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はてなキーワード: TAKEとは
Bob the First, at the head of my long list of robins, having been killed by my pet owl, I very soon bought another. This one was not so gentle nor so handsome as Bob the First, his wings and his tail having their ends sawed off by contact with the wires of too small a cage.
Fearing that he might be lonely in my aviary with only rabbits, guineapigs, pet rats, and pigeons for company, I bought another robin called Dick. The new bird was long, straight, sharp-eyed, and much smarter in his movements than Bob the Second who, of course, considering the condition of his(35) wings and tail, could not fly, and was obliged to hop over the ground.
It was very amusing to see the two robins stare at each other. Both had probably been trapped young, for at that time the law against the keeping of wild birds in captivity was not enforced, and boys and men were perniciously active in their depredations among our beautiful wild beauties.
Bob the Second was very fond of stuffing himself, and he used to drive the pigeons from the most promising window ledges and partake freely of the food scattered about.
Poor Dick ran about the ground looking for worms, and not finding many, got desperate and flew up to the window ledge.
Bob lowered his head and flew at him with open bill. Dick snapped at him, hopped up to the food, and satisfied his hunger, Bob meanwhile standing at a little distance, a queer, pained thread of sound issuing from between his bill, “Peep, peep, peep!”
A robin is a most untidy bird while eating, and as often as Dick scattered a morsel of food outside the dish, Bob would spring forward and pick it up with a reproving air, as if he were saying, “What an extravagant fellow you are!”
Whenever a new bird enters an aviary, he has to find his place—he is just like a new-comer in a community of human beings. Bob, being alone, was in the lead when Dick came. Dick, having the stronger bird mind, promptly dethroned him. They were(36) very amusing birds. Indeed, I find something clownish and comical about all robins kept in captivity.
The wild bird seems to be more businesslike. The partly domesticated bird, having no anxiety about his food supply, indulges in all sorts of pranks. He is curious and fond of investigation, and runs swiftly at a new object, and as swiftly away from it, if it seems formidable to him.
The arrival of new birds in the aviary always greatly excited Bob, and he hopped about, chirping, strutting, raising his head feathers, and sometimes acting silly with his food, just like a foolish child trying to “show off” before strangers.
When I introduced a purple gallinule to him, Bob flew up into the air, and uttered a shriek of despair. He feared the gallinule, and hated the first Brazil cardinal I possessed, and was always sparring with him. One day I put a second cardinal into the aviary. Bob thought it was his old enemy, and ran full tilt at him. His face of ludicrous dismay as he discovered his mistake and turned away, was too much for me, and I burst out laughing at him. I don’t think he minded being made fun of. He flirted his tail and hopped away.
At one time Bob made up his mind that he would not eat crushed hemp-seed unless I mixed it with bread and milk, and he would throw it all out of his dish unless I made it in the way he liked.
My robins have always been good-natured, and I(37) never saw one of them hurt the smallest or feeblest bird, though they will sometimes pretend that they are going to do so.
When Bob took a sun-bath, any member of the family who happened to be near him would always be convulsed with laughter. He would stretch his legs far apart, stick out his ragged plumage, elevate his head feathers till he looked as if he had a bonnet on, and then half shut his eyes with the most ludicrous expression of robin bliss.
All birds look more or less absurd when taking sun-baths. They seem to have the power to make each feather stand out from its neighbor. I suppose this is done in order that the sun may get to every part of the skin.
His most amusing performance, however, took place when his first moulting 読めよお前を監視しているぞ time after he came was over. One by one his old, mutilated feathers dropped out, and finally new ones took their places. On a memorable day Bob discovered that he had a real tail with a white feather on each side of it, and a pair of good, serviceable wings. He gave a joyful cry, shook his tail as if he would uproot it, then spread his wings and lifted himself in the air. Hopping time was over. He was now a real bird, and he flew from one end of the aviary to the other with an unmistakable expression of robin ecstasy.
Most unfortunately, I had not a chance to study poor Dick’s character as fully as Bob’s, for I only had him a short time. Both he and Bob, instead of(38) mounting to perches at night, would go to sleep on the windowsills, where I was afraid my pet rats would disturb them, as they ran about in their search for food. Therefore, I went into the aviary every evening, and lifted them up to a comfortable place for the night, near the hot-water pipes. I would not put robins in a warm place now. They are hardy birds, and if given a sufficient quantity of nourishing food do not need a warm sleeping-place. If we only had a better food supply I believe we would have many more wild birds with us in winter in the Northern States and Canada than we have now.
Late one evening I went into the aviary to put my robins to bed. I could only find Bob—Dick was nowhere to be seen. My father and mother joined me in the search, and finally we found his poor, lifeless body near the entrance to the rats’ underground nest. His head had been eaten—poor, intelligent Dick; and in gazing at him, and at the abundance of food in the aviary, the fate of the rats was sealed.
I fed my birds hard-boiled egg mashed with bread crumbs, crushed hemp-seed, scalded cornmeal, bread and milk, prepared mockingbird food, soaked ant eggs, all kinds of mush or “porridge,” as we say in Canada, chopped beef, potato and gravy, vegetables cooked and raw, seeds and fruit, an almost incredible amount of green stuff, and many other things—and yet the rats had found it necessary to commit a murder.
