The moonlit world draws the dogs for reasons I think I know but maybe I do not. I think they think because they can see it means they think there is something to see. Bert was nearly blind but he would go up to the window during a full moon and put his ears up, tail up, head, up, and growl. Lucas and Sam have ignored the full moon for months but last night they all decided there was something out there.
I left the backdoor open so they could come and go without waking me, but no… they had to get me in on it. Honestly, when the dogs alert I get up because I cannot afford not to trust them. Bert always knew, well, except during a full moon, but Lucas and Lillith are emotionally charged. They go running out into the moonlight as if strapped to rockets. Sam, now the elder statesman, woofs from the deck like an offensive coordinator in the booth. I don’t pick the shotgun up but I do check the windows and there is moonlight, glorious, silver, beautiful, incredible, moonlight. Maybe this is the dogs’ reaction to beauty. I herd them in, close the windows and doors and turn the AC on to keep the noise of the moonlight outside and it works, kinda.
Earlier in the night I had a dream where I was standing on a bridge. I thought I was dreaming, in the dream, and decided to wake myself up by falling forward. The water was very shallow and there were rocks visibly just under the surface. I fell forward and didn’t wake up and thought, “Shit, this was a mistake!” and I kept falling. I could see my reflection in the water as I fell and the expression on my face… I woke up.
Needless to say I reaped little sleep. But there are things I have to do, like buy food, and the one store in town has what I call “Beggar Days” where local charities either pretend to bag groceries for you in exchange for donations, or worse, ambush you right at the door. Today is a group working for God and at last check I think He has more money than I do. God doesn’t need my money. God doesn’t need my time. God needs, as much as I understand it, nothing at all. So let’s let God do his own shopping and let me do mine. I assume He can get my attention with a burning bush or a talking ass. Both at the same time would make interesting writing to say the least. But I digress.
There is no reason to take a child into a grocery store and out that child in one of those giant racing car carts, unless you are truly looking to make life miserable for everyone in the store. Why stores have these monstrosities I do not know. But there is no getting around them at all. Why not just stick a steering wheel and a number on a regular cart? But no. I have to navigate around a woman and a kid twice. Both times the kid is babbling and both times the woman is on her cell phone ignoring the fact she is a traffic hazard.
She beats me to the checkout stand and of course it’s the only one open. Mom is still on her cell and the kid is doing his stream of consciousness talking thing as if he’s getting paid by the word. The cashier can’t process coupons, or rather the computer cannot. They’ve invested minimum wage into a person and thousands of dollars into a machine. The customer ahead of cell woman and babbling baby stalls.
Woman on cell
Cashier (frozen molasses uphill)
Woman on cell
Child: You’re bald. You have orange glasses. I can see myself in your glasses.
You’re bald. What happened to your
hair? Did someone get it?
Me: I threw a little boy off of a bridge and as he went over the edge he grabbed my hair and snatched it off.
Woman on cell
Now that the kid has gone quiet she realizes the child has been interacting with a stranger. She looks at me, I stand there without saying a word, and the kid looks at me and says, “I don’t like it when mommy pulls my hair. Did it hurt?”
Well. That’s certainly a conversation to be explored, but I turn and look at the guy behind me, as if perhaps he was involved in this. The guy behind me hasn’t heard one word of any of this and he looks confused. Mommy is trying to figure it all out, and in the middle of this, the cashier walks away. Yeppers, just walks right off from the counter and into the office.
“What did you say to my son?” The woman doesn’t look happy at all.
“Mommy his hair got pulled off by a bridge when he threw a boy off the bridge his hair came out and he has orange glasses and…” But mommy isn’t really interested in this. She more than a little pissed we’re trapped there together, and she is trying to sort out who said what to who. The guy behind me bails out and goes over to the next counter which has just opened up. I retreat with him. Mommy has a serious problem backing the race cart up.
So I make it home alive. I’m dead tired from the moonlight madness and I wonder why odd things come out of my mind at strangers in public. I wonder why parents do not control their kids. I wonder why suddenly Lucas is interested in the moonlight, or if it’s Lillith? She is an odd little animal, you know. She likes to get off alone and do her own thing.
It will be another full moon tonight. I’m going to take a nap.