Friday, August 5, 2011

Let the Day Begin

Let the Day Begin
Our puppies Bronx, Tarzan, and Yonah were energetic this morning. Black-jet Yonah runs wild through weeds, trees, and bushes. Black as a tar heel, fast as a panther—her front legs meet the back ones—under the middle of her body. Bronx scurries around chasing her, nipping at her ears, her legs, anywhere he can grab on. He’s like a short man with something to prove-trying to show he’s not the runt. Tarzan keeps up the pace—tumbling over Yonah—baring his teeth, chewing on his brother and sister—suffice to let them know he won’t be bullied.  A few weeks ago, the two ganged up on him—blood flying—feral and instinctive—they meant business. Tarzan hollered as if swinging through a jungle.  It appeared they could have fought to the death, if I hadn’t broke it up with the help of rapping on their back ends with a stick. Terrorized Tarzan refused to go on a walk the following evening. Yonah and Bronx learned a few things.  Remorseful, they ambled over to Tarzan to lick his wounds in apology.
This morning, they are working it out in play fighting. They snap their jaws at one another, nipping, but not clamping down or tearing flesh. Scrapping through a patch of fern- like weeds, three tails disappear in a thicket—venturing off to sniff and explore. I enjoy what's left of my coffee. It’s quiet, just morning birds heralding the dawn. Everything is still… except for the weedy fern.
I notice a dry twig break loose from a green frond. Did the fern shake it off, like a hand breaking free of a spider web? The leaves seem to whisper and float—as if they are underwater sea life.  Am I imagining it or is it leftover movement from a breeze or my puppies’ chaos? Surrounding pines stand stock straight. I feel no wind on my face. The weeds willow, lithe, in a wooded setting—gone overlooked, unobserved by the dozen or so humans that roll past, throughout the day. Gravel dust from the neighboring dirt road, billows and settles on their fairy like leaves amidst ninety-degree heat. The fern shakes like a feather duster, handled by a housekeeper getting ready to bless her furniture…ready for another day.

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