Virtual Quill

Everything seems to happen to Rudy, whether he likes it or not.
On Tuesday after hunting practice he was loitering on a street corner two blocks away from Caliban, when a police car drove by chasing by some other teen canine. The individual wore a green hoodie, jeans and shades, which is hardly uncommon. The car went around the block and circled back, losing its wisdom-challenged pursuer in the process. When the police drove by the corner the second time, they saw Rudy.
Dad and Kell picked him up at the station and paid bail for Rudy to appear before a judge on Wednesday. I drove up from college because, well, he’s my brother. Not biologically, perhaps, but after all we’ve been through together, we’re family in every sense of the word.
The judge recommended that he just pay the fine since he had no proof of his innocence. However, I’ll give Rudy credit for knowing that if he did that he’d forfeit the scholarship he got from the Rabbit Council for playing the Easter Bunny. (Now that he’s agreed to share that scholarship with Fiona, that affects her, too.)
So much of their futures hung on proving Rudy’s innocence. I began an arduous online search for the actual car-chasing, tracking the whereabouts of every canine in the area. I was having no luck, but then a cell phone image made by a fly surfaced that provided just the evidence needed to clear him.
Being a fly, it attempted to gouge the family for the image, but Dad negotiated a barter deal to let it have exclusive rights to the manure in his garden instead. So, everybody won. The judge dropped the charges, Rudy and Fiona kept the scholarship and the fly got all the excrement it desired.
The only downside: I was reminded where a significant part of my insectivore diet spends a good part of its time.
Today's question: Is chasing a police car a crime for humans, or is that something exclusively canine?

Prof. Antlerhead wants me to start thinking about publishing my data in academic journals, to add to my vita in preparation for graduate school. That’s a still a ways off, but I suppose it’s never too early to start. As an undergraduate I’d probably have to collaborate to get an article accepted.
I’m leery about doing that, since my research is very promising and I don’t want anyone sharing credit. On the other hand, if I sit on my findings I just increase the chances of somebody else publishing first. What to do...
In other news, Fenton’s roommate Bob Shrike will graduate in May. That means Fenton will be in the market for a new roommate in the fall of next year, and of course he has his own idea of who that should be.
I know I’ve been here on campus a few years, as I’m noticing that the student body is getting markedly younger. I remember when Fenton and I first arrived, and now we’re the experienced ones. (Even Rachel has lost most of her freshman bewilderment.) I’m sure this feeling will only get stronger, and I’ll come to a point where I’ll feel compelled to move on.
Just not yet. Today's question: how long do human degree programs last? Here it's usually four years.

After last week’s excitement I’m now back at Beige U. My classes have started, and I’m also busy in Prof. Antlerhead’s genetics research lab.
Fenton’s classes have started, too. His major is in computer science, and he was able to get credits for both the work he does at Hare-Link and also for his brief tenure at Microtalon. Between those, he’s on track to graduate in May.
I’m still not at that point. I took a lot of Advanced Placement classes at Caliban, but those were almost all in Foraging before I switched from Herbivore to Insectivore. As a result, none of those counted toward my degree program. I don’t mind, though. It’s better being true to my natural diet.
Fenton and I haven’t talked about what we’ll do after he gets his degree. He may stay down here; after all, as he’s repeatedly said the only reason he enrolled at all was to be near me.
All together: Awwwwww....
Meanwhile, back home little Coney is growing up. She’s four now, and has become quite popular at her predator preschool. Today's question: Since I assume human preschools don't teach hunting prey, what do they teach?

It was about 3:00 a.m. (mid-afternoon for nocturnal me) when I was sitting in one of the halls in the vast Fennec boarding house. I was playing a game on my cell phone when the transom above one of the doors creaked opened. The room behind the door was vacant, but somehow its outside window had been left open so that anyone could get in.
That someone was baby Francis, the infant son of George and Danielle Fennec. I still haven’t been able to figure out his exact species, but he sure can climb like a primate. It turns out that he’d been using that skill to swing out of his crib, out a window of his house, go across the street to the boarding house and through the open window. Once inside, he’d leave through the transom of the vacant room, use drapes to swing out into the hallway then have access to any occupied room in the house. He sniffed out bait in the traps left by predators and returned to his crib with George and Danielle none the wiser. (Perhaps Gran would have become aware of his movements, but she’s now living with her new husband.)
Danielle offered to pay the predators for the food Francis stole, but they were too embarrassed to take her up on it. Grandpa’s name was cleared, and Martha Fennec let him move back in.
Whew! No question this week; I'm attending the local Dragoncon before heading off to Beige U. for fall semester.