Sunday, July 13, 2014

Learning from my Dad

You should have asked Davison Cheney

I can’t claim that I am a great dad, and my relationship with my own father was never like the families I saw around me. But I'm older now, grayer and a little more pudgy. I can look back and see how my dad taught me to be a better dad — and a better person.

My dad introduced me to nature and other things bigger than I. He took us kayaking on the Snake river and camping on the shores of the Mississippi. Though I am not much of a camper today I wouldn’t mind a drive through Star Valley, Jackson Hole or around the Palisades reservoir — frequent haunts of my father.

My dad taught me to appreciate everyday things.

“Look at that!” he’d say.

"It’s a cow," I would respond.

“Yes, but this is an Ida-wilda-cow and all the others we have seen today have been Bonneville Bovine. It’s rare to see an Ida-wilda-cow so far up north.”

“Yes, dad. Please turn up the radio."
I do the same thing with my kids and now my grandkids. They respond in much the same fashion only their music is played on much more sophisticated equipment.

“That’s just a cow — Grandpa. Please plug in my iPad."

My dad taught me to take opportunities when they present themselves. He did this by getting up at three in the morning because that was when our grey water turn began.

At three in the morning.

He took me with him to set the dams so that the field would be heavily soaked and would keep the crops comfy until our next water turn.

My dad taught me that people were important.

He did this by telling me to "let the phone ring" when company was over.
“If it’s important, they’ll call back.” This was in the day of push button phones that had cords that attached them to the wall, which was shortly after phones that had a round plastic spinning dial.

They did call back. And they just kept calling.

Now, of course, I don’t ever answer the phone. We had our house phone discontinued years ago because we all have cell phones. My phone is right over... well, it was there by the... Will someone call my phone?

My father taught me that there are some things we do simply because we have to— like paying the bills and brushing our teeth.

Lawns must be mowed and wood piles must be moved unless you turn the lawn into a flower garden and stack the wood correctly the first time. And the goats need to be fed or they will climb on the shed, jump over the fence and eat all your mother's peonies.

He made me go to church, which I still do. I pay most of my bills and I still brush my teeth — when I can find them.

My dad taught me that you don’t have to eat anything you don’t want to eat.
And if you roll up the cooked zucchini with tomato sauce or pork chops and hide them in the hems of the drapes, someone will find them someday, maybe three years later when the window dressings are dry-cleaned for a family reunion. By that time you can blame it on your little brother.

This he taught me inadvertently by making me sit there until my plate was empty.
My dad taught me that our demeanor affects everyone around us and that you can’t fake sincerity.

He had friends everywhere we went. As children we could count on an extra 15 minutes spent wherever we went because Dad would invariably know the clerk or the clerk's dad, or the clerk's boss. He had a smile and a wave for everyone.

We didn't always see eye to eye, my dad and I. We often still don't. But I know who he is and what he believes by how he lives his life. And I know where he keeps his stash of corn chips.

Written for and originally published by

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

You should have asked Davison Cheney - July 9th

I like music to cook and eat my lovely children and my dog Mr. Wiggles.

Don't be that guy! 
Please use commas and other relevant punctuation.

Monday, July 7, 2014

How to be the worlds worst neighbor

You should have asked Davison Cheney

Love thy neighbor. It’s in the best-selling book.

“How can I best express my affection for my neighbor to my neighbor?” you may ask.
Well… here’s what not to do.

Mow your lawn on Sunday morning. Get a good start on the day by beginning at 8 a.m. And leave your grass clippings in a pile next to the fence. Nothing smells like neighbor more than nature's soil-ent green after a day in the heat.
Make sure to turn the music on full blast when you are washing the car, or sun tanning in the backyard. Hard rock or Banda works well — don’t play anything tasteful, like ABBA or the Judds. And remember that volume is everything. Everybody wants to hear your music.

Speaking of the middle of the night, get yourself a good strong halogen work light. With this incredible fixture you can extend your working hours into the evening and early morning.

Evening is a great time to paint your house, work on the car or burn a few weeds. Remember the fun things you used to do with lamps in the dark? You can fall in love with shadow puppets all over again. Also, dogs love being bathed at night in a tub in the backyard. After all, this is your property, and you can do whatever you want with it.

If you are arguing with your spouse, you may as well let the neighbors know who is really to blame. Men, you will have to be twice as loud as your woman because of the shrill factor, so really belt it out. Open a door or a window. And remember to swear. The bluer the better. How else are the study abroad kids going to learn to speak proper A‘merican.

