The following text may have been generated by Optical Character Recognition, with varying degrees of accuracy. Reader beware!

nn hood inti oradidl, uSSRes dtio. Liss TI ie mT ar Tg In To TR, rr Try aim TTR, 4 -- PORT PERRY STAR -- Tuesday, June 10, 1986 Editorial Comments TV Ads The Kellogg's Company is not breaking any federal laws when it says in TV ads that there are two scoops of raisins in every box of Raisin Bran, even though the actual number of raisins in the box barely filled an egg cup. What the company does not say in its TV ads, is just how big those two scoops are, and that makes it O.K., from a legal perspective. But last week, a Conservative MP who was intrigued by the TV ads, had his granddaughter actually pick all the raisins out of a box of bran. And she found they barely filled an egg cup. MP Lorne McCuish said the TV ads, in which the scoops of raisins appear to be quite large, are actually duping Canadian consumers into thinking they are getting more raisins than they actually are. . He went on to say that many TV ads make the public look like "awful fools." We're not sure just who may be getting scooped in this raisin in a tea-pot issue. Maybe the laws governing TV ads should be chang- ed so they don't mislead the hapless viewer. Without taking the time to count raisins in a box of breakfast cereal, we would have to say that much of the advertising on TV these days just doesn't add up, period. Changes Needed Organizers of the annual Canoe the Nonquon event must be disappointed that only about 70 canoes were entered on Saturday. Canoe the Nonquon began in 1969 as a fundraising venture for the Scugog Shores Museum. And over the years, it has been very successful in doing just that. More than $50,000 has been raised for this good cause. However, it appears that in the last couple of years, interest has been sliding. The weather last Saturday may have had something to do with the fact that only 70 canoes were entered, but it would seem that Canoe the Nonquon needs a few new wrinkles thrown in to re- vitalize it and make it more of a community event. There was a time not too many years ago when the number of canoes making their way down the Nonquon River along Lake Scugog was nearly 200. The apparent dwindling of interest is not peculiar to Canoe the Nonquon. We have been told that similar races all over Ontario are suffering the same fate. The original idea of having canoe » enthusiasts paddle 20 miles to the Port Perry waterfront is a good one. But from the point of view of raising money for the Museum, the event really does need some changes. How about some short sprint races run over a course directly in front of Palmer Park where. spectators could get a view of the action? How about some kind of challenge over a short (half-mile) course around the waterfront? Teams from service clubs, local businesses, even sports clubs could challenge each other and raise money for the Museum at the same time. Woe believe there are a lot of people who would gladly enter a team for some racing, but simply don't want to send four or five Hours of tough paddling over 20 miles. If service clubs, local businesses, hockey teams, baseball _-- (Turn fo page 6) -- -- _-- POT PLAY STAR CO LINTID D9 Quatm STR? 20 002 0 FORT MAY ONTARO 108 MO (69) 995-738) Member of the Publisher Canadian Community Newspaper Association Advertising Manager and Ontario Community Newspaper Association. Published every Tuesday by the Port Perry Star Co Ltd, Port Perry, Ontario. J.B. McCLELLAND Editor Authorized as second class mail by the Post Office Department, Ottawa, and for cash CATHY ROBB payment of postage in cash News & Features Second Class Mail Registration Number 0265 A = Subscription Rate: In Canada $15.00 per year. Elsewhere $45.00 per year. Single Copy 35 \Q A ay 1 I» : [) Array ayy0%e OCOPYRIGHT -- All layout and composition of advertisements produced by the adver tising department of the Port Perry Star Company Limited are protected under copyright and may not be reproduced without the written permission of the publisher " BAD GROWTH THERE, OL' CHAP, WE'LL JUST HAVE TO AMPUTATE ! i) Chatte rbox by Cathy Robb CREATURES OF HABIT There's no doubt in my mind, horses are creatures of habit. My sister Whiz has half a dozen or so hang- ing around out back at our place, and while she may have them trained in Western and English riding, they have her trained as well as a circus chimpanzee. Feeding time is 7: 30 every mormng, and heaven help the Whiz if she