Tricky Eddie.

The little dog runs happily along…

A bright blue leash not attached to a hand dragging behind him.

Then a little boy, feverishly screaming, running, half a block down…

“Eddie! Eddie! Come on Eddie! Come back! Eddie, stop! EDDIE! STOP!”

The dog spots me on my front porch, runs up, licks my bare foot.

I grab a hold of the blue leash, command the dog to sit and begin scratching his furry ears.

The child, sweaty and red faced from all the chaos, runs to me.

“Thanks Miss. He’s tricky. Tricky Eddie.”

Reminded me of some bootlegging bad guy with brass knuckles and a predilection for bar fights.

Tricky Eddie led the boy home, trotting proudly.

He tasted freedom this afternoon.

Raccoon eyes for Mulberry Street.

Last night, in the midst of not sleeping, I stepped out onto my front porch with two fingers of whisky.

Typically when I retreat to that area of my house I’m found idly swinging, using the big toe of my left foot to maintain the motion. But last night, I sat on the steps that lead up the hill.

The last time I sat on that particular spot was when I received the best dead mom joke to date, appropriately timed on the anniversary of her death, some years ago.

Last night, as I sipped my whisky, and listened to hard shells crooning, I caught something out of the corner of my eye, from the top of my hill.

A raccoon making his way down the street.

I was quiet, because I wanted him to settle near.

He gets to the part where steps meet street and stops, looking up at me.

I raised my glass to him, “Evening, good sir.”

He makes a murring noise and stays put.

“Lovely night for a stroll, ey? My garbage bin is in the back yard. Help yourself, handsome fella. There isn’t a lid on the green one.”

He looked at me crossly, as if I had offended.

“Jesus. Remind me to never be hospitable to a raccoon again. Care for a cigarette? I’d imagine those that wear masks without retire are smokers found in the shadows.”

He put a paw up and I wondered if he was gay.

“I’m a fan of masks. I find myself wanting to collect them. I’d wear them constantly. I do always keep a bandit mask in my purse, because you never know.”

Silence.

“I swear I’m not trying to impersonate. But really, could you blame me? How do you feel about Mario in Super Mario 3 when he morphs into a raccoon?”

He started to back away. Obviously tired of my conversation.

“Arrivederci.”

I watched his bushy tail as he moved on down the street.

The little bastard never looked back.

Red breast.

The robins are flirting…
The little hops and flitting of their wings cause me to blush.