My plan was to sleep in this lazy summer morning, free from the confines of work for the time being, ready to enjoy a cup of coffee in the leisurely way I love to do.
That was my plan, My plan failed miserably.
Instead I awoke to the sound of what can only be described as a million bloody sandblasters outside my door. Deciding to be reasonable about it, I get up and peer through my window to see what all the fuss is about, for it cannot be as bad as all that, now can it?
There are not a million sandblasters, there are millions chainsaws up in the beautiful pine trees, now hacking them to smithereens before my very eyes. I knew this was coming, but somehow the sight of it all just makes me want to go tie myself to one of them like one of those batty green fanatics and demand their exoneration. I’m not a tree-hugger, I swear, I just think they are one of the more beautiful things we have and we out to leave them alone when possible.
Obviously these men do not feel this way, for they are fastly demolishing the only Christmas trees I ever have. I step outside my door like a fool, just as a very large branch comes crashing down a few feet away from me. The men in the trees start yellin’ and hollerin’ to each other, and I stand there looking dreamily around, as I’ve yet to have my cup-o-joe and am still half asleep. “Hmm, I think to myself, wouldn’t that have been a romantic way to go.”
I notice that there are strips of yellow tape surrounding the front area of my porch, and that I’m standing within their confines. In theory I should not be in danger, although apparently yellow tape means nothing to the tree murders. They are still hollerin to each and I step back inside and close door.
As soon as I turn around, however, I see my two pups staring up at me with only one thought on their minds. If they were human they would be hopping up and down on one leg, holding onto themselves for dear life. I realize they are about to spring a leak, and if I don’t get them out soon I am going to be dealing with Niagara falls all over my kitchen floor.
I slip their leashes on, this time making sure the sky isn’t falling before I lead them out, and inform the murderers that I’ve gotta get my beasts to the grass. They cease fire for a moment and watch as we trudge through what feels like a battlefield after a war with dead pieces of tree everywhere I look. We get to the yellow tape and it becomes suddenly clear to me that we’re about to put on a rather ridiculous show for those who are watching.
Goober, 165 lb Goober who behaves as if he’d kill anything that would try to harm me, suddenly becomes the spitting image of a cross between the cowardly lion and pluto. Tail tucked, head down, eyes as big as bowling balls, he refuses to pass under the dreadful yellow tape for fear it will be the end of him.
The murders find this more comical than killing trees, apparently, and I say a few colorful words to them under my breath.
I spend the next five minutes attempting to distill Goober’s fear of the dreaded yellow tape whilst Lola looks upon us with a rather captious expression on her face.
Suddenly he decides to overcome his fright (while forgetting to tell me about it) and launches all three of us about 5 feet past where we were standing. As I sit there and let them do their thing, I begin to smile as I notice a few tree killers start to inch away from us. Apparently they did not suspect that he’d ever get to the other side of the tape and is now a bit too close for comfort. Sensing their eyes upon us, Goober lets out a sudden howl to tell them all off and we walk back inside.
Lola rolls her eyes and I drink my coffee and we watch the trees come down outside my window. They are gone now, save the scent of Christmas time they left in the air and the courage they instilled upon Goober of yellow tape.