hidden-but
Hidden Butterfly
Wil | she/her | 30-something | czech republic | science nerd | fandom nerd | queer.
Enjoy my fandom of the week.
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Jsem se dneska u krájení mrkve zamyslela nad tím, jak velká část čumbleru asi rozumí slovenským slovům, které znají slovensky mluvící batolata, protože jsou to věci významné pro věkovou skupinu 3-. Takže, čumbleristé:
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valašské slovo pro dnešní První májový deň:
fáborek
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If I was slightly better at archery and slightly less afraid of intestinal parasites, Charlie would have been a really excellent hunting dog.
He's a Mdium-sized Rez Dog which is to say he's mostly sighthound and pointer but he's a perfectly classically shaped hunting dog. He looks like he modeled the dogs on grecian pottery or hopped out of one of those 1700's paintings of stags at bay that would hang in the smoking rooms of the guys that funded the pillaging of the Americas but I digress. Sometimes I feel bad that I can't indulge him in what he was bred to do, because he loves scent-tracking and flushing geese and he damn near got me arrested in Grand Teton National park after he chewed through his leash and went haring off after a pronghorn antelope for half a mile at roughly mach fuck before the damn thing finally crossed a river and I was able to grab Charlie because he doesn't like getting his feetsies wet.
But today, we were on a walk in the local open space on a moderately muddy trail with fresh horse tracks in it.
As in, we parked next to the horse trailer.
The horse itself is actually perfecty visible about half a mile ahead of us.
But Charlie saw the tracks and went "I'm gonna scent-track this shit. I'm gonna hunt this motherfucking ungulate down by smell alone. I am truly the Nimrod of Dogs."
Full Instinct takeover happens. Head down, nose to the ground, pulling on his martingale hard enough that I could have hooked him up to a sled, stopping and dramatically pointing at road apples and bits of nibbled grass until I acknowledge that he has Identified An Article. He is having a GREAT time doing this, so I'm just there, looking at the horse that we are slowly catching up to and going. "Yeah! You got it! Good Job!"
But I'm also walking Herschel, who is a Corgi and he loves Activities, so he sees his big brother doing this and goes "OH BOY! AN ACTIVITY!!" and is trying his darndest to copy what Charlie's doing.
Except he doesn't have a damn clue what is happening so he's slapping his livestock-bullying instincts on these horse tracks as hard as he can and just. Barking at horse shit to alert me to it's existence. Stalk-posing at the gras Charlie is pointing at, in case it jumps up and tries to run off. I think he thought perhaps they were herding an Invisible Cow and BY GOD it wasn't gonna run lose on his watch. Wherever it was.
Eventually, we get to about 100 feet behind the horse, which is an older Pinto out for a nice stroll and some fresh air and at this distance, Charlie decides that we're probably close enough for my dumb, relatively sensorily deprived human ass to see the horse, but just to make sure, he POINTS.
He's so fucking good at pointing. Perfectly still. Perfectly straight back and tail. Head up and ears forward. Front paw up and at the ready. Little diamond shape of back hackles up in excitement. Determined, unblinking lazer-eyed stare at the target. He looks like a very carnivorous hood ornament, the distilled essence of Hunting Dog, in a perfect scuptural pose. It's downright artistic. Inspiring even
Herschel is DELIGHTED, because he might not understand scent-tracking but he DID learn how to Point from Charlie and copies his pose exactly.
It has almost exactly the opposite emotional effect.
A Pointing Corgi is the most canine clownshoes nonsense possible. Herschel's pose is flawless of course, he learned from the Master, but the perfectly straight back looks funny as hell with a perfectly straight nub of a tail. His head is up and his gaze is locked but instead of predatory intent his face is EXTREMELY excited about this new Giant Friend and thier giant ankles he can barely wait to launch himself at and his face is about 80% Big Dumb Corgi Grin. Instead of Charlie's minute, even delicate hackles, Herschel has a full-body length doggy mowhawk, which is a good three inches long at the peaks over his shoulders and hips, ruining the sleek image and making him look like he just came out of the dryer and is still full of static electricity.
