What happened to the Amazon and Cabela's ads?

I am one of thousands of people who got screwed out of blog income yesterday by the state of California.

What happened? It's a complicated story, but I'll try to boil it down here:

I was enrolled in affiliate programs for Amazon.com and Cabela's. What that meant was if you clicked on any of my Cabela's or Amazon links or widgets and bought something - anything - I got a commission on that sale.

It wasn't huge income for me, but it was for some bloggers. And personally, I'll take anything I can get for the enormous investment of time I put into this blog.

But both programs cut me off yesterday because of something California put in its new state budget.

If you do much shopping online, you may have noticed that some online retailers don't collect sales tax on your purchases. The reason is this: A 1992 U.S. Supreme Court decision - Quill v. North Dakota - said that states can't force remote retailers (back then, this meant mail-order companies) to collect sales tax on purchases unless those retailers have a physical presence in those states. This principle is referred to as nexus.

The reason for the decision is that there are something like 30,000 distinct sales taxes in the United States. Most states have one, and sometimes counties and cities slap on an additional sales tax. The Supreme Court basically said it was too much of a burden on retailers to force them to collect taxes for all 30,000 taxing entities.

Instead, states have had to rely on their residents to voluntarily disclose the amounts they spent on goods that weren't taxed by retailers, and pay taxes on those amounts. And - you guessed it - most individuals ignore that requirement. That means states are losing out on substantial amounts of tax revenue.

So, how did California screw me?

To pass a sorta balanced budget, the Legislature declared that online retailers' affiliates - people like me - constitute nexus, a company's physical presence in our state, and therefore all retailers with affiliates in California must collect sales tax on purchases by Californians.

This is, in all likelihood, unconstitutional, but Amazon and Cabela's didn't sit around waiting for a favorable court decision; they said, "Screw that," and promptly fired all of us. They didn't even wait for the new law to take effect at midnight tonight - they cut us off yesterday.

Before I logged off last night, I noticed blank spots where I'd had Cabela's ads. Meanwhile, all the Amazon links were still there, which meant Amazon was still making money off of me, despite the fact that I could no longer make money off of Amazon.

Nice, eh? Yeah, I've already started stripping out the Amazon links.

Here's the funny part: I've paid income taxes on my Amazon and Cabela's income, so California has now lost that income tax revenue. Brilliant, eh? And yes, the Legislature KNEW this would happen because Amazon made it clear (and Amazon has done this in other states that have passed similar laws).

Fortunately for me, Cabela's and Amazon aren't the only affiliate programs out there. There are others that actually have a physical presence in this state, so they aren't butt-hurt about the new California law - they're already collecting sales taxes here.

The only question is whether my readers will patronize them the way they have Cabela's and Amazon.

© Holly A. Heyser 2011

Tweetweek: Urban dove hunting, dead deer in strange places, celebrity chick hunters and a hilarious ad

Not a slave to Twitter? No problem - here's what I've been tweeting about lately:

Urban hunting? A new state law in Arizona allows hunting within municipalities.

Wow. The second I read this, I thought about all the legal game I've seen in my yard: doves, squirrels, pigeons, even a random pheasant. And I actually saw a wild turkey in the neighborhood last week!

But I'm pretty sure back-yard hunting isn't what Arizona Game and Fish had in mind.

"We plan to take a prudent and thoughtful approach when implementing these new authorities," said Game and Fish Deputy Director Gary Hovatter. "Our intent is to strike a balance between increasing hunting opportunities on open uninhabited lands within municipalities while doing our best to minimize potential or even perceived conflicts, where practical."

A regulation prohibiting shooting game within a quarter mile of an occupied residence still applies.

The new law that allows municipal hunting, SB 1334, works by prohibiting municipalities from enacting regulations limiting lawful hunting. We have the same discussion here in California every year, but the bill is a harder sell in California. Wah!

Deadly fence: Mike Hanback blogged last week about two deer in one week dying trying to get through an iron fence.

