Livin’ the wild life here in the back o’ beyond.
I’m tellin’ you what: I’ve got to get out in the yard more; the critters are starting to act like they freakin’ OWN the place. I don’t see no ‘possums payin’ the taxes, you feel me?
Between the rabbits hopping all over the place chowing down on our beans and cucumbers, the deer giving the hostas and phlox buzz cuts and eating our blueberries when they’re still in the blossom (the blueberries are in the blossom, I mean, not the deer), and the reptile/amphibian mutual support society taking turns staging sit-ins on our driveway, I was already about up to here with fauna.
Oh, and there are also the squirrels sitting on the porch and giving me the stink eye when I come out. And also the pair of cardinals doing an amateur production of THE BIRDS, bonking repeatedly repeatedly repeatedly against the window of whatever room we happen to be in, like, how many times can we do this before they go batshit crazy?
Then I was walking home from Mom’s in the beginning of the gloaming, and I suddenly hear something doing an imitation of The Tasmanian Devil. I can’t even spell the sound it made. So I look around, and here’s this big fat raccoon waddling away and this wee little raccoon bolting up a tree. I tried to take a picture (yes, I’m one of those people), but it was too dark for the camera to pick up the wee one up the tree, and I wasn’t about to chase down a wild mama when I’d just separated her from her baby. I’m not one of those people.
Okay, obviously, I made it home in one piece, in spite of Mama Raccoon’s trash talk. But I may have to hire a dog to come whiz on stuff, just to show the critters who’s boss.
A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: A character meets an animal in the gloaming.