Don’t feed your pets. It saves on pet food if you let your pets wander to the neighbors for a meal or two. After all, you could use what you save on cat chow for three extra Slurpees a week. And don’t fence your pet in. We live in a free land and so do Bonkers and Mrs. White toes. Let them roam the neighborhood. Free range and freedom for all — especially chicken. There is a land of bugs and more bugs for them in the flower gardens and intricate barked pathways of your cul-de-sac.

Leave your garbage can in the front of the house or right close to the back door for easy disposal. Remember that the more bugs you attract, the happier your chicken will be. And flies are our neighbor in nature, too.

Dandelions are wonderful for sharing. They are a buttery yellow that — in combination with the white of plastic milk cartons left in your yard — represent the very essence of summer. And weren’t they lovely in Belle’s song at the beginning of my favorite Disney animation — seed pods floating by gently as she sang about wanting adventure. Though your neighbors pay to have a guy spray weekly for weeds, they will love the adventure that is a dandelion (or 40) as well.

After all, with our neighbors and in life in general, it's not the love we give that we will regret, it’s the love we didn’t share.

Saturday, June 21, 2014

You should have asked Davison Cheney

Let me start my new advice column by answering the question I frequently have to answer.  No, my wife and I are not interested in being in your MLM/home business down-line. Nothing personal.
The second question I get is “How do I get my neighbors dogs to stop barking?”

(The third question I get is how I could possibly be a grandpa and look so young, but that is a topic for another day.)

Let me respond to all you readers with a hearty, "thanks for asking“. As it happens, I do have a solution to the barking dog problem -- and many other problems that a man has to face while pretending to be the one running the household.

There is a general order to things as far as hushing a mutt is concerned. First is to try to live with the ruckus by any means you can control, like playing a CD of woodland creatures or running water. (Not that I have had any luck with that tactic. My nature CD sounded way too much like when the downstairs toilet flooded over.)

For peace and quiet, you might try new insulation, or installing sound dampening, efficient windows and doors. Also, hang new curtains or do like I do and staple a sleeping bag around big windows. My neighbors -- the one with out the dog -- have moved their master bedroom to the basement.

Others I know have had luck making use of prescription pharmaceuticals.

Ear plugs are a tool of the proactive, and so is dunking ones Popsicle in a small cup of nighttime cold medicine -- a popular short term solution from what I’ve heard.

If none of these tactics is an option, see if you have a little spare change to donate to your neighborhood ruffians club. In my neighborhood -- which is just up and to the left -- local ruffians are happy to spray paint messages on the sidewalk in front of the offender’s home in the color of my choice -- only a little extra change for the use of an additional hue, shading or a border.

Nothing says "please stop barking" like graffiti.

What you are trying to avoid by all this is face-to-face interaction with the owner of Constantly Barking dog. Never confront Fido’s owner directly. Being frank and up front is for interactions with your analyst or your barber, not your neighbor.

I’m sure you have heard lofty stories about honesty being the best policy. It’s simply not true. Have you read about actual folks and friends who have come to a healthy compromise? No sir, E Bob. These are solutions discussed pleasantly on religious filmstrips of the late seventies/early eighties, or on NPR. Or on a blog. Does anyone respectable blog?

As far as notes, cakes with messages in frosting, candy grams, petitions: Don’t bother. Offending pet owners will just feed your edible confection to their heck hound who will then be encouraged to poop on your lawn.
And you will never get your plate back.
No, no. Honest communication is for the birds. My solution? Send the police over.
When Officers friendly come-a-knocking at the door, everyone says, “Oh Gosh, If I had only known my beloved Fido was being a bother to one of my dear neighbors I would have hopped right on that".
Then they say, “I wish whoever reported this had come to me first." After which, they offer the Officers friendly a piece of the cake you gave them, the one with “please stuff a sock in it” on top written in red string licorice.

Blaa, bla, blaaa. That’s what we all say when confronted, but no one changes their dog’s routine unless they are issued a written warning. So, start by calling the authorities, who are happy to seek out these community building opportunities, and save the friendship with your neighbor.

Sunday, June 1, 2014

... L, M, N, O, __ , Q, R, S...

I checked out the blog just now and I was hit in the face with an add that the advertisement lords have decided is appropriate for my personal blog.  It is concerning ones needing help to Urinate. 

