Christmas eve. I don't want to revel in the inhumanity man shows to his fellow man to keep salsa from the tables of the diners in Cheboygan, I'll leave that for Beagles.
I don't remember where I heard it, seems to me it may have been on I Remember Mama, which makes me think that it came from the Norsemen. Seems to me the sort of thing that they might have thought though they weren't much in the way of Christians until maybe a thousand years ago, but you know how it is with converts. Anyway the story is that our animals can speak to us on Christmas eve.
Seventy some years with cats and I can't say that I have ever heard so much as a howdy do. I just asked Buddy, if he had anything to say and he looked at me like he was choosing the words that he would speak, but then he didn't say anything. Well that's pretty much the way with cats every day. they always look like they are about to do something and then they don't do anything. Even if they could, excuse me, choose, to speak I don't see them as being chatterboxes. Your dog on the other hand, you know he or she would talk your ear off.
In fact isn't Beagles' full name Talks with Beagles? So I guess he would know something about it, maybe that's why he no longer has dogs, got tired of having his ear talked off, and not to sound like a cat snob, but I just don't think that dogs would have that much to say.
Those baleen whales, from that show that I saw last week that has stuck in my mind, their forebears were not unlike dogs rooting about in the seashore for prey, then hearing the siren call of the sea. I used to hear the siren song of the sea, whenever I was at a lakeshore or an ocean and the waves came lapping out onto the beach and then slowly receded, and if you listened closely to the hiss of the water you could hear, come to me, return to your mother. Well I could, but then I used to do a lot of drugs.
But anyway those whale forebears probably heard that too, they went deeper, they stayed longer, they noticed with a bit of alarm their legs melting into fins, but then they noticed how much better they could swim. At first I imagined it worked pretty well, food was aplenty and living was easy.
Too easy, the shore became replete with dogwhales and a guy had to hustle to keep a full stomach. Sometimes chasing prey and avoiding competition a dogwhale would come to the edge of the continental shelf. Whoa, the floor dropped completely away, how deep, how dark, how fearsome, but somewhere from the depths he heard, come to me, return to your mother.
To be continued, possibly killing time tomorrow before I board the train to the north shore while Beagles drives over the river and through the woods, and Old Dog makes his way to his sister's, hopefully with a mincemeat pie that he has just baked.
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