Oct 9, 2015 Daily Life
Skunencounter
©October9th, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram
The day before yesterday, I was inside my house, attending to some trivial task, when I heard The Hod (one of my names for Holly, our nearly two-year old Standard Poodle, barking fit to burst outside in our back yard.
Ordinarily, I’d just yell, “Stop barking, Holly!” and repeat it a few times. Or (shame on me), I’d yell out, “TREAT!” and a hopeful, wagging, grinning dog would come trotting back to the kitchen door. The good thing at such times is that, though I use the term as a bribe, I follow it up with action, and actually give her a treat or two (I try not to lie to my dog — the only times I was guilty of doing so were the few times when I felt perverse, and yelled, “SQUIRREL,” which made her dash out into the backyard to lay waste to all squirrels, everywhere — but, of course, it’s all talk and no action on her part).
This time, however, her barking had a frantic, excited edge to it.
Realization and panic flooded me. I remembered that the previous day, I’d seen a small (adolescent?) skunk lumping across our yard in a sort of busy, distracted fashion, looking at this and that, before proceeding on its mysterious way. I’d happened to look at the clock, because I was surprised to see it out in the daytime. And the clock read 5:25 p.m. In my insatiable need -to-know manner, I’d looked up skunk behavior, wondering whether it might be rabid, and found out reassuring things (I won’t bore you with the details — you can read it here: http://www.wildskunkrescue.com/skunkbehaviors.htm) I’d made a mental note to keep an eye on the backyard, because that was Holly’s domain and Queendom.
So, this time, almost instinctively, I looked at the clock again before I raced to the kitchen door — yup. 5:20 or so! (For someone who hates Time, I manage to do a good job of keeping track of it).
All this happened in split seconds, you understand. I looked out the door, and there, on the planters on the retaining wall of the backyard, stood Holly, barking excitedly and dancing aggressively in front of a small, frightened, brave, snarling little skunk, who (the Gods be thanked) was still facing Holly — but whose tail was lifting dangerously. In seconds, it would turn and take aim.
I SCREAMED at Holly in a voice I didn’t know I possessed. Holly, Holly, HOLLY, COME BACK!
And, thank the stars! Holly looked at me, fought her impulse to kill the creature, and came back to me. I grabbed her by the collar, and took her into the kitchen, and slammed the door shut just in time! The skunk sprayed the back wall of the back yard, and left, probably freaked out of its little mind.
I have to hand it to the skunk. It was so small compared to my big poodle, and it was so brave. I felt sorry for it, and was oddly proud of it. I even wondered briefly whether it was orphaned, and whether I could adopt it.
But I have NO wish to have a skunkified dog stinking up my house.
I am now VERY vigilant when five o’clock comes rolling around.
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Tags: #Dog, Backyard encounter, Courage, Skunk
Oct 13, 2013 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries, Teaching and Learning
My Walk in the Woods — The Non-Bryson, Non-Thoreau Edition
©By Vijaya Sundaram
October 13th, 2013
Today, we walked in the woods, my daughter and I.
It was quiet. My daughter and I talked quietly, and only occasionally. The sun slanted down, flowing quietly through sun-veined leaves. Pine needles cushioned our footfall. Birds, mostly unseen, occasionally glimpsed, sang or chirped quietly. Far away, as in a dream, the traffic made itself heard, a hum from another world.
No rabbits bounded across our path. No deer gazed at us in consternation. There was nary a coyote, nary a fox, nary a snake and nary a scary beast. I was, when I think back, half-disappointed, but mostly happy. The trees were company enough for us. And they whispered as we passed, sending messages down their root systems. We tripped on some of those root systems. Radical messages flowed from them to other trees. The path was non-contrived. There were leaves, roots, stones, pine-needles. It was a path, nevertheless.
At some point, like Frost, we reached a fork, many forks. Unlike Frost, we clung to the one most travelled by. After all, these weren’t our usual woods. These were new woods, in a nearby town, near the zoo we liked to visit on weekends. These woods spelled mystery. Mystery likes to wait. No need to be in a rush to unpack everything all at once. Besides, there might not be anything, just the ever-present low-level hum of humorous anxiety about the prospect of being lost, even if only for a while.
In my world, courage lies in simple things. I shall never be a mountain-climber, a channel-crosser, a sailor, a lion-tamer, a sky-jumper, a person who is jailed for standing up for the rights of the oppressed, or even a person who simply quits if the situation is distasteful (although I’d like to be many of those things).
For now, I just want the courage to put one foot in front of the other, in the years of my life that are yet to come, and face my future with a quiet assuredness, and know that although I might have been afraid at some points, I never stopped.
I want that for me, and I want that for my daughter. I want to teach her courage in the face of her fears. I want her to know when to advance and when to retreat. I want her to know which cause is worth fighting for, and which ones are lost ones.
And how can I teach her these things, if I am afraid to find out?
One of these days, however, I shall take that fork that leads to who know where. I shall take it alone, I hope, and I shall return, stolen fire in my heart.
And I shall pray that the gods will not be jealous.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: Courage, facing life, keeping children company, meditations, ordinary living, walk in the woods