After failing to keep my loves alive indoors, I have begun taking on the yard as my pet. The bushes are a lost cause. In this scenario, I see them the stray cats: they want nothing to do with people, pay no mind to rules but won't stop begging for food. No wild flowers live in the dirt patch of our flowerbed--the bushes have the rain.
And yet, somehow, a stray tulip bulb has flourished. I noticed the three stems several weeks ago. Their future petals were still green at this point, pulled into a tight teardrop. I glanced up and down the street. As far as I could see, the yellow house next door had the only planned flowers; tangled in the mix were several red tulips.
I began monitoring their progress against our own truly wild flower. The neighbors had buds, then blooms, then the classic tulip shape lining their foundation before ours had shown more than a hint of its red between the leaves.
While monitoring the tulip's development, I began looking for the means of its arrival. And I found him: on one walk up the cement steps to our door, a brown bullet with a black tail raced in front of my foot and dove into the shrubs. I jumped off of the steps and investigated the dirt, finding one chipmunk hole. I imagined the brown body sitting just under the surface, listening and waiting. We were poised, on opposite sides of the earth.
And I had pets. With each trip outside, I stopped to touch the petals (now lines of red capped with yellow, like small flames). I stooped in front of the hole Rachel and I found under the top step, an alternate entrance to their home. I looked forward to each trip to the car. Would he be hopping into the stump? Would he bolt from the sidewalk's edge and just make it into the step's hole? Could I pet him?
Yesterday, the tulips opened. I smiled as I descended the steps. Ours were bigger, bolder than the others on the street. The boys next door had a sad-looking bloom, a wanderer like ours. It lacked yellow. The stem was kinked. Our stood tall, opening to show a yellow sunburst at their base. It was my first small success.
Today, I am buying peanuts. After searching through chipmunk images and reading caption after caption of Chipmunks like peanuts! or He's eating peanuts! or His cheeks are full of nuts!, I have decided that the best way to make the little guy reciprocate my affection is to stuff his cheeks with dry roasted, shelled peanuts. One ambitious picture showed a chipmunk taking the snack from a man's hand. My expectations are not this high.
That's not true. I aim for palm-feeding. For the time being, I will settle for finding remnants of shell along the steps. We'll build up slowly.
New Pet
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