Animals. And Me.
I've been a vegetarian for years and years. I try not to be preachy about the issue
but in truth the whole concept depresses the hell out of me. Last week a truck carrying a load of chickens in overcrowded cages passed me on the highway and I burst into tears.
All of which is a funny preamble to the following:
Like people, animals can be real assholes.
I might go as far as to suggest some of them may even be Republicans.
The other morning, a murder of crows
(isn't that just the best?)
swooped so close to my granddaughter's al fresco breakfast that a wing brushed her food. Alarmed
I snatched the remainder of the bread, rolled it into fat balls, and pitched them as far as I could.
The biggest bird, clearly the ring leader, dove back down and scooped all of the doughy orbs in his beak one after the other like a game of jacks. He didn't swallow but instead mocked his hungry colleagues with what looked like a toothy smile, and then soared off with the ill-gotten gains.
Not long after that up-close encounter with unadulterated GOP-like behavior, I witnessed a bear trotting down the side of the country road methodically knocking over the full trash cans that lined his route. He didn't even slow down to snack. He was just being destructive.
It should go without saying that reptiles are clearly right-wingers.
In our old house, our late dog started barking maniacally at the basement door. He'd been more high strung than usual because he'd been recently bitten--not once but twice--by a black snake he kept getting into turf wars with, over deck access.
Sully's unusual vehemence at the basement freaked me out. A lot. So rather than grabbing hold of the knob and swinging it open, I unearthed a flashlight from the junk drawer and shone it underneath. (I reminded myself of a TV detective relying on the standard issue torch rather than you know, switching on an overhead bulb) but anyway it was a good thing.
Because I came eye to eye with my dog's nemesis, the 6 foot long serpent who'd somehow organized a home invasion and CLIMBED THE FREAKING STAIRS.
Despite my hysteria I still managed to barricade the overly large space under the door and found the number of a critter removal company. They dispatched the owner's daughter who was en route to a playdate at a nearby swimming hole. She showed up with a large bin and salad tongs and casually wrangled the thing into the container.
The whole transaction took less than 10 minutes.
Around here, the impact lasted a tad longer. Electrical cords and garden hoses can morph at the drop of a hat.
And last, but not least, are the coyotes who use our yard as a public bathroom. Which I wouldn't care about
except Ridley views the practice as some kind of spa treatment.
Insert #FOXNews joke.