At first I couldn't figure out why the doe you see here died so quickly - you see lots of stories about animals getting stuck in fences for days and being successfully liberated. Then I looked more carefully at the fence: Looks like she was impaled trying to make the crossing. (Click on the photo to see a larger version.)

I'd have to say there's a problem with the fence, and someone needs to get a clue and address it.

Continuing the dead-deer theme... Chad Love blogged on F&S recently about a dead fawn found dangling from a POWER LINE.

WTF?

OK, this one isn't the power line's fault. The theory is that an eagle killed the fawn, but wasn't able to fly very far with it. Personally, I'm surprised an eagle could get off the ground with a fawn, but there may not be a better theory.

Nice suit! I can't put the whole photo here because it's copyrighted. All I can say is you Really need to click here to check out the Realtree vest, jacket and hat one of my Twitter friends, @IanHarford, had custom made for himself.

Celebrity chick hunters: Usually we hear about Hollywood celebs siding with PETA, but here's a list of 12 female celebrities who hunt.

What was really funny to me was that I didn't recognize half of these women. Ha! Not surprising - all I watch on television is food shows, science shows and hunting shows.

Humans as prey: I love, love, love this Snickers ad, because it seems only fair to think of ourselves as prey, not just predators. Hilarious!


© Holly A. Heyser 2011

CSI Cazadora: The mystery of the fallen pigeons

I was SO enjoying my hikes at the lake this year, but they just haven't been the same since I saw a rattlesnake slither by just three feet from where I squatted off-trail, watching a sick hen turkey, back in April.

Oh, I've been back to the lake, but being forced to stick to the trails to avoid unplanned encounters with snakes has taken the joy out of it for me. So I've started walking around my neighborhood for exercise.

I actually love walking a neighborhood, because you see stuff that's just a blur when you drive by. I know all the dogs, all the cats, where I'm most likely to see a peacock on a roof (seriously) and where the pigeons ... die.

I made that little discovery when I decided to add a four-block stretch on a really busy street to extend my range a little bit. The very first time I walked it, I found two dead pigeons next to the sidewalk.

Now, don't worry, I'm not going to get all maudlin about it. But I'm actually pretty fond of pigeons. Not only do I like hunting and eating them, but I really enjoy watching them.

As our resident vegan here, Ingrid, has pointed out, pigeons are pretty damned intelligent, and have quite a social structure. I particularly like watching the games they play over their favorite urban intersections: swirling bouts of aerobatic follow-the-leader, and "bump your buddy," where one bird gets up, moves to another spot on a power line, and another bird on that line has to get up, move and displace another pigeon, and so on, until I get a green light and return my attention to the road.

So when I came across two carcasses on the ground, I was a little sad. Such a waste - two birds had died for probably no good reason. I hate the idea of accidental or negligent killing - I think there should be a purpose for taking a life.

But what was it that had killed these birds?

I picked up both of them (because honey badger don't care about germs) to check them out.

Any bands? Nope. Not part of anyone's flock.

Any blood? Nope. Not hit by cars.

Any disease? They looked to be in perfectly good health, except for the unfortunate fact that they were dead.

So, I looked up. High-voltage power line. And it was covered with pigeons.

Had they been electrocuted?

I started emailing back and forth with Ingrid about it. When I found a third bird on the ground under those lines a few days later, his still-living buddies hanging out overhead, I decided to call SMUD, our local power company, to let them know pigeons might be dying on their power lines. The guy I talked to was really nice and he said they'd send someone out. I didn't get my hopes up.

I kept taking my walks, kept walking by the corpses in various states of decay, kept seeing the rest of the flock swirling overhead.

Then one day, I found a fourth bird - so freshly dead that the ants had just found it, and it wasn't even in rigor yet. Hmmmm. Pre-rigor mortis. Fresh! Should I take it home and eat it? I love me some pigeon...


Then I looked up and noticed that there weren't any more pigeons hanging out overhead. Hmmmm. Four dead pigeons. Flock gone. Maybe I shouldn't have been so quick to handle them...

