After leaving the garage, he looked down the street. There, in the middle, was a doe with her twin fawns. Appearing almost brand new, they were adorable. He called his wife out so she could see. Watching together as the doe and her fawns came up the street — mama walking slow, the fawns galloping in spurts — they wondered if she was the same doe who’d been hanging around their yard.
After the family disappeared behind the neighbor’s house across the street, he left in his car. Arriving at a stop light, he saw a mother with her twins on a bicycle. Wearing helmets, blond curls sticking out, the twins looked like they were about two years old, tiny perfect human replicas.
It was a good day for twins. It felt like the world was making a statement. As often with the world’s statements, he just wasn’t certain what the statement was.
Okay, that’s enough, weather wizards. Gonna be 88 later today. Already 70 F. Let’s just put the pause on the rising heat.
Today is Tuesday, 6/6/23. Yesterday afternoon delivered us waves of thunder. When that begins, we eye the horizons and sniff the air, wondering if lightning strikes have started fires anywhere. Then you get on the news and net, searching for reports. Your mind actively engages everything for signs of fire. Is that haze over there? What’s causing that?
So far, so good, though, knock wood, release breath.
When I arrived home yesterday from the writing session, I glanced out to check on Tucker. He likes sleeping out front around the porch where he can move from sun to shadow to warm or cool himself as desired. He was asleep behind the front pillar. Two feet away from him was an adult doe. I let them be, of course, checking every half an hour. I imagine when she first arrived, Tucker quizzed her in floofish — name, species, intentions. She asked him for particulars about this him, this house, and the neighborhood. Then both chilled. Eventually, the thunderboomers seemed to put her on the move.
Papi, of course, was immediately shifted into the house when the thunder came. Papi no like loud noises. Thunder is second only to fireworks on that list.
I have the Thompson Twins with “Doctor Doctor!” rising into the morning mental music stream from 1984. Just came to me as I was puddlin’ around through morning tedium of feeding, eating, dressing. Not a bad song, so I let it stay (as if I have a choice). May as well use it for a theme song.
Stay pos and be comfortable. Hope all works out for you today. Here’s the music. I’m shifting into the kitchen for a little roasted bean water. Cheers
Floof-by(floofinition) – 1. An inspection by an animal done in a quick and cursory manner.
In use: “When he went out and began yardwork, the house floofs did floof-bys to verify no food was involved.”
2. Checking quickly and briefly on an animal to assess their welfare, condition, or activity.
In use: “After she found a fawn in her yard, Karla did several floofy-bys to ensure it was okay. Discovering it gone on the fourth, she hoped mama had come by and re-claimed her offspring.”
He took his breakfast out onto the porch to enjoy the rain as he ate. Two deer were feeding in the grass a dozen feet away. The three considered one another for about ten seconds. Then all continued breakfast.
We reached the corner of sun and rise at 5:42 this morning. And guess what? Sunset will come at…8:49 PM. It’s finally moved off the 8:50 hook but now the sun’s impact will begin to grow shorter and shorter until it disappears altogether, leaving us to ask, “Hey, has anyone seen the sun lately?” To which people will reply, “Well, where’d you see it last? Maybe if you retrace your steps…”
It’s Thursday, 7/7/22 and 18 C. Should strike 82 F today, an altogether comfortable-sounding day. A cloud-free sky has been declared. The back door is open to let cool air drift through. Do this every morning and then shut the door, trapping the cool air. The house will slowly heat up but doesn’t usually get to A/C temperatures until it tops 100 F outside (about 38 C). The gingerbread cat known as Papi (or Meep) loves the open door, racing in from the back patio, speeding through the living and dining rooms, streaking past the kitchen and office and down the hall to the guest room and then catapulting back out on the reverse course. The thunder of murder mittens on hardwood floors and carpeting is hilarious. This was executed four times this morning. He’s now sacked out on the sofa.
A deer ate most of our front flowers this week. It’s like, oh, well, it’s a healthy deer and has every right. But now there’s new bear scat where the deer has been eating. Makes us wonder about the situation… Appears the deer might have a stalker.
The Neurons inserted “Lucky Man” by Emerson, Lake, and Palmer into the morning mental music stream. Lake wrote the song when he was twelve and learning chords. Quite impressive.
I asked The Neurons why this song from the 1970s was being played. They shrugged. “What’s it to ya?” Such attitude.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, etc. Four friends tested pos this week. Three of them work at the emergency food bank as volunteers. There might be a pattern here. Think I’ll get some coffee and ponder it. Here’s the tune. Cheers
A carillon chimes the hour. The sun gives it a warm shoulder. She always works her own hours. Two deer digest, still except for ear flicks against flies and shifts to identify sounds. Blue-eyed and black faced, a long-haired blond feline assesses the day and listens to a woodpecker beat out a love sonnet on a wooden utility pole. Acorn treasure in mouth, a squirrel flicks a bushy gray tail and trots along a red-brick wall as two black and blue scrub jays hop across the green grass below him. A warm zephyr dries off forehead sweat and whispers close to ear, “Welcome to autumn.”
Comfloofications(floofinitions) – Ability among animals to pass messages to one another through one or more channels, such as smell, sound, or touch. Note: When done by cats via whiskers, sniffing, and rubbing, comfloofications is often referred to as catmunications.
In use: “People approaching the bush upset the bird guarding her nest. Her comfloofications about an approaching threat caused a digesting deer to stand up and pay close attention.”
A couple flirted, giggled, and kissed on a blanket under the cemetery pines while a woman sat on a towel, eating an apple and reading, in a splash of sunshine twenty yards away. Dozens of grave markers from them, a trio of fawns bucked and gamboled. A pair of does ate while a grave majestic buck chewed in thought. A gray squirrel, egged on by cawing crows and jeering jays, chased another squirrel around and up trees and over headstones as a flock of wild turkeys tsked, sighed, and tutted.
It was a lively place to be, in the cemetery that day.
Six deer walked along Siskiyou, and then decided to cross the street and go down Sherman by Safeway. They began across and then paused in the middle, as though confirming their direction. All the traffic stopped and waited for them to make up their mind and move on.
Michael Seidel, writer 