No, not even urinate. Pee.

This has made me sit and reflect upon my life and the choices I have made.  Well, my advanced age made me sit, but the reflection part was directly influenced by the urine advertisement.


Strangely telling, pee.  Today I had to deal with my daughter laughing so hard that she..., well, you know... and had to leave the room quickly.  Not quickly enough to avoid having to shampoo the sofa tomorrow, however.

My grandson has done nothing else all day, both in and not in his diapers -- those marvelous little ingenious spongy, high end, high technological wonders that absorb several gallons at a time and can drain a small swimming pool.

However, today, grandchild was, based on results, situated in such a manner that his plumbing bi passed the diaper completely while my wife and I were enjoying a nice dinner at our friends house -- the only time we have been invited out this year.

Everywhere I turn, natures liquid sunshine greets me.  Today, our Bishop comes over and Meg, the wonder dog,  decides that there has never been a better moment to water the lawn at our feet. My son moved out of the house three days ago, and I wander the basement to see what state it is in, and there in the bathroom sits three weeks of the stuff in the john with an eco system that would qualify as Class M.

My wife tells me that these ads are generated specific for the person who is reading on-line, and that this particular add on my blog is the result of the new science that tailors marketing specifically to the individual viewers tastes and needs.

So, enjoy your ad. And may it not be about pee, ED or male hair loss.  Or defence attorneys.  


Monday, April 28, 2014

Aliens -vs- Disco Inferno

I lost my cell phone the other day. It wasn’t in the places I usually find my phone after it has been lost - my van; the laundry pile; the dogie dish, or my granddaughter's Elsa Queen of Arendelle purse.

So, I had to use my daughters phone to make calls. Standing there with her phone in my hand I realized that I didn’t know the numbers of any of the people I needed to call.  Nor did I recognize any of the ring tones she had listed, with one exception -- mine.  Disco Inferno.

All of the numbers I normally use daily are programmed into my cell, and I have no need to remember them.

Back in the days when I liked to pretend that my life had meaning I used a day planner, and the very same thing happen to me then, only different. I would write down a date or an appointment and having done so, would forget about it entirely. I was handing my brain to a third party.

I now, based on the last three minutes of concentrated thought, believe that these superb latter-day inventions, these incredible devices that certainly assist us in these modern times of real time sports scores and mad cow disease are actually an infestation of a mechanical/technological nature that originate outside of our planet that will certainly bring about the downfall of society.

It’s so low-brow to play the "Aliens from outer space" card, but I’m gonna do it. Think about it:

“Oh my, it looks like that pod plant is growing dangerously close to our bedroom window! I better quickly call the… Now where did I put that cell phone? I don’t remember the 911 number cause it’s programmed into that sleek, modern device I use to communicate with the outside world, and... Oh well, ...looks like Duck Dynasty is on.  I'll just lay here for awhile.”

See what I mean? Or maybe this will ring your bell:

“I have just discovered the cure to cancer, appendicitis and early, pattern ‘A‘ hair loss! It’s all right here in my brain! This will surely save mankind and a few women as well! Before I go to the press and make my announcement so that all the world may know of this miraculous break-through, let me take a moment to update my status on facebook. Oh look! Heather is having problems with her blender again. And it is snowing in South Dakota at the Four Presidents film festival. How interesting. Now, what was I doing?”

Ugly, isn't it. You can just hear the brains quigla-fying into a Jell-O-like substance that oozes, festers, and absorbs knowledge and decent conversational fodder until no one at all will invite you over for fish and chips.

We’re doomed, I'm telling you. And its all due to some rather snazzy modern technological advances of more than dubious origin.

Case in point; small and smaller screens are indicative of inventions from invaders of the short pale variety.  Little and green, you say? The view screens are so small that I, with glasses that have lenses so thick they could be used as shields on the star ship Enterprise, end up handing the phone to my kids so I can see who I;m not going to answer the phone for.

Puny screens may equal aliens.

Now I hope I haven’t alarmed any of you. Just go on about your lives as if all was well and you didn't know that the world is falling into the hands of otherlings. I'm sure that if you memorize your necessary phone numbers and don't include ring tones of anything written after 1985 you will not fall victim to any pods or computer viruses or flesh eating digitally transmitted illnesses. You'll end up just fine.

