Wild Streak

As of now, I can add "run through the woods in a bikini screaming war cries and dive into a thicket onto a chicken-eating-dog" to my resume.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Today began like any summer day should (pause: how is it July already?). I got up a bit before eight, had (fresh-picked with the Spano's!) blueberries on top of some yogurt, and then took a painfully long time to get ready to go for a run (because I kept getting distracted with unimportant things). By nine though, I was hitting pavement. It was hot, but it was so beautiful that, beneath the heavy breathing and burning muscles and tickle-y sweat drips, I felt like I could fly.

The only frustrating moment was when I was on the top of one hill, and looked back across the horseshoe-shaped gulf, and noticed our dog, Bella on the hill across from me. I had not exactly wanted her to come with me, but she had followed anyway. And now there she was, lollygagging right in the middle of the road. Smart enough to not follow me up the last hill to where I about-face at the stop sign, dumb enough to wait in a dangerous spot.

Gulping a little more air, I yelled across the chasm (it's technically not a chasm but I like the word), "Bella--over! Get out of the middle of the road! Over over over!"

She moved. Right to the side of the road.

So, for the record, sometimes she does listen. (And, to her credit, she has saved my butt from bears multiple time. Er, well, once.)

Fast forward a couple hours. By then I was famished so I heated up a burger from last night and dumped leftover salad on my plate. Like usual, I ate outside on the deck stairs. Half way through, one of the chickens came over and started bothering me. After pushing it away a couple times and repositioning myself, I figured all was well. But chickens do not give up. All of a sudden it leaped at me, and, in one fowl swoop managed to knock my plate out of my hands, send food flying, and claw
me across the chest and and one of my legs. Two seconds later it was pecking contentedly at my burger.

At that moment, I was not very happy. Honestly, I came the closest I have in a long time to swearing and condemning it to some godless place. But I refrained. Mostly because Misha was just inside the house and would probably have heard me, not because I have deep reservoirs of self control.

An hour later, I was still not very happy with the chicken species. So when Misha came over to the front lawn and informed me Bella had just gallivanted off and chased the neighbor's chickens, I just sighed and asked where Bella was now. Misha replied she had dragged her back up the hill, but it was hard because she wasn't wearing a collar. I said we should get the collar on her....and I promptly went back to what I was doing. Which was tanning. Because J&J's wedding is the day after tomorrow, and we bridesmaids have a little competition going on to see who can be the tannest (okay so it's an unspoken competition but I can feel it in the air).

The next thing I knew Misha was screaming Bella's name, and then my name. I ran across the driveway to the edge of the woods and tried to figure out what was happening just down the hill. It didn't take long to find out. Misha started screaming frantically, the kind of scream that says there is a chicken, that is not yours, in the mouth of a dog, which is yours.

I ran towards them, skidding through leaves and dirt and shouting who knows what at the dog, and directions to Misha, who manged to chase Bella up towards me. Bella, whose mouth was filled with feathers. Of course Bella veered off deeper into the woods to get passed me so I followed. Thus ensued the dive into the brambles.

Finally we got her chased back home and into the dog house, where she is presently moping.

As for me, I showered and made a peanut butter and blueberry sandwich to feel better. Then read Song of Solomon because it was the next book in my chronological read-through of the OT. Somehow, it didn't fit the mood of the day.