The latest news from the spring carnival is that Sirius the bush turkey – so named by Darkling Jenny – got one away. In fact, he got two. Atta boy, Sirius! Not content squiring just the one female round the garden perimeter, showing off his water views, Sirius took two. And I mean that in the biblical sense. It seems his luck changed once he took them both up a tree, clearly the bush turkey equivalent to teens parking at the lookout for prolonged heavy petting. All Sirius’s hard work and industry has paid off handsomely, the girls finally acknowledging his existence, his nest, and his virility. It’s kind of like Thanksgiving, except our tough turkey is doing all the basting himself.
So it’s all good news on that front – Jenny (who’s flying back to Victoria today, and will be very sorely missed as our retreat winds down) told JB this morning that she thinks there may already be an egg in Sirius’s nest – how cool is that? Mate, what is your secret??!! But now Sirius is a strutting stallion, we do have another small problem. There’s a very unhappy dog somewhere nearby. He’s crying. Really pitifully. I know my friends T and R experienced this when they brought their puppy Moose home, and maybe that’s all that’s happening here. A young dog who doesn’t appreciate being left home alone for the day. Except it doesn’t quite sound like a lonely puppy. The crying sounds all too adult. It sounds like it’s coming from the house next door, and it’s tempting to investigate to see if it is okay. Hard to know what to do in these circumstances, because that would be, you know, trespassing on someone’s private property, and I’m already sorry that Jenny’s not here. She’d know what to do. Or she’d make a decision about it quick smart and the rest of us could be guided by her example. As it is I feel a bit paralysed. Now the dog has gone quiet.
There it is again.
Poor fella, I hope he’s just a bit whiney about being left by himself. I think I’ll see if he settles down, and if he doesn’t, maybe I’ll go knock on the door. I’d be very happy to take him for a run – out there in the national park, I could use the company myself.
Anyway, it’s another perfect day here, and I think that even without a canine companion, I’m going to have to brave the steep hills for another run (the first one left me sore for three days), because it’s just too gorgeous to ignore. Plus I need to clear my head. I’m writing draft #13 of my synopsis. This thing has gone through so many iterations because of my struggles hammering out a working narrative arc, so it’s going to be interesting to see how this one goes. I thought I’d rewrite my ending and then draft a new synopsis, but now I think I’m going to write the synopsis first, look at the arc, and see what it says to me about what the ending must be. I mean, I think I know what has to happen, but I am trying not to impose that while the ending is still in pieces. I’m hoping it will start reassembling itself, like toy soldiers scuttling across the playroom at night until they’re in perfect formation, standing to attention. As we all know, toys only come to life when we’re not watching too closely, and that’s exactly what I am trying to do now with the bits and pieces of my ending – keep half an eye on them, but not so they’ll notice and freeze.
I’ll let you know how that goes. I think Sirius would say to keep it simple, stupid. Works every time.
POSTSCRIPT: The doggy stopped crying. All’s well.