After a lengthy hiatus from this blog it is high time I returned to the practice of sending out digital dispatches to the void. Much has happened since I last took keyboard in hand including a holiday vacation to New York City and Washington D.C. I included the latter town in our Christmas plans because I wanted Jayne and Benjamin to see the place, and I was hoping to meet with the Orange Idiot to encourage his resignation. Unfortunately he heard I was coming and left to hide at Mar-A-Lago the day before we arrived.
But I have not reappeared to rehash what was a wonderful journey that also resulted in a beautiful Ganesh head tattoo on my right forearm. No, I am here for a more important reason: to complain about the aggressive fauna of Southern Arizona.
The citizens of Bisbee enjoy trash service twice a week, and the backup beeping of the garbage truck is always a comforting sound issuing from the end of our driveway on Monday mornings. Generally speaking, I try to bag up our rubbish on Sunday night and, in an attempt to avoid attacks by domestic dogs or rampaging coatimundis, I often place the bag in the back of my car to sit overnight. I followed this regimen earlier this week, but disaster struck anyway.
Sleep has become difficult for me in my advanced years and some mornings, like last Monday, I get up far too early. In this case it was shortly after 4:00 am when I gave up the effort of attempting to fall back into the welcoming arms of Morpheus. I listed to the radio and had my breakfast while waiting for the dawn to come which would allow me to start on my morning walk up to the Mule Pass Divide. It was still dark at 6:00 am, although the eastern horizon had started to become visible and I decided it was safe to retrieve the trash bag from the car and place it at the end of the driveway. Then, after another cup of coffee and getting dressed for the walk, I left the front door. I could not believe my eyes. There, at the end of the driveway, were two very large javelinas rooting through my trash like Republicans at a fundraising dinner. My temper got the better of my discretion as I ran towards them yelling “Get out of here you mangy pigs!” They did not challenge me but took off up the mountainside like goats, leaving me to clean up their mess.
I make this complaint because just the previous week we entertained our out of town friends, Bill and Barb Wood, by taking them on several walks around town. Bill, a talented photographer, snapped this photograph of a mural just a few blocks from our house. At the time we had a chuckle, but I little realized this was nothing less than a prophecy in paint!
