10 April 2008

I apparently have some kind of animal magnetism, and I don’t want it. I love animals plenty, but I don’t like the fact that lately I’ve blundered my way into so many strange encounters with wild animals. Mostly while walking my dog: we’ve come upon a freakishly large owl at night, and in the daytime walked around a corner in the woods to find ourselves three feet away from a hawk–a fucking hawk! In Dublin, Ohio!–about to devour some small rodent clutched in what I can only describe as his... talons. Fucking talons! I don’t want to see fantastical beasts and this sort of shit. I laugh at people who say "talons." But these were so much bigger than bird feet. (Incidentally, the hawk let out a piercing cry–a piercing fucking cry!–and took straightway to the wind (!), leaving the rodent trembling in our path. Then he, too, beat his own hasty retreat–his own hasty retreat!–into the woods...Which suddenly looked less like woods, and more like yonder patch of green. Or something gay like that. Sure, I was happy it didn’t get killed right there in front of me, but I had no intention of rescuing a field mouse from a mighty kestrel or whatever... I would have stayed at home if I knew such a ridiculous scene was waiting to unfold for me in the woods. My dog, of course, innocently thought the whole thing was fucking awesome...)

Then, a couple of weeks ago, my dog and I came across a pack of coyotes in the park. Yes, coyotes. In Dublin, Ohio. A fucking pack of them. Who of course had to make the whole situation feel extra-awkward by taking flight so gracefully, as coyotes are wont to do, across the meadow. Yes, that’s right, they staged the whole thing on the only fucking "meadow" in the whole fucking park.

I now believe in God for the first time in my post-adolescent life, and I am convinced He’s turning my life into a walking comedy, starring lots of impossible animals. I feel like Gregor Samsa, except, instead of waking to find myself transformed into a hideous vermin, I've woken to find myself transformed into Grizzly Adams. Animals are somehow just drawn to me lately, and somehow must act out their animal lives in grand, Discovery Channelish theatrics before my helpless sight. Fuck! Arghh! I am now burdened with an unasked-for animal magnetism. It’s more embarrassing than suddenly discovering that you’re really good at juggling, despite the fact that you’re not the kind of fruit who thinks that’s so neat, who can’t wait to show his friends.

By the way, I think that some people I tell this to don’t believe me. I know that the pack of coyotes was the last straw. I just know that, privately, they think I’m making all this shit up, because I think it is somehow impressive. I shudder at thinking about this, but know deep down it is probably true.

Oh, the crowning insult... or what I hope is the crowning, and final encounter with wild animals: my car has been attacked by the same Canadian goose two days in a row. He stands guard in the damned road, while his bitch is nesting in the grass, just off of the interstate, on my way home. When I turn onto the road, in front of Walgreen’s, he rears up, hisses, and lunges at me, or my car. And I have to dodge him, nearly causing an accident. Two days in a row. The same goose! Yesterday, and today. And now I have to tell everybody about it. And now everybody will call me Nature Boy or something behind my back... as they very well should. I know that I’d ridicule me, if I were someone else.

Hmm... now I feel kind of bad about calling the girl goose a bitch. She’s not the one who lunges at my car. In fact, she's always been cool to me...