Adamant Blackness and Violence Confined
Was awakened to the launch of the Running of the Mice across the cabin roof. Uncountable legions of tiny claws pittering above my head in the night.
Rain!
The cabin roof is clear of snow, hastened that way by sun and previous stovewood fires. Heat rises straight out through the two-by-fours and roof boards, quickening the melt. But also creating spectacular icicle teeth along the north eave. Scandinavian folk tradition sustains the conviction that wolves stay clear of dwellings with ground-length icicles. This safeguard is readily witnessed in many sections of northern Minnesota, especially around here where the wolf population is densest. This defense is reputed to also have a deterrent action against certain door-knocking evangelists. It must be true. I haven't yet welcomed one here.
EZ is asleep on her mat by the fire. She awoke me during the night by getting off the bed, standing, and vomiting grandiosely in the dark. Too late to escort her outside. Too dark and cold to deal with immediately. It could manage on its own until morning. We settled back into sleep. I was again awakened at morning light by her vigorous pacing, toenails clicking from kitchen to bedside and back. It's the best warning I'll ever be given from my lady friend who rarely barks, except when approaching release into the woods. She avoids communicating bodily needs as though she'd be beaten for speaking.
She'd created four vomit pools, watery brown ooze the color of her food, which I blame fully for this upset. The pet food store was out of her accustomed mix of senior chicken and rice, so I substituted a recipe of adult lamb and rice. A rich shock to her system? Probably. I arose and let her out. Then laid back down to doze, and forgot she was out. The rain changed to snow. By the time I remembered, half an hour later she was snowy wet, sitting on the step staring doe-eyed through the door. I patted her mat by the stove, covered her with a towel and soaked up some water. Bleary eyes blinked. She laid trembling for fifteen minutes. An hour later we walked down the road to the river. Her enthusiasm was dampened, a plod not a gallop.
Axel made an appearance here this afternoon. I heard the motor, then saw a primer-brown pickup truck approach from the east. I sat inside where I could watch. I did not recognize it, transported high by huge mudder tires. It stopped out front. A whiskered face studied this scene and my car for a time, then eased away down toward the dead-end. Two minutes later it returned, parking alongside the plow-ridge I'd shoveled a passageway through yesterday. The driver shut off the engine.
Axel stumbled down, beer can in hand, and slip-slided into the clearing. A ceremonious pistol in a new-looking holster--twelve inches long and nearing his kneecap, slapped low against his right hip. Adamant blackness and violence confined. I put on my jacket, opened the door and released EZ, who'd fully recovered her vigor, and had been watching this visitor waltz. She exploded out. His hand froze at the holster as she surged near, a look of bewildering doubt about this sudden show of passion.
"Hi Axel."
"You got a
new car?"
(I hadn't, but I drive a truck too, on occasion.)
"Yah, checkin'
up on duh place. Yah, wanted to be sure t'weren't burglars in'air."
I did not point
out that burglars were unlikely to shovel an access entrance through the plow-ridge
before breaking and entering. (Discretion, not teasing, is best used around
a man aching to utilize his brand-new firepower.)
"Yeah. Turned
around down there. (Motioning west.) Strapped on duh gun and turned on duh
radio (clipped to his other hip), b'fore comin' back up."
"Thanks. I
appreciate it."
"Well, j'st
checking. We haven't had much break-ins lately, 'cept for that place out on
duh highway last month. Penwalter's roof caved in on their trailer house too.
I called 'em and said 'next time you come up you better bring a tarp and some
2x4's.' They were here the next day."
Pepper has been
barking without doubt inside the truck. Axel's hip bursts a stream of official
verbal static, like a horsefly under an empty tuna fish can. Vigilante fervor
has turned unproductive. I thank his neighborliness and he heads toward the
road, turning quickly to shout "If I ever catch anybody here you'll find
dair head on a pole next time you come."
EZ follows at his
heels. The pistol jiggles and dips, new shine against tatter. EZ leaps up
on hind paws and snarls at Pepper through the open cab window. She backs off,
Axel climbs in. The motor burbles, and he drives off with a wave.
Earlier today Meg
told me of his pet ermine. It just "showed up in his trailer one day.
He'd gotten it to eat from his hand. Then it disappeared as suddenly as it
appeared."
"Axel keeps his clothes in a barrel." (Eyes roll, head shudders in abhorrence.) He found the ermine in there two weeks later. Dead."