Of Feral Beasts

Thunder rumbles and rain continues. The Morkie’s recalcitrance to piss in the rain though she will gladly jump into her overflowing kiddie pool and trundle through the house leaving a wake of dirty water in her wake.

On (other) feral beasts: in THE WRITNG LIFE, Annie Dillard speaks of the work in progress as the beast that becomes feral if you stay away from it for too long. Expanding on that notion, how many other caged beasts do we keep? How often do we feed them? Do we feed the wrong ones? Do we feed empty cages and waste what little food we have to give?

Perhaps it’s easier to deliver food to an empty cage and turn away than it is to risk losing your hand to the snarling, famished beast that paces its cage waiting for you to bring it to life. But it will only take your hand if you ignore it for the lure of the safe, empty cages.

Perhaps this is another empty cage. Or perhaps it’s how I prepare the food. Either way, it is written. To work.

(TW)