The sun on my heels, I feel a profound sense of satisfaction, with what might be a good bottle of wine dancing around in the bag on my shoulder next to some surprise pastries for dessert. The way home is down a steep hill, with odd glimpses of the city between every few buildings. A gentle Friday afternoon, convinced that the rock had rolled into place, that the birds were singing our names.
Apr 18, 2022·edited Apr 18, 2022Liked by Marco North
THE DOG & THE SNAKE (a true story) - Southern Italy, a delicious early-April morning of blue sea and sky, budding flowers and soft, warm air. My dog, Schetka, a sweet scruffy haired black dog whose mission in life is to kiss you on the nose with her tongue when you first wake up. She is also a hunter. It's her instinct, she cannot help it. It switches on when she sees something moving in the corner of her eye; and thus she goes from kissy dog to adrenaline-fueled monster in a split second. That morning I heard her barking in wild excitement in the front of our house, scratching furiously at the short wall with clay tiles that surrounds our deck. I go to see what the commotion is all about, and notice a piece of reptile tail, lying motionless on the wooden deck. By the size I realize it is a local black snake and not one of the small lizards that are usually my dog's pastime prey. The local black snakes are totally harmless serpents, and this one probably just woke up from its winter slumber attracted by the first warm sun rays of early spring, but still too cold and too slow to move quickly away from danger. I shoo my dog away, and behind her I see another chunk of snake, a substantial piece of it, about 40 centimeters in length; a middle section freshly torn off at both ends, guts spilling out in bright red blood. Then the shocking sight, the one that still haunts me. Poking from behind a flower vase was the rest of the snake, about 10 centimeters left to the poor thing, its head held up, flickering its tongue to smell me, its eyes looking straight into mine to determine if friend or foe... I could not believe it was still alive (never mind, alert!) with most of its body completely gone. It did not look in shock, I am not even sure if it realized that most of itself had been ripped away. I felt great sorrow for it, and found two sticks to lift it and move it under a bush, in the shade, away from further horror; it was too alive for me to bury it, and I tried to show it mercy (if there can be such a thing as the concept of mercy, in the mind of a snake). I then went back to the wood deck and discretely disposed the rest of the snake's body in the tall grasses, and walked away feeling the weight of knowing that a life nearby was about to extinguish. 10 minutes later I went back to check on it, but my heart sank once again. The snake had managed to move a short distance from where I left it, and was still trying to slither away. its desire to save itself and to live is one metaphor too many for all the other horrific events unfolding not so far away... This morning my dog kissed my nose, as always, when I woke up. I still love her, she is a sweet loving friendly dog, she is also a natural born killer and, in between kisses, she will kill again.
THE DOG & THE SNAKE (a true story) - Southern Italy, a delicious early-April morning of blue sea and sky, budding flowers and soft, warm air. My dog, Schetka, a sweet scruffy haired black dog whose mission in life is to kiss you on the nose with her tongue when you first wake up. She is also a hunter. It's her instinct, she cannot help it. It switches on when she sees something moving in the corner of her eye; and thus she goes from kissy dog to adrenaline-fueled monster in a split second. That morning I heard her barking in wild excitement in the front of our house, scratching furiously at the short wall with clay tiles that surrounds our deck. I go to see what the commotion is all about, and notice a piece of reptile tail, lying motionless on the wooden deck. By the size I realize it is a local black snake and not one of the small lizards that are usually my dog's pastime prey. The local black snakes are totally harmless serpents, and this one probably just woke up from its winter slumber attracted by the first warm sun rays of early spring, but still too cold and too slow to move quickly away from danger. I shoo my dog away, and behind her I see another chunk of snake, a substantial piece of it, about 40 centimeters in length; a middle section freshly torn off at both ends, guts spilling out in bright red blood. Then the shocking sight, the one that still haunts me. Poking from behind a flower vase was the rest of the snake, about 10 centimeters left to the poor thing, its head held up, flickering its tongue to smell me, its eyes looking straight into mine to determine if friend or foe... I could not believe it was still alive (never mind, alert!) with most of its body completely gone. It did not look in shock, I am not even sure if it realized that most of itself had been ripped away. I felt great sorrow for it, and found two sticks to lift it and move it under a bush, in the shade, away from further horror; it was too alive for me to bury it, and I tried to show it mercy (if there can be such a thing as the concept of mercy, in the mind of a snake). I then went back to the wood deck and discretely disposed the rest of the snake's body in the tall grasses, and walked away feeling the weight of knowing that a life nearby was about to extinguish. 10 minutes later I went back to check on it, but my heart sank once again. The snake had managed to move a short distance from where I left it, and was still trying to slither away. its desire to save itself and to live is one metaphor too many for all the other horrific events unfolding not so far away... This morning my dog kissed my nose, as always, when I woke up. I still love her, she is a sweet loving friendly dog, she is also a natural born killer and, in between kisses, she will kill again.