The Direction of Intention

If I left Kerri to her own devices, we’d have a kennel full of once-stray-dogs, a menagerie of rescued kitties, birds in rehab, chipmunks recuperating in the upstairs bedroom and a host of other critters who crossed our path on their day of distress.

It’s not that I am heartless. I have a heart. My capacity to stand upright is proof-positive that it works. No, the real impediment to my save-the-animal-kingdom-resistance is practicality: we have a tiny backyard and it’s my job to scoop the poop. I can barely keep up with Dogga.

I’d love a St. Francis existence, birds alight on my shoulders and raccoons following at my feet. The realities of poop always pops my fantasy. “Let them run wild,” I insist. “Let nature take its proper course!”

She looks at me with those pleading, doe eyes.

“Let the chips fall where they will,” I say with conviction, “just not in our backyard.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about ANIMAL RESCUE

smack-dab. © 2021-2 kerrianddavid.com

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