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masculine intruder
Tuesday, May 29 2007
Today I saw "the bear" again in the late morning. The first indication that something strange was afoot was a pair of cats zinging past the window, disappearing around the north end of the house. Then here he came, lumbering (I suspect) up the steps from the Stick Trail. He was a full grown black bear, and he leisurely passed to the north of the dog house and went up the stone path I'd made to the Farm Road. Sally had been asleep inside the house, near the front door, which had been wide open, and she'd never stirred. I suspect we're seeing more of "the bear" these days because of Eleanor's convalescence. "The bear"
is probably one of the many beings in the environment she'd normally run out to noisily confront and chase away. Other such beings include deer, neighbor dogs, hapless cyclists, and the UPS delivery guy.
Gretchen returned from Blue Mountain Center early this afternoon, much earlier than I expected. When I told her this, her response was, as always when she returns unexpectedly, was a sobbed, "Where is she?!?"
While Gretchen had been gone, I'd allowed my beard to grow out more than I'd ever allowed it before. I'd taken precisely one shower during her five day absence, and I'd had to consciously keep myself from shaving, so automatic is my impulse to do so. Having had a beard for a few days now, I can't say I like the experience. It's itchy and makes my face feel vaguely dirty all the time. Sometimes when I touch it, I experience a visceral reaction rooted in some sort of deep-seated homophobia, which makes no sense considering that my penis doesn't cause such a reaction. But me and my penis have been living together as part of this body for nearly forty years now while my beard is a masculine intruder who has only been here a week.
I took Eleanor to the Hurley vet to get her stitches out, a procedure that went off without difficulty. I'd thought her incision was looking a little inflamed, but the vet thought it was healing nicely. He tested the movement of the repaired knee and declared it to be progressing nicely, which had the effect of absolving me of the occasional lapses of supervision that had resulted in Eleanor sprinting off after various unknown entities, engaging in goofy play with Sally, and climbing flights of stairs, all of these proscribed activities.
For dinner, Gretchen and I took both our dogs with us to the outdoor garden area of the Rosendale Café and this marked my first meal there where I ordered something other than a tempeh reuben. This time I got the goat cheese and spinach burrito, and it proved a good bit better than I'd expected (although, as always with hippie food, it would have been nice to be able to wave a wand over it to convert some of its cumin into salt).
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