Boyfriend and Zara and I have revisited the Forest of a Thousand Monsters. The beasties, cowed by Boyfriend’s Supreme Unshaven Manliness, did not attack. Zara trotted on, tail held high. I am, obviously, an idiot for thinking that anything was out there.
Or maybe not.
The forest down there is composed of mostly young saplings, and they are very bare, and white, and everything is still as if at the bottom of a marble crypt. Occasionally, you have to climb over a felled tree to continue. There was no usual influx of joggers, dog-walkers, and fresh air aficionados. Sound has a funny way of hanging in the air there, as opposed to carrying.
It’s the perfect place for the Chupacabra to attack – despite the temperate climate (I hear Chupacabras like the heat).
In the comments to my previous post, Heraclitus brought up an obvious point – if I were to go all Sherlock Holmes on you and lay all possibility of supernatural activity aside, I am left with two options in regards to the identity of the Menacing Leaf-Rustler and Dog-Frightener: it was an ordinary animal, or an ordinary human, i.e. a mountain lion or a garden-variety rapist. I say rapist because my dog loves people (many people complain about her overzealous affection, *cough* Mark *cough*) – so clearly, if it was a person hiding out behind the trees, that person was not a very nice person (am thinking Ted Bundy, Andrey Chikatilo, Jack the Ripper, Attila the Hun… well, unless played by Gerry Butler, that is).
It should be obvious to everyone that I have very narrowly escaped being eaten alive and/or raped & pillaged.
I just hope that would have been missed.
No joke – I ought to be more careful. Although then again, walking around a relatively CROWDED forest, in BROAD DAYLIGHT, with a DOG ought to make me feel safe.
Except it didn’t.