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Dick and I were relaxing in our lawn chairs, watching the sunset over the White River, well into the first week of our spring sojourn in the Ozarks. Trees were budding, and the grass was green. Sitting outside felt wonderful after a long cold Minnesota winter.
“Look! “Dick pointed. I looked at the sky, thinking to see some heavenly occurrence, but he pointed to the lush tangle of weeds and grasses alongside the river 50 feet from us.
A black cat with beautiful green eyes stared at me. “It’s one of the feral cats!” In previous years, we’d seen “wild” cats raiding the dumpster and panhandling the campers, even donated our left-overs. This year we’d seen neither hide nor hair of them, but here was one.
We named her Maxine, and she has joined us every evening since to accept the treats we throw her way. Sometimes she naps, seemingly comfortable with our presence. When I looked more closely to describe her for this column, I had an interesting thought. What if she isn’t feral? Her fur is glossy and thick. She isn’t the least bit emaciated. Could Maxine be scamming us? Time will tell.
Another wildlife incident occurred, this time involving an eagle. Dick and I were, once again, sitting in our lawn chairs watching the river.
I heard wings beating and looked up to see an eagle land in a nearby tree where it totally ignored us. I’d never been this close to an eagle before, so it was fascinating to watch. The large bird proceeded to stare down at the river, hoping to spot a fish. It flapped its wings again, rose and landed downriver, but within minutes, it returned for more serious fishing. I watched this large and beautiful bird until a boatload of fishermen frightened it off for good.
My next encounter was not with an animal but a machine, a washing machine to be exact. The dirty clothes basket finally overflowed, so I trucked on down to the RV park’s laundromat. Here I encountered a moral dilemma.
As I loaded a machine with dirty clothes, another lady was doing the same, so we chatted in the friendly manner of RV people. She left, and I stayed rather than walk back to my trailer.
I relaxed, opened my Kindle to start reading when the lady’s machine began bouncing about. The wash load was off balance. Maybe it would stop, I hoped, but the machine began to jump more vigorously. I was momentarily frozen. Should I open the lid and redistribute the clothes? But they weren’t mine. Someone else’s clothes were private.
Thankfully, the machine righted itself, and I wasn’t forced to make a decision.
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