nighttime

The dog is outside, barking at the deer, and at nothing in particular. She’s afraid of the deer; if they come too close, she won’t bark at all.

She has a good memory for other animals. One morning, a year or so ago, she ran outside in the morning to find a raccoon snacking on her food. She chased it to the porch wall, over which it disappeared. Every morning, now, she has to check that particular spot on the wall to make sure the raccoon is still gone.

As far as I can tell, our raccoons don’t do half-gainers like E. B. White’s raccoons (or like he expected them to do eventually). They’re moving too fast for that. But I do wish the deer would leave. They grow more numerous, and it’s not even special to see them on the lawn any longer.

I want to bring in a wolf. Or two or three. Nature red in tooth and claw, and all that sort of thing. Cull the deer down to a manageable sized herd. And then eat those.

Sometimes I think there is enough to fear out running in the night. But I could be wrong. The night rarely consults me about what it should contain.