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cupcake-chested visitor
Tuesday, June 5 2012
Given the years I lived in Southern California, I'm familiar with "June Gloom," a phenomenon that can make June the most depressing month of the year. Here on the East Coast, though, June is always a pleasant time, with lush greenery and temperatures verging on the uncomfortably hot. So you can imagine my dismay to realize that June Gloom has found me here. Today temperatures never rose out of the 50s, and though the sun made a few attempts to break through the clouds, there were also a series of rains.
Today was the day that Venus would be transiting across the disk of the sun, and on the couple occasions when the sun showed itself, I attempted to look at it through a welding mask. I didn't see anything interesting, but when Ramona saw me with a black mask on my face she started barking. It doesn't take much to freak her out.
At some point today I noticed that the nest of Phoebes under the eaves on the east deck was now empty. There had been at least four fledglings in that nest; I'd taken a picture of them a day or two ago:
Late this afternoon there was a baby rabbit running around in our driveway. Perhaps it had been brought there by Clarence the cat, who has killed several of them and brought them home as gifts for the dogs. (There appears to be an unusually large number of rabbits this year.) Ramona saw the rabbit and gave chase despite my orders for her not to. She chased it down Dug Hill Road and eventually caught it after chasing it under a guard rail. It was in her mouth when I next saw her, but the baby rabbit struggled free and managed to disappear up an embankment.
After getting Ramona back into our yard, I eventually forgot about her, which was probably not a good idea. Eventually a car driven by a do-gooder saw her in the road and stopped, read our phone number off her collar, and left a message on our answering machine. She claimed to have "almost hit" Ramona, but I'd actually seen the incident in question and she'd been driving too slowly to "almost hit" anything except perhaps a slug. Confused by the placement and labeling of mailboxes, this do-gooder had taken Ramona across the street to the neighbors I call "the Fussies." They have an immaculate lawn and no interest in animals, though they do know where the local population of black dogs resides. And so that was how the woman came to find my door. She was young and nubile, and, though I'm not much of a breast man, I couldn't help but notice that her tits were arranged in her chest apparatus like sideways cupcakes, naked for nearly their entire northern hemispheres. Her attitude, though, was decidedly schoolmarmish. As She lectured me on how dangerous Dug Hill Road is and then reprimanded Ramona when she reared up and nibbled at her ear. She also claimed in passing that she was some sort of dog expert, though this was belied somewhat by the male pronouns she used when referring to Ramona. I expressed my appreciation for her concern, and then my cupcake-chested visitor departed.
This evening I had something of a television marathon for myself, watching Bittorrent-downloaded files on Coyote, the media computer. This included the latest episode of The Bachelorette as well as the early-90s comedy Groundhog Day. While the former was only as good as I expected, the latter was definitely better than expected, though it still had that stilted 80s quality that mainstream 90s movies retained until about 1998. Perhaps it helped that I smoked a little marijuana that had been given to me several weeks ago by a friend. (I'd told her about all my marijuana going stale from my slow rate of utilization.)
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