Long run. Sorry. Not long. This little white lie is triggered by 25 years of muscle memory. Feels good to think it was long, and to say it was long. It wasn’t long. They’re not long anymore. They used to be long. Days of running a 10 miler, no water bottle, no music player, no books on tape, mind on lock, feet on auto forward and go — used to be — long time ago — not anymore. Long gone.
I get done with my run. Not long. 3 miles of stop and go. No traffic. A brisk 42° F. Shelter-in-Place has humans hunkered down. The Canadian geese are essential personnel.
Long runs have been supplanted with long hot showers. At ~ 3 minutes, guilt washes down from the shower head, water rushes down the drain. A Waste. Guilt passes. I turn up temperature, steam fills the room. Stiff muscles loosen, tired bones ache, body yearns for a late morning nap.
Temperature has climbed to the mid-50’s. I step outside. Tree Blossoms. Budding trees. Fresh blades of grass. The morning sun warming.
With the squirrel problem solved in 2016 with high tech bird feeders (Miracle-Man-Made), nature is all in its orderly place in the back yard. Squirrels and chipmunks feed at ground level from the seed spilling from feeder. No acrobatics, no swinging-from-feeder squirrels guzzling $30/bag organic bird feed.
I turn my attention back to my reading.
I’m distracted by birds which flit in and out of the yard. This morning, it’s Finches, canary yellow. 3 or 4 at each feeder at a time.
Down below, and around the yard, Mourning doves. Cardinals, male and female. Brown breasted robins.
Bird song fills the air. The flutter of wings dart to and from the feeders. All having breakfast, peacefully co-existing.
I stretch my legs. Body stiffening. Back to reading.
A handful of birds remain at the feeders but the birds at ground level are gone. It’s become quiet. Bird song is gone.
The three feeders front a 3-foot high rock wall which fronts the fence along the lot line.
There’s a fracas below, in what appears to be squirrel vs. squirrel quarrel, each protecting their feeding grounds.
The fracas continues. This time with a squeal. Not squirrel or chipmunk like.
Out of the rock wall, a rat, mid-sized, darts out to feed.
Out of the rock wall, another rat, mid sized, darts out to feed.
Out of the rock wall, a third rat, mid sized darts out to feed.
And then, out of the rock wall, a chubby, likely pregnant rat, 6 inches long excluding tail, darts out to join her family.
Chubby charges at the birds below the feeders clearing the way for her family.
Rat infestation. Rats, disturbing the peace. Rats, a mere 30 feet from the house, planning to seek shelter next winter in the warmth of our basement.
I close the Kindle app. I was finishing an essay on “The Emotional Benefits of Getting Older” – and it’s punch line: “People at older ages had more positive emotions and fewer negative emotions, and their emotional experiences were more consistent.” But which age group was more emotionally solid and showed better mastery of their urges? “The people who experience the most emotional instability are in their 20s,” he said, a volatility that gradually declines with every decade.”
Once again, DK is off the page and well beyond the tail end of the statistical curve.
Man-child. Old-Man-Child.
F-*king Rats have got to go. Now.
I move the cursor into the Google Search bar, and type R-A-T T-R-A-P-S in Amazon Search Bar.
2 days shipping.
Backyard needs to be restored to order, Now.
Notes: Thank you Susan for video
