Nation of crybabies
My wife and I have had the privilege to fly both domestically and internationally since 9/11. Our travels have taken us to South America, Europe, Africa and Asia.
Being searched at the airport is a minor hassle. Leg room in economy class is a much bigger inconvenience, but we put up with it because we love to travel.
We are Americans and proud of it, but man, we have become such a nation of crybabies. Being searched trumps being blown up every time, in my book. Get over it.
Never miss a local story.
Of ego, arrogance
Bravo to letter writers Mickey Lawson and Ray Berger: dog owners should obey leash laws. But can they be any more law-abiding than bicyclists who run stop signs or drivers who still use hand-held phones?
Nose-thumbing city ordinances is an issue of ego and an arrogant sense of entitlement. Most dog owners ignore the posted leash regulations. They read them, but apparently see an addendum the rest of us don’t: “You and your adorable dog are exceptions.”
Last time I stepped forward and reminded a smiling dog-owner sporting a loose dog that leashes were mandatory, she took offense and spewed, “This isn’t L.A.” That’s when I realized the true mentality of unleashed dog owners, wayward bicyclists and phone violators. They really do believe San Luis Obispo is “paradise.”
And shouldn’t paradise be a place where everybody does whatever they feel like doing without being held accountable? In paradise, there should be no right or wrong, only what is self-serving and gratifying.
So if you want to let your dog run free, that’s okay. The rest of us will just have to regard uninvited slobbering, hostile growling and inconsiderate biting as our little piece of paradise.
San Luis Obispo
Ripping steel shot
I love this time of year, the crisp cool days, the clear air, the annual autumn traditions of football, basketball, decorations and family gatherings. I especially appreciate the annual fall migration of the brant geese into Morro Bay.
These geese leave Alaska and fly in tight-knit family groups for more than 2,500 miles in only 50 to 60 hours. The journey consumes more than a third of their body weight. Gliding in on the tailwinds of a storm, they descend onto the sparkling waters of the estuary.
Awaiting them are nutritious beds of eelgrass, calm sheltered waters to sleep on and explosions of steel shots ripping through their flesh and bones. Dead, they tumble out of the sky. Another fall “tradition” has announced itself: brant hunting in Morro Bay.
Am I the only one who thinks it’s ridiculous that every year a mere handful of hunters can legally inflict this death and disruption on the wildlife and people around Morro Bay?
Where else in California is this level of hunting pursued adjacent to communities of thousands and on a bay full of other recreationalists? It’s time to turn the page on this “tradition” of hunting the dwindling numbers of brant in our national estuary.