whistle like you mean it
Quite a while ago, Obi (my doodle) and I were taking our daily hike in the woods when a bone-chilling cry stopped us in our tracks… a horrible recognizable whine wailing from above. Perched on a rotting limb, peering down at us in broad daylight, was a fisher.
Knowing full well that the fisher is not only nocturnal, but also the main predator of porcupines (and neighborhood pets), I lunged at Obi before he could think to bark, and dragged him the half mile back to the trailhead as fast as I could.
A couple weeks later (after my heart stopped pounding), I recounted the story to our veterinarian and asked what I should have done had Obi (or I) been attacked. Should I have attempted to fight back or hightailed it and ran? To my surprise, Dr. Vet informed me: “A bright flashing light combined with a loud, annoying noise is your best defense.” He then added, “At the very least, hikers should always carry a high-pitched whistle.” Apparently, most animals can’t bear the shrill blast, and, he noted, a whistle is also handy in case you’re lost or need to ward off weirdos in the woods.
Now, I LOVE a one-stop solution for lots of problems. Like vinegar for example, which can be used for just about anything, from cleaning carpets to curing ear aches. A tennis ball has dozens of uses other than wearing out your retriever, like fluffing up clothes in the dryer and erasing scuff marks. Another great example is the hot bubble bath – a highly effective emotional and mental stabilizer for practically anything that irks you.
And now I had the versatile high-pitched whistle to add to my Surviving Life list – able to save you and your loved ones from a multitude of dangers lurking around many a dark corner. Immediately, I went online and ordered a dozen in a variety of eye-catching colors.
As soon as the high-pitched whistles arrived, I distributed one to everyone in my family while heaving a huge sigh of relief. I told my daughter who lives in Boston (and takes the subway home every evening) that she now has a whistle to protect her. My parents, who often take walks alone, could bring their whistle along in case they needed assistance. My son, away at college up north, should wear his whistle when trudging across campus in a blinding blizzard.
No longer would I have to worry 24/7 about everyone in my family – because now they all had ear-splitting super-sonic weapons dangling from their necks to blast evil out of the way! Thank you, Dr. Vet.
Several months later I was searching for a whistle to bring on a hike. We now strung them from a line of coat hooks — along with orange hunting caps, dog leashes, and polar fleece vests — making them communally available for anyone who visited our cottage in the woods. However that day, as I checked the hooks for my favorite lime-green whistle, a member of my family remarked, “I’m not convinced you could actually use one of those in an emergency.” Confused, I stopped searching and asked him to explain. “Well, if a moose charged at you, I’m not so sure you would be able to put a whistle in your mouth, and blow it like you mean it, before it trampled you to death.”
I realized he was right. I needed to practice and have whistle drills, as it was no secret in our family that (with the exception of the fisher incident) I rarely react appropriately during emergencies – in fact, I tend to do the opposite of what you’re supposed to do. More than likely, if a bull moose charged at me I would tear the whistle from my neck and throw it at him. So I practiced whistling at chipmunks who got too close or crows with menacing stares – not at full volume, of course, but enough to perfect my whistle defense system.
Eventually a year passed, then two years, with no additional threats from the wild… and gradually the whistle moved from my neck to my front pocket to my back pocket. Until one fine evening this past summer, I decided to stroll down the hill at dusk to see the full moon over the lake – with Obi opting to stay at home and sleep on the couch. As I wandered through the twilight woods, I noticed a creature in the distance lumbering toward me… the fisher’s favorite meal, a porcupine.
Porcupines are known to be timid, and since I had seen one up close only a couple other times in my life, I stopped and watched the animal curiously. But then she picked up her pace ambling directly toward me as if she were on a top-secret porcupine mission. Instinctively, I felt for the dangling cord around my neck, but it wasn’t there. Then I fumbled in every pocket, but nothing. I had forgotten to stash a whistle.
Next thing I knew I picked up a large rock and tossed it near the animal, hoping to scare her. Still she waddled at me. I grabbed a big branch and pounded the ground and stamped my feet. Undeterred, she marched forward, now within 5 or 6 yards. Out of ideas and panicking, I yelled, “Hey YOU porcupine, get off the trail!” Finally, she stopped and peered up with her pointy noise, just like a character out of The Wind in the Willows. I thrust my arm hard to the left, pointing at the woods, and commanded, “That way!” Lo and behold, she turned in the indicated direction and plodded off into the dark forest.
Needless to say, I no longer pester my family members to carry their whistles. To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure anyone ever did, other than me when I remembered. That summer night, I realized it’s impossible to prepare for every threat or fear that may jump out at me in the woods, or worse, protect the people I love the most from getting hurt. But what I do know, and hope they know, is that a hot bubble bath will always be waiting on the other side.
