Trouble with Dreams
We/I had a bad experience in the woods today. I, being me, would not want to read about it, given the choice. I know I said in the last post I said I'd read anything one of my favorite writers wanted to sit down and write about, but here is the exception. So, as a courtesy to all of you out there who are like me and don't really want to hear about certain things, I will write the rest of the post in white, and if you choose to read it, just highlight it. (The dogs and the husband are fine, it's not traumatic in a familial way.)
We were walking along the trail. Lou was going rather nuts, a little more nuts than usual, because the squirrel brigade was out in full force. He disappeared into the brush, as he does often, and came up on the path behind me a minute or two later, poking the back of my leg with a stick.
Jane Dog is the one interested in sticks, and balls, and toys. We'd just spent several minutes in the park throwing the tennis ball for her, and the few times we threw it for Louie, he grimaced and ducked. He's been hit between the eyes with a tennis ball, multiple times, and just gives us this pathetic look, a look that says "Why do you keep doing that?"
So, when he poked the back of my leg with a stick, I thought, huh. What's Lou doing with a stick?
Well, the answer, of course, is that it was not a stick. It was a deer leg. Oh god. I believe that's what I said, oh god. There was a hoof. Lou had just poked me in the back of the leg with a deer hoof.
Oh god.
He dropped it on the path, and stood over it, wagging, like, I know! Isn't it great? Let's bring it home! He started to pick it up again, and the strangled yelp I let out gave him (and perhaps every creature within hearing distance) a pause.
So. I know things die, I know they decompose back into the ground. I just really was hoping never to be poked in the back of the leg with something in the process of doing that.
Anyhow, on to cheerier things. I heard a story on the radio today about how a law will go into effect soon making it impossible to get Medicaid benefits without showing proof of American citizenship. The way to prove your American citizenship is to show an American passport.
Which makes a whole lot of fucking sense, because I'm sure that those people in our society who can't scrape together $2.63 for a handful of generic Lasix have plunked down the $97 it costs to get a passport, which they need for all their luxury vacations overseas.
We were walking along the trail. Lou was going rather nuts, a little more nuts than usual, because the squirrel brigade was out in full force. He disappeared into the brush, as he does often, and came up on the path behind me a minute or two later, poking the back of my leg with a stick.
Jane Dog is the one interested in sticks, and balls, and toys. We'd just spent several minutes in the park throwing the tennis ball for her, and the few times we threw it for Louie, he grimaced and ducked. He's been hit between the eyes with a tennis ball, multiple times, and just gives us this pathetic look, a look that says "Why do you keep doing that?"
So, when he poked the back of my leg with a stick, I thought, huh. What's Lou doing with a stick?
Well, the answer, of course, is that it was not a stick. It was a deer leg. Oh god. I believe that's what I said, oh god. There was a hoof. Lou had just poked me in the back of the leg with a deer hoof.
Oh god.
He dropped it on the path, and stood over it, wagging, like, I know! Isn't it great? Let's bring it home! He started to pick it up again, and the strangled yelp I let out gave him (and perhaps every creature within hearing distance) a pause.
So. I know things die, I know they decompose back into the ground. I just really was hoping never to be poked in the back of the leg with something in the process of doing that.
Anyhow, on to cheerier things. I heard a story on the radio today about how a law will go into effect soon making it impossible to get Medicaid benefits without showing proof of American citizenship. The way to prove your American citizenship is to show an American passport.
Which makes a whole lot of fucking sense, because I'm sure that those people in our society who can't scrape together $2.63 for a handful of generic Lasix have plunked down the $97 it costs to get a passport, which they need for all their luxury vacations overseas.
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