Traumatic Memory

It has taken me a few weeks to deal with this, so . . . I mean, it's hard for me to talk about this. Because I've experienced such emotional harm. Okay. I'm just going to swallow my pride and get this off my chest so I can, like, let go and move on . . .

A fast-moving winter storm, followed by a week-long blast of frigid Canadian air had frozen the duck pond solid, and covered its surface with a soft layer of sound-absorbent snow. My monkey-person and I quietly skirted the main gaggle of ducks by walking through the treeline on the west bank of the pond. We were invisible as Death, and odorless too, as our scent was blown away from them by the steady wind still blowing down from the north . . .

I stepped out onto the ice and began my stalk. There were the ducks, those delicious ducks, just yards away and oblivious to my hungry girth, helpless and easy prey sitting only a bound and a pounce away . . .

When, YANK! My leash went taught. My monkey-person refused to release the hound, i.e., ME. I gazed up at him. I ordered him! I threatened his life. I pleaded with him--I whined, pitifully. All to no avail.

I took once last look at the ducks, squatting there, succulent and then . . . I think I blacked out. What an indignity! What insubordination! O the humanity! (Whatever that's supposed to mean.)

I'm still trying to get over this. Maybe I never will. Never never never never never!

Hallie