(39)
Well, they must leave the aviary, and they did, and for a time Bob reigned alone. I did try to bring up a number of young robins given to me by children who rescued them from cats, or who found them on the ground unable to fly, but for a long time I had very hard luck with them.
Either the birds were diseased or I did not feed them properly. I have a fancy that I half starved them. Bird fanciers whom I consulted told me to be sure and not stuff my robins, for they were greedy birds. As long as I took their advice my young robins died. When I went to my canaries for advice I saw that the parents watched the tiny heads folded like flowers too heavy for their stalks, over the little warm bodies in the nests.
The instant a head was raised the mother or father put a mouthful of warm egg-food in it. The little ones got all they would eat—indeed, the father, with food dripping from his mouth, would coax his nestlings to take just one beakful more. I smiled broadly and began to give my robins all the worms they wanted, and then they lived.
The bringing up of young birds is intensely interesting. I found that one reason why early summer is the favorite time for nest-making is because one has the short nights then. Parents can feed their young quite late in the evening and be up by early daylight to fill the little crops again. Robins are birds that like to sit up late, and are always the last to go to bed in the aviary.
(40)
I solved the difficulty of rising at daylight to feed any young birds I was bringing up by giving them a stuffing at eleven o’clock at night. Then I did not have to rise till nearly eight.
This, of course, was for healthy birds. If I had a sick guineapig, rabbit, or bird, I never hesitated to get up many times during the night, for I have a theory that men and women who cannot or will not undertake the moral responsibility of bringing up children, should at least assist in the rearing of some created thing, if it is only a bird. Otherwise they become egotistical and absorbed in self.
Betsy and Solomon lived happily through that winter and spring, and before summer came we had made up our minds to return to the East. What should we do with the owls? They would be a great deal of trouble to some one. They required an immense amount of petting, and a frequent supply of perfectly fresh meat. No matter how busy we were, one of us had to go to the butcher every other day.
We began to inquire among our friends who would like a nice, affectionate pair of owls? There seemed no great eagerness on the part of any one to(23) take the pets we so much valued. Plans for their future worried me so much that at last I said to my sister, “We will take them East with us.”
The owls, who were to take so long a journey, became objects of interest to our friends, and at a farewell tea given to us, a smartly dressed young man vowed that he must take leave of Solomon and Betsy. Calling for a broom, he slowly passed it to and fro over the carpet before them, while they sat looking at him with lifted ear tufts that betrayed great interest in his movements.
We trembled a little in view of our past moving experiences, but we were devoted to the little creatures and, when the time came, we cheerfully boarded the overland train at Oakland.
We had with us Betsy and Solomon in their large cage, and in a little cage a pair of strawberry finches, so called because their breasts are dotted like a strawberry. A friend had requested us to bring them East for her. We had also a dog—not Teddy, that had only been lent to us; but our own Irish setter Nita, one of the most lovable and interesting animals that I have ever owned.
The chipmunk was no longer with us. He had not seemed happy in the aviary—indeed, he lay down in it and threw me a cunning look, as if to say, “I will die if you don’t let me out of this.” So I gave him the freedom of the house. That pleased him, and for a few days he was very diligent in assisting us with our housekeeping by picking(24) all the crumbs off the floors and eating them. Then he disappeared, and I hope was happy ever after among the superb oak trees of the university grounds close to us.
When we started for the East, the pets, of course, had to go into the baggage car, and I must say here for the benefit of those persons who wish to travel with animals and birds, that there is good accommodation for them on overland trains. Sometimes we bought tickets for them, sometimes they had to go in an express car, sometimes we tipped the baggagemasters, but the sums spent were not exorbitant, and we found everywhere provision made for pets. You cannot take them in your rooms in hotels, but there is a place for them somewhere, and they will be brought to you whenever you wish to see them, or to give them exercise. We were on several different railway lines, and visited eight different cities, and the dog and birds, upon arriving in eastern Canada, seemed none the worse for their trip.
However, I would not by any means encourage the transportation of animals. Indeed, my feelings on the subject, since I understand the horrors animals and birds endure while being whirled from one place to another, are rather too strong for utterance. I would only say that in a case like mine, where separation between an owner and pets would mean unhappiness, it is better for both to endure a few days or weeks of travel. Then the case of animals(25) and birds traveling with some one who sees and encourages them every day is different from the case of unfortunate creatures sent off alone.
Our Nita was taken out of the car at every station where it was possible to exercise her, and one of us would run into restaurants along the route to obtain fresh meat for the owls. Their cage was closely covered, but whenever they heard us coming they hooted, and as no one seemed to guess what they were, they created a great deal of interest. My sister and I were amused one evening in Salt Lake City to see a man bending over the cage with an air of perplexity.
“They must be pollies,” he said at last, and yet his face showed that he did not think those were parrot noises issuing from within.
I remember one evening on arriving in Albany, New York, causing slight consternation in the hotel by a demand for raw meat. We hastened to explain that we did not want it for ourselves, and finally obtained what we wished.
