Let me tell you a story. It involves my ex, but it’s not that kind of story. He’s not a bad person, and there were several years of things working as they should in our relationship.
During one of those years, we had a conversation about snow leopards.
“In Tibet,” he told me, “there’s snow leopards, and there’s dogs. The difference is when you throw a rock at them.”
“You shouldn’t throw rocks at animals anyway,” I objected.
“Shhh, this is about why I love you. So they say, you throw a rock at a dog, it runs away.”
“You still shouldn’t throw–” I was getting a little miffed on behalf of these poor animals.
“I know, bear with me, okay? A dog runs away. But you throw a rock at a snow leopard, you know what it does? It vectors the trajectory and comes for where the rock originated, figuring there’s food there one way or another.”
“As well they should. People shouldn’t throw rocks at animals.”
“See, THIS is why I love you.”
Which just puzzled me more. “Because I don’t throw rocks?”
“Because you’re a snow leopard. People can’t tell that from a distance, but if they throw a rock, they fucking find out.”
“…that’s one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me.”
He grinned. “I aim to please.”
Yeah, there were reasons I married him, even if things ended up where they did.
Anyway, the whole point of this trip down Memory Lane: be a snow leopard, chickadees. When a rock hits you, figure out where where it comes from, and if there’s food there, kill it and eat its still-steaming body…
Crap. I think the metaphor broke down. I need more coffee.
Over and out.