I consider myself reasonably independent. I am game to try lots of things myself, to feel useful and strong enough to stand on my own. I'm willing to attempt minor repairs to plumbing, take on carpentry projects, and even set aside a lifetime fear of electricity to reinstall the cooktop after my kitchen counters were upgraded a few years ago. The biggest task I took on was to agree to manage everything that comes along here in the Park by myself, for what I thought would be just over one year. That turned out to be far more than I signed up for, when I found myself struggling just to keep up with the yardwork, a few months in. I also didn't anticipate having to do so much damage control with the flooded condos, which are still an ongoing nightmare. Over the last year, I've learned a lot about what I'm capable of, and where I still need propping up.
Enter my friends. I found myself needing assistance this week, for something that was more of an emotional block than a missing skill set. I had to overcome a logistical hurdle, that was easily handled by having a second driver, but more, I had to psych myself up for a potential confrontation. I really didn't know what to expect, even though I had tried to set up the smoothest transition possible for weeks. Still, last night, I had myself tied in knots, worrying that I would have to defend my reasons for making the change I was proposing. This morning, when the moment came, it was almost too easy. My cowboy friend came through, and completed the task effortlessly, without me needing to do a thing. For all my claims of independence, this time, all I needed was one calm friend, who could be in the right place at the right time. I'm so glad I wasn't in this alone.
Last night, I was awake late, as I always am, and something hit my living room window, directly behind my head. I had a momentary panic that the Legend of Boggy Creek was about to come to real life in my living room. Then, when I realized nothing was going to break the window and grab me through the blinds, I stood up, grabbed my phone for a tiny sense of security, and made eye contact with my little red-headed dog. I nodded at the back door, and he joined me for our investigation. When I flipped on the back porch light, there wasn't a giant Sasquatch waiting to grab us, so I proceeded to pick up a tiny flashlight and go outside. Other than more bugs and spiderwebs than I wanted to see, there was nothing amiss on the deck. Then the owls started making a ruckus and the dog was off like a shot. He ran all over the Park and barked, looking up in the trees. At least two, possibly three different owl voices chastised me for letting him loose. I shone my little flashlight up in all directions, until I finally saw one large owl take off from a sycamore tree, and fly toward the thicket. It took a minute to convince my barking guardian to follow me inside, but we gave up and assumed the noise was caused by the owls. After missing so much sleep last night, in my anxiety, this morning I let the dogs out, and then went back to sleep for an hour. By the time I came back to look outside, I saw a small brown bunny, lying near my Boston fern, dead or dying. I may have imagined that I saw her take her last few breaths. No dogs were in sight. I don't know whether they were responsible for the giant hole in her chest, or that was the work of the owls last night. Either way, I feel like I let her down for not keeping her safe. I suspect it was she who ran into my window last night, either running, or hurled there by an owl. Poor baby. Even if she's the one who has been stealing the tiny watermelons off my deck plants, I wouldn't have wanted to see it come to this.
My Bonfire friend collects animal bones. She has skulls of several species, from tiny squirrels to horses. She was here today, to take our cowboy friend to work after he helped me out, delivering what I asked him to help me acquire. I wrapped up the bunny and gave it to her. I made good trade, I think.
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