“Every dog is an Alpha until he meets a Wolf”
Of Flora and Fauna
Wild Creatures I have Known
"Hi! I was expecting you. I have a seat over here for you at the table."
Nothing pleases me more than to converse with my friends. While it is always my preference to listen, if there is a momentary silence, my screaming thoughts might find a way to escape my lips. Please, forgive my errant ways.
Recently, I exchanged many tales about my love of our Earth’s flora and fauna and their direct relationship to our lives as bi-pedal hominids with my blogoteer friends. I work in the metrological research sciences (no, it has nothing to do with predicting the weather although my aching bones are usually accurate in their predictions.) and keep up with the frontier of research here on Terrafirma and in space. The discoveries we’ve made regarding the hidden lives of plants and animals has electrified my long-held beliefs that we are not the only sentient life on the angry blue planet.
My entire life, during this most recent lifetime, was spent in nature and in raising my children, I always taught them that all animals deserve our respect and safeguarding. I explained to them it was not proper to imprison them with our desire for their company. We should take care of our interactions. Besides, toothy things can leave unsightly marks on our tender skin. In the same vein, I taught them the conservation of our limited natural resources. How would you like it if a Dandelion thought it was perfectly okay to make soup out of you?
The lovely offspring of my life did listen, and they have provided their peers with an excellent example of how to live well with nature.
“How does one exemplify the perfect balance of our mammalian roots,” you ask?
“Let me explain by telling you a story. What? Of course, it’s true. All of my unbelievable tales are true.”
While away floundering in the deserts of North Africa discovering all kinds of new and exciting things about camel spiders, scorpions, and of course, camels, my younglings had adopted a homeless couple of Rhode Island Reds when their humans moved away. It seems they were quite the amorous couple as Lady Red left eggs for the children to discover quite regularly.
Now, Mr. Red was the protective type and he would make a blustery fuss whenever the girls went to collect the eggs. During my monthly call back to let my one true love know that I was alive and that the life insurance payout was not forthcoming as she had hoped, I was consulted about how to keep the girls from getting spurred by Mr. Red. We had many conversations along those lines but, this was an easy problem to solve.
Just throw some feed out first and when the chickens rush over to eat, you can get in and do whatever you need to do. They will ignore you.
But, as we all know, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. All that chicken feed attracted other creatures that required the usual befriending by the girls. I soon learned of a pure white cat with rose-colored eyes and pink nose visiting most nights. The girls took to feeding him table scraps and soon he began to grow into a large feline with thick white fur. Apparently, the cat was docile with the kids and no injuries over food fights ensued.
When I returned, the chickens were gone. They were deported by order of the Post Sergeant Major. It seems Mr. Red liked to get up early in the morning and squawk his ass off. That perturbed the neighbors, and since they knew I was away and couldn’t whip their ass for being squealers, they ratted out Mr. Red. It ended happily because the Queen of the house gave the chickens to a nice Korean man that owned a small restaurant and he liked chickens that lay eggs.
The cat met with a far better fate. I wanted to introduce myself to this strange visitor. The girls rewarded me one evening by telling me the cat was back and he was busy eating dinner. I went outside into the back yard to see this mysterious avatar of benevolent spirits.
When I found our adopted feline dining voraciously on table scraps, my anal cleft clinched so hard it was impossible to run away screaming so, I settled for just screaming. I was staring at the most massive albino male skunk the world had ever produced. With butt cheeks firmly engaged, I backed away.
“What’s wrong Daddy?”
“Girls, let’s go inside and let kitty eat in peace.”
My skunk PTSD was in full bloom. I’d learned as a youth that skunks can appear friendly and happy go lucky until you pick them up. The memory of my mother screeching in horror as I came inside the house smelling all funkadelic made me shudder as the long secluded traumas revisited.
Luckily, my mother saved the entire family with her quick reactions. I was taken outside and handed the water hose and a large can of tomato juice, which was rumored to be an antidote to my horrendous body odor. It was then I discovered the spiritual liberation of naked tomato juice bathing. My erotic underpinnings were brought to the surface in glorious fashion, but I still stunk like an outhouse long after the tomato juice had percolated into the ground. I tried my mother’s perfumed girly soap. Now, I smelled like a French prostitute in a public toilet. I suppose I could have lived with that except I had basketball practice to go to.
While nonchalantly changing into my gym clothes, I began to outgas my perfumed odors into the locker room that already smelled like sweaty feet and dirty butts wrapped in moldy towels.
“Who’s the jerk that busted ass in here?”
“I don’t smell any….Arrgggghhhhh!”
Right before my teammates set me on fire, the coach came to the rescue and told me to do 100 laps around the school gym to air my nasty ass out a little. There was a lot of gagging in agreement and so, sentenced to shame and corporal punishment, I ran my stinky self around the gym for an hour and went home to more rejection.
I couldn’t let my girls go through what I had been through. I had to find a way to gently provide a little distance for them and still not do harm to our adopted, gigantic, albino skunk.
“Girls, our furry snow white friend is what you call a Stink Kitty. If you pet him, he could fart and it’s a damned sticky fart at that.”
We weened Mr. Stink Kitty from his high-calorie diet because it isn’t healthy to overfeed wildlife and Stinkie left for greener pastures. He would come back on occasion, and one day I saw him ambling across the field with his girlfriend and four little kits. They looked like little snow leopards pouncing on butterflies and grasshoppers hiding among the Dandelions. Life was in the balance as it should be and my little princesses never had to live with the memory of that scornful who farted look.
Do you have an interesting nature story you would like to share? Let us hear from you.
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