Devil-May-Care But He Don’t

A First Worlder’s Journal of Survival, Part 2
Click here to read Part 1

Heatwave Apocalypse-Day 4
I’ve just returned from my morning Yoga and I’m watching a few dozen birds taking refuge from the heat under my shaded patio. The birds are not of the same feather and; therefore, should not be flocking together. Worse, they are pecking their tiny beaks on my window as if to beg, “Let me in!” I’m no Schindler so I don’t let them in. I told my blogger friend who lives in Austria how scary this was, like that Hitchcock movie, The Birds. I expected her compassion as she sits there where The Hills Are Alive and the temperatures are cool but instead she’s started calling me Tippi. Life is so cruel.

In the afternoon, Devil and I sneak towards the community pool in our golf cart but are caught by Neighbor George. “Oh, we’re just out for a little stroll,” we fib and George knows we’re lying because it’s 118 today so no one strolls. George pets Devil and tells him he’s a good good boy. Devil laps it up. People always love him but he makes no friends of the canine variety. There will be no swim today.

Yesterday, I told Devil I would never leave him again, but that was before Clare had an opening for a cut and color. Of course I have to go. Devil pulls the pillows off the couch while I’m gone and scratches up the trash bin cabinet. He does not apologize. Then, I catch my reflection in the mirror and note in this heat my new coif has fallen. “What’s the point?!” I scoff and raise my fists toward the God of Job. I expect Devil to console me but he is busy licking himself. I feel I’m reaching my breaking point.

Heatwave Apocalypse-Day 4, Evening
Even though it’s 109 degrees out, Devil talks me into going to the golf course this evening to play ball. He does this by repeatedly throwing his red ball in my path until I break. It scares me to think if he had opposable thumbs he would water board me. We drive past Hole 2 and see a pack of coyotes hanging out under a tree. Devil bellows, “Oh, hell, no!” as he tries to jump off the golf cart in pursuit. “That’s called death by stupidity, Devil,” I scream. But he doesn’t care. He’s so excited about going to play ball he forgets to be mad. When we get home we mark a fourth line on our wall. Day 4. It feels like it’s been a year.  

To be continued…