P.S.  A short message to the government of this fine nation: Please fix Obama care. Also, don’t keep the Star wars security codes in any ones cell phone, laptop, or a small sleek-looking toaster oven unless you know for sure that it was made in the US of A.

P.P.S.  And if you, reader, find a cell phone with a Close Encounters of the Third Kind ring tone, please let me know by calling my daughter Annie who is listed as "Queen Interrupter" whose ring tone is "The Wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald.

Monday, March 17, 2014

One of the 'Lost Boys' of South Sudan hopes to find a place for his family in Utah.


His name is hard to pronounce. The boys currently living and watching over a communal herd in a Dinka Bor cattle camp in South Sudan of central Africa would know him better as Cheleu — unbeatable.

In Utah, he goes by his Christian name, and today he is trying to explain for the third time why cattle are not branded in his country.

Christian (name changed) is from South Sudan, or what has turned into South Sudan due in large part to a bloody civil war. He now lives in Utah County. Today these two worlds are, if not colliding, at least bumping around together for the afternoon as he talks to a few of his friends about his homeland.

“I know what my cows look like, and if you take my cow, I know it, you know it, and everyone else in my cattle camp knows it,” Christian says. “So if someone takes my cow, I go up to them and say please give me back my cow.”

“How well has this worked for you?” someone asks.

“Not so well,” he replies.

How does one prove whose cow is whose? And what if the cow thief counteracts the attempt to reclaim cattle with an infantile statement such as “Make me”? These are questions posed to Christian by his friends in Utah who have seen bullies in action on many different playgrounds.

“It’s not the people in the camps one has to worry about anyway,” Christian clarifies. “It’s the organized rustlers that are the danger.” And the organized rustlers don’t get caught.
No one gets caught.

Many in the cattle camps are again arming themselves to defend against rustling — after the government of South Sudan enacted a controversial disarmament of civilians. Law-abiding civilians giving the authorities their guns sounds like a good idea.

However, cattle rustlers don’t voluntarily disarm themselves. So, the rustlers are armed, and the law-abiding citizens give up their weapons to the government — secretly acquiring more in order to protect their cattle.

As volatile as it is, the issue of cattle rustling has become secondary to Christian and his family with the recent civil unrest, violence and rising death tolls in South Sudan.

The European Commission’s Humanitarian Aid and Civil Protection agency (ECHO) reported that "shelling, mortars and shooting were reported in different parts of (Juba, capital of South Sudan) during fighting early this week."

The United Nations is providing shelter for some 43,000 displaced Sudanese at its two bases in Juba, and 77,000 people around South Sudan, said spokeswoman Ariane Quentier of the United Nations Mission in South Sudan (UNMISS).

UNMISS Deputy Director of Mission Support Anne Marie van den Berg, who signed an agreement this past week to build a new camp that could hold up to 10,000 refugees, said many Sudanese "fear going home" or have no home to go back to.

Lost Boys

Christian is one of the Lost Boys of Sudan — one of the children who avoided being killed, captured or sold primarily due to their absence. The boys were away from their families, living and working in cattle camps. They survived simply because when their villages were destroyed by army or rebel forces in the civil war, they were elsewhere.

In Christian’s instance, the attack in his Dinka Bor community came when the ruling government wanted to get rid of rebels that were reported to be hiding in the village. The village was burned after being hit with a barrage of bullets. Families ran for the safety of the dense bush to hide and wait for the strike by the Sudan government forces to be over.

Many of Christian's family and friends in that village died. Christian hid near the White Nile River in grazing land and dense swampland. After crossing the river, he made his way to Ethiopia.

Many of the boys alongside him making their escape either starved, were picked off by military snipers or drowned in the river. Others fell prey to crocodiles attracted to the area much as they are attracted to the churning water during migrations of water buffalo.

Christian traveled by foot for days and sought refuge in a camp in Ethiopia, where he was picked up by U.N. forces and eventually made it to the United States in 2000. He was deemed to be of age (not knowing when he was born) and housed with three other boys while they attended school. He graduated with a bachelor’s degree in economics and political science from La Salle University in Philadelphia.

Christian has since been back to South Sudan to try to locate family members and re-establish a small herd of cows in Dinka Bor. In his last visit he married a local woman and has a young boy just learning to walk.

He now focuses on getting steady employment in order to bring his wife and little boy to Utah, where chances of success are greater than in Dinka Bor. In his heart, however, he longs for home. He would like to return to Africa to establish schools in his home community.

