A ringing telephone woke me this morning. I was dreaming of corn and apples.
It was Wiggles. She was panting as she recounted her recent ordeal of being squeezed through the bars of an overcrowded transport truck on the highway, only to end up in the hospital ward of the local Humane Society. Over the years, Wiggles and I have developed a special bond even though we are distant cousins (our mothers share some complicated lineage involving a disinterested hog, electroshock, and a syringe). I asked her what she was doing on the back of a truck racing down the highway like some renegade. "It was all such a blur", she said. "One minute I'm enjoying some nibbles at the local trough, the next thing I know we're being raided! I was terrified. Before I knew what was happening, we were being herded onto the back of a panel truck and I couldn't help being pushed further and further in by the crowds behind me. I kept yelling 'I'm innocent! I haven't done anything wrong!' but no one was listening. After that I blacked out and didn't come to until the bumps on the road and the cold wind knocked me back into a conscious state. "
I was so upset I started circling the room uncontrollably until I remembered to use the deep diaphragmatic snorting techniques I learned in yoga class. I finally calmed down.
"So what now?", I asked. As I expected, she was unsure of her next move (how can she always be living on the edge like that??). She was going to be recovering for at least a few days, which she said would give her some time to regroup and consider her options. For now she's just thankful for having escaped yet another close call with the jumper cables. "Wiggles," I said, "Watch your back." She said thanks and hung up the phone.
I was out of coffee so I walked to the corner store to buy some beans.