Shovel, Kill, Toss. It’s Seven Fifteen. It’s Been THAT Kind Of Morning. [With Audio]

Shovel, Kill, Toss. It’s Seven Fifteen. It’s Been THAT Kind Of Morning. [With Audio]

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Holy Cow.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

There’s some weird energy out there and it’s been difficult to keep an even keel.
I feel the huge need for ice cream and donuts and pasta carbonara; that’s my sign that some shit’s about to hit the fan.

I kept it together yesterday. I made a salad for dinner even thought I wanted to carb load.
Uh oh. Rough water ahead.

Watched something on HBO last night that I shouldn’t have, I know how non-existent my tolerance for violence and especially violence against animals is, so I kept having to leave the room – but I could still hear it.

BTW, I’m no critic, but the show, although highly acclaimed, sucks balls. So fucking dark, no redeeming qualities or message, just gloom and doom and twisted violence.
What’s wrong with you people?
‘Nuf said. “Hey, horrible, horribly popular show, you will not be adding me as a viewer.”

So it should come as no surprise that I had nightmares.
The one I had right before I woke up, heart pounding, sweating and feeling defiled, was that someone; a team consisting of a sinister fat man and a middle aged woman from that fucking show, had my boxer shark puppy. (Cue sinister music)
Once I discovered her after she’d been missing for awhile, they would not release her to me.
They were holding her for ransom for the sum of $300,000-!
He, the fat man, actually informed me of that figure with a straight face.
I knew I didn’t have that in my wallet, so I started beating them both with my red, five inch stiletto heels (you know, the ones you run around looking for your missing puppy in.)
I grabbed the dog while they were defending themselves against my very brave and surprisingly effective shoe assault, and ran from the scene, scream crying and barefoot.

Then I woke up, winded from running and still in fear’s grip.
Whew. That was a close one.

I know enough about dream interpretation to know that what matters most is how it made you feel. I felt anxious and afraid for my eight month old puppy, who I’m madly in love with, but tests my patience every day.
But, it was just a dream and I needed my coffee – bad.

Mistake number one: coffee won over meditation. 
It’s always a fight and I can tell you how my day will go, by which one wins.

I needed a reset. I should have meditated the fear away while it was weak.

Los Angeles has switched weather with Mumbai the past few days, so we have been opening up the house, all the doors and windows in the morning for some fresh, cool-ish, non air conditioned air. The dogs love it. They run around out back through the sprinklers while it’s still cool, doing their doggy business, while we have our coffee, faces buried in our iPads.

This morning I noticed that it had been awhile since I had been slimed or my feet stepped on with muddy paws by the puppy. When I listened….too quiet.
Just like a toddler, that is NOT a silence you want to hear.
I stuck my head out in time to see her playing rambunctiously with a dying mouse on the lawn. It was just barely breathing, not a bite mark on it, it had clearly been poisoned.

I screamed for her to stop and screamed RAPHAEL at the top of my lungs.
That is his signal to come quick with a shovel because some form of wildlife has breeched the perimeter and it’s not okay.
Although most would call where we live the burbs, it is teeming with squirrels and possum, raccoons, skunk, coyote, mice and tree rats. I have no idea why, but they often pick our property on which to make their earthly transition – to die.
I love it and I hate it.
They must know the big guy lives here and won’t let them suffer.

It’s barely seven o’clock and poor man has to finish off a dying mouse.
Thank God for him.
I could NEVER.

The older dog is……indifferent.
The puppy? She’s in a frenzy and since I’ve now shut all the doors, she’s looking for a place to make a break for it. I close the gate to the grass, leaving them just the small poop area.
We agree that someone is poisoning the rats and mice, which is sad I suppose and was really just a matter of time (there are SO many this summer and they’ve been very conspicuous and vocal at night) and we don’t want her looking for bodies in the bushes, woodpile, etc.

No sooner do we finish that conversation and he walks back into the house; I spot her doing the one sided game of catch with another dying mouse in. the. poop. area.

RAPHAEL!

Shovel, kill, toss. Its seven fifteen. It’s been that kind of morning.

So did the fear of her safety manifest this threat to her safety?

I did call the vet; he said she’d have to ingest the poisoned rat to become poisoned herself.
Whew.

What the hell? When I dream of travel or food or sex with an A-list movie star (you know who you are) they NEVER appear in my real life, damn it.

FEAR is a POWERFUL emotion. Let’s just be clear about that.
If you stay stuck in its grip, shit will go down.

I hightailed it to the gym with chanting in my earbuds and shifted the energy.
Then I drove back to Shangri-La.

Do you ever let your dreams color your whole day? How do you break their spell?
Tell me, I’d love to hear about it. I clearly need the help 😉

You’d rather listen? Okay!

https://soundcloud.com/jbertolus/shovel-kill-toss-its-seven

Love from Wild Kingdom,
Xox


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