Knowing full well that the fisher is not only nocturnal, but also the main predator of porcupines (and neighborhood pets), I lunged at Obi before he could think to bark, and dragged him the half mile back to the trailhead as fast as I could.
A couple weeks later (after my heart stopped pounding), I recounted the story to our veterinarian and asked what I should have done had Obi (or I) been attacked. Should I have attempted to fight back or hightailed it and ran? To my surprise, Dr. Vet informed me: “A bright flashing light combined with a loud, annoying noise is your best defense.” He then added, “At the very least, hikers should always carry a high-pitched whistle.” Apparently, most animals can’t bear the shrill blast, and, he noted, a whistle is also handy in case you’re lost or need to ward off weirdos in the woods.
Now, I LOVE a one-stop solution for lots of problems. Like vinegar for example, which can be used for just about anything, from cleaning carpets to curing ear aches. A tennis ball has dozens of uses other than wearing out your retriever, like fluffing up clothes in the dryer and erasing scuff marks. Another great example is the hot bubble bath – a highly effective emotional and mental stabilizer for practically anything that irks you.
And now I had the versatile high-pitched whistle to add to my Surviving Life list – able to save you and your loved ones from a multitude of dangers lurking around many a dark corner. Immediately, I went online and ordered a dozen in a variety of eye-catching colors.
As soon as the high-pitched whistles arrived, I distributed one to everyone in my family while heaving a huge sigh of relief. I told my daughter who lives in Boston (and takes the subway home every evening) that she now has a whistle to protect her. My parents, who often take walks alone, could bring their whistle along in case they needed assistance. My son, away at college up north, should wear his whistle when trudging across campus in a blinding blizzard.
No longer would I have to worry 24/7 about everyone in my family – because now they all had ear-splitting super-sonic weapons dangling from their necks to blast evil out of the way! Thank you, Dr. Vet.
Several months later I was searching for a whistle to bring on a hike. We now strung them from a line of coat hooks — along with orange hunting caps, dog leashes, and polar fleece vests — making them communally available for anyone who visited our cottage in the woods. However that day, as I checked the hooks for my favorite lime-green whistle, a member of my family remarked, “I’m not convinced you could actually use one of those in an emergency.” Confused, I stopped searching and asked him to explain. “Well, if a moose charged at you, I’m not so sure you would be able to put a whistle in your mouth, and blow it like you mean it, before it trampled you to death.”
I realized he was right. I needed to practice and have whistle drills, as it was no secret in our family that (with the exception of the fisher incident) I rarely react appropriately during emergencies – in fact, I tend to do the opposite of what you’re supposed to do. More than likely, if a bull moose charged at me I would tear the whistle from my neck and throw it at him. So I practiced whistling at chipmunks who got too close or crows with menacing stares – not at full volume, of course, but enough to perfect my whistle defense system.
Eventually a year passed, then two years, with no additional threats from the wild… and gradually the whistle moved from my neck to my front pocket to my back pocket. Until one fine evening this past summer, I decided to stroll down the hill at dusk to see the full moon over the lake – with Obi opting to stay at home and sleep on the couch. As I wandered through the twilight woods, I noticed a creature in the distance lumbering toward me… the fisher’s favorite meal, a porcupine.
Porcupines are known to be timid, and since I had seen one up close only a couple other times in my life, I stopped and watched the animal curiously. But then she picked up her pace ambling directly toward me as if she were on a top-secret porcupine mission. Instinctively, I felt for the dangling cord around my neck, but it wasn’t there. Then I fumbled in every pocket, but nothing. I had forgotten to stash a whistle.
Next thing I knew I picked up a large rock and tossed it near the animal, hoping to scare her. Still she waddled at me. I grabbed a big branch and pounded the ground and stamped my feet. Undeterred, she marched forward, now within 5 or 6 yards. Out of ideas and panicking, I yelled, “Hey YOU porcupine, get off the trail!” Finally, she stopped and peered up with her pointy noise, just like a character out of The Wind in the Willows. I thrust my arm hard to the left, pointing at the woods, and commanded, “That way!” Lo and behold, she turned in the indicated direction and plodded off into the dark forest.
Needless to say, I no longer pester my family members to carry their whistles. To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure anyone ever did, other than me when I remembered. That summer night, I realized it’s impossible to prepare for every threat or fear that may jump out at me in the woods, or worse, protect the people I love the most from getting hurt. But what I do know, and hope they know, is that a hot bubble bath will always be waiting on the other side.
(Photo Source: GOOGLE Images)
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