And, of course.
The Paw.
The Front Paw is up and at the ready- he and Charlie are both right-pawed apparently- and on his little stubby Corgi legs it looks like a toddler trying to use a smartphone. He thinks he's doing exactly what the Big Dogs do, but he only has these tiny feets.
Anyway, that's how they made a Jogger laugh so hard she ran into a garbage can.
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I love dinosaurs as much as robots. It is very funny to me when ppl freak out about their childhood icons having feathers maybe.
But it is actually more boring if they are all just like Hollywood imagined.
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Jako já bych věděla o jednom důvodu, proč by američani mohli bombardovat Vsetín...
Děcka, podržte mi někdo moje ponožky, protože jsem něco zjistila…
Ok, než tady začnu svoji přednášku, tak hlásím, že tohle bude těžké “nerdění” nad smyšlenou geopolitikou. Počítáte s tím?
Ok, můžeme začít.
Nevím, kdo všechno z vás se alespoň chvíli věnoval té hořící katastrofě zvané MCU, ale já jsem teprve TEĎ zjistila, že Sokovie by se měla nacházet na hranicích mezi Českem a Slovenskem.
To bylo zjištění číslo jedna.
Pak tomu dalo korunu, že hlavním městem by (podle map) měl být Vsetín.
Historicky jsme ji anektovali po 1. sv. válce (a v 92 jí bylo umožněno vyhlásit nezávislost -> vede k rozpadu Československa), stát měl v 99 roce neshody s USA (takže US air force vybombardovalo Novi Grad/Vsetín -> PROČ? NEMÁM TUŠENÍ) a po útoku Ultrona jsme si zbytky země zase rozebrali se Slovenskem.
A aktuálně se bavím představou, že prezidentem téhle země byl asi 3 roky Václav Havel. Podle Američanů se u nás píše cyrilicí a východomoravské nářečí je teoreticky Sokovština.
Pozn.: Vůbec jsem se nesnažila vytvořit dráhu letů US bombardérů, protože se mi nechce věřit, že by Česko/Slovensko povolilo přelet přes jejich území (+ by hrálo roli jestli už bylo Česko v NATO, nebo ne…). Ale to už tady řeším hovadiny.
Nemáte zač.
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I have zero context for the art, but the white dog and his tail from the back reminded me of this czech classic
I once heard someone refer to their silken windhound's butt fluff as their pantaloons so now every time I see Machete's I automatically gasp softly and whisper "his pantaloons..".
the pantaloons
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from nebraska earlier today. this has got to be some of the craziest tornado footage i have ever seen. from @nickgormanwx
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Tejpek dvě sedadla ode mě má u pasu meč i s koženou pochvou
@regiojet , vy pustíte do busu fakt každého i když má u sebe zbraň 😔
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Potřebuju svého osobního blanického rytíře, co mě zachrání, když jsem na tom nejhůř (mohl by přicválat hned teď)?
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The one bizarre thing to me about textiles is that warp-weighted weaving is at least 6500 years old, but our oldest knitted artifacts are only ~1000 years old, and crochet 200 years old. Even though you need less equipment to knit (two sticks) or crochet (one hook) compared to warp-weighted weaving (frame, loom weights, batting, heddles). Why the big gaps between these inventions? And why did each one appear and spread when it did?
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https://creanavt.tumblr.com/archive
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As part of my historical costuming intensive course, in only a few very hectic weeks I learned how to metric pattern draft, fit and sew a tailored 1830s mens ensemble! Now that we've had our photoshoot and final exhibition, I'm excited to share the results of the hard work.
I came to really appreciate that my tutor for this module pushed us to make samples of pockets and the trouser fly before it came to the real thing, even if the desire to rush ahead made it frustrating to be told to do another practice version. "Anything worth doing is worth doing again" has become a very valuable motto.
I'm 100% going to wear elements of this in daily life, it's incredibly comfy.
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