Welcome Home

After a few gluttonous days in Denver, I needed to excrete some sugar and alcohol imbued-sweat by going for a jog this morning. It was a beautiful morning – a top ten day with partly cloudy skies, dewy grass and a slight breeze. I was running along, thinking about our time in Denver, with our fun kids and their lovely partners, listening to a song by the Silversun Pickups called "Empty Nest" (coincidentally) when I came across this:

A blurry screenshot of the video

Turkey vultures. Our daughter had just informed us of a fun fact: a group of ravens are called a murder. I couldn't help but wonder what a group of turkey vultures was called. Could it be a murder too? Or perhaps they are just called creeps. I was far enough away to stop and record, sending some Jungle Boy commentary to our family group chat. But as I was filming, one of the creatures faced me and extended its wings. I decided to scoot. I would've zoomed in and taken a photo, but I didn't want to. I skedaddled and took a quick glance behind me to see that the other turkey vultures were also now facing me, wings stretched wide. Apparently, they suspected someone was about to drop dead from running. Suckers. It only made me run faster.

As I turned on our road into the safety of less creepy animals like cats and skunks, I considered metaphors. Strangely, the Frontier plane we traveled home in had a condor on its fin. Undoubtedly, God was making me consider vultures while obsessing about our kids who are making lives for themselves in the wild west: Denver and now Scottsdale. But if I learned anything this weekend, I realized what a joy it is to see our progeny making lives for themselves. It doesn't seem all that long ago that we were the ones to stress about money, jobs and living arrangements. Sure, we met a few vultures along the way. We faced them. We studied them. When they threatened us, we ran home. I'm not suggesting the kids need to run home anytime they face a vulture (although they are quite welcome.) But I am suggesting they find the people in their new communities who are their home and their security. I think, our kids already they know this. They have wonderful people by their sides.

How about a cow metaphor now?

Possum Kingdom

A few mornings ago, at approximately 4:30 AM, just as the dawn was beginning to crack we heard the awful, guttural cry of our cat sitting outside the ledge of our bedroom window. It's "camp-out" time for Quinn, our 12-year-old feline wonder who doesn't care to sleep in the garage with all the exciting nocturnal activity of summer. Needless to say, there's nothing that makes you sit straight up in bed than a growling cat. I went to the window in attempt to pry him inside but he merely swatted me away as if to say he was busy. It took Doug's heavier hand to pull him inside. It was too dark to see what our kitty was sneering at. I wasn't sure I wanted to know anyway,

A Hard Night

Fast forward to 5:30 when my alarm went off. I traipsed through the kitchen and glanced out the patio door. And what appeared before my groggy eyes? A pink-nosed possum planted comfortably near our shade tree. He leisurely glanced at me, then looked away, not terribly concerned. Then, upon close inspection of the yard, I see another pink-nosed snout! Once again, this possum didn't seem to identify me as a threat. No wonder kitty was so grouchy. Critters have invaded his territory! I called out to Doug. Without hesitation,  he offered to get his gun for these easy pickings. "Don't you dare," I said. No matter how ugly these animals are with their wee, beady eyes, the thought of killing a helpless animal tugs at my heart. And I didn't care for the idea of possum guts all over our yard. Doug then pontificated on the "good" that possums bring to the natural world.  I really didn't know. Later, a coworker of mine told me they eat bugs and ticks. I think that might win Doug over. He hates bugs.

I had a dream the other night that we got ourselves a new dog, similar to our beloved Percy who would bark his brains out all night long. We know now that he was merely on possum patrol. Doug and I keep discussing the possibility of getting another dog. Well, discussing might not be the correct term.  I bring it up. He vetoes the idea. With two kids living far away and with plan to travel more, I can't argue that it's a bit impractical to have a dog. But often, the heart isn't practical.

Until we reach a mutual agreement about this dog thing, Doug and I will just need to channel our inner Ace-Ventura: becoming one with nature and welcoming creatures to our possum kingdom, with the cat in charge, of course. Two kids out of the nest. Two possums under the deck. I think I'll name them Digger and Roscoe.  I'm not convinced they will fill that hole in my heart left by kids growing up and dogs passing on. But I'll give it a try.

Well, Hello Roscoe!