Folly of the Faithful Canine

The pangolins, otherwise called scaly anteaters,
Form Pholidota, an order apart
From regular anteaters, not even closely
Related. Sound odd? Well, that’s only the start.

Nine species survive, and their next closest kin
Are Carnivora, order of dogs, bears, and cats.
No pangolins have any teeth, just a tongue
That’s attached near the pelvis for snatching up ants.

Their name comes from Malay for “one who rolls up,”
As they do so to ward off a predator’s fangs.
Unlike armadillos, they’re covered in keratin
Scales that are tougher than chain mail; oh, dang.

If that’s not enough, they produce a foul chemical,
Much like a skunk, from a gland by the tail.
They also are known on occasion to swing
The same limb at an enemy’s head like a flail.

Their claws are quite long, but they’re not big on scratching
At foes; they would rather go digging for food.
They walk on their knuckles, if not just their hind legs
With clasped claws as if they don’t want to be rude.

Alas, humans poach them for scales and for meat.
They’re more trafficked than all other mammals today.
Most pangolin types are endangered; let’s hope
We can save them before they all vanish away.

The Internet quips about carcinization,
Where critters evolve to have crab body plans.
"Will we become like that?" "We already have:
We lost tails, can walk sideways, and grip with our hands!"

Biologists' standards, of course, aren't that simple.
A crab needs a carapace flattened and broad,
A flat and bent pleon, and sternites fused into
A wide sternal plastron. And yes, that sounds odd.

The point is, it's happened five times that we know of.
Quite likely a sixth involves cycloids, extinct.
The versatile plan lets crabs go where the prior
Crustaceans could not. Perhaps that's how they're linked.

But lest you believe it's the ultimate body,
Decarcinization occurs even more.
My takeaway: Nature rewards flexibility,
Letting us change for whatever's in store.

An Easter Hare was mentioned in the 16th century,
Then known among the Lutherans of southwest Germany.
This hare delivered candy, eggs, and sometimes even toys,
But only, like Kris Kringle, to the better girls and boys.

So why a hare? Some claim the pagan goddess of the spring
From whom we got the “Easter” label must have had a thing
For hares. That’s unsupported by the Venerable Bede,
The only old-time source on her, so most have disagreed.

The ancient Greeks and Romans thought a hare could reproduce
Without a mate (their concept of biology was loose).
Because of that, medieval Christian scholars formed a link
Between the Virgin Mary and the hare, or so some think.

Consider the three hares as well, a circular motif
That came to be connected with the Trinity belief,
Although their first depiction’s in a Chinese temple cave.
We can’t say why for sure; no explanation has been saved.

Some note a similarity between a lapwing’s nest
In grasslands in the springtime and where hares would opt to rest,
Creating the impression that the mammals could lay eggs.
A wish to hide the truth of egg dyes gave the legend legs.

And why the eggs? Some Christians wouldn’t eat them during Lent,
Which made them quite inviting when the Lenten season went.
They also formed a symbol of the tomb that Jesus fled.
That covers all the theories for the practice that I’ve read.

A T. rex chased a stegosaur until the latter said,
“Excuse me: By the time that you exist, I should be dead.
My era’s late Jurassic, whereas yours is late Cretaceous.
By eighty million years, I must predate you; that’s veracious.”

Now, T. rex brains are larger than traditionally thought,
But this one got confused and thus responded, “I think not.
You herbivores do not engage in larger-game predation.
You might just be voracious, but you’d better know your station.”

The stegosaurus rolled her eyes and patiently replied,
“Well, let me put it this way: Our temporal gap is wide.
Your period is closer to the Information Age
Of humans than to mine, so would you kindly disengage?”

A moment passed, and then the T. rex said, “I see your point.
Apologies; I don’t know how I got so out of joint.”
With that, the hunter turned around and ran the other way
To chase and munch on humans from the modern present day.

When people put the kibosh on a plan, they shut it down.
The word can be a verb, but it more often is a noun.
Its earliest known printing was in 1826.
Since then, it’s had a lot of etymologists transfixed.

Some venture that it’s Yiddish, from the Hebrew for “subdue,”
But no one’s found a Yiddish source that they can trace it to.
Some look to Turkish bosh, describing empty, worthless stuff,
As used at times in English. That’s not evident enough.

There also is caidhp bháis, a term from Gaelic that referred
To hoods for executioners or pitch-caps (what a word),
The latter being filled with boiling tar to put on heads,
But Irish didn’t use it as a metaphor we’ve read.

