Quite the Life (and all in Times New Roman 10pt!)
I mentioned in Oaps Likes Grand Funk how intrigued we are by The Wild‘s musical tastes.
Example: Last night’s Opossum banged along with Grand Funk. Today, it’s Keith Jarrett.
And, hey. Who wouldn’t cruise with Keith Jarrett, right?
Especially when Susan‘s offering commentary…
We are often intrigued by The Wild‘s musical tastes.
It is eclectic to say the least.
And it would be one thing if musical preferences followed some kind of Old One differentiation, you know?
Something like “All raccoons prefer Bach, all Opossum prefer modern jazz, skunk are heavily into acid rock (thank goodness they’re not!), …”
You know, some kind of differentiator so we could see who’s come to visit and put on something to suit their musical tastes.
No such luck.
Each’s musical leanings are as individuated as, well, as they are.
Food.
That seems to be the commonality.
Not only across species, but individuals, as well.
Set out a good table and they’ll gather.
It’s a good thing.
In the cool of the night…
(feel a need to due homage to Sidney Poitier and Rod Steiger here)
In the cool of the night, the Opossums come to dine.
Don’t remember seeing an Opossum during the day. Unless it was deep in the woods, heavily in shadow, and usually peeking out from underneath something.
Opossums are skittish at the best of times. We’ve seen them dining with raccoons and, the moment some raccoon gets a tad too close, you can hear Opossum say, “Beware my piercing teeth.”
That’s their own name for themselves, by the way.
In OriOrinda, the Opossums’ native tongue, their name translates to “Beware my piercing teeth.”
Good to know, that.
Good to know.
Sometimes The Wild isn’t kind.
It’s not so much a matter of kindness as it is…well, it is what it is.
We’ve known Hecate for quite a while in raccoon years. This Hecate, anyway. There have been others, long gone and passed into memory.
“Hecate” seems to be a favored name among them. Perhaps a family name.
We think “family” because raccoons share traits through generations. Some like to sit on their butt, some like to dunk their food, some like to hold a conversation, some like to nibble toes, …
Okay, that last part, the toe nibbling, usually only when they’re kits.
This time Hecate returned to us with a significant chunk of fur missing from her back. The missing piece had a distinct “V” shape.
I can’t imagine what caused it. An animal bite wouldn’t leave such a mark, and my mind goes to something man-made.
Only humans could be so cruel to The Wild.
After all, have you noticed how cruel we are to ourselves and each other?
A Tom on his own.
Perhaps he’s scouting the territory, getting a lay of the land, deciding the optimal place to look for babes.
Oh Hens.
Yeah, most likely Hens.
I’ll bet he’d rather we had some real happenin’ music on the jivebox.
Something he could jitter to, give him a chance to practice his strut.
A release for his raging hormones.
Hmm…
I guess Susan‘s not his type.
Probably a good thing.
For him.