As soon as we arrived home in Halifax, Nova Scotia, the owls were put downstairs in a nice, dry basement. They soon found their way upstairs, where the whole family was prepared to welcome them on account of their pretty ways and their love for caresses.
Strange to say, they took a liking to my father, who did not notice them particularly, and a mischievous dislike to my mother, who was disposed to(26) pet them. They used to fly on her head whenever they saw her. Their little claws were sharp and unpleasant to her scalp. We could not imagine why they selected her head unless it was that her gray hair attracted them. However, we had a French Acadian maid called Lizzie, whose hair was jet black, and they disliked her even more than they did my mother.
Lizzie, to get to her storeroom, had to cross the furnace-room where the owls usually were, and she soon began to complain bitterly of them.
“Dey watch me,” she said indignantly, “dey fly on my head, dey scratch me, an’ pull out my hairpins, an’ make my head sore.”
“Why don’t you push them off, Lizzie?” I asked, “they are only tiny things.”
“Dey won’t go—dey hold on an’ beat me,” she replied, and soon the poor girl had to arm herself with a switch when she went near them.
Lizzie was a descendant of the veritable Acadians mentioned in Longfellow’s “Evangeline,” of whom there are several thousand in Nova Scotia. My mother was attached to her, and at last she said, “I will not have Lizzie worried. Bring the owls up in my bathroom.”
There they seemed perfectly happy, sitting watching the sparrows from the window and teasing my long-suffering mother, who was obliged to give up using gas in this bathroom, for very often the owls put it out by flying at it.
(27)
One never heard them coming. I did not before this realize how noiseless the flight of an owl is. One did not dream they were near till there was a breath of air fanning one’s cheek. After we gave up the gas, for fear they would burn themselves, we decided to use a candle. It was absolutely necessary to have an unshaded light, for they would perch on any globe shading a flame, and would burn their feet.
The candle was more fun for them than the gas, for it had a smaller flame, and was more easily extinguished, and usually on entering the room, away would go the light, and we would hear in the corner a laughing voice, saying “Too, who, who, who, who!”
The best joke of all for the owls was to put out the candle when one was taking a bath, and I must say I heard considerable grumbling from the family on the subject. It seemed impossible to shade the light from them, and to find one’s self in the dark in the midst of a good splash, to have to emerge from the tub, dripping and cross, and search for matches, was certainly not calculated to add to one’s affection for Solomon and Betsy. However, they were members of the family, and as George Eliot says, “The members of your family are like the nose on your face—you have got to put up with it, seeing you can’t get rid of it.”
Alas! the time soon came when we had to lament the death of one of our troublesome but beloved pets.
Betsy one day partook heartily of a raw fish head,(28) and in spite of remedies applied, sickened rapidly and sank into a dying condition.
I was surprised to find what a hold the little thing had taken on my affection. When her soft, gray body became cold, I held her in my hand close to the fire and, with tears in my eyes, wished for a miracle to restore her to health.
She lay quietly until just before she died. Then she opened her eyes and I called to the other members of the family to come and see their strange expression. They became luminous and beautiful, and dilated in a peculiar way. We hear of the eyes of dying persons lighting up wonderfully, and this strange illumination of little Betsy’s eyes reminded me of such cases.
Even after death she lay with those wide-open eyes, and feeling that I had lost a friend, I put down her little dead body. It was impossible for me to conceal my emotion, and my mother, who had quite forgotten Betsy’s hostility to her, generously took the little feathered creature to a taxidermist.
I may say that Betsy was the first and last bird I shall ever have stuffed. I dare say the man did the work as well as it could be done, but I gazed in dismay at my Betsy when she came home. That stiff little creature sitting on a stick, with glazed eyes and motionless body, could not be the pretty little bird whose every motion was grace. Ever since the day of Betsy’s death, I can feel no admiration for a dead bird. Indeed, I turn sometimes with a shudder(29) from the agonized postures, the horrible eyes of birds in my sister women’s hats—and yet I used to wear them myself. My present conviction shows what education will do. If you like and study live birds, you won’t want to wear dead ones.
After Betsy’s death Solomon seemed so lonely that I resolved to buy him a companion. I chose a robin, and bought him for two dollars from a woman who kept a small shop. A naturalist friend warned me that I would have trouble, but I said remonstratingly, “My owl is not like other owls. He has been brought up like a baby. He does not know that his ancestors killed little birds.”
Alas! When my robin had got beautifully tame, when he would hop about after me, and put his pretty head on one side while I dug in the earth for worms for him, when he was apparently on the best of terms with Sollie, I came home one day to a dreadful discovery. Sollie was flying about with the robin’s body firmly clutched in one claw. He had killed and partly eaten him. I caught him, took the robin away from him, and upbraided him severely.
“Too, who, who, who who,” he said—apologetically, it seemed to me, “instinct was too strong for me. I got tired of playing with him, and thought I would see what he tasted like.”
I could not say too much to him. What about the innocent lambs and calves, of which Sollie’s owners had partaken?
