Floofscue (floofinition) – 1. Mistake or slip by an animal, particularly a houspet. 2. An animal rescue. 3. The signal for an animal to do something.

In use: “Someone’s quiet footfall coming up the walk toward the front door was a floofscue for flooflam as the dogs broke out barking, the birds began talking and squawking, and the cats narrowed eyes to stare down intruders or took flight for hiding places.”

A Little Thing

A bowl of water was in the tree’s shade, probably there for animals. A yellow jacket thrashed about in it.

Bending down, he put a finger into the water beside the yellow jacket.

Grabbing his finger, it ran up out of the water as he pulled his finger free of the water.  The yellow jacket sprang into the air, buzzed by his head for a second, and then flew away.

The encounter was a little thing taking less than five seconds of his life, but it felt so good.


If I rescue you, you’ll rescue me.

Our minds can understand it, but our eyes can’t seem to see.

We keep trying to save each other, but hate gets in our way.

One day, it’s love, the next day it’s hate, and we don’t know what to say.

I sometimes reach for you but you shake me off.

Sometimes you reach for me and I shake you off.

You hurt me and I hurt you back.

There’s so much we don’t understand, so much we lack.

Then you do something that reminds me of who you are.

And I think again, we’re on the right path, but the destination’s too far.

And I know I’m wrong because this isn’t right.

It’s not the destination, but the journey together, that I think about at night.

Sunday’s Theme Music

Today’s theme music is a surprising turn for me. I blame my dreams.

I had a cluster of dreams last night that shared the theme of saving. I saved some people and animals in a few dreams, but I was also saved, most memorably once by a Jack Russell terrior. The dog led me out of what appeared to be a benign situation. After I thanked him, he left.

Keeping with the weirdness of all that, I awoke thinking, “And it said so in my dreams.” I immediately knew that line from “Candida”, a hit song by Tony Orlando and Dawn back in July 1970. I never had one of their albums, but they were immensely popular in the early seventies. That popularity translated to a lot of AM and FM radio play and appearances on television shows — or did the radio play and appearances on television shows lead to immense popularity? Either way, I heard them often. Pop culture tends to be like that.

A Cold Summer Morning

Union Square was black with new snow, heralding a dismayingly cold summer. Raccoons, rats, dogs, and a cougar had set off the alarms during the night. I checked when each went off, not anxious, worried, or nervous, but wary, and I think, intelligent and proactive. The systems all worked; none of those creatures approached my vehicle. Except for those breaks, I slept soundly, accumulating five hours and forty-six minutes of rest. It would be enough. I’d nap once I returned to my place.

Coffee always helps, so I was gulping down fresh unadulterated French Roast. “Good coffee,” I said, nodding.

I’d already been out for four days, and was ready to return to my place. This was just a ‘let’s-see’ jaunt. My day was planned with broad strokes of where I’d go first, and then, et cetera, but looking at the windows and monitors in the cab preparatory to scavenging, I saw movement.

“What’s that?” I asked. “Could be a human,” I answered.  “Could be,” I agreed.

Walking the path of questions and accumulating details, I targeted the motion and zoomed in, confirming, it was a man. Four hundred yards away, he was beyond my perimeter alarms, so nothing had been set off. Snow didn’t cover him, and his path through the black sheet was clear. No animals had approached him, either. He was lucky.

“How lucky?” I asked, checking the temperature. Thirty-two, with the sun out. Systems noted that the overnight low had been thirty. “Pretty lucky.”

“Pretty lucky that I saw him,” I agreed.

Wasn’t he?

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