It rarely gets unbearably hot in Portland, but this past weekend was the exception. After several 90 and 100 degree days, our house was sweltering Saturday night. So, I camped out with Kea on the back deck, cool breezes coming in around midnight and lulling us to sleep. It was a strange night; sky full of lightening but no rain.
Around 2:00 am I heard some disturbing noises from under the chestnut tree. Primal snorts and huffs and the pathetic chirps of a bird or small rodent meeting its untimely end. I peered over the edge of the deck to catch a glimpse of the interloper – a coyote. I only saw one but I think there were at least two by the sound of it.
We don’t exactly live in the country, so the appearance of wild animal took me by surprise, as did its boldness. Bewildered by what felt like a bad dream, I reached for Kea, prepared to defend her tooth and nail, or more realistically, with an outburst of nonsensical expletives of increasing volume.
So, that is how I came to be standing on my deck in my pajamas in the middle of the night in a lightening storm, yelling out into the darkness. Next time I see a crazy person walking down the street talking to himself, I’ll try to be sympathetic. He’d probably have a perfectly reasonable explanation for his behavior, too.
Those who have toured our home recently and witnessed the Wall of Coach I have in our bedroom are aware that I have a small handbag vice. There’s black ones and brown ones, white ones and a lovely cognac one I’ve had since college. I added to my little flock this week, a reward to myself for finally shedding the last of the baby weight.