So I asked Ingrid about pigeon diseases. She recommended some local wildlife care folks I could talk to, and they took my report, but said they didn't know of any local disease issues. Then I called the county agriculture department and went through the same process. No known disease issues.

Ingrid got back to me and pointed out that electrocution usually makes birds look fried, and these birds didn't.


Then, freshly inspired by the arrival of my dad's air rifle, it occurred to me that someone could be taking potshots at pigeons on the power lines from their back yard. Air rifles are pretty quiet - no one would know. Pigeons present a large target at short range. And face it, aside from saps like me, most people just don't care if someone offs pigeons for kicks.

Interesting theory, but I really wasn't excited about picking up a bunch of dead birds and plucking them to look for entry wounds.

Meanwhile, I kept walking that route. And I totally stopped seeing live pigeons there. I even took a detour to pass by a nearby big intersection that's a favorite of pigeons', and saw only a few where I'd usually see two dozen. Something was up...

Or was it just my imagination? During my childhood I loved nothing better than seeing slightly out-of-the-ordinary happenings and infusing them with all sorts of mystery.

Maybe the pigeons were getting electrocuted, and after the fourth one went down, his remaining pals decided this was a lousy place to hang out.

I thought back to a conversation Hank and I had had during duck season about how long birds remember where bad things happen. In that context, the question was how long would it take for them to forget where hunters lay in waiting for them?

Three days was the number he'd heard. Perhaps the birds would return?

Sure enough, when I took my walk this Tuesday, I saw one pigeon perched on the power line over that spot. When I took my walk on Wednesday, I saw half a dozen on the line. Either these were new pigeons taking advantage of a seemingly good hangout, or the old flock had returned, deaths forgotten.

I guess the only question now is how long it'll be before another one falls.

© Holly A. Heyser 2011

Stop, drop and look: Foraging in the high Sierras

I haven't hunted in ages. I haven't even gone fishing. But Hank and I went foraging at an undisclosed location in the high Sierras yesterday, and while our haul wasn't epic, it was a perfectly beautiful way to spend a Saturday.

Here's what we saw, through my macro lens (click "Read more" below the slideshow for captions):


1. Morel in its habitat.

2. Morels back home in the studio - we collected ten, but came home with nine because my bag tore and I lost one.

3. False morel. Really, who would think that's a morel?

4. Bracken fern.

5. Another fern (some kind of fiddlehead, not sure exactly which kind).

6. Watercress in its habitat (a cool mountain stream).

7. Currant flowers. That bush is going to be loaded later this summer!

8. Bumble bee on unidentified flower.

9. Red ant - moving way too fast for me to catch him in that lighting.

10. Black ant - mercifully not as frantic as the red ant.

11. Baby mountain jay, out of the nest too early. The second I dropped to my knees to peer at him, his parents set up in a nearby tree and squawked at me relentlessly. Hope he makes it, but I doubt he survived the night.

12. These are from a heap of feathers I found while looking for morels. I have NO IDEA what bird they're from. Ideas anyone? (Update: A hurrah goes out to Rebecca O'Connor and Rene Simon for pulling this bird out of a hat: red-shafted flicker!)

© Holly A. Heyser 2011

My newest adventure: 'Hey Mom, I found the gun that fires when you engage the safety!'

Sometimes I totally forget my roots. I mean, I talk about how no one in my family hunted after I was born, but I forget that my dad - who hunted as a kid - was a total insane-O gun nut.

About a year after he died, we had a big memorial gathering at our house to commemorate him, and that was when Mom decided it would be a good idea to go through all his guns.

Which he had kept under the bed. All of them loaded. All of the time. You know, in case the Hun invaded their rural community or something.

Mom wanted me to have one of those guns - an heirloom that her father had bought when he got home from World War I - and we had enough people at the memorial who knew about guns that it seemed like a good time to go through them. You know, people who could tell whether a gun was loaded, and safely unload it.