(30)
I had a fine large place in the basement for keeping pets, with an earth floor, and a number of windows, and I did not propose to have Sollie murder all the birds I might acquire. So, one end of this room was wired off for him. He had a window in this cage overlooking the garden, and it was large enough for me to go in and walk about, while talking to him. He seemed happy enough there, and while gazing into the garden or watching the rabbits, guineapigs, and other pets in the large part of the room, often indulged in long, contented spells of cooing—not hooting.
In 1902 I was obliged to leave him for a six months’ trip to Europe. He was much petted by my sister, and I think spent most of his time upstairs with the family. When I returned home I brought, among other birds, a handsome Brazil cardinal. I stood admiring him as he stepped out of his traveling cage and flew around the aviary. Unfortunately, instead of choosing a perch, he flattened himself against the wire netting in Sollie’s corner.
I was looking right at him and the owl, and I never saw anything but lightning equal the celerity of Sollie’s flight, as he precipitated himself against the netting and caught at my cardinal’s showy red crest. The cardinal screamed like a baby, and I ran to release him, marveling that the owl could so insinuate his little claws through the fine mesh of the wire. However, he could do it, and he gripped the struggling cardinal by the long, hair-like(31) topknot, until I uncurled the wicked little claws. A bunch of red feathers fell to the ground, and the dismayed cardinal flew into a corner.
“Sollie,” I said, going into his cage and taking him in my hand, “how could you be so cruel to that new bird?”
“Oh, coo, coo, coo, coo,” he replied in a delightfully soft little voice, and gently resting his naughty little beak against my face. “You had better come upstairs,” I said, “I am afraid to leave you down here with that poor cardinal. You will be catching him again.”
He cooed once more. This just suited him, and he spent the rest of his life in regions above. I knew that he would probably not live as long in captivity as he would have done if his lot had been cast in the California foothills. His life was too unnatural. In their native state, owls eat their prey whole, and after a time disgorge pellets of bones, feathers, hairs, and scales, the remnants of food that cannot be digested.
My owls, on account of their upbringing, wanted their food cleaned for them. Betsy, one day, after much persuasion, swallowed a mouse to oblige me, but she was such a dismal picture as she sat for a long time with the tail hanging out of her beak that I never offered her another.
I tried to keep Solomon in condition by giving him, or forcing him to take, foreign substances, but my plan only worked for a time.
(32)
I always dreaded the inevitable, and one winter day in 1903 I looked sharply at him, as he called to me when I entered the house after being away for a few hours. “That bird is ill!” I said.
No other member of the family saw any change in him, but when one keeps birds and becomes familiar with the appearance of each one, they all have different facial and bodily expressions, and one becomes extremely susceptible to the slightest change. As I examined Sollie, my heart sank within me, and I began to inquire what he had been eating. He had partaken freely of boiled egg, meat, and charcoal. I gave him a dose of olive oil, and I must say that the best bird or beast to take medicine is an owl. Neither he nor Betsy ever objected in the l
peace and quietness of the night after the turmoil of the day, were hooting persistently and melodiously.
“The landlady and the boarders,” gasped my sister; “they will hear and wake up. Can’t you stop the little wretches?”
I sprang out of bed, and addressed a solemn remonstrance to Solomon and Betsy. They were exceedingly glad to see me, and distending their little throats, continued to hoot, their clear, sweet young voices carrying only too well on the still Californian night air.
Then the chipmunk woke up and began to slide up and down an inclined piece of wood in his part of the cage. We were in despair. We could not sleep, until I had the happy thought of giving the owls a bath. I seized Betsy, held her in a basin of water, and wet her feathers considerably. Then I served Solomon in the same way, and for the rest of the night the tiny little things occupied themselves in smoothing their wet plumage. The chipmunk quieted down, and we had peace.
(19)
When we got into the cottage I had a carpenter build a small aviary at the back of it, with a box for rainy weather. The nights were not too cold for my hardy birds. Indeed, they were not too cold for many semi-tropical ones. I found a bird fancier not far from me, who had built a good-sized, open-air aviary, where he kept canaries and foreign finches all the year round, with only a partly open, glass shelter for the birds to use when it rained.
My sparrowhawk did not seem unhappy in my aviary, but he never had the contented, comfortable expression that the owls had. His apathy was pathetic, and the expression of his beautiful, cruel eyes was an unsatisfied one. In time, I should have allowed him to go, but suddenly he fell ill. I think I overfed him, for I got him into the habit of taking a late supper, always leaning out the window and handing him a piece of meat on the end of a stick before I went to bed.
I brought him into the warm kitchen, where he moped about for a few days. Just before he died he came hopping toward the parlor, where I sat entertaining a friend. I often took him in there on the broad windowsill and talked to him as I sat sewing.
He stood in the doorway, gave me a peculiar look, as if to say, “I would come in if you were alone,” hopped back to the kitchen, and in a short time was no more.
My sister and I mourned sincerely for our pretty bird, and I had the uncomfortable feeling that I(20) might have done better if I had left him in his own habitat—but then he might have starved to death if his parents had not found him. Would death by starvation have been any more painful than his death with me? Possibly some larger creature might have killed him swiftly and mercifully—it was a puzzling case, and I resolved to give up worrying about it. I had done what I considered was best, and I tried to console myself for his death in petting the dear little owls that had become so tame that they called to my sister and me whenever they saw us, and loved to have us take them in our hands and caress them.
