The sun is shining and, at 8:25am, it is a lovely warm but not sticky hot morning. I’ve let the conversation about things I should do – like get more mulch and go to the store and wash the dogs and do laundry– quiet down with a book and a cup of my homemade mocha concoction. Life is good. Life is quiet. Life is pretty.
Then I feed the furry beasts and let them outside to digest. It’s their third time out already today; they’ve already sniffed everything and peed on everything else. It should be a quick visit but while Joe Boxer is peeing on the side of a tree, a chipmunk runs out from it’s hiding place underneath and all hell breaks loose. Joe Boxer chases. Chipmunk runs. Tigger the Dog dashes after them and the three scuffle at the driveway wall just out of my sight. Thinking they’ve just missed catching another chipmunk, I laugh. But the fracas goes on and Pepper the Wannabe Cat joins in. It’s now a combination of scuffles and grunt growls followed by creepy silence. I run, sloppily in my slippers, holding my untethered boobs, around the side of the wall to see Chipmunk attempting to get free of the gummy mouth that is Joe. I start shouting, but my panicked “Leave it!” isn’t having an effect on any of them. Then Chipmunk is dropped and before he can scrabble off, he’s picked up by the sharp teeth of Tigger the Dog. Pepper the Wannabe Cat sits at the ready, head tilted, watching, waiting for her opportunity to contribute. When I’m close enough, I start with the flailing arms. That combined with my flustered shouting has the dogs drop their wet plaything. But Chipmunk is damaged. Badly. He attempts to crawl off, eyes glazed, his hind legs dragging behind him. I start cussing. I’m outside in my pj’s. I don’t have a shovel or a bag and I’m trying to keep three dogs from having Chipmunk for dessert. Everything sucks. I spot the woodpile and, with a keening squeal, I grab a log and lay it gently over chipmunk in the hopes that the dogs will leave him be long enough for me to get a better disposal plan together. No dice. Chipmunk again tries to scramble off but he’s looking soggy and pathetic and is in obvious discomfort and the dogs aren’t interesting in just leaving him be. The seconds tick by as I come to terms with the fact that I have no real options here. I cannot let Chipmunk be passed around the by the dogs and I cannot let the poor sucker linger in pain. With my eyes squinted shut, squealing unintelligible curses the whole time I’m forced to grab the chunk of wood and drop it on Chipmunk’s head - three times – until he stops moving. The sun is still shining but it is no longer a lovely morning. I’ve just killed a being that hadn’t said anything offensive about Mexicans or Muslims or women or poor people or Elizabeth Warren etc.… A wee beast that just had the misfortune of being in the hole below the tree the dog was peeing on. What a world we live in. After I shower the memory of the murder off my soul, seriously contemplating going back to bed. There's not enough ice cream and potato chips in the house to make this better.
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For the past few days, we've just seen one but the sibs not only showed themselves today but actually climbed the tree for a look around! Owl stalking is the best way to end a day!
Or start one. This morning I watched the two sibs practice flying by hop flopping from one tree branch to another - over and over again. Really entertaining! For the neighbors too, as I stood in my boxers and tank in the front picture window with my binoculars trained on the fuzzy wonders - which, due to the angle of the hill, just happened to be in the tree just below their bedroom window. I'm sure the police will be paying me a visit later today and I'll have some 'spaining to do. Till then, let the stalking continue! OWL BABIES!!! Okay -in this picutre, Owl BABY! Not sure if there are more hiding underneath him but I'm very excited none the less. Aside from stalking babies, I'm trying to get myself ready for another festival showing/selling my Stabby Trees. What is really, an eight hour day of me just standing about and smiling awkwardly while people walk by trying not to make eye contact with me.
I'm going dark for a bit here while I force myself to finish projects and get everything packed up for the May 7th event. I'm sure to pop in and out if something exciting comes up that I feel you should know - like if a baby owl lands on my head while I'm doing the dog bathroom supervision. Until then, be well! One of the most frustrating things with the three dog circus that is our life right now – even more annoying than finding Tigger the Dog shoulder deep in a chipmunk hole - is feeding time.