As we pored over Dad's weapons cache, Mom remembered one thing: "Oh yeah, one of these guns will fire when you engage the safety, but I don't know which one it is, so be careful!" LOL, safety first, eh?

We got through the whole examination and dispersal process without any mishaps. I took my grandpa's gun back home to Minnesota, where I'd take it to the shooting range once in a while - I didn't hunt yet at that point - and everyone was happy.

Fast forward to this year. I have been pining for an air rifle so I'd have a gun I could use for cheap target practice.

I almost got one back in February when Hank and I both won guns at a California Waterfowl dinner. I was going to trade the gun I won for an air rifle, but when I didn't find one that suited my fancy (or the trade-in value of the gun I'd won), I opted for five cases of target ammo instead.

When summer break began, giving me a lot more free time for practice, I got to thinking about it again, and I realized something: Dad had probably had a pellet gun! I asked Mom about it, and she got back to me with the good news: Yes, he had one!

She brought it to me yesterday, and it was game on.

"Does it shoot BBs?" I asked. I know nothing about pellet guns.

"I don't know," she said.

I stared at the gun, looking for answers. It didn't say anything.

"How do you load it?"

That Mom knew. "Here," she said, pulling back an action that didn't look like anything I'd ever seen before. Then she showed me how to work the pneumatic pump. I pumped it and dry-fired it a couple times, and it seemed to work fine. Good enough to get started, I figured.

I started asking my gun nut friends: "Do all pellet guns take BBs?" I got varying answers. Phillip reminded me that the caliber should be stamped on the barrel, but all I saw there was ROSMAN "140." So, I just went and picked up a bunch of Daisy BBs at my local Wal-Mart, and took the gun out for a spin.

I engaged the safety, loaded a pellet, worked the pump a few times, aimed at an empty plastic Diet Coke bottle and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Hmmm.

Safety was on "F," not "S." Maybe I needed to re-set? I moved it back to "S," and Pop! it fired into the canopy of the tree over my head.

Oopsie!

What an excellent reminder, though, about always keeping your muzzle pointed in a safe direction.

I called my mom. "Hey Mom, I found the gun that fires when you engage the safety!"

Or more precisely, it fires when you switch it from "F" to "S" if you have pulled the trigger already. If you haven't pulled the trigger, it's fine. Except for the fact that you fire when it's on "safe" and it's safe when it's on "fire." (It does not, by the way, surprise me one bit that my dad would tolerate this - all the more reason to keep your goddamn hands of his goddamn guns.)

I was glad we were solid on that knowledge, but the rest was still a mystery to me. I could get the gun to shoot BBs, but only if I kept the muzzle tilted up; otherwise, they just rolled out. Obviously, it was not a BB gun.

I did a search online and realized that the funky little action was obscuring the whole name stamped on the barrel: What I had was a Crosman "140," a pneumatic pump, .22 caliber, single shot rifle, made somewhere between 1954 and 1957.

Peering into the opened action, I could not envision stuffing a .22 round in there, so I took it to my local gun store, Wild Sports - where I got both my first shotgun and my first new rifle - and asked the gun guys to help me figure it out.

The answer: .22 pellets, which I must say are the most unlikely looking projectiles I have ever seen. Who knew mushrooms could fly?

I also found a manual for the Crosman 140 online, which makes me really happy, because I'm one of those people who not only knows how to RTFM, but insists on it.

Now armed with information and flying mushrooms, I went out into the field again, put the safety on "F," pumped the gun the recommended number of times (six to eight - thank you, manual), moved the safety to "S" and fired.

Dead Diet Coke bottle!

Well, sorta. This ammo put a big dent in the bottle, but it was really made for paper, so I fashioned a target, pinned it up, and went at it.


Ha! Not flying very gracefully, these pellets. But who cares? This was my dad's gun. The eighth anniversary of his death is coming up in nine days, and I feel a little better knowing now that I've been able to incorporate another piece of his life into mine.

But I think I'm gonna take it to a gunsmith to have that safety worked on.

© Holly A. Heyser 2011