Moonstruck! Both Wild Things, while challenging each other to dueling trash talk, had been caught in the vortex of energy, a vortex spotlighted by the full Western Moon. It had been orgasmic…in a platonic inter-species sort of way. They panted in a syncopated rhythm. Their hearts pounded and reverberated off the trash cans with a Gene Krupa beat.
Suzette and Ursa were totally in the moonlit moment, inspired by the strength of their genuine convictions. Fur flew…metaphorically speaking, as they launched into their adversary with barbs more piquant than hot chili sauce on tender lips.
Given her upbringing, Suzette had been forced into the life of an introvert. Terror of exposure to the outside world had made her into a recluse. But the road trip had been cathartic. Others did not need permission to inhabit their wildness. She was now prepared to step outside her comfort zone, shred her inhibitions, face her demons and bare her fangs.
Ursa felt the resurgence of wildness in every pore and sinew. She surprised herself with her bold posture. In shedding her winter coat, she stepped forward with a bearable lightness of being.
Suzette did not aspire to be Allen Ginsberg, and her Howl would not be full of anguish about the destructive forces of capitalism and Society’s evils. She would not conform. She would not be a prey like a lamb. For her Howl, she was to dig deep down to the subjugated self, get in touch with her Canine best mind, release the power of her own soaring call of the wild and send chills down the spines of vertebrates everywhere.
She had seen the best breeds of her generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical shorn to the bone,
dragging their butts through the dark streets at dawn looking for a fire hydrant,
who were expelled from obedience schools for crazy habits,
who cowered in barren rooms in doggie blankets, turning over wastebaskets, and listening to the Thunder Terror through the wall,
who were leashed to cars for the endless ride from New Haven to Seattle, until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering,
who barked continuously seventy hours from park to car to Bellingham,
who drove cross country thirty days to find out if she had a vision or Ursa had a vision to find out Eternity,
and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz and blew away the suffering for love into a cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio and doggie mill.
[Apologies to Allen Ginsberg and admirers of Howl.]
Ursa did not want to emit rumbling sounds from borborygmus. She needed to expound with grumbling growls that would build in ferocity until the forest and its denizens shook with trepidation.
Was her generation coddled by the good life? Were advantages handed to her on a platter (or garbage can lid) by her parents, and the institutions that enabled her to indulge in the easy path to success? Was she owed this path because of who she happened to be? She always had been told she was special, a prime specimen of Ursus Horribilis. But as her profile got larger and her running speed got slower, she began to wonder. Would tough love have made her a better bear?
It was very hard to keep up with the flood of questions and the prolonged self-reflection. It was a lot to handle even for a prime specimen of Ursus Horribilis.
To vanquish her timidity, Suzette opened herself up to the curious new world. She thrust her head out the window and pointed her nose toward the rushing air? Given her cloistered life up til this point, the rush of sensations was intense, if not terrific. Dormant synapses snapped into gear as the aromas shifted wildly from earthy to smokey to floral to vegetal, in a heady onslaught. This was ecstasy. Pungent scents of associated wild creatures swirled as the juicy molecules drifted by. Her instincts struggled to stimulate the ancient genes. Nasal passages went into overdrive attempting to identify each scent: bison dung, coyote scat, vulture droppings, antelope…it was all coming at her in rapid fire and it was hard to distinguish one from another. Her breed had been domesticated for too long. She would need to make more one-on-one time with these scents and the creatures that marked these territories.
And then start marking her own territory. It appeared there was room for all to be welcome, and space to piss on rocks with abandon.
We were very lucky. We did not get pulled over by a Highway Patrol Officer for pet abuse and Suzette survived the short jog alongside the car. But she was Not Too Pleased. Dad was relieved of his dog walking duty since he was responsible for leaving the leash attached to the car antennae. And I was quite relieved that my parents never put me on a leash, given their casual approach to care-taking on walks.
What you may ask is that artifact on the bumper of our Wagon? That my friends was a canvas water bag, located on the front bumper to gain the most evaporation from the force of on-coming air currents when we were heading down the road. The bag would “sweat” and the evaporation would cool the water held in the bag, just as our sweating inside the car from excessive heat was supposed to (theoretically) help us cool off. After the air conditioner broke, we hung wet towels in the windows to cool the air inside the Wagon. And after these dried out in the searing heat, we were left to sweat…and rely on the miracle of evaporation to survive until the next stop.
Gulps from the bag of water could be refreshing…but a Coke at the gas station offered much more satisfaction.
Whittoons 