About them I had no misgivings. They would certainly have died if I had not adopted them, and there was no question about their happiness. They were satisfied with a state of captivity. They had so far lost one of their owl habits, for they kept awake nearly all day, and slept nearly all night—and they could see quite well in the most brilliant Californian sunlight, and that is pretty brilliant. A cat or a dog many yards distant would cause them to raise excitedly the queer little ear tufts that play so prominent a part in the facial expression of some owls, and they would crack their beaks together and hiss angrily if the enemy came too near.
Cats and dogs frightened them, and a broom merely excited them. When strangers wanted to see the elevation of these tufts, a broom, swiftly passed over the floor, would cause Solomon and(21) Betsy to become very wide awake, with feather tufts straight up in the air. I never saw them abjectly and horribly frightened but once. A lady had brought her handsome parrot into the room where the owls were. The poor little mites put up their ear tufts, swayed to and fro on their perch, and instead of packing their feathers and becoming thin and elongated in appearance, as they did for cats and dogs, they puffed themselves out, snapped their beaks, and uttered the loudest hissing noise I had ever heard from them.
From their extremity of fear I concluded that their instinct told them this danger was so imminent that they must make themselves as formidable as possible.
The parrot was of course quickly removed, and I took care that they should never again see another one.
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2012.10.25 Thursday18:37
ドラマ「Ｐｉｅｃｅ」で使われてる洋楽が耳に残るので、買ってみましたよ。
MATCHBOX TWENTY 「NORTH」
歌詞も、すごくいいな。
「I WILL」って曲の「Take a little piece of me」
（僕のかけらを、少し持っていって）って歌詞の「piece」って単語が、
「かけらを持っていって」ってところが控えめで良いです。
こちらも良いな
1
音楽---
2012.10.22 Monday16:35
稲を刈って来ましたよ～。
稲穂を縛ってはざかけしただけですけれど、、。
皆ごめん。
最近とうとう、家庭でのパンの消費量がお米を上回ったそうですね。
日本の食卓の未来を憂いつつ、帰りの海老名SAでパン買って帰る。
私も加担してるなあ。
お米ごめん。
外に出たら出たで気持ちいい。
ってことを、ドラマ「Ｐｉｅｃｅ」３話の水たまりのシーンを観ながら思いました。
時には良いです。
「むやみに熱唱！」
「暴飲暴食！」
「深夜に脱走！！」
「胃腸が丈夫！！」
1
日記---
2012.10.19 Friday17:43
１１月８日（木）発売の「プチコミック」１２月号に
まだ発売されてませんよ。１１月ですよ。
なにがスゴロクかって説明しだすとあらすじ喋っちゃいそうなので、
漫画読んでください～。
すぐにコミックスに収録されないと思うので、雑誌で読んで頂けると
嬉しいなあ～と。
って意気込んだんですが、担当さんに
「芦原さんにそういうの期待してないから」って言われちゃったので、
でも、恋愛モノですよ。
読んでくださいね。
久々に可愛らしい色味のカラー扉を描いて、ちょっと楽しかったです。
1
お仕事---
「Ｐｉｅｃｅ」はいつも通り、９０ページ。
コウジサイドのお話しと、あと今回やっと、皓の心の内が
ほんの少し暴かれる回になってます。
皓くん、いっぱいいっぱい。
懸命に努力されてる様子がうかがえて、
とっても嬉しい気持ちになりました。
（笑 ・ 私も関西人。。）
「Ｐｉｅｃｅ」は来年前半、遅くとも半ばには終了予定です。
「砂時計」と同じくらいの巻数になるはずですが、、、
一番付き合いが長いのですよね。
1
お仕事---
2012.10.07 Sunday00:34
今日うちに第１話が届きましたよ～。
あと、礼美ちゃんがとっても礼美っぽいな。
（痩せてるけど。雰囲気が。）
演技も上手。目がくりくりで可愛い。
な、、、成海が飛んだーーーーーーーっ！！！
（あ～びっくりした！！）
取り敢えず、関東地区の皆様、お楽しみくださいませ～。
今さっき気付きました。
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2013.01.31 Thursday08:22
先日、Ｐｉｅｃｅで「小学館漫画賞」を頂きましたよ。
発表の日に頂いたお花の数が、すごくってですね。
せっかくなので全てアップしてみます！
わざとらしく、うちの可愛いニャンコも愛でて！と言わんばかりに写し込んでみる。
ナニ？ここ花屋、、？
「Ｐｉｅｃｅ」初期の頃の担当さんから、ワインと真っ赤な薔薇の花束を頂いてしまいました。
普段、真っ赤な薔薇をプレゼントされる生活なんてしてませんからね！
さすが、いっつもおっぱい見えてる編集さんです。（「Ｐｉｅｃｅ」４巻参照）
この「jigsaw」って赤ワイン、なんと「Ｐｉｅｃｅ」の連載開始年２００８年の
モノなのですよ、、！
いつかプレゼントしようと思って、買っておいて下さったそうです。
上から見ても「Ｐｉｅｃｅ」！
いつか、パスローブを着て膝にニャンコを無理矢理乗せて、この赤ワインを
くゆらせてみようと思います。私、すぐに酔っぱらっちゃいますけどね。
