Postcards from Ragnarok (part 3)  − 6 May, 2008

Continued from yesterday's post.

When Ragnarok begins, the Wolf that chases the Moon will catch it and eat it.  A neverending winter will descend.  And at the final battle, all the familiar things will be destroyed.

The Moon is my music, the Wolf is the stress and chaos of the move.  The winter is depression.  And all the familiar things . . . you're seeing them for the last time.

This move is not easy.  I'm told three of the most stressful things you can do are move, sell your house, and change jobs.  I'm juggling all three.

Well, there is one familiar thing I'll take with me to the next world: my family.  This includes my two dogs, Neri and Nora.

c09: Neri, your Hostess

When I think of our yard, it's hard not to think of Neri.  She always wants to go outside.  Anywhere you go in the yard, she always keeps track of you.

Neri is a very gentle dog.  She chases squirrels, but I don't think she'd know what to do if she caught one.  She just wants to watch them run.

Now crows . . . crows she hates.  I'm not sure why.  Probably it has the basis in a story certain readers have been asking about . . . .

Neri vs. the Crow

Neri patrols the yard for creatures that don't belong.  Or for edible substances.  Edible, here, is a pretty broad category, and we'll close the discussion at that point.

We live near a middle school.  One day, I came home, to find Neri almost tap-dancing near the back door.  When she wants to go out, she really lets you know.  She wanted to run out and give somebody a total bark-down.

I had no sooner cracked the door than Neri shot out into the back yard like a torpedo launched from a U-boat.  I heard a flock of crows start cackling and beating it for the sky.  When I looked out, all of them had made it, except one.

There was one crow left, trying to get airborne, but failing.  It was carrying half a ham sandwich.

Say what?

See, we live near a middle school.  It was at the end of a school day, and I'd bet some kid either didn't pay attention to their lunch closely enough, or threw away the other half of a ham sandwich they didn't want.  But it was clearly visible.  I could see it was the type where some dilbert had cut off the crusts (the best part).

This was clearly a prize of great magnitude.  And no doubt, every time the crow landed, the other crows came along to try and eat it.  So all it had to do was flutter and flap around, carrying its burden, but never able to enjoy it.

Now the plot twist: a furious, flying furball, tearing across the yard, barking like an entire pack of sled dogs.

Drop the sandwich?  Fly away?

Nope.

It just barely made it.  Neri shot through its position just moments after it scrambled up into the air.  Had the parent left the crusts on . . . well, I doubt Mr. Crow would have been bitten, but he might have been trampled.

Seems like greed is universal.

To this day, Neri hates crows.  Not so much because they're noisy and aggravating, but probably because it came into her yard with food and didn't offer her any.

Roses ... How does that grab you? (c06, c07, c20, c23, c24)

One of the things people really notice about our house is all of the roses.  Part of the reason: they grow near the sidewalk, and they grow like something out of a science fiction novel.

This is new to me.  My Mom always tried to grow roses in the old days, but most of them would die from various fungal diseases.  Now here I am in Florida, and you'd think "fungus capital of the world" with all the humidity.

Instead, we have roses that are as ambitious as kudzu.  We trim them back, but they still like to grow across the sidewalk and grab the nearest convenient article of clothing.

These plants, at least, I can identify.  In tomorrow's installment, I'm going to have to call in an expert . . . my wife!