Sunday morning at the Casa; line after line of storms have marched through the area, and if the past is any indication of the future, there will be more forthcoming. That’s the thing about storms; as long as we’re alive, we can count on them occurring. If the approaching fronts happen to be far enough apart to give us time to recover, storms are sometimes nothing more than a inconvenience, or even a pleasant diversion.
But it’s when they come back to back in quick succession that they can test our resolve. Trees fall when their support systems are weakenend by constant rainfall, then the wind and hail complete the tragedy trifecta, thectrees fall and your nerves are then further tested by the incessant cacophony of chainsaws.
So here we are. The twin storms of Max and Bull Taco has weakened the root system a bit, causing dad to question some of our past and even future behaviour. What if something were to happen to me out in the mountains? What if he had to tell this same story about another dog? Instead of bold and daring, what if our actions were suddenly seen as stupid and reckless? What if? What if? What if???
Well, what the freaking if?
I didn’t survive my incarceration in the crate to trade it’s clautrophobic confines for another prison cell constructed of my own fear, or anyone else’s, for that matter. Max and Bull lived to go on trips with Miss Elsie, but the bike is MY lifeline.
Bull was an indomitable little warrior. Although the outcome was tragic, I can’t help but think that this exactly how he would have wanted his story to end, a miniature Don Quixote charging full tilt at an overwhelming enemy, dad bringing up the rear like a pudgy Sancho Panza that had misplaced his mule.
Sometimes the dream doesn’t end up the way we see it playing out in our minds, but that doesn’t mean that we don’t keep chasing that dream. And living my story IS a dream; not in some ethereal sweet by and by, but in a sometimes nasty now and now. And come what may, we’re going to keep living the dream.
I know dogs, and that’s exactly how Stevie, Max, and Bull Taco would have wanted it, and even if they didn’t, that’s how it would be. For I am Charlemagne Bravisimo, Lady Charles the Nubian Princess, the Warrior of the Wasteland, the Czarina of Chark, the Ayatollah of Rock and Rolla.
as it is written, so shall it be done.