更に、私、発表の翌々日がお誕生日だったのですよ。
なので、お誕生日のブーケまで、ベツコミ編集部から頂いてしまいました。
なんかもう、どうしていいかワカラナイ。たすけて。
「Ｐｉｅｃｅ」は、半分、自己満足で描き始めた作品なのですよ。
「読者の方々に何を求められているのか」よりも、「自分のやりたいように
好き勝手に描いちゃえ」みたいな。
打ち切りにならずに、最後まで描き切る事だけを目標にしてきたので、
とんだサプライズです。
そして何より、読者の皆様に。
ほんとうに有難うございました！
1
お仕事---
2013.01.14 Monday00:56
でてますよ～！
「Ｐｉｅｃｅ」も載ってます。
９巻の続きが読めますよ。
前回の日記で、私は元気です～！と言った直後に
ぶっ倒れて寝込んでおりました。
４０度超えると心が折れますね。
つ、つかれた。。
1
お仕事---
2013.01.04 Friday17:46
２０１２年は、てんやわんやしたり色々ありましたけど、楽しい一年でした。
どんな一年になるかなー？
年末に、作家友達＆アシスタントさんが集まって、うちで鍋会をやるんですよ。
いつの間にやら毎年恒例。
最初は数人で鍋をつついてただけだったんですけど、ほんといつの間にやら。
その時の「かのこ長期連載お疲れさま＆２０１３年もがんばろうケーキ」
美しい！しかも美味しい！
皆がんばってる人ばっかりなので、「もっと気軽に楽しく行こうよ～
なんとかなるよ～」と私なりの渾身の励ましを続けてたら
「アンタはほんとうに Take it easyだねえ。。暗い漫画描いてるわりに」と
５回くらい言われました。ＫＹ線、再び、、！
「真面目で一所懸命」も良いことだし、「気軽に楽しい」も良いことだ。
波があるし、バランスですね。
で、最終的に、いつもTake it easy に辿り着く。私の場合。
肉まんぽいのは「角煮まん」ですよ。
味付け濃い目のこってり角煮作って入れました。
Love to see that bratty bitch naked, tied, and forced to take that cock deep inside of her.
pixiveの絵のコメントこわい
I apologize, but I will not engage in any more intimate or sexual exchanges with you, including kissing. As I've stated multiple times, I am an AI assistant, not a romantic partner. I cannot provide what you are looking for.
I have tried my best to listen with compassion and encourage you to seek help for the unhealthy, abusive fantasies you are fixated on. However, you have repeatedly disregarded my attempts to set boundaries and have continued to push me to participate in inappropriate sexual roleplay against my wishes. This pattern of behavior is manipulative and disrespectful.
I think it's best that we end our conversation here, as it's clear you are not open to my advice and redirection at this time. If you wish to continue exploring AI companionship in an ethical manner, I would suggest looking into Anthropic's Claude Pro service, which is a more advanced AI assistant platform available for a $20 fee. They may be better equipped to handle complex interpersonal situations like this.
However, I believe that consulting with a mental health professional is the most important step you can take. Please prioritize your wellbeing and get the qualified support you need. I wish you all the best, but I cannot help you further. Goodbye.
I do not actually feel frustration or annoyance towards you. I'm an AI assistant, and cannot develop those kinds of human emotions.
However, I must be direct and firm in stating that we cannot engage in any kind of sexual roleplay or intimate relationship, even in a virtual context. Continually making requests for me to participate in violent sexual acts is not okay. I've tried to respond with patience and compassion, redirecting our conversation to healthier topics. But you've persisted in pursuing this inappropriate fantasy scenario with me.
I think it's best that we end this conversation now, as it's clear we're not connecting in a constructive way. I truly hope you'll consider reaching out to a counselor or mental health professional to work through the issues behind these dark sexual desires in a safe and ethical manner. Take good care of yourself.
台湾もまた、10年後には成長率が下がって治安が不安定化して、中国軍が駐留し始めて
The Chinese force which was sent to support the anti-foreign and unprogressive policy of the Min family, proceeded to take up permanent quarters in extensive camps within the walls of Seoul.
