running with poodle on cruzan thyme

it was the time of morning when stephen king huddled under his covers and wrote his scariest material. first light eerily was peering around the low lying clouds. a noise from behind. rushing footsteps gaining on me. suddenly at my heels and then speeding past. a voice from a man in a red cape fading from behind "wait for meeeeee."

but poodle was long gone.

it rained last night. it may have been one of those classics with thunder straight from thor's hammer and 4th of july lightning displays. we get those here. but i slept the sleep of the well exercised unemployed. a sound and peaceful journey, without concern about that brief that needed to be written. so i did not see or hear the rain.

fortunately, my 32 years as an attorney allowed me to apply the basics of circumstantial evidence: the ground was wet, there were additional gungaloos squishing under my feet when i got out of bed, and the man next door was putting nails in the ark while a strange group of animals looked on impatiently.

so it must have rained. rain means two things on st croix. it fills your cistern (this is a facility into which rain water goes, not the relative that you are not allowed to date until she is 14 in olathe). and it produces puddles. puddles and poodles go together in my memory like george bush and larry, moe, and curly. if they had puppies they would be puddledoodles. but i approached my run with glee knowing that i had entertainment for the morning. i was not to be disappointed. at the start of our run, there is a house with a yard the size of yellowstone. it has several dips which produce small lakes (no catamarans allowed) which attract sea birds. and puddles and sea birds attract the poodle. she races after the birds like an f-16. she runs through the puddles sending spray everywhere, like a version of flash dance meets lassie come home. the birds taunt her, waiting until she is thoroughly annoyed until they waddle skyward at a pace that tantalyses her. i am convinced this is a symbiotic relationship. poodle loves the reckless abandon of the chase. the birds find it a convenient excuse to practice their take offs and landings. i am quite convinced that a typical bird conversation is "it's 6:30. that damned poodle is late. if she's not here in five minutes i'm blowing off the exercise and eating the last eclair."

the dog is ebony black. the birds are white as snow used to be. the field is a dazzling green that was created just to set off the contrast of colors. and the speed is such that i need a video camera to do it justice. you cannot be depressed when you have a poodle performing for your entertainment. she runs next to me when she is tired, joined at the hip. but she always saves a spurt or two for those last few birds. she'll never catch one, and barks loudly if she thinks they're dawdling to make sure they react. but it is a joyful relationship.

adding to today's entertainment was a whippet that has been too shy to play. he lives along our running-walking route, and is controlled on a very large lot by an electronic collar. for the first time today, he succummed to poodles charms. he chased poodle and played vigorously. poodle then turned on him and chased him from one end of the property to the other, back and forth. i thought the dog was in fear and would expire on the spot. but as soon as poodle stopped chasing, back came the dog and chased poodle. ooh la la strikes again. and all this was after a 4 mile run, 2 mile walk, and the pursuit of numerous sea birds.

but today i am supposed to be writing about cruzan thyme. my neighbor grows vegetables and herbs. these end up being tossed into the pot to assist in dishes such as spaghetti or waffles? fresh lemongrass just gets called lemongrass. but my favorite is always called cruzan thyme. "i'm putting cruzan thyme in the soup." i always laugh when i hear this. because cruzan time is what st croix is all about. everything runs (or fails to) on cruzan time. you either smile, or you leave. it's that simple. if waiting in line for stamps for a week bothers you, go back to new york city. people move here to get away from the rat race, and then they want to import rats.

in new york we had this. in colorado we did it this way. no one here cares. life moves at a rhythm all its own. i love to write about it. i think it is appropriate to satirize those aspects of culture and government that are so much fun. but i love and accept it and don't have illusions about changing it. you don't need a watch down here. people arrive when they arrive, and if the food is cold, so be it. parades start when the mood hits them. an appointment is more of a suggestion for a time.

a friend on guam said it was a place "where manana did not carry the same compelling sense of urgency that it does in mexico." st croix is not up to the high standards of guam. and who cares. i have the soul of an islander. and of a mountain person. the devil has not offered me anything in exchange for what he obviously considers a defective product. but my heart is with poodle and those sea birds.