DON'T EAT THE CHICKEN BONES

My dog Padfoot will eat anything. Squirrel tails. Goose poop. It's his thing. Once, he came upon a half empty bag of mouse poison and chowed down. Fortunately, he also likes to share with me every treasure he has found,  which he did with the poison, and I was able to get him to the vet. And yesterday, he found one of his favorite treats, a chicken bone, sitting in the middle of the backyard. I'm pretty sure it was dropped by a squirrel as it traversed the phone line over head. Padfoot spotted it, ran for it, gave me a look, and chowed down. Before I got to him, at least half the bone was gone. Now, the bonus that goes with his odd snack choices is his delicate stomach. Without fail, after he eats his strange delicacies, he coughs, whines, and poops. A lot. Such was the case last night. First at two in the morning, then at three, and again at five, I had to let him out back to take care of things. I get annoyed, but I can't stay mad at him. He's my dog, and I love him. But it would be nice if he thought twice about eating anything and everything he thinks he should.

I have a bit of Padfoot in my, I suppose. I often do things spur of the moment, only to regret them later. Large fries with that burger. Run that yellow light. Hug an old friend, social distancing be damned. Instinct is a powerful thing, and sometimes, it kicks in before my brain, with is often off in the clouds, plotting out a scene I'm working on, can come back to this plain of existence. Sometimes, it's no big deal, and nothing happens. Sometimes, I get a hefty ticket from the local PD. Sometimes, I have to listen to the doctor tell me I have to lose weight, and stop eating crappy food. Never fun. But theres are all things I can handle, and have handled most of my life. Indeed, there was a time when I would often feel the urge to go streaking. This was in my late twenties, when I was still drinking, and usually at a late night party after a show. The mood would hit, the call to my instincts to take off all my clothes and run around the world in all my glory. I even once did this on a stretch of Broadway in NYC, for about thirty blocks. Of course,  being in New York City, nobody batted an eye, but I still marvel at the audacity of it. I suppose the big consequence from that would be my chances for assuming any form of elected office are pretty much null and void.

I don't regret the streaking, the speeding, or the eating. But I do regret the times I have not social distanced. The times I forgot to put on my mask right away. I wish more people felt the same. The numbers are getting scary again. Talk of opening schools where only a total of 14,000 children or so die. It's nuts. We all know this is serious. We all know people have died and are dying and will continue to die. And yet, we ignore social distancing when with friends. We try to sound like we believe it when we say it's inevitable that some folks die, but not that the economy goes under. We pretend as best we can that the clear skies and return of nature is not a minor miracle that makes us question our decisions in regards to the environment for the past century. 

We eat chicken bones.

Here's a song. It's The Bad Plus doing a cover of Pink Floyd's Comfortably Numb