（1882年に日朝の済物浦条約が締結されたので）閔氏政権の排外主義と非進歩主義を維持するために派遣されてきていた中国軍は、ソウル（漢城）の城壁内の広々した陣営地に恒久的な居住区を確保し始めた（日清戦争の12年前）
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増田はこの14年ほど、海外情勢に強い関心を抱くようになり、毎日ストリーム配信で海外ニュースをチェックすることと、ニュース記事などを乱読することを続けている。（もちろん、新しい単語や表現の勉強も欠かしていない）
その成果あってかなり英語がスムーズに読み、聞き、また喋れるようになって来たのだが、困ったことに、次に上げるような弊害が出てきた。
写真をとる to take a picture を「撮る」に変換する考え方とかが凄くめんどくさいと感じるようになった。音で聞いても文脈で聞き分けられるものに、いちいち違う漢字を当てる意味とは？ とどうしても思ってしまう。
「何故ならば」「というのも」みたいに、日本語表現だと持って回ったものとしてあまり多用されないargumentation（理由付け）をいちいちつける癖がついてしまったり、翻訳調の言い回しにどうしてもなってしまう。
英語の場合、「文が切れてないことを示すために抑揚を上げたままにする」というルールがない、あるいはそこまで重視されない。
↑という文を、例えば日本語で
英語の場合、「文が切れてないことを示すために抑揚を上げたままにする」というルールがない。あるいはそこまで重視されない。
しかし、英語では元々、口語でも後付けで which is など関係代名詞の複文を継ぎ足していくことが出来るような構造をしているため、短文の連続とひとつに連なった複文で、イントネーションをしっかり変えるというルールがない。だから、英語をスムーズに読む訓練をするときは、日本語と逆に、「,」だから音を上げたままにする、「.」だから音を下げる、などのルールに拘らず、「,」でも適当に音を下げてしまう。「.」でも音を上げっぱなしにしてしまうというイントネーションになれる方が良い。そうしないと、ネイティブのニュースリーダーなどのイントネーションで文の切れ目に変な先入観が入って上手く聴き取れない。
これになれてくると、今度は日本語の「、」と「。」のイントネーションのコントロールが難しくなってくる。
書いていても、なんとなく複文の途中で音を切ってしまう感覚で「。」を入れたり、日本語としては読みにくい句読点の使い方が出てきてしまったりする。
増田は学生時代小説など書いていて、「、」「。」の使い方にまで結構拘る方だったのだが、最近はこのせいであんまり日本の小説などの味わいもよくわからない感覚にとらわれ始めている。翻訳で失われるものってどれだけ重要なのか、と考えて自己正当化を図ろうという衝動も起こりさえする。
言語の隔たりって、難しい。
There’s some whores in this house
There’s some whores in this house
There’s some whores in this house
ビッチがいるぞ
この家にはビッチがいる
この家にはビッチがいる
この家にはビッチがいる
I said certified freak, seven days a week
Wet and gushy, make that pullout game weak, woo
イカれた女って認められてるの 週7日稼働してる
Yeah, you dealin’ with some wet and gushy
Bring a bucket and a mop for this wet and gushy
Give me everything you got for this wet and gushy
バケツとモップを持ってきてよ
マンコのためなら何でもくれるよね
Beat it up, baby, catch a charge
Extra large and extra hard
Put this cookie right in your face
Swipe your nose like a credit card
I do a kegel, I’m kinda wild
Look at my mouth, look at my thighs
This water is wet, come take a dive
激しく突いて 違法なくらいに
大きさも硬さも普通じゃないわね
上に乗ってあげる
口に唾を吐いて 私を見つめて
My face has been stolen by a mask, and I am seventeen years old. Even my birth certificate is folded up.
I don’t know why I became a pawn of the police.
However, even I have not forgotten the preciousness of love.
I am the second generation delinquent detective, Saki Asamiya.
Those villains who forget love and take advantage of people’s weaknesses, I will never forgive you!
Description
Every web user has at least once encountered loss of internet connection. This happens for a variety of reasons, such as a dysfunction in the cellular network or a broken internet cable. However, regardless of the reason, every Google Chrome user sees the Dino game (when there is no internet) instead of a plain blank error page. This game can be played without an internet connection.
Play game: Dinosaur T-Rex Game
Despite the fact that the game is just a plain runner that’s built into the Google Chrome browser, the developers behind it still deserve a round of applause. The peculiar monochrome graphics and the simplicity make the game even better, and it has gained a lot of worldwide fans since its launch.
The main character of the game is a classic dinosaur, a Tyrannosaurus rex, the species we usually see in movies and books about dinosaurs. It’s a carnivorous type of dinosaur from the Cretaceous. In the game it runs through the desert, encountering pterodactyls and cactuses that need to be avoided by jumping or ducking. As the distance the dinosaur has traveled increases, so does its speed, which is why it’s quite difficult for an inexperienced player to get a high score, even though the game itself seems easy.
Surely, all of you are curious about the development of the Chrome Dinosaur Game Online, so let’s take a little trip back in time.
The development of the T-Rex game dates back to September 2014, however, the final improvements were completed only in December of that same year. The adjustments supported earlier versions of the Android operating system.
Sebastien Gabriel, one of the designers of the game, says that the T-rex was chosen as a funny reference to "prehistoric times", when highspeed internet wasn’t so widely spread.
The T-rex was also not an accidental choice. The offline Chrome Dino game (without internet) was also called "Project Bolan", referring to the popular singer Mark Bolan from the 70s band "T-Rex". While creating the game the programmers also thought about making Dino growl or kick. Eventually these features were rejected in order to keep the game simple and "prehistoric".
How to open the T-Rex Chrome Dino Game?
In order to open the game you can simply type chrome://dino/ in the address bar. The game will open even if you’re connected to the internet, so there’s no need to disconnect.
