On our last day at Powells, we'd like to invite a guest blogger to join us: the Quoll!
The Quoll: First, the Quoll would like to give a shout-out to other members of the carnivorous marsupial guild, particularly the dasyurids. Quolls (pronounced kwalls, rhymes with "balls") are incredible sexy animals. Think of a large weasel with spots and a backward-facing pouch. And we're fierce ? more fierce than Michiko Kakutani's filleting of Philip Roth's latest novel. When the Quoll raids a chicken coop, he kills every chook in the joint. Dig this: I am Australia's most alluring and mysterious marsupial predator. And yet... there is no entry for me in Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary. It goes from "quoit" to "quondam." This is not good for my rep. It's bad enough being an animal that faces extinction pressures. How am I supposed to alert people to my plight when no one knows my freakin' name? What gives? I demand dictionary justice.
Michael: You deserve it...
The Quoll: Zip it, human. So what's up with your blog posts? You received very few comments. Don't you have any friends?
Michael: Quoll, if you've been reading the posts, why didn't you add a comment?
The Quoll: I was too busy reading Loren Coleman's Cryptomundo blog. You know he had 34 comments on his discussion of the grammar of cryptozoology ? like whether the plural of Bigfoot should be Bigfoots or Bigfeet. Also, I was reading about the chick-lit controversy here at Powell's.
Michael: How come you didn't write a haiku in response to our post on Tuesday?
The Quoll: You want a haiku? How do you like this one?
O, Nature Writers
Make one last plea for comments
Then you are extinct!
Margaret: That's cold.
The Quoll: The Quoll calls it likes he sees it. Besides, it's a fitting homage to your final post as book bloggers. Now that you've blogged, maybe you're ready to check out the next big form of communication. The Quoll is going to let you in on a little secret.
Michael: What's that?
The Quoll: Scent gland secretions. You rub your scent gland against a rock or tree stump, and you leave it. You don't return 60 times a day to see whether someone smelled it. Apparently ferrets and polecats do this quite successfully. Chemical communication is the wave of the future.
Margaret: Like smell-o-vision?
The Quoll: Whatever floats your boat.
Margaret: All rightie! Thanks to Dave and everyone at Powell's for a great week.
The Quoll: Hey, the Quoll was just starting to get the hang of this...