Eat Dirt

Very tired after a human brawl at midnight.

“Why do you eat dirt?” demands Joan. “Don’t I feed you enough?”

Well, frankly, dirt is sweet, raw, damp, gritty, and full of history. A bowl of Dick Van Patten's Vegetarian kibble mixed with canned food is lovely, and I appreciate it. But, nutrition doesn’t have to come in a package.

Shane and I like to eat dirt in winter, especially when the temperature rises just above freezing. Obviously, this is something no human can grasp.

But, let’s put things in perspective.

The other night, a great mob of humans woke us up at midnight with piercing screams and all sorts of cursing and yelling. It looked like a dark parade was marching down the street, only there was no music, and there were no smiles or baton twirlers. And instead of drums, there were great booming noises that sounded like gunshots. And some of the people screamed, “Oh my God.” And other people belched out curses and did little boxing dances with one another, punching and pushing and pounding against whatever they could or couldn’t see. They finally swarmed over the yard across the street, and it looked as though they were going to settle there for a big hellish get-together. Joan didn’t like that idea, so she called the police.

And the very instant the police shined their wide-angle spotlights into our neighborhood’s raucus midnight, the screaming erupted into deep silence, and the cursing humans scattered like a hundred Medusas slipping into the slimy alleys of hell.

That’s how humans behave.

So, Shane and I eat a little dirt, and it’s not such a big deal after all.

Best wishes, Juno