A Tale of Two Pups

Last week it was Rabbit, this week it’s Coyote.

Probably because it’s that time of year.

The Wild wakes (not that it ever sleeps) and everyone comes out parading their young.

Kind of like an Easter parade, don’t you think?

And Easter…that christian new life/resurrection thing, that coming out of the cave, out of the earth, out of death, the big sleep as it were…

Why do you think the church decided Easter coincides with Spring?

Everybody honors The Wild even when they don’t mean to.

The Bunlet

Rabbits – at least the kind we have here in southern New Hampshire – are not good parents.

At least not good mothers.

At least in human terms.

Wild rabbits here in southern New Hampshire neither warren nor den. They spend their time above ground and out in the open.

Their young, likewise, are born above ground and in the open. If anything, they may have a cushion of leaves to lie back on.

But not grass. Grass is food to rabbits.

Rabbit mothers leave their kits (baby rabbits are called “kits” or “kitties” and “bunnies” in the vulgate) unprotected while they go off wining and dining and such.

We’d call Family Services if that happened.

Maybe we would.

People have a habit of minding other people’s business and ignoring their own when it suits them.

Back to Bunlets (our term for tiny little baby bunnies).

Thank goodness for their dun coloring.

Good camouflage, that.

And we must also consider that The Wild has perfected rabbits to survive.

At least for now.

Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?

I mean, what if The Wild is doing the same to us?

Just think of all those Family Services people without a job…

A Cute Young Thing

Ah, youth.

Mine is gone many years, except in my heart when I gaze upon Susan (wife/partner/Princess).

She is my delight and my joy.

Together forty-six years, married forty of them, not always easy, not always nice, and wonderful to remember.

We knew early on we weren’t suited to have children. Anybody who knows my personal history knows I had no good models for parenting, and I openly worried my parents’…flaws?…methods. Yes, that’s better, methods of parenting would cause any children I had harm. As it was, I didn’t do my first wife proud except for the fact I left her, again knowing I was not suited to be a good husband, provider, and father.

I often consider that one of my first rational thoughts, recognizing how flawed I was.

Still have flaws, of course, and they are different ones, hopefully less vexsome ones, more along the line of liking a good superhero movie every once in a while because I need to veg out for a while.

And all that noted, I sometimes regret not having children.

A friend of mine recently had her tubes tied, so abhorrent was the thought of having children to her.
I chided her.

“Children are wonderful,” I told her. “Lightly roasted with a little salt, they’re delicious.”

Budda-boom!

And I still appreciate The Wild‘s sharing its younth with us.

He’s a Traveling Dude

Having previously missed my metaphor, we reach again.

Behold a traveling dude.

He knows his place and hopes we know ours. (we do)

He graces us with his elegance, his subtlety of movement, his ability to hear less than a whisper.

He moves on silent feet, watching, listening, wondering.

Okay, enough romanticizing.

The Wild is not necessarily cruel and neither is it kind.

What it is, is balanced.

The Wild understood economics long before Two-Legs ever considered the term.

For that matter, few (if any) Two-Legs truly understand the entirety of economics.

My first time through college, my first term, I had an economics survey course twice a week, 7:45-9am.

I went to the first class, the mid-term, and took the final. Never opened the book. Got a “C.”

That class pretty much convinced me economics was a joke, a waste of time.

Years (!) later I read Taichi Sakaiya’s The Knowledge-Value Revolution and both veil and vale were lifted. Since that time I’ve applied economic theorems to everything from energy systems to communication systems to marketing to cosmologic concepts and all and everything in between with great success.

But The Wild?

Remember the words of Pivey T. Krapnec…

Nature bats last and owns the stadium.

 

Raccoon Butts

Sometimes I don’t check my equipment properly.

Disastrous for a pilot and diver, potentially frustrating to a would-be wildlife photographer.

I thought I was capturing videos of kits munching, but no, I caught photos of raccoon butts.

Except for the first one.

All that one needs is some white robes and you’d have a Wild version of The Last Supper (wonder if they had pasta…)
(and i jest both times).