Working The Trees

In recent days I’ve chronicled the activities of the animal kingdom in the urban setting. I had no idea I’d be writing about coyote’s, and parrots. Through the course of my examinations I have come to one exact singular conclusion; I’m glad I’m not a squirrel.

Squirrels are subject to attack from all directions, coyote’s can attack by ground, and Red Tail Hawk’s can pounce by air. I wouldn’t want to be a squirrel. I’ve noticed since my last post that the squirrels are behaving much differently with the presence of the coyote. They’re back to traveling by tree, from branch to branch. They were getting cocky. I’d see them running about, hopping from here to there, I can’t say they were without a care in the world, for I’ve never seen a squirrel who wasn’t just a little bit nervous, I’d say they were lackadaisical. But not anymore, the coyote put the scare into them, and they’re back to working the trees.

Don't Call My Bluff

I came face to face with the coyote this morning. I heard an agitated squirrel on my roof and had a feeling if I went outside I’d see the coyote. Sure enough I walked onto my deck and saw him hiding behind a tree. I could just see his hind legs and his tail. He was standing motionless waiting for me to leave. I decided to wait him out to see what he’d do. Eventfully, he turned around. I’m not sure if he thought I had gone, or if he was tired of hiding behind a tree. When he turned around I was looking right at him. We looked each other in the eyes. He looked at me as if I caught him with his pants down. He was sizing me up. Friend or foe. I turned away first not wanting to be confrontational. When I looked away he ran off.


            I’m sympathetic to the coyote. He’s just trying to make a living. I heard him last night as well. I was reading Moby Dick, not my favorite book so far, Melville’s all over the place, is he a scholar or a whaler? I wish he’d just tell the story. Anyhow, I’ve discovered that the coyote likes to plow through the trees into my yard. I heard him plow through the trees last night. I could hear his paws on my wood deck. I yelled out, “Coyote!” He didn’t answer. I want him to know that I’m onto him, that was my message to him again today, I’m onto you. I just hope he doesn’t call my bluff. 

The Gospel Show

I woke up at dawn. I had no choice really, a mosquito was harassing me and I finally got sick of it and got up to put an end to it altogether. I was at wits end with the mosquito and was going to murder it. I stood up and looked for the mosquito, but he was craftier than I anticipated and got away.

            I opened the window in hopes that the mosquito might fly out. I was standing there looking for him when I heard the cackling sound of a bird outside. I recognized the sound to be that of the elusive L.A.  green parrot. I couldn’t see the bird, but I heard it. I stood quietly at the window and tried to put proximity of sound to bird. I searched the trees, but I didn’t see anything. I finally saw something move in the loquat tree in my neighbor’s backyard. There were five or six parrots snacking on loquats. They landed on the top branches of the tree and were peacefully eating in the faint morning light. I studied them while they ate. They were beautiful. It was rare to get such a good look at them. I was standing perfectly still so not to scare them off. The birds were plucking fruit from the tree and messily eating, the seeds from the loquats were falling to the ground. If somebody told me I was going to wake in the morning and see parrots, I would have thought them crazy. But there they were, right in front of me, a couple of miles from downtown Los Angeles.

            Then the mosquito resurfaced and started to hover near my face. I waved my hand in front of my face to scare him off, but he kept coming at me. He was relentless. I swatted at him again intent on killing him, but I missed. The parrots saw my hand as it moved past my face, and quickly flew away. The fun was over.

            I turned the radio on and lay in my bed. There was a radio show called Gospel Sunday on. The sound of gospel singing overtook me. It was joyful, optimistic, soothing. I fell asleep. 

The Optometrist

I went to the optometrist today. I had an appointment at ten a.m. I don’t like to make appointments earlier than that. I know myself. I ‘m not your quintessential morning person.

Yesterday afternoon, I received a phone call, but I didn’t recognize the number so I let it go to voicemail. I didn’t check the voicemail until later in the evening. A woman had left me a message. She was from my optometrist’s office.

“This a reminder that you have an appointment tomorrow at nine a.m. Thank you.” Click.

It was too late to call her back and straighten out the matter. I figured I’d show up at ten. After all, it was their mistake.

I had a restless slept. I was full of nerves. My optometrist appointment was on my mind. My last three experiences with optometrist's were not pleasant. There was a sleazy quality to them. I felt like I was being had, and I was. I had a hard time getting answers with regard to price structure. When they did answer, the information was vague. There was mass manipulation taking place. I felt the presence of dishonesty. On all three occasions, I tried to escape, but couldn’t.