is a few minutes late. Desi Brown, the ringleader of the pack of nags, slips into a veritable temper tantrum if his oats aren't ready on the double. He snorts, chortles, whinnies, runs around his stall and kicks the door until Whiz or my Dad shows up with his chow. His antics invariably arouse the wrath of the other nags in the barn, and by the time breakfast is shovelled into their pails at 7:32, the entire barn is in chaos. Once brekkie is munched, the horses are led outside, one at a time, in a ritually induced order. Desi must be first, or he's in a snit for the rest of the day. The two thoroughbred yearlings come next, Moonie, followed by Spud, with the ponies bringing up the rear. The ponies, being the smallest, are the third lowest notches on the barn totem pole, followed only by the cats and the chickens (the lowest of the low). Even in the field, an established pattern must be observed. Spud must be placed in the south paddock with Trojan; Moonie must be placed in the east paddock with Junior; and Desi, well, he's on his own, so he doesn't beat anybody up. At nighttime, the pattern is much the same. Feeding time is 4:30 and if it's much later than that, the nags around the fields until their legs threaten to ta With all the money Whiz has tied up in those horses, the last thing she wants is a nag with a broken leg. So she caters to their every whim, obeying the rules Desi and his clan have set down for her. Personally, this makes me sick, and if I had anything to do with it, I'd probably disrupt their habits on purpose, just out of spite. All I'd have to do is lead the ponies into the barn first and leave Desi until last. That simple action would be enough to start World War III. Thank oodness horses don't have ruclear weapons (their hooves are bad enough). Anyways, looks like I won't have to tamper with their routine at all. Our new barn is doing that for me. The barn probably won't be up until mid-July, but Dad is already preparing for construction. He spent all day Sunday tearing the south paddock fences apart in preparation for loads of fill that will probably be sunk in this week. 'Well, let me tell you, the horses haven't been the same since the fences were torn apart. Especially Trojan, the sappily sweet pinto pony with blonde hair that looks like it belongs on David Lee Roth's head. Trojan should have been thrilled with the fence re-arrangement. Under the new system, he has twice as much room to roam around in, in- cluding a brand new paddock area just covered in untouched grass. His old paddock didn't have one blade of green stuff, thanks to years of mun- ching, but this new area was paradise for grass- eaters everywhere. Trojan wasn't having any part of this, however. All day Monday he stayed in the old sec- tion of the paddock, never crossing the line where ~ the fence was. The other horses crossed the line immediately and joyously dug into the new pasture, but not Trojan. He eyed the old fence line for a while, check- ing it out, and then he craned his neck way down and started nibbling grass on the very edge of the new pasture. It was as if the old fence was still there and Trojan was merely stretching his neck under it. Well, my Dad took one look at this spectacle, laughed, and attempted to shove Trojan's hind end over the fence line. Trojan refused to budge. "I pushed and shoved that damn pony as hard as I could but I think it would have taken a bulldozer to get him over the kine, " my Dad said ater Hearing that, I took it as ersond challenge to convince Trojan to cross the line. When I first got out to the paddock, I tried what my Dad had tried ---- the old "push" method. But as anyone who has ever owned a pony knows, ponies are just about as stubborn as mules. Leaning up against his bum, I put my shoulders into the task at hand and 'pushed with all my might. Trojan merely grunted, leaned back into me, and flicked his tall in my face. I pushed harder. He pushed back. And final- ly I gave up, collapsing in the dirt. Dirt! Without further adieu, I grabbed a cou- ple handfuls of dirt clumps and hurled them at Trojan's rear end. Trojan didn't appear to even notice them. I was hoping the dirt bombs would startle him enough to cross the line, but no luck. Sighing, I resigned myself to the food method of persuasion. Plucking the most appetizing blades of grass I could get my hands on, I offered them to Trojan. a He sniffed and wiggled his nose, indicating he wanted the grass, but as he was about to bite. | (Turn'to page 6)