Three

Walking Lucky

Driving through streams of sun and shade. The leaves are changing colors along with the bruises on my legs. I am dog sitting for our neighbors and it is exercising my God given authority. They’re too good at protecting their domain. To them, I am just a stranger. 

…

The sky is gray and raining. The wind forces the rain down in droves. Water ripples in waves along the asphalt. My body aches from being pulled around by a bulldog. I use all my might trying to control that little stocky girl.  

While walking Lucky this morning, there was but a sprinkle of rain. The wind barreled through the neighborhood and shook the water from a nearby tree. It all rained down at once like a giant shower on the side of the road. Perhaps the lighting had something to do with it, for it was a glorious sight to behold.

…

Walking Lucky is more of a jog than a “walk.” She runs like a sled dog carrying a freight train instead of 120 pounds of woman. 

There is a round bruise on my upper left arm from the leash I wrap around there. Two hands grip tightly on the rope in case another dog, animal, or person catches her attention. But it’s the pinecones that send her in a frenzy. She runs after them frantically searching for the perfect one. I’ve tried taking them from her mouth, but it is a battle I have not yet won. 

Tonight, I swept remnants of pinecone scattered across the living room floor. 

…

Like a leaky faucet, Lucky’s mouth constantly drips. Often unknowingly, I return home with dollops of drool on my pants. 

She’s a loveable beast, quick to roll over for a belly rub. She’s playful and full of energy. At times I felt depleted, and employed some muscle to reign her. My husband joyfully walked the little bull, and she walked with ease for him. 

…

In the crisp November air, in sunshine and rain, Lucky and I went for a walk. And it was exhilarating.   

Two

There were four caterpillars in my lemon tree. They feasted on its leaves. I was thrilled to have discovered them yet disgusted by their defensive stench. Nevertheless, I welcomed them and allowed them to chomp away at the already sparse tree.

On the night of their discovery, I read The Very Hungry Caterpillar to our son at bedtime. I was full of anticipation and hope. Might we witness our four hungry caterpillars’ transformation as well? I felt blessed they were in our tree. 

A few days later they were gone…

…

Look what the cat dragged in! It was a butterfly. April, our cat, caught a butterfly in her mouth. Its wings were oddly bent and crumpled. I put it in a cloth napkin and carried it to the lemon tree. There I left it, most likely to face the same demise as the caterpillars.  

…

I started reading The Gift by Lewis Hyde and I learned a new word – lepidopterology. 

The dictionary says, lepidopterology is “the branch of zoology dealing with butterflies and moths.” 

Immediately, I thought of the caterpillars.  

The day they disappeared I looked around for clues to tell their story. There was a long yellow streak down the patio wall. And there was black ink like spots on leaves of a nearby plant. I can only assume it was a massacre. Most likely a very hungry bird ate the very hungry caterpillars. 

I realized in my pining for butterflies, I completely missed what it meant to be a caterpillar in a tree. 

…

A post from the author Kate DiCamillo popped up on my Facebook feed. She mentioned working on a novel and shared a picture of a Monarch butterfly perched on a purple flower. She wrote about how the fragile butterfly gave her hope.

I remember the butterfly the cat dragged in and its damaged wings. It was fragile indeed. 

…

The lemon tree was trimmed. The tree looks thinner now. There are not many leaves left. It is vacant, without visitors or lemons. But I have faith the tree will grow even more abundantly than before. There is still hope.

One

There are kids riding on scooters. A man stands holding a mug and a leash; his dog sniffs at the grass beneath him. A mother pulls her children in a red wagon. And a father carries his son upon his shoulders. 

It’s time for school to begin.

…

“Kiss me already.” He said.

We ran to school. The first bell had already rung. I kissed his cheek quickly, and in he went. I walked away slightly panting but smiling.

…

I followed a trail of wet paw prints on the path back to my car. 

When I arrived home, a squirrel froze on the stairway above us. A giant pinecone was stuffed in its mouth. The squirrel’s breath quickened as its tiny body pulsed with fear. I felt joyful, delighted to catch him with his mouth full. 

For a moment, I thought of Saint Francis, and wondered if I should tell the squirrel the Gospel. 

Life is weird, is a thought I have on a daily basis. 

It is wonderfully weird.