered, and crushed berries one foggy morning; red juice staining the dark soil. He remembered looking across the dusty path to the hostile garden and seeing old Mr. McCrawbriddle standing there, with a sly triumphant smirk teasing the corners of his face.

If that was how it was going to be, Ozzie vowed that the other community gardeners would rue the day they pulled him into the war.

Corn toppled, cabbage heads split, numerous varieties of flowers met their untimely ends; the battle for the garden was in full boom. Eventually all the gardens had been destroyed. All except Ozzie's and Mr. McCrawbriddle's.

They stood facing each other. Ozzie plucked a large blossom from his last remaining plant, a purple coneflower. He thoughtfully brushed the sharp spines of the flower. Mr. McCrawbriddle plucked a hefty foot long zucchini off of his last vine and menacingly thumped it against his hand.

"Prepare to feel the echinacea's wrath!!" screamed Ozzie, raising the flower to the sky.

"ZUCCHINI HO!!!" yelled Mr. McCrawbriddle as he brandished the squash and charged.


No one really remembers what happened in those final moments. It's still not completely clear how the coneflower beat the zucchini. The garden scripture lacks any definitive details. Some say it was a miracle, others insist that the coneflower really is mightier than the zucchini. Others still, say that the zucchini was just too slow to match the speed, agility, grace, and sheer viciousness of the echinacea. Whichever was the case, Ozzie found himself victorious.

To this day, a mound of purple cone flowers grow in the place of honor at the center of the garden. In fact, rumor has it, that plant is the very same noble herb that won the garden and brought a one hundred and fifty year (and counting) rein of peace to the gardeners.


On a side note, if it was coneflower versus artichoke, the artichoke would win, even if the coneflower was being wielded by a garden ninja. Just sayin'.


Technical Details Aperture Value: f/4.8 Focal Length: 185mm Exposure Program: Aperture Priority ISO: 200 Shutter Speed Value: 1/200 sec Location: Vancouver, WA

The Tufted Cuddlestache


Extremely rare and elusive, the Tufted Cuddlestache is native to the dense temperate rain forests of the Pacific Northwest.  It was believed that they were hunted to extinction for their luxurious mustaches, which were used in the making of novelty stick-on mustaches and eyebrow replacements. However, while searching for Sasquatch in the remote backwoods of Washington state, field scientist, Dr. Crumpen Von Ludwig,  stumbled upon a small surviving population of the Tufted Cuddlestaches. Little was known about them as the last known living specimen died in 1910. He discovered that they were quite friendly and unafraid of man. Whether that was from isolation, or natural behavioral traits, studies so far have been inconclusive.  Since this great discovery, a  breeding program has been established by Washington State University in order to help restore wild population numbers and to gain valuable knowledge about the behavior and biology of these wonderful creatures. Currently, wild numbers are still very low (estimates are somewhere around 20 breeding pairs) and the Tufted Cuddlestache is listed as critical on the endangered species list.



If you want to make your own, I'm planning on putting together the pattern/plans for these guys, so it should show up on this site at some point. I have enough green fuzzy fabric for one more Cuddlestache. So, if anyone is interested, feel free to send me an email (see the contact page) and we can work something out.