「Death」を含む日記 RSS

はてなキーワード: Deathとは

2024-06-11

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

anond:20240611003300

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.

2024-05-07

ふむ……これは……

【崩壊:スターレイル】ロビン キャラクターPV 「独り揺蕩う」 - YouTube

ホヨバのキャラPVとしては珍しくセリフが一切(挿入部の吐息以外)ない、かなり純粋MVに寄せたものだけど不穏さが拭えない

おそらくシナリオ更新後、あるいは完結後に見返したら分かるような仄めかしが多数挿入されてることは間違いないが

少なくとも映像の中に英語っぽいフォント文字として表現された

「RENEW YOUR DEFINITION」が重要意味を持つと思われる

このYOURは十中八九サンデーを指すだろうが、開拓者ピノコニー全体を含めたマルチミーニングになりそうでもある

YouTube自動生成字幕だとここがrenew your deathとなってしまうのがなんとも言えない趣を出してるな

まだアップ間もないから少しすると正式字幕もつくと思うが

歌詞は先日のLIVE映像ですでに公開されていたので考察勢にとっては映像の方が重要だろう

2024-04-30

元気Death

元気があればなんでもでKill

2024-04-25

SwitchAnother Crab's Treasure

プレイ途中だけど心折れてやめるかもしれないか

いったん記録

・待ちに待ったAGGRO CRABの新作だ

ゴーイングアンダー大好きだし

今回もローグライト(高難易度…?)だし

情報解禁から首を長くして待ち予約入金して楽しみにしてた

・かどかり可愛い!殻によって背中変わるの可愛い

でもモチベ「働きたくない」に共感しにくいお年頃!

でもアラサーになると働きたくないとかほざく余裕は無いんじゃ!

そんなの大前提だしそれでも働かなければいけない現実の圧に屈するし

そんな戯言口を開く余裕あったら「生活」やるんだよ!という境地

・地味にゴーイングアンダーの缶ドリンクでてる!ユニバースや!

あとうまみ人間魚介類食べる時の感想では…?)の

ポンッて音とかパーティー帽子のパプゥーみたいな

音がゴーイングアンダーと同じ音源使ってたり

演出で出る図形モチーフも同じの使ってたり

懐かし嬉しい

ボタンが…押すボタンが多い…!

殻 移動 攻撃 視点カメラ 魔法 ダッシュ 攻撃かわす

・もう序盤の嘔吐婦人で心折れそう

ティーカップゲーよりは易しい!あと100回やれば

できそうな気がする!と鼓舞してるがそういう考え方するのは

無理な時

・これ現時点ではローグライクっていうか

RPG冒険ゲームって感じだけどもう少し進めていけば

ローグライク感出てくるの…?

固定配置(リセットしても同じ)された殻しか

使えないならローグライクちゃうくない…?

もっと頭使わずチンパンさせてくれ

・もちろん簡易設定全振りしとるそれでもこの様よ…

追記

オイルゾーン10時間くらい頑張ったけど手詰まり

次何やれば進めるか分からん

攻略動画が出るまで待つわ

というかこれローグライクやない、普通にRPG

Death's Doorとか好きな人は好きなんじゃないかな知らんけど

ラスボスっぽいのがバグで倒せた

追記

無理や

どうしても分からん

2024-04-17

ろろちゃんチャレンジ

Roro Chan Challenge - A phrase that references the death of the 14-year-old Japanese streamer Rorochan 1999[13]. This phrase became popular in 2020 when a tribute music video/song about her went viral on YouTube through the algorithm, and members of the Larpercore community started making videos referencing it by acts such as jumping off a building in video games like ROBLOX. According to some news reports, some people were actually harmed after trying the so-called "challenge".

https://aesthetics.fandom.com/wiki/Larpercore

ロロちゃんチャレンジ - 14歳日本のストリーマー、ロロちゃん1999年の死を指すフレーズ[13]。このフレーズは 2020 年に彼女についてのトリビュート ミュージック ビデオ/曲がアルゴリズムを通じて YouTube で広まり、Larpercore コミュニティメンバーが ROBLOX などのビデオ ゲーム建物から飛び降りるなどの行為でこのフレーズを参照するビデオ作成し始めたときに人気になりました。一部の報道によると、いわゆる「チャレンジ」に挑戦して実際に被害に遭った人もいるという。

2024-04-06

TOP SECRET

                                  EYES ONLY   COPY ONE OF ONE

                                  SPECIAL CLASSIFIED EXECUTIVE

                                      ORDER #029774

                                        23RD JULY, 1988




PROJECT METAL BLACK:

 ■HIGHEST LEVEL OF CONFIDENTIALITY REQUIRED

 ■PROJECT DETAILS MUST NOT BE DISCLOSED TO THE PUBLIC UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES

COVER STORY:

 ■CREATE A FAKE NARRATIVE TO CONCEAL THE TRUE NATURE OF PROJECT METAL BLACK

 ■THE FAKE PROJECT WILL BE PUBLICLY REFERRED TO AS "PROJECT GUN FRONTIER 2"

 ■ALL PERSONNEL INVOLVED MUST ADHERE TO THE COVER STORY WITHOUT EXCEPTION

COMMUNICATION PROTOCOLS:

 ■ALL CORRESPONDENCE RELATED TO PROJECT METAL BLACK MUST BE ENCRYPTED USING QUANTUM CRYPTOGRAPHY

 ■ANY BREACH OF CONFIDENTIALITY WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE TERMINATION AND CRIMINAL PROSECUTION

RESOURCE ALLOCATION:

 ■PROJECT METAL BLACK IS GRANTED UNLIMITED ACCESS TO ALL NECESSARY RESOURCES

 ■FUNDING WILL BE PROVIDED THROUGH CLASSIFIED CHANNELS TO AVOID PUBLIC SCRUTINY




                                   THIS DOCUMENT IS CLASSIFIED AS TOP SECRET

                               UNAUTHORIZED DISCLOSURE IS PUNISHABLE BY DEATH UNDER

                                    FEDERAL LAW 18 U.S.C. § 793, 794

2024-04-04

死亡遊戯って訳、やっぱおかしいよな…

game of deathをどう訳したらこうなるんや…

2024-03-16

anond:20240316022819

death stranding、ひたすら歩くのぜんぜん楽しめなかったの悔しかった

刺さる人は刺さるみたいだけどな

UNIQLOコラボTは持ってる

anond:20240316021639

キミ生きるのつらそうだね

動画見るのやめてac6とかやるといいよ

あるいはdeath stranding

2024-02-26

anond:20240226144850

ゲーム好き、読書好き、映画好き

というカテゴライズは非常に大味である

部外者から認識にはわかりやすいが、当人たちから見れば的を外している

全てのゲームが好きなわけでも、全ての本が好きなわけでも、全ての映画が好きなわけでも、決してないからだ

ということで、なんのゲームが好きなのかもっと言語化しましょう

ちなみに俺はナラティブビジュアルバランスが取れていてかつ"遊び"の部分が面白いゲームが好きだぞ

Death StrandingとかSuzerainが良かったな

周遊んだら満足

2024-01-16

さすが機会平等アメリカさん

フツーの人じゃとても住めない地域(カリフォルニア州サンノゼとか。年収12ドルくらいだととても厳しい)で

これまた上級労働者レベルじゃとても買えない大豪邸に住んでる人らが心配していることが、

強盗で、強盗対策プロテクションドッグが欲しいってなんだそれ・・・

かに泥棒は金ない庶民のところではなく、金持ちのところに入れよとは思ってはいたが、要らないんだよなぁそういう機会平等・・・

フツーの人が住めないエリアの大豪邸買ってもまだ勝ちではなく、24/365でSPおけるようになって、ようやく勝ちか・・・

日本が生きづらいらしい金持ち様はドンドン米国移住してくれて構わないぞ

 

あと大豪邸まではいかずとも、やっぱフツーの人が住めないエリアの戸建てに住んでる勝ち組のジジババじゃない人の死因が、

インフルから肺炎ってドン引きなんだよなぁ・・・

日本でジジババや基礎疾患がある人を除いて、ある一定以上の生活水準の人が肺炎死ぬってまず無いんだよなぁ・・・

さすが機会平等アメリカさん、経済的に厳しい人・生活水準が低い人だけでなく、すべての階層の人に平等Deathチャンスだぜ・・・

自分健康・丈夫具合には自信あったけどちょっと自信無くなったわ。生き残れるかこれ?

 

いまでも長期でアメリカ暮らしたいと思ってるし、何なら移住したいと思ってるが、改めて無茶苦茶レベル高ェなって思いました

2023-12-12

弱者男性を好きになってくれる女は存在しない

いかげんに悟りなさい

そして解脱するのDEATH

2023-09-17

DEATH STRANDING DCを楽しんでるけど

歩いてるだけで楽しー

崖登っていくのも楽しー

依頼放棄してやるザマー

まだ序盤だけど楽しい

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