What is a complaint? My dictionary says a complaint may involve fault-finding, a grievance or an accusation. My mother might refer to my griping as “bellyaching” over what she considered a “nothing.” Depending on the situation, the focus of my displeasure might be my hair, a zit, not receiving a phone call from whatever boyfriend of the day, or even my brother. She didn’t consider my brother a “nothing,” but everything else was.

Today I am past zits and boyfriends; my hair has become boss of itself, and I had a great chat with my brother last week. Like you, most of my complaints involve the smoke that has escaped from all the states west and north of Wyoming to settle around our Wind River Mountains. When I went fishing last Friday, I scarce could make out those awesome peaks. Do you suppose that, to the fish, I appeared as a vision rather than a threat? I did catch four. The smoke will dissipate – just a temporary annoyance.

In June and July, the mosquitoes would have headed my gripe list. And weren’t their bites vicious this year? The venom lived on long after I squashed that bug. Thanks to the spraying and cooler weather, the yearly mosquito scourge is fading.

This comment is for the birds – if only they read the Roundup. I enjoy feeding the birds year-round and don’t begrudge a bite of suet cake to the occasional magpie, raven or blackbird. It’s their juvenile delinquents that become unbearable. They mob the feeder like they’re at a rock concert, fight one another as if they were never taught to take turns, and squawk their heads off.

Such cawing woke me early one morning and I went to see if a murder of magpies/ravens/crows had a moose cornered in my backyard. Oh, no. It was a juvenile magpie, almost full-grown, hopping after its dad with its beak open and yelling its head off for food. The parent ignored junior. “Time to go find your own food, kid.” I think this parental attitude is rampant now in the bird world, so the kids have formed gangs. Just grin and bear it.

But, I do have a couple complaints that could be resolved, if readers will recognize themselves and correct minor faults.

The first concerns fishing line, of all things. I prefer to believe that it is not locals who do this. When a line gets so tangled that the best thing to do is to cut it, and reload your gear, please don’t toss that half-mile of invisible filament onto the ground. It’s danger to all kinds of wild critters if they get caught in it. I’m thinking mainly birds, but it could trip old biddies like me. If you stick it in your pocket or creel to dispose of at home, then I won’t have to.

Another grievance is based on simple thoughtlessness. We all know how crowded the post office parking lot is at times. Lines of cars coming in and hoping others will back out to vacate a space. I’ve often been in that situation only to observe a person sitting in her car and reading her mail, oblivious to folks who are kept waiting for her (it’s usually a “her”) space. If you know folks are lined up, take your mail home, to the park or elsewhere to read it. Just a suggestion.

Then there are the barking dogs. Not the ones who only let their owners know someone is walking or running past the fence. They are simply on “dog alert” duty. It’s the ones that bark for hours. Are they lonely? Are they tied up? Are they thirsty? There is one in the Shelter Park area I hear often. Sometimes it yelps as if hurt and whines. I may track it down. If you own a dog, be kind to it and be responsible.

My last complaint is deeply felt and not one readily solved. This is the loss of Stephen Crane as editor of the newspaper. He has been an honest journalist, reporting situations and facts the community needs to know. Pandering to any “powers that be” holds no place in our newspaper. I’ve appreciated his editorials, revealing him to be a caring husband and father and son. I wish you well, Stephen. If I could adopt you and keep you here, I would. You have been great to work with. God speed. Come back to us if you can.