There was a Russian optometrist that tried every way imaginable to separate me from my money. He fooled me with his sexy Russian assistant. She was beautiful. When I walked into the Russian’s office a bad feeling over came me. I sat down and then got up to leave when the pretty Russian assistant picked up on my intent. I should have run out of there, but I didn’t. They took me, and my insurance for all we had.

My last optometrist was a Jazz trumpet player. He trapped me with music talk, and then charged me extra for lenses, and frames, and an eye drop test of some sort. When I walked out of there I felt cheated and I couldn’t see from the eye drop test.

“Your eyes are going be a little sensitive,” he told me.

The phone rang at nine-twenty this morning. It was the optometrist.

“You have an appointment at nine a.m.”

“No, it was for ten.”

“No it wasn’t.”

“Yes it was. I know myself. I never schedule appointments before ten if I can help it.”

“Oh we have nine written down. I’m not sure if I can fit you in today. Lets see, can you come in at twelve-forty-five?”

“No, we can reschedule.”

Somehow at great inconvenience the woman squeezed me in at ten. When I arrived, the place was empty. I was their only customer. I filled out the requisite paper work and sat down to read a magazine. I barely had time to look at the pictures when I heard my named called. I turned to see who it was. It was the optometrist. She was wearing a white lab coat and was the most beautiful Asian woman I've ever seen.   

Mule Train

Good morning. I was away on business for the night. I made a U-turn on highway 15 and got my wheels stuck in the sand of the Mojave desert, I called AAA and a man with a mule train pulled me out. He said gas was too expensive to use his tow truck. I hope you slept well. 

The Coyote

There’s a coyote in the neighborhood. I’m not sure if he’s watching me, or if I’m watching him, but I’ve run into him a few times in the last month. The first time I saw him, her, it’s hard to tell if it’ a male or female, it was morning. I was sipping my coffee when I saw something move outside. It was the coyote sniffing about. I stood perfectly still and watched him through the window. He raised his hind leg and started to scratch. He had flees, I moved ever so gently to get a better look at him, and he took off running when he hard the sound of wood under my feet. I saw him a few days later running up the hill. He had something in his mouth, a squirrel or some kind of rodent. I couldn’t tell he was moving so fast.

One night I came home drunk and heard an awful murder. I figured the coyote finally caught up with the possum that was running free range in the backyard. I saw the possum one night sniffing my barbeque. He’d come out once the sun went down. He was sneaky, but not that sneaky. I could hear him trudging through the leaves. I was trying to sleep it off when I heard the murder. There were two or three coyotes. They ganged up on the possum. The possum was cornered. I probably could have put a stop to it. For a moment I imagined my drunk-self waving my arms and yelling hey, hey, hey, but realistically, I was in no condition to stop a murder.

            I saw the coyote again yesterday. I was walking up the hill and he was walking up another hill, and our eyes met. He ran into a field when he saw me. I walked over to the field just to let him know that I was on to him. He was sitting in the shade under a tree. I looked at him, and he looked at me. I walked away from him feeling somewhat righteous. A short time later I was at my computer when I heard the leaves crackling outside. I knew it was the coyote. Sure enough there he was outside my window. I saw him but he didn’t see me. He was sniffing around. I had been outside racking leaves earlier in the day. He was sniffing me. He was right at the spot where I was racking. He sniffed a few more times and shook his head and put his paw to his nose to wipe the scent away. He didn’t like the scent of me. Why I've never.    

The Cowboy

Yesterday, I met a retired cowboy at a bar after rehearsal. I’m playing bass in a cover band, classic rock, The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Hendrix, just the good stuff. The band rehearses on Saturday’s and after rehearsal the drummer and I have a few beers in Pasadena. We were sitting at the bar when an older fellow sitting next to us started talking. He was slamming down Tequila shots and after a couple of shots he was feeling no pain and started talking. He gave us a lesson on how to ride a bull. I don’t foresee myself riding a bull anytime soon, but if I should, I’ll know to look at the bull’s shoulders, not his head, and not to think too much. I didn’t get the cowboys name, but he told us that he use to meditate before his rides. He used a visualization method to help him through, but mostly he didn’t think too much. It made perfect sense to me not to think too much, that’s when you get in trouble when you think too much.

The cowboy abandoned the subject of rodeos and started in on the game of golf, one of my least favorite subjects. He lifted his arm in pain and said he tore a muscle in his shoulder playing golf. "I love the game," he said. I sat there in silence. It struck me as ironic that the cowboy bull rider hurt himself swinging a golf club.