Saturday, February 04, 2017

Barking Back

Judging from the sounds coming from the yard, the Hound of the Baskervilles is loose on the other side of the back fence.

Unintimidated, the little dachshund lets out a howl and flies off the back deck, racing at full speed toward the noise like a heat seeking missile. The small brown dog follows right behind him and the tiny one is at her heels. In a matter of seconds, the chilly, gray morning is a hotbed of chaos
with the hound baying on one side and my three presenting a unified front of protest on the other. They can't see each other, can't tell what they're up against, but nobody will back down or give a single inch of ground. I feel like there's a metaphor here, something about the current state of the country but it's only 6am and I'm fuzzy from lack of sleep. I can't quite put it together. Unlike the current state of the county, the hound's owner begins calling him about the time I start reining my three in and it isn't long before peace is restored. The sun is coming up by the time I get everyone fed and settled in and it being a Saturday, I crawl back into bed and naively hope for hour of oblivion.

I find facing what the country has become in just the last two weeks is demoralizing, exhausting, and unrelentingly oppressive. Any last shred of optimism I might have had is gone, replaced by a sorrow, an apprehension and a rage that go to my very core. I go to sleep in dread and wake up hopeless and have nightmares in between. I sign petitions, I regularly call and email my protests to those in power, I donate and march when I can. But no matter what I do, I can't seem to shake off this sense of disaster, this dull feeling of watching my country being systematically torn apart, dismantled in the name of profit by those in power.

Life, however, goes on. I go to work and the grocery store and the post office as if nothing has changed. I force myself to pick up my camera and find music. I tell myself it will get better, that it must get better. I spend a great deal of time willing myself to care. And I watch and listen to my three small dogs refuse to be out shouted or silenced by the bully behind the fence.

If they can be that brave, then surely so can I.










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