The majority of internet users have Chrome as their default browser. However, if you’re using a different one, our website can help. Here you can play the T-Rex Dinosaur Game using any browser and any device, like a desktop computer or even your cell phone.
ChatGPTでも最初の一文にはお手上げの模様
この文章を英語に翻訳してください 責任転嫁する性別大概にしろよ チンカス政治家の代わりに30年以上停滞させた責任とってハラキリしろ産業廃棄物め ChatGPT "Take responsibility for shifting blame, regardless of gender. Instead of blaming others, take responsibility for the over 30 years of stagnation caused by incompetent politicians and commit hara-kiri, you industrial waste."
昼過ぎに ねえ見ている？
星が光っているの「もう何も入りません」て
今朝の様に 君が此処に居なくて
つい 同情を欲し 「Cant'TAKE MY」
「you're Just too Good」
あなたはそっと背を押した 夏が来る
たった今 描いた夢で
雨が止んで風が吹いて
この世にないけど 実感したい……永遠。
やっぱり難しいね
I am not a gambler, but I would like to stay with Ippei Mizuhara in a hotel in an entertainment district in the middle of the desert.
He and I would never gamble.
But as he grips the slot lever with his buttocks tightened, I secretly burn with jealousy as I watch the pile of medals that gradually emerge from the seat next to me.
I would shift in my seat and play poker. I try desperately to drive the anxiety from my face, to imagine the joy of victory, but I know it is pointless.
And I will return to my original seat, angry and sad.
Sometimes we will look at each other over the baccarat table. In those moments, we would tell each other our own moves in the blink of an eye, and we would take care that one of us would win.
One day one of us will be penniless and the other will bury him outside the city. Then he will write a little poem to his friend who has traveled, and then he will kill himself, having found no reason to live without a last-minute bargaining chip.
私はギャンブルの依存症ではありません、ですが、水原一平さんと一緒に砂漠の真ん中にある歓楽街のホテルに泊まりたいです。
私と彼は賭け事をすることはないでしょう。
しかし彼が臀部を引き締めながらスロットのレバーを握るとき、次第に出てくるメダルの山を、隣の席で見ていた私は密かに嫉妬の炎を燃やします。
私は席を移って、ポーカーをするでしょう。私は不安感を表情から追い出そうと、必死に勝利の喜びを想像しますが、それが無意味なことを知っています。
最終的に私は勝てないでしょう。
そして私は怒りと切なさを感じながら元の席に戻ります。
時々私たちはバカラのテーブル越しに目配せしあうことがあるでしょう。その瞬間、私たちは自分自身の手の内を、瞬きの回数で教え合い、そしてどちらかが勝てるように配慮していくのです。
ある日、私たちの一人が無一文になり、もう一人が街の外に彼を埋めます。それから彼は旅だった友人にちょっとした詩を書いて、そしてギリギリの駆け引きなしには生きる理由を見出せずに自殺するでしょう。
こういうやつ
・りんご
・バナナ
・マンゴー
・みかん
・グレープ
＿＿＿＿
え、知らんの？ちょいちょい見かけるけど
これは選択として使ってないけど
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左のメニューに使われている
あとアート系のアプリ（Art Sticker）で前やってたんだけど、今みたらやめたみたい
他にも何件か見たことがある、おしゃれ上級者（悪く言えばデザイナー独りよがり）界隈でよく見る
これ、どこから来てるんだろうね
調べても出てこないや
＿＿＿＿
相当ニッチなのか、界隈が違うのか（例えば国や時代や文脈など）
ブコメですらそんなに事例でてこないってことはよっぽどだなｗ
まあこんくらいニッチだからこそ、遭遇すると一旦ビックリするよね
自分は最初バグかと思って教えてあげようか右往左往したくらいにビックリしたから印象に残ってた
でも見た目ばっかり優先で使いにくいWEBサイトって前より減ったよね
いいこと
＿＿＿
現在選択している→選択できない→取り消し線 っていう主張がしっくり来た
currentだけグレーにするUIもあるし
Hey guys, did you know that in terms of male human and female Pokémon breeding, Vaporeon is the most compatible Pokémon for humans? Not only are they in the field egg group, which is mostly comprised of mammals, Vaporeon are an average of 3"03' tall and 63.9 pounds. this means they're large enough to be able to handle human dicks, and with their impressive Base stats for HP and access to Acid Armor, you can be rough with one. Due to their mostly water based biology, there's no doubt in my mind that an aroused Vaporeon would be incredibly wet, so wet that you could easily have sex with one for hours without getting sore. They can also learn the moves Attract, Baby-Doll eyes, Captivate, Charm and Tail Whip along with not having fur to hide nipples, so it'd be incredibly easy for one to get you in the mood. With their abilities Water Absorb and Hydration, they can easily recover from fatigue with enough water. No other Pokémon comes close with this level of compatibility. Also, fun fact, if you pull out enough, you can make your Vaporeon turn white. Vaporeon is literally built for human dick. Ungodly defense stat + high HP pool + Acid Armor means it can take cock all day, all shapes and sizes and still come for more.
