What on earth can this rifle do that couldn't be done with something else, other than cause people who have an eye for classy guns recoil in horror? If ugly is somehow necessary, well, the Savage Model 42 is ugly enough for any practical purpose but nowhere near so ugly as the Little Badger:
And there's the very ugly M6 Survival gun, now available in civilian versions, ugly but again not in the same league of ugly as the Little Badger:
Both of these are ugly, but they have the advantage of incorporating a shotgun barrel as well as a rifle barrel. If indeed "survival" is the point of the Little Badger, well, it's outclassed except in ugly.
When it comes to an all-around survival/foraging gun, it's hard to beat the old and much-loved Savage 24. This over/under combination was made for decades in many variants, one of which is shown here: it's a 24-S, one of the least attractive versions but still recognizable as a real gun, not something that might have been issued to a Star Wars trooper. For my money of all the Model 24 combinations the .22LR/20 gauge is the bee's knees; it's a shame that Savage stopped making these guns and replaced them with the moderately hideous Model 42, but at least they had the decency not to produce anything like the Little Badger.
January 15, 2025: Why? Why?
Oh, God help us, the ugly gun trend gets worse every day. Here is the "FlightLite" [sic] "Herring Model 2024," which the NRA has described as "...AR-15 based lever action..." as if that justified it.
I'm not sure how much more of this I can stand...I didn't think anything could be uglier than the Chiappa "Little Badger," but clearly I was wrong.
No doubt this...thing...is intended to get around the AR-15 bans in some states and countries. No doubt some people will buy it. This should not have happened.
January 18, 2025: Today's Idiocy
From time to time I spot something in a supermarket or other store that makes me scratch my head at the stupidity of today's consumer. Here in Blacksburg we have many students who are vegetarians or worse, vegans; the local Kroger's caters to these dimwits. Here is the latest imbecility:
January 20, 2025: Well, He's Gone
Fifteen minutes ago President Buffoon's term ended after four long years. He can now stumble off into the mists of history; good riddance to him and everything he stands for.
February 2, 2025: The Festival Of The Meteorological Rodent
The report from Punxatawney is that the groundhog saw his shadow today. Six more weeks of winter. Well, Phil is at least as accurate a forecaster as the Weather Babes on TV.
February 9, 2025: Super Bowel Sunday (And No, That's Not A Typo)
I've spent the last few days digitizing dog pictures from our old albums, so that they can be displayed on one of those digital photo frame gadgets. Forty-one years of having dogs means you have a LOT of pictures. I've been through three albums so far, have 86 more images to go in the current one, and no idea how many more there may be in other albums stashed away in our spare room closet.
This is a tiring exercise for many reasons. First—and least important—is the fact that my back is killing me from the stooped positions I have to take. Much more importantly, it's emotionally draining. Seeing all those pictures of long-dead companions who have shared our lives for anywhere from 10 to 16 years each is wearing me down.
So many memories...For a variety of reasons I believe I have, at most, 10 years to go. Not long enough. I have come to realize that I can no longer, at age 77, have a dog. It would probably outlive me, and I have no one to whom it could go. I could never countenance any pet of mine ending up in a shelter or worse, being "put to sleep" because I was so inconsiderate as to die first. Nor do I wish to undergo the heartache—again—of losing a beloved animal should I live longer than I think I will.
I have absolutely zero interest in football, but briefly I've been watching the "Puppy Bowl," which is far more entertaining and far more honest than any football game could ever be. This isn't helping my melancholy outlook. Those adorable dogs remind me of what I have had, what I have lost, and what I can never have again.
February 26, 2025: The Last Tree
If you have followed this blog for any length of time you'll perhaps have read my essay on trees that have meant something to me in the course of my life. Today the last tree that was in our yard when we moved here 38 years ago was cut down.
It was a flowering crabapple, a spectacularly showy ornamental that every Spring burst forth with pink blossoms for a brief time. I have no idea which of the previous owners of this house planted it, nor when. The house was built in 1963, so I suppose it could have been planted then, or sometime afterwards; but it was certainly well over 40 years old. It had been steadily declining; in the last ice and windstorm a couple of weeks ago it lost some big branches. It was directly under our power line, too: a year or so ago another of our trees had grown up into the line and got set on fire, something we didn't want to have happen. I hated to lose it, but it was obvious the crabapple's time had come. We hired a tree service to do the deed; it was far too much for me to handle. The tree man came yesterday, to give me a very reasonable estimate. Today two workers showed up. A husky young man and a lithe, wiry young woman. He did the cutting, she drove the skid-steer and shoved branches and debris into the wood-chipper trailer. (That chipper is one of the scariest pieces of equipment I've ever seen. A few weeks ago a man working for one of the local tree companies fell into a chipper, about as grisly a fate as could be imagined. His work mates got most of him out, according to the news story, but it must have been like that famous scene in the movie Fargo. Yechh...)
I was immensely impressed with these 
two professionals. They showed up at 12:30 and were done by 3:00, including an hour for their lunch. It helps when you have a 24" chain saw and a skidder that handles logs 12-15 feet long and a foot thick. I thought about what it must have been like when this area was originally settled, back in the mid-18th Century. Virgin forest that had to be cut down with axes and hand saws! Those old timers really had it tough. Doing it today is not easy but back then it must have been literally back-breaking. No wonder they died in their 30's—if they were lucky enough to live that long.
