Every morning it’s the same thing.
After the downing of a certain green swill because the woman in the health food store handed me a bottle with the words, "Sweetie, you need to moisturize from the inside out," Mister Trevor Dog and I head over to the park.
And by "hanging at the park," I mean I sit on a bench and read Haaretz in English while Mister Trevor sniffs around, communes with nature and does his thing.
But this is really a story about two ravens.
"They’re a couple you know," said the older woman I sometimes see in the park with her dogs. She’s always telling me how fat Trevor is, but let’s not dwell on that.
We’re talking about the ravens.
And while she’d dead wrong about Trevor’s girth, she’s on the money about the ravens. They really are a couple. I’ve even seen them canoodling, I’m not kidding. Rolling around on the grass, black plumed chest to black plumed chest, their beaks entwined, squawking up the gazoo. "Get a room!" I want to yell. I mean, jeesh! Even the frickin’ ravens are an item.
Fortunately, they sometimes argue. I’m not kidding about that, either. You don’t have to speak raven to know a hell of an argument when you hear one.
And then, when they’ve grown tired of passionate exchanges, one of the love birds– for some reason I think it’s the female – terrorizes my poor, innocent Trevor. She waits until Trevor is deep in sniff mode and then, sneaking up from behind, gives him a peck or two on his rear end. Hard.
Needless to say, Trevor does not like this and despite being a very valiant warrior, whimpers and runs back to mommy for moral support.
This is when I hurl invectives, in full voice, at the raven.
I have no shame. And it’s getting worse. Particularly because while making a spectacle of myself I’m inevitably wearing my nightgown, which I try to masquerade as a "normal" outfit by covering it up with a "Reading is Sexy" t-shirt and a pair of ripped leggings.
Which is another way of saying, I’m losing my marbles.
But the reason I called all of you here today is because one day the ravens were gone. Or more precisely, the raven couple was gone. Now I only see one lonely bird hopping around the park in the morning. For some reason, I think it’s the male.
Did the female up and leave him like she threatened one thousand times before?
Or did she peck the wrong dog and voila! Raven stew?
All this is to say, I miss her. Or rather, I miss them. Because truth be told, I found their love to be rather inspiring.