“I would like to give boys the chance at an education and a future that so many of my friends didn’t have,” he said, looking at the image of his young son on his iPhone.

For information on how you can help refugees, see:The Refugee Council USA
Doctors Without Borders — specific to South Sudan
Crisis group — information on South Sudan
To find a refugee resettlement agency in your area,

Monday, March 3, 2014

Sleep of the dogs

I need help to get to sleep, and I don’t apologize for it.
What I did last night.  It will be different tomorrow...
It will come as no surprise that I believe in better living through appropriate pharmaceuticals. I got that concept from my doctor -- my actual, medically trained and state licensed physician.

Snap Dingy-dog, the guy on the corner, says the same thing, but his comment is more by way of self promotion of his home business.

I have tried the non-pill methods for my sleeping problem but none have worked. Warm milk, regular sleep patterns, no TV before bedtime, eating before six p.m., reading scriptures, picturing myself on an island, talking about myself and my accomplishments with my wife (puts her right to sleep) -- none of these serves.

Crystals, copper pyramids, chunky green sludge milkshakes.

Antihistamines sometimes work but they make my nose want to fall off.

My psychologist -- who, on Tuesdays and Thursdays doubles as my aerobics instructor -- told me that he focuses on a calming, soothing activity with the lights kept low before bedtime. He suggested that I do the same.

I had him record his personal stricture for a good nights sleep and put it on Youtube: Yoga is his favorite pre-snooze activity, which he does on a bamboo mat accompanied by a recording of soft pan -flute or Barry Manalow. Just before his bath (in luke-warm water laced with cucumbers and lavender) he takes melatonin and then dons his sleeping attire made of all-natural fibers and woven together by monks in the Amazon basin.

He then suggests a good breath from his abdominals. “Close your eyes and try taking deep, slow breaths, making each even deeper than the last. In through the belly and out through…“ I didn’t really hear the last part, but it sounded like he said “Connecticut“.

I have gone through all of the body parts I know, but nothing really sounds like “Connecticut“. Frankly, I really haven’t put a whole lot of thought into it because it reminds me too much of a modern dance class at BYU and a bad experience I had in the locker-room with a leotard.

Soothing blue lights are used -- like they do for the P.M. shift on the Starship Enterprise. This is all done before lying down. Once prone, he starts to tense the muscles in his feet. He holds for a count of 11, and then relaxes. He continues to do this for every muscle group in his body, working his way up to his head. This takes him three hours.

When I asked what he does with his kids while he is… “preparing for slumber” he stared at me blankly and said “I don’t have kids. Who can sleep with kids? He said. “With kids around, you should load up on Dozoid" (a name I made up).

The common side effects listed of “Dozoid” include constipation, dry mouth, nodding off at work, trouble concentrating, dizziness, unsteadiness, allergic reactions, facial swelling, memory lapses, hallucinations, complex sleep-related behaviors like sleep-walking, sleep-driving, dyslexic-like symptoms, lost memory of ones post pill activity and sleep-eating (which explains the several missing lasagnas and three empty boxes of doggy snacks.

So, I am happily -- willfully -- taking a pill whose promise of effectiveness states that one should hide ones car keys and stay off face book while under the influence. People are doing some weird stuff while taking “Xanado-do”. (Another made-up name)

My pharmacist, Sherman, is gathering Xanado-do-do pill stories for his memoirs for which I have suggested the title “A spoon full of Sherman”.

Other than the snappy title, I have come up with the following contributions of my own strange activity for his book:

1 - I set up work lights outside in order to weed the garden at two am. 
2 - I threw away all our couch pillows and re-covered a lamp in faux zebra.

At least I am not the guy who emailed his friends a photo of himself in his high school Speedo, and cut out a place for a French door in his bathroom just above his tub.

All the bazar-a-tudes I experience in taking sleeping pill are still preferable to not sleeping or starting to snooze at 5a.m. and sleeping until the crack of noon.

Sot there is a self imposed rule to follow -- and by self imposed I mean that the family voted on it and informed me of the result of their caucus. I can no longer take my pill unless I am in or on my bed wearing what passes for pajamas, ready to put myself down for the evening.

The good thing about not sleeping well is that I am less and less judgmental when I see my neighbor trimming his lawn with his pinking sheers by the light of the moon and more inclined to let him borrow my work light.