Feeding time sucks worse than – crap, I don’t know what it sucks worse than, it is that awful. It’s fraught with shouting and pulling and yelly ultimatums and general melee. We’ve got the dogs set up in three different corners of the dinning room. A room, I might add, that we’ve only used twice to eat in ourselves. And despite the three corners, the dogs act as if we’ve never fed them and that we're timing them to see who eats the fastest. Well, two of them do. Pepper the Wannabe Cat barks like she’s defending the free world from attack as she rushes for hers. Tigger the Dog Chewbacca whines and then proceeds to inhale her food like we’re going to yank it away from her. Meanwhile, Joseph acts as he wasn’t emaciated three months ago, not knowing where his next meal was coming from at all and he eats like a picky toddler, one freaking piece of dog food at a time. Which means when Tigger the Dog has gulped down hers, she starts stalking Joseph, waiting for that moment his ADD kicks in and he walks away from his still full bowl. And Pepper the Wannabe Cat sneaks up on Joseph's bowl under the guise of stretching. All training is thrown out the window- theirs and ours - and it’s a cluster fuck of chaos. I hate it more than I hate the annual visit to the gynecologist. And I HATE that. But today was wonderful. Not because none of the above happened. Nope, it was shitty as usual. But today was wonderful because, I kicked Tigger the Dog and Pepper the Wannabe Cat out the door as soon as they were done eating and sat with Joseph trying to keep him focused on eating. And while I was doing that, I sat down in our dinning room we've only used twice and I looked out the window. And out that window, I saw Mama Owl and Papa Owl trade spots in their new nest just across the street. And then I watched Papa come out and sit in the doorway of said nest and watch the world go by. So what if watching Joseph eating is more maddening that a toddler eating peas one at a time? Who cares that Tigger the Dog was outside attempting to catch chipmunks by digging under the HVAC unit? So what if Pepper the Wannabe Cat was teasing Tigger the Dog into fighting and the neighbors are likely to call Animal Services soon? I got to see Owls. AND that means Owl babies are coming! It's the little things, folks. Little fuzzy things! Husband cannot cut the dogs nails or give them a bath. He hates to cause them any pain at all. More than pain, he hates it when the dogs don’t like him. He leaves that stuff to me.
And Me? Well, I am a passive aggressive worrier about the whole thing. I will give the dogs a bath because they stink but I’ll worry about it for days before and then spend the hours after avoiding their eyes or throwing extra love on them. And you can just imagine how discipline goes around here. Husband yells and shouts and grounds them then cuddles them like they’re dying while I am wounded by every destroyed bed or disobeyed order as I worry that I’ll be eaten when they gang up together to take me out. We are probably not the best parents to three dogs. Heck, no “probably” about it. We are pretty sucky at this ‘taking care of other beings’ so don’t judge us too harshly when you hear this On Sunday, Pepper the Wannabe Cat caught a baby chipmunk. That’s all she did, caught it and then dropped it and walked away to find something else to catch. Dropped it and walked away AFTER she’d broken the poor baby chipmunk’s back, or so we think. He very well could have been in shock – or so something else that made him not want to move his bottom half. What do we know? We’re not doctors. What followed then was a weird moral mess between Husband and me about what to do next. Do we kill it? And, if so, how? He wasn’t exactly a bug we could squish. And as foul as I can get with my language and how much I threaten to kill asshats that cut me off on the freeway, I am completely unable to kill a thing. Last year, I inadvertently murdered a pair of chipmunks by not emptying a bucket of water and I mourned for days. Then, when they were pissing us off with the hole digging and the dog teasing, I filled up another bucket, watched a chipmunk fall in – and then rescued it because I can’t kill things. Except relationships. I’m very, VERY good at killing those suckers dead! And if we didn’t kill it, what do we do with it? We’ve already rescued two miserable mutts this year; do we now add a broken chipmunk to the family? And Husband? Well since Husband can’t even cut the dog’s toenails you can imagine how freaking useless he was in this situation. I ended up scooping broken chipmunk into a pot and putting it up on the wall out of reach of the dogs near the trash cans. Of course, not before Joseph had a good slobber with/over it as I was getting the pot. Apparently Joseph is also not helpful in these types of situations. Wet Broken Chippy in pot, we went with the best of all the possible scenarios and decided he was just in shock. Husband got some birdseed for substance and we left Wet Broken Chippy alone in the pot with a bit of straw for warmth to give him a chance to recover and get away. And then we both spent the next few hours worrying about Wet Broken Chippy and trying not to think about him and debating the ways to off the guy if his back was indeed broken that didn’t involve either of us actually doing anything with a shovel or gun or whatever to execute him. When we checked on him a few hours later Wet Broken Chippy had moved out of the pot and into a drainpipe. We figured it was a mater of time before he was all chipper and off to torture the dogs again. Or became owl dinner for Owl who was watching this all go down from the other side of the yard. We patted ourselves on our backs for our sort of good deed and went on our merry way. We, and others just like us, are the reason awful people are trying to run our world - passive inactivity. The next morning, Wet Broken Chippy was gone. Eaten by Owl or healthily running about the yard happy, it’s for you to decide. But here’s what I think – Wet Broken Chippy was helped to his house by a few of his Chippy friends where he told the story of the big people and the little dog. The story of our evil doings spread throughout the chipmunk world, and resulted in the head of all the chipmunks putting a bounty our heads. Why do I think this? Because yesterday, while Husband was standing outside managing the chaos that is the dogs, a chipmunk ran past the bushes, past the dogs, and RAN RIGHT UP HUSBAND’S LEG. Seriously, the dude was aiming for his face! Had it not been for the “CRAP! THERE’S SOMETHING ON ME! GET IT OFF!!!” white man dance that Husband did as the chipmunk reached his waist, Wet Broken Chippy’s revenge would have been complete and I would have a Husband without a face. We are now sleeping with little knives and our bed is surrounded by buckets of water. If you don’t hear from us in a few days, please send police for a well check. Actually, send animal control first. There’s likely going to be a need for big nets… |
AuthorMy name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me Archives
April 2019
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