I was awake at an ungodly hour this morning, tossing and turning for a couple hours in an attempt to avoid the inevitable, before finally getting up around 5 to turn on the coffee pot. I took my coffee outside, thinking that sitting and listening to the birds and watching the sunrise would be a nice and relaxing way to start the day. But rather than the cheerful chirps and twitters I had anticipated, the only birds awake at that hour were two mourning doves dolefully cooing their sad and lugubrious call, and it actually began to feel slightly depressing. For some reason, I thought of a song from my grade school days: Who Killed Cock Robin?, a shamefully morbid song that for the life of me I cant understand why any teacher would inflict it on her students. All the birds in the trees started sighing and a-sobbin when they heard of the death of poor Cock Robin. . . . Jesus! I hadnt thought of that song in years, probably decades, and those damn mourning doves were to blame, sounding to me as if they were cooing their grief over their fallen kin. This is silly, of course. Its just a case of me anthropomorphizing nature, and I know that the doves arent mourning anything-- they are just greeting the morning in the only way they know. Theyre probably as happy as larks. And the larks, it seems, have yet to hear the terrible news about Cock Robin. Its actually kind of interesting that such a remote and long forgotten memory should come drifting up and it makes me wonder what other strange things are lurking in the more remote recesses of the vast dust bin that is my brain. Not to imply that my brain is vast; it just has lots and lots of dark unfathomed space. For all I know, other than being full of darkness, its almost completely empty. But the darkness remains intriguing nonetheless. It hides all inadequacies and holds the promise of wonderful things that may or may not exist. And though it all may be a lie, its a wonderful lie for Ill never know otherwise. Farley has been on my mind a lot lately. Hes alert and happy and enjoying life, but he stumbles a lot more lately and just standing up is a painful chore. Hes now past the age when my other Great Pyrenees, Zoie, suddenly died. Of course, sad though it was, her sudden death was ultimately a blessing, for she was almost to the point where she couldnt stand up anymore and was forcing me to consider things Id rather not think about. But now its Farley. I desperately want to avoid having to take him in to the vet to put him to sleep, but what does one do with a 150 lb. dog that can no longer stand up? He is so good natured and loving, and I know hell be that way to the end and I honestly dont know if Ill be able to make that final decision if it comes to that. I am ashamed to admit that I might rather let him suffer rather than bear the burden of being the one who brought his sweet life to an end. Anyway, god damn those mourning doves! It has actually been a wonderfully sunny and productive day, but it seems those mournful dove calls have stuck with me after all. I really dont need any help in this department; I can get myself in a deep funk easily enough without some hapless bird urging me along. But these thoughts will pass. In fact, Ive let them go already. The dogs and I (even Farley after a tortuous climb up the stairs), are up in the bedroom just being dumb and mellow. The mourning doves are still out there trying to be a downer, but are joined by robins, jays, cardinals and wrens that add a more cheerful note to the mix. And even though I know that cheerfulness is yet another construct of my own mind, it makes me happy even still and is enough to end this evening on a happy note.
Posted on: Sun, 17 Aug 2014 22:07:57 +0000
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