Friday, February 28, 2014

What would you do for a stranger?

Would you give your coat to a stranger?  Click for video.

"What would you do if you saw a freezing child?" states the video notes. Some charitable folks set up a hidden camera and placed Johannes, a little boy who is actually an actor, at a bus stop, in Oslo, Norway.

The film was made to raise awareness of, and to raise funds for SOS Children's Villages and their winter-campaign. Children in Syria are freezing and you can help by donating.

One can donate here:

Monday, February 10, 2014

Bigfoot -- Now at a town near you

Utah is firmly placed on the worldwide Bigfoot map.

Sasquatch websites and Bigfoot YouTube
videos have racked up millions of hits and now include sightings in the Beehive state.

Was a Bigfoot fos
silized skull found in Ogden Canyon? No as it turns out, but you can read all about it.

How about a nighttime Sasquatch sighting outside of Provo? A more definite no, but you can still view this short film produced by a fraternity of
bored and bad actors in Utah county that has been seen by over 200,000 on line. At least this one had a soundtrack.

My favorite is what seems to be a cute little beehive state black bear eating lunch near Squaw Peak -- until it stands up straight and scares the bejeebers out of some
happy campers.

The most recent recorded "sighting" -- the current papa bear of Utah Sasquatch sighting videos -- is from Utah outdoors men who discover Bigfoot and his happy home. This
video was picked up by Bigfoot big-wig Keith Hoffman and judged a probable phony.

All this publicity for Bigfoot is just in time for his national tour. Bigfoot will soon be in a Utah town near you thanks to Rick Dyer, “The best (self-described) Bigfoot tracker in the world”. Dyer is happy to give everyone a good look and let them snap their own photo -- for a price.

Dyer recently released a photo of Bigfoot taking a well deserved final nap on the floor of Dyer’s tent on what we can only hope was a cool day.

Bigfoot was found in Texas, much to the chagrin of Utah Sasquatch seekers -- shot dead while dining on Wal-Mart spare-ribs which had been nailed to a tree near San Antonio on September 6th of 2012 -- only a few miles, I should note, from a state liquor store.

Dyer has had DNA testing performed on the creature’s body, looking like a poor man’s powdered abominable snowman if the photos he posted are to be believed. Apparently this was done to assure the media that he is not exploiting any family members.

Not known at time of printing was the presence of gang tattoos, piercing or anything an agent could tie to sports wear or soft drinks.

This Bigfoot is a whole other Bigfoot

In case you are one of the many Utahans who is keeping score, this is not the same Bigfoot that Mr. Dyer claimed to have killed in
northern Georgia. That one turned out to be a rubber ape suit much like the one used in the semi-autobiographical documentary of Internet founder and former US VP Al Gore.Georgia Sasquatch was found along a stream in 2008. Dyer had then-pal Matt Whitton, a police officer on administrative leave, sit by the body for hours while Dyer found a truck to move the beast. Then they “moved the corpse through the woods to the truck—all while being shadowed by three live Sasquatch” according to Dyer.

It quickly became apparent that there was a problem in Sasquatchville when defrosted Georgia foot’s body hair was burned for analyses and the hair follicles melted into little petroleum balls.

"Within the next hour of thaw a break appeared up near the feet area," said Steve Kulls, noted author of "What Would Bigfoot Do?". "As the team and I began examining this area near the feet… I reached in and confirmed it was a rubber foot."

Fool Utahans once, shame on you...

If there was any doubt about the truth of this claim, one has only to look at the image released publicly to see that the photo is of a daddy Bigfoot, that he is of the North American republican Bigfoot’s and not the Oklahoman panhandle Bigfoot’s as was the creature of 2008, and that those involved are completely and happily whacked.

So, when can we see for ourselves? Dyer and Bigfoot started a believe-it-or-not-tour in Flagstaff Arizona on February 6th. Check the
website for future tours in towns near you.

Until then, the
Animal Planet channel is the next best thing. "Finding Bigfoot" is a big thing on cable. If you trust the numbers, the cable channel ranks among the top three fastest-growing, ad supported cable networks.

And the nonchalant Utah trap shooters who claim to have seen Bigfoot and toured Bigfoot's spacious and well constructed abode? Their video is one of the
latest videos on the Bigfoot sighting site.

And don't forget
Utah Bigfoot Facebook. If seeing isn't believing -- at least it's a good time.