In heraldry, an animal caboched displays no neck,
As if cut off quite neatly (from the French as we’d expect).
One scholar thought a kibosh was a foot-long iron bar
To smooth and soften leather. That idea has not gone far.

The current favored theory is the kurbash, meaning “lash”
In Arabic and Turkish, for a penalizing thrash.
Some immigrants in London taught the British lower classes.
From there, it’s gotten popular with English-speaking masses.

My erstwhile employer had meetings repeatedly
Telling us not to use insults like “lame”
Or “stupid” or “crazy,” which used to be clinical
Terms till they took connotations of shame.

I knew that more recently downgraded terms
Like “retarded” were apt to offend a whole lot,
But few can remember when “moron” turned up
In a shrink’s diagnosis, or so I’d have thought.

It bugged me to realize that less problematic
Such words aren’t among what we commonly say.
I seldom hear “nitwit” or “loon” in our parlance.
There’s even resurgence of slurs like “so gay.”

Of course, in an office, I’d call it a moot point:
All insults are most unprofessional there.
Our culture’s grown coarse, so let’s bring back some manners
And treat every insult the same as a swear.

When people change the volume on a radio, TV,
Or other such device, despite a lack of OCD,
They tend to pick a number that’s divisible by two
Or five, as if four-fifths of all odd numbers wouldn’t do.
It’s gotten to the point that some machines do not display
A number for the volume so the problem goes away.
It’s clearly psychological: The even ones seem steady.
The multiples of five reflect our hands, and yes, it’s petty.
I used to be particular until I saw it plain:
The other volumes sound just fine; avoiding them’s insane.
We don’t behave the same toward the numbers in addresses
And many other contexts; let’s not add unneeded stresses.

The canine convention of walking in circles
Ahead of one’s sleep is genetic,
As wolves do it also, but why does it happen?
Allow me an answer poetic.

Behaviorists posit a number of reasons.
Since dogs check for danger by nose,
Perhaps they decide their position to lie in
By finding the way the wind blows.

And speaking of smelling, they might use their paw glands
For marking a spot as their own.
They also might see if the pack has lost stragglers;
Survival is tough when alone.

As long as they’re looking, they might catch a predator
Right before going to sleep.
Perhaps it’s a ritual signaling who has
The dominant pack post to keep.

The turning might help to select a position
That guards vital organs from threats.
The change in the layout might serve as a claim
To a spot that no other dog gets.

On soil, it can bring out unwanted companions
For bedtime, like insects and snakes.
Removing the topsoil exposes a layer
That’s cooler for temperature’s sake.

Or maybe dogs flatten the region for comfort,
Like fluffing a pillow to us.
Whatever the reason, unless it’s excessive,
The act doesn’t merit a fuss.

One way that I’m unusual: I’ve never liked hot drinks.
No matter how the weather is, I’d pour ‘em down a sink.
It isn’t just the flavors found in coffee, rum, or tea.
I’m rather fond of chocolate, but the hot kind fails for me.
It’s not that I can’t take the heat; I like to eat hot food,
Including soup, as long as it has something to be chewed.
I simply lack the patience for the cooling of the mug.
Some like to sip a beverage, but I would rather chug.

The ancient Babylonians began the year with spring.
(OK, the first new moon thereof would be the closest thing.)
The Romans followed suit by starting off on March the 1st,
Still early for the equinox, but hey, it could be worse.

Alas, they had no designated months beyond December.
I bet the days until that March were tricky to remember.
Then Numa, second king of Rome, appended two months more.
They formed the end at first, so why do those now come before?

It seems the lunar calendar was still a slipping mess,
And Julius Caesar found a solar version a success.
As long as he was changing things, he sought a new beginning,
And Janus, God of doorways, made an easy underpinning,

So January thus became the first month of the year.
It also lined up well with folks’ political careers,
For consuls entered office on that very starting day.
(You’d think they saw it coming from a country mile away.)

But when Rome fell, some countries chose another day to start.
The Feast of the Annunciation spoke to Christian hearts,
So many parts of Europe went for March the 25th.
They thought it bad to pick a day that’s based in pagan myth.

Pope Gregory saw fit to change the calendar again.
The Protestants and Orthodox resisted him, but then
They found his system practical. And that, my friends, is why
Most nations have the January starting date apply.