A night visitor.

Inside the tent was pure darkness the kind you only find in the wilds of your mind or the wilderness. My heart stopped when I heard the noise again, that had woken me from a deep high altitude sleep.. It was faint at first like a whisper on the wind. It was a cry I was certain, but from what I did not know. I gazed into the darkness listening . Was it an animal or a child? Was it the wind playing tricks as it was blowing through the trees? I could feel it’s presence as it came closer and I began to worry in earnest for my safety.  I tried to rationalize the sound, I tried in vain to wake from what certainly had to be a dream, brought on by the dinner of pepper and sausage I had eaten just a couple of hours before. Perhaps it was the extra glass of the lovely wine I drank by the campfire before retiring to the safety of my tent causing my mind to play tricks on me.

Then I heard the cry again only closer to me, I knew I was awake for certain. I also knew we had company. It was on the right side of the tent and it sounded like a wounded animal. I quietly fumbled for the flashlight, my fingers were shaking and I could not take hold of it properly. There was condensation on the flashlight  and it slipped from my clumsy grasp. I tried to awaken my husband, who was  sound asleep inside his sleeping bag. I nudged him gently and then with some force covering his mouth as to not startle our midnight guest. With my fingers pressed to my lips in the still of the night we listened. It slowly made its way around the edge bumping into the tent with its body, breathing and sighing heavily into crisp night air. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears as my heart tried not to leap from my chest, as we waited in silence, for the night visitor to make its next move.

I had found the flash light and we debated a plan in hushed whispers. We heard a crunching noise, just beyond the front of the tent out near the extinguished fire pit.  We thought we heard a muffled cry once more and then nothing. The noises began to fade away. What ever it was had decided to move on. Perhaps the rocks around the fire pit had grown cold and it went in search of something else entirely. We lay awake starring into each others eyes until we eventually fell asleep once again gripping each others hands like we were holding on to the edge of a cliff, willing the dawn to come quickly.

When we awoke the next morning to calm crisp mountain air. The fresh dew was shimmering like diamonds in the morning light, and we were scarred again in an instant. The dawn revealed  our nightmare with such clarity as to the “who” of our late night guest, that it left me trembling. There were large tracks circling our tent and a clear area where our guest had laid down near the fire pit and had its midnight snack. Like crumbs the feathers were left as a calling card giving us a new insight to our guests identity.  We took photos of the tracks and the feathered evidence so we could get a positive identification on our murderous guest.

I almost wished we had not had confirmation of the who, who was creeping around our tent in the night. The ranger said it was a mountain lion and from the looks of it he was hungry and big. I was thankful that our guest has brought his own meal and enjoyed it by the warm rocks and moved on. Even now the thought of that big cat circling our tent makes my hair stand on end. I decided then that our next camping trip we would spend the night in our car. I even suggested perhaps we camped in our back yard under the street light filled night sky. I knew for sure I was not sleeping in a tent the rest of the summer.  We have children and pets after all, and that was as close to the wild side as I need to be.

Citronella makes me grumpy!

Do you remember reading the book “Flowers in the Attic”? Remember when the Grandmother is poisoning the children with arsenic-laced donuts? Well, my mother is trying to kill me with citronella, and she is doing out in the open. She upgraded my behave collar to a citronella collar and I am not sure it is for the better. Ok, so it is much more effective at making me behave, but I am not going to tell her that. In fact, I make it a point to cough and sputter as much as possible when I get my rotten citrus dose of Citronella up my nose. It is like Afrin with a kick. It makes my brain vibrate at a whole new frequency effectively stopping me in my biting and barking tracks.

I am actually sure that this thing has shortened my life. The first time I got to experience it I was letting another dog in my lobby know that “my Stacia” was taken. He was vying for her attention, looking all cute. Um no sir, RUFFFFFF!!! PISSSTTTTT!!! What in the H. E. double hockey sticks was that?! Then there was the realization that I had been stung in the face by an assailant armed with rotten citrus and I nearly died. I quickly laid down on my bed in case I suddenly fainted. I need to protect this head of mine you know! As I lay there, I took mental stock that I still had all 5 appendages and that I was in fact NOT dead. How did I know I was not dead you ask? Well if I was, somebody upstairs had a very sick sense of humor. I was laying there starring at the dog I had been attempting to eat and he was looking at me all smug and happy like he had just showed me a thing or two. I guessed heaven didn’t play that way so I must be alive....but wait what if I was not in heaven. Then it dawned on me, that heaven wasn’t ready for me, and the devil, well he is afraid I will take over. Conclusion, I was not dead, praise the dog!

I thought about what had just happened and thought surely this was a fluke and this new collar must be defective and needed to be returned. I stood up, walked over to this dog Stacia was petting and barked again only this time I did it with some major authority. RUFF RUFF RUFF!! PISSSTTT!!! Well, the dose of Citronella that shot out of my new collar not only caught my nose off-guard, but my bladder as well. I jumped back and sneezed and peed, all in about 2 seconds. I was like a pregnant lady without an excuse. This collar is diabolical. It works on multiple levels. First it assaults you then it humiliates you. Stacia grabbed a mop and I laid down and sulked the rest of the day. When mom came up to ask how the new collar worked. Stacia told her the story. I lay there listening as she recounted the days events to my mom who said “that’s great”. “THAT’S GREAT!” Excuse me RUFFFF! PISSSTT! ACHOOO! Really... can somebody get a mop please.

~RUFF