Just when you thought Mojo couldn't POSSIBLY get ANY cooler (uhhhh, you WERE thinking that just now, weren't you?), Mojo has gone back to her private vault of experiences to bring you her tenure at what used to be "The Wolf Sanctuary", more formally known as the Wild Canid Survival and Research Center at Wash U's Tyson Research Center in Eureka, MO. Being the charming lass she is, Mojo got permission from various Authority Figures (heh heh--suckers) and spent many an hour communing with wolves, well before it became oh-so-super-trendy to do so. (And eventually Mojo accepted the simple fact that the wolves, as noble wild creatures of intelligence and discernment, have no particular desire to commune with HER. Which is a lesson many a nature-lover has yet to learn, it sometimes seems.)

(The WCSRC has since changed its name to the Endangered Wolf Center; you can see what they're up to (and, hint hint, donate!) at http://www.endangeredwolfcenter.org.)  MORE Mojo! »

So when we last saw our intrepid Mojo, she was blathering on about dinosaurs, which, quite frankly, is something six-year-olds do. And before that, she was blathering on again about her idyllic childhood, skipping about Laughing Brook and no doubt incessantly bothering the poor nice lady who sat in Burgess' house playing Old Mother West Wind. That, and pressing the button in the room with the snakes to make the rattlesnake tail rattle. Because that's the sort of charming lass Mojo was and is. My Favorite Older Sister volunteered there for at least one summer, maybe two, and in addition to bringing home various orphaned babies to care for--birds, mostly; we were once offered a litter of possums but we were going on vacation, much to my eternal, youthful chagrin--Laughing Brook was also the source of our pet chicken, Herman.

If you are curious how Mojo got a chicken from a wildlife sanctuary, um, well, this may upset some of my more delicate and sensitive readers, so I will break here to spare their feelings.

Stupid people. There are two types. Well, make that three. The first type, and the sort I was about to leave out, are the stupid people who realize right to the letter just how stupid they are. Ironically, I view this brand of stupidity as the first step toward actual intelligence. When you're in your twenties, you think you pretty much know everything and you dearly love to lecture your elders in How Things Ought to Be. At least Mojo did, charming lass that she was and is.  MORE Mojo! »