Monday, January 23, 2006

Danger Muk bitches about white people and hikes with dogs

Tell you what; there is nothing I have come to enjoy more than listening to a roomful of Dutchmen and Germans complaining about how the Juggalos, Klingons, Caribs, Whigs and so forth have ruined America for REAL AMERICANS.
See, I'm usually the only person in the room with any claim to that title. I just sit there and smile.
Nah, I don't have that kind of class; I wait until everyone is in good and deep, then I break the news. And I hear:
A. ...Wow! You dont look native!
Yeah, sometimes I have to put down my bottle of Muscatel andtake off my tavern jacket. It won't happen again.
b. Yeah, well, you know what i mean.
Actually, yeah. I know EXACTLY what you mean. I'se passin'.
c. OO really? You are? What tribe?
The tribe that ate your grandmothers heart on Lookingglass Ridge and raped her dog, baby. What tribe are you? Visigoth? Gaul?
Thats me, kids, tirelessly fighting stereotypes one white guy at a time.

My wily native forbears would have been embarrassed to tears by some of the stupid shit that has happened to me out in the woods.

One time, I took the idiot dogs up to the community compost heap on the edge of town a couple of years ago to let them run. It's in a cleared anmong some trees which is literally on the border-the dogs regularly wandered in and out of Canada (I apologise, Canada) The only thing around is this stand of alder trees, a pile of compost that the city workers dump there, and a huge U.S. Border Patrol spy tower with a remote-pan camera.

It happened to be a warm week in February and we all had cabin fever real bad. We hit the clearing so that they can run off some excess energy (and so I can poke through the comppost heap because I am a scrounge.) The idiot dogs suddenly shot yapping off into the stand of alder after something and I think 'Aw hell, I hope theres nothing dead back there; I don't want to take them to the vets again.' (Someday I'll tell you about the time they discovered the garbage bag full of baby diapers. I dont know what those people had been feeding their kids but my dogs damn near died.) So I turn to follow them and am taken aback at this sight: 19 bald eagles silently watching us, perched in the alders.

A sow eagle, in case you have never been close to one, is a bird roughly the size of a two year old child. It has sharp stabby things on each end designed to prepare and serve raw meat meals of idiot dog-sized animals.

So yes, I cleverly set off down the trail right through the center of the flock. Because I am smart like that.

It truly was extraordinary, seeing all these giant birds peacefully perched in the bare branches. The roosting chatter of a bald eagle sounds exactly like what the inside of a chicken coop does on a warm afternoon. The eagles croon and cluck and rustle and gabble just like sitting hens. They pick feathers out and drop them, scrabble from branch to branch to visit each other, and shoot chunky liquid shit out their asses for a distance of about seven feet.

Meanwhile I'm just busy worrying about what the idiot dogs have found, and sure enough, at the end of the trail was a farmers dump, and lying on top of it was a dead calf.

I call them idiot dogs because after all is said and done they are simply not bright doggies. They have the instincts of a retriever and a scent hound respectively, but not the body mass or the training to do anything about it. From my observation what happens is they get carried away with all this primal type imput and have no clue what to do next, so they do what they know best: mill and bark and pant and grin and sniff each others butts.


All I had to do was throw them a stick back down the trail and off they went, all thought of the Amazing Dead Calf completely wiped clean.

So back we all go, strolling through the gauntlet surrounded by 25 huge, dangerous, carniverous birds. Downy underfeathers filled the brush and wafted down into the mud. The dogs emerged from the stand at the other end of the trail, and being good doggies, they take off into Canada and run up and down the street and bark at trucks.

I find myself alone.

I look up. All the eagles have gone silent, and every eye is turned towards me.
I make restrained haste down the path. Every single head turns to follow me.

All of a sudden I hear a sound behind me like a hundred umbrellas opening all at once. The eagles are taking flight. Some flap on branches and hiss at me, while others, one by one, rise into the air.

I make haste a little faster.

All the eagles have risen into the air and are circling around above the trees, over me, over my dogs, diving lower and lower with each turn. This is altogether too unsettlingly like the behavior of buzzards. I get in the car and call the dogs, who, being idiots, run back into America, towards my car, past my car, and into the trees.

Aw fuck.

In my minds eye I am seeing the flying monkey scene in the Wizard of Oz. I know these pterodactyls are going to swoop down and grab my poor moron dogs.

But instead the eagles just circle a couple more times and then drop down onto the dead calf. And begin AUDIBLY RIPPING IT TO PIECES.

We leave.

Somewhere in the film archives of the Border patrol there is a tape of all this happening, too, because all the while I could see the two beady binocular eyeballs of the security camera tracking our every move. I made my people proud that day.

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