Copyright © 2016 Mignon Naegeli
Not a great beginning of my favorite season!
A severe drought has been plaguing the beautiful trees around our log home. Their leaves shriveled and transformed our yard and dusty driveway into a parched, crumpled, grey-brown landscape, as if they wanted to pay tribute to our last troubadour Leonard Cohen‘s You Want it Darker.
I could feel my Female’s recent mood swings, and so did my sisters. We four legged creatures do have the capacity to understand deep sadness our humans express. The terrors that trigger it are mostly beyond our comprehension.
After the Female’s scheduled tests had to be postponed—with a bunch of medication—my humans took us on a trip over the Smoky Mountains into North Carolina. At the time, a ridiculous, mean fiasco of a presidential election campaign unraveled. My humans had gone to early voting. The Female had seen stickers on fancy cars, SUVs, and dilapidated pick-up trucks with the name of the descendant of an immigrant not so popular in a certain European country.
Many a night, I was awoken by my Female’s sudden screams from nightmares, probably incited by the horrible earthquakes in Italy which invoked specters of her homeland getting destroyed by the fracking of our sacred American earth.
Then the drought became more and more of a bad omen. By the time we arrived at a campground near Murphy, thick clouds of smoke engulfed the usually picturesque scenery. The second day, we all—except of course Verushka the cat—went to the dog park. After sneezing, gurgling, and coughing for thirty minutes, we retreated to our tiny home.
The next day we drove to Chattanooga, stopped at Whole Foods for a delish lunch, and arrived at Harrison Bay State Park.
We hoped to see the replicas of the famous Niña and Pinta sail by. They where scheduled to be on exhibit near the Chattanooga Aquarium later in the week. The Wolfman called the lock at nearby Watts Bar Dam to find out about the timing and learned that one of the ships had run aground. Sorry, no picture!
This was also the day of the ill fated election.
The next night we learned that Leonard Cohen had passed.
He put it right, You Want it Darker.
Yet — we want it light!
Leonhard’s farewell to Marianne