Sitting here with my down jacket on. It’s lilac-colored, the wrists dingy and the patch on the sleeve coming off. It will be years, though, before I buy another. My desire for fashion as far as coats are concerned — long gone. Melted with the snow.
That was cliché. Melted with the snow, and here I am dressed in a jacket one wears in the snow. Or the cold.
Jim wants me to go out to the orchard and get Otis. He’s freaked out. A roadrunner that Rafael attacked and almost killed, is taking revenge on Otis. It jumped on Otis’ back the other day. Dropped from a Ponderosa pine, like an ambush. Otis flipped out, ran into a shed, and then the roadrunner jumped up on a woodpile just outside the shed and made “brrrrrr” noises at Otis as he trembled inside.
Since then Otis walks with his head and tail down. He’s a big dog but he reminds me of a buffalo, his body arched, his eyes darting here and there. He’s traumatized, so now mostly we keep him inside.
Rafael, mean time, is impish as ever. He still runs at the roadrunner. I can’t believe the roadrunner is even alive. You can see the flesh exposed on its neck. Reminds me of the time the dogs next door to our old house attacked Azul. Jim said you could see Azul’s guts, yet Azul still lived. Birds are hardy that way.
I made up a song for Rafael. I usually sing something that goes: He’s the Ra-fa-na-ta. He’s the al-li-ga-ta. Now I say, He’s the Ra-fa-na-ta, he’s the bird ha-ta, he’s the roadrunner ter-mi-na-ta.
Truth is, though, I wish Rafie wouldn’t attack birds. He goes after skunks and porcupines, and if he saw a cat, I’m sure he’d attack that, too. The only thing that scares Rafael is turkeys. He doesn’t like them, keeps as far away as possible. I wish Rafie would figure out that all smaller animals are off limits. But he seems to get worse with age.
I’ll make it out to the orchard soon. Jim is outside almost all day, even in the bitter cold. He wears a sherpa hat made of fleece and a Carthartt lined jacket. He wears flannel-lined jeans and a pair of gloves. He stays warm, and when he comes in to eat a breakfast of eggs and turkey sausage, his nose finally runs. That’s the only cue he gets that he’s freezing.
I’m amazed at his ability to withstand cold. Hates heat, though. He’s definitely got different blood than I do. I must have snake energy, he has sled dog.
Jim named the roadrunner Rodney. Rodney the Roadrunner. Jim’s funny that way. The roadrunner actually likes Jim, often follows him to where ever he is in the yard. Which is probably why Otis is so miserable.
Poor Otis. If he were a person, he’d be the good guy who finishes last. And who made up that saying anyhow? I like good guys. And gals. Kindness is underrated. Toughness, like fashion, is overrated.
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