The Transformation to Un-Domestication

My god, I mumbled, looking down at myself. How did I get this dirty? How does something like this even happen?

I slapped a yellow fly off my dirt smeared thigh as I stopped to survey my surroundings. The woods that nearly encircled me were giving off their evening sounds. Cicadas were shaking tambourines in the trees like a really hyped up hippy band. The crickets were carrying on in a more demure way—clearly the classy variety of summer insects. A hawk was crying out in the distance, maybe zeroing in on a last minute bite to eat before the darkness settled in across the sky.

The long stretch of wire in my hand flipped around to slap me as I fought to regain control of it, which was something like arguing with a snake. No deer here tonight, I thought triumphantly as I sewed the gaps in the chicken wire that surrounded my vegetables. And I sat down triumphantly too.

This is really impressive, I thought as I examined my skin. Getting dirty out here is normal, but this is taking it to the next level. This is really something special. Who knew this could even be done short of rolling in the mud? To think there are people that pay money to use saunas and body scrubs, and all I have to do is stand in my garden in the humidity. This dirt has really taken to me…it looks almost like grey fur.

The Explosion, and other Mysterious Transformations

I went inside to check on the spaghetti squash cooking in the oven. Those things are like rocks before you cook them so I never cut them in half, I just pop them in the oven whole. This has never before caused me any strife, but apparently I was a little too abrupt when I poked a fork in to check for doneness. The beast exploded. It popped like an overblown balloon sitting in the sun. It splattered bits of squash noodles in every direction, but the dirt on my skin protected me—all the more like fur.

After the explosion, I announced to the children that dinner would be ready soon. The tot gave no acknowledgement because she had snatched a slice of bread off the counter and was tearing into it like a ravenous wild animal. I had an image of a mouth full of canines tearing at that bread, like a wolf tearing at a piece of meat. Interesting, I thought, but had no more time to consider it. I went outside to check on the boy.

He was splashing around in the pool, making noises that only a hyper five-year-old boy can make. The dimming light to the west was creating a soft blue glow on everything—the sleepy sort of glow that doesn’t make any sense in combination with maniacal little boy noises. You are a thing to behold, I mumbled.

The succession of made-up words and excited squawks coming out of him as he turned his face toward the sky to keep his head above water reminded me of something. It was like when Big Dog gets the itch to find his inner hound dog. He turns his nose to the sky as his lower jaw seems to become awkwardly hinged. It bounces a little back and forth as he lets out each howl. Each howl is a vocalization of his enthusiasm, just like the boy.

We went inside. The children had left a toy shopping cart on my bedroom floor. On my way to the shower a wild burst of energy came to me, with a need to exert myself. My body craved a rough sort of movement, and my blood rushed in me as I took a last second leap. Incidentally, that blood rushing inside me rushed right to the half-dollar sized spots where my inner legs impacted that stupid pile of plastic. Freakish little swollen lumps appeared there immediately as I limped to the shower. Clearly I was still mostly a domesticated creature.

Half-Human

At bedtime I sat reading the children some books, feeling the lumps that were now a part of my legs. The children were not showing their animalistic sides at that moment, being very absorbed in The Indian in the Cupboard. I looked up and caught sight of the full moon rising through the open curtains. Suddenly it all made sense.

We are a pack of werewolves. Now it is just a matter of waiting. Anytime now. When the moon reaches the right point in the sky, a mama wolf and her two cubs will suddenly take shape. We will find ourselves standing as silhouettes against that full moon, howling.

Or, maybe we will just fall asleep. Time will tell.