Once in a blue moon, a spirit of dangerous curiosity overtakes me. I have a few sleeping dogs in my past, and once in a blue moon, I do like to ease very quietly up to the fence and peek over to make sure they are still motionless underneath the spreading oaks of my memory. Sometimes they're lazing in the sun, right where I can see them and, so reassured, I slip quietly away. Sometimes they're hiding in the shadows and I'm not quite sure if they're there or if they've gone through the hole in the fence on the other side and are quietly moving in position to bite me…
Today I found one of the dogs, hiding in the shadows underneath the tree, far out of my usual line of sight. But it's still sleeping. And then a part of me whispered that I should grab a stick and nudge the dog to see if it's a friendly dog or a bad dog. This is the same part that, as a boy, urged me to poke fire ant mounds to see how many would come out. Nudging a sleeping dog is rarely a good idea. So I will let it sleep.
And I silently resolve to avoid that part of Virginia...
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