mike singing about lions and dragons

I have to record a few of my neighbor's stories this afternoon, because he was a mercenary in Angola in the late seventies (civil war) and we talked about big cats for a few hours. spring is here- a little early- the plants know best. after teaching in the morning, I change into shorts and rescue a few huge clumps of daffodils from said neighbor's encroaching ivy. A few years ago, a motley crew of middle- aged men moved across the street, replacing some person who had loved the yard enough to trim the rose bushes, shape the cherry tree, and plant a few daffodils that gradually became an explosion of yellow every spring. Now they are obscured by a rotting boat with a shredded tarp, and I intend to rescue some of them.

so, Mike is of Sarmatian blood, and he never lets you forget it- he has a tattoo of the Goddesse with a bow and arrow on his pectoral, and his vision of heaven is a "golden meadow" and no reason for war. He watches the history channel incessantly, or maybe his stories all rush out of him when a friend comes around, but in a tumble that I rarely follow for various reasons. That the sarmatians were the original Amazons I've grasped by now, along with their adherence to the principal that no matter how bad it gets to be the underdog, do NOT fight dirty. his mother was an assassin in the spanish civil war and was taken out by Franco. His wife and he both worked in Africa protecting a zinc mine, dodging machine gun fire and screaming airplanes - she eventually was hit by a drunk here in portland, and he just, oh, he misses her so much.... he went to church on valentine's day and could not stand with her -

Mike told me about cats this time (after telling me a kid's story involving a wounded and generous dragon). He asserts that cheetahs are as dumb as rocks but they make great watch-dogs in the small towns because what you really have to watch out for are the hyenas, and the cheetahs make all sorts of noise when they come around. as watch-dogs, they were not domesticated, but maybe sometimes their cubs would be given a safe place in a closet. but one time, Mom was out chasing an antelope or some large critter, and just as the cheetah (which he says has a special claw that they use as a hook to snag the back leg in a certain way) was about to get it, it made a sharp turn, so the cheetah ran smack into it. antelope goes tumbling, at sixtywhatever miles per hour, catches its horn on something and gets a broken neck. cheetah was discovered with a bloody nose, knocked cold. but she's the mom, and her cubs are in the closet, so she was rescued. but the hyenas had come, so the rescuers ran, with mom, back to the village just in time to close the gate and Mike says one of the hyenas was still running at them and slammed his head into the gate.

that was good, but this one was better: as guards, they have a short list of friend and foe, in a handbook of sorts. one time they had identified foe but were far from shelter. under the trees was a pride of lions. I love this- all about the attitude, they saunter over to the trees, hiding the guns, pretty much acting like they have as much right to be there as anyone else. the lionesses shuffle over, instructing the cubs to make space. The lion, however, grumbles and carries on. The lionesses grumble back at him. Soon afterward, a truck with a mounted machine gun cruises by, never noticing the bipeds among the other beasts.

the one with the dragon was a parable: it is said that dragons do not care to be disturbed, and that they are greedy. But once upon a time, there was a group of friends who came upon a wounded dragon, and they decided to follow their own council and offer their help to the dragon. She accepted, and they carried her in a net to her lair whereupon she offered them as much gold as they could carry, saying that she had no taste for it. But also, she offered them precious stones, which she loved very much. by that point, I was discovering that the daffodils had multiplied so many times that they were a solid clump about a foot wide and sucked down into about a foot of mud (under the ivy and around the rabid butterfly bush). but you know, the day is sweet, the stories are good, there are other garden-lovers who would happily take some-- "did I ever tell you about the griffin!?" so the griffin was a real creature before the time of the sarmations.... something about how the griffin was one of the Goddesses' favorite creatures, so when it came time for them to die, she didn't want to let them go, so she turned them into stone.... fossils.

and I have written this entire post with an impossibly sweet little stray lounging sort of around my left arm as I type- I would take a photo but that would mean I'd have to get up.