Election season in semi-suburbia.

I think I’ll skip the Trump event in Albuquerque. Ivanka called to invite me, but I’m afraid I might miss something out here in the semi-suburban wilds of Placitas.

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Recorded Ivanka

Like my neighbor Suanne singlehandedly capturing a meal-swollen rattlesnake with her garage door and then scooting the thing into an empty kitty litter can. She was sitting calmly on same, lid snapped shut, snake buzzing busily below, when I arrived for relocation services.

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Suanne’s tight-lidded snake can

Or animal kindness consequences to the south, where another neighbor has to honk the horn of her SUV to clear a gaggle of free-roaming horses from the front of her garage. And SUV horn-honking in semi-suburbia apparently is like a dinner bell for hungry horses. No sooner had the garage band broken up than three gray strangers appeared on the ridge above.

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Strangers on the ridge

The strangers quickly picked up the sight or scent of the stallion in a driveway two hundred yards away and the stallion just as quickly spotted them. He charged across the distance, through the very deep arroyo, to chase the intruders, who had already turned to run, two drainages away. And here he is, in my front yard, proudly returning to his little herd on the other side of the ‘hood.

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El Jefe

So, I’ll stay out here, doubting that Trump has an answer to my most immediate question anyway: Where do you dump live rattlesnakes in an increasingly urban environment without being accused of endangering a neighbor?

It was easier when there were only a half-dozen or so homes out this way. Now, here or even over on the Sandia escarpment, I feel that I am under constant scrutiny from snake-wary residents or free-roaming mountain bikers.

But rest assured, dear neighbors: Yesterday’s relocation efforts were carried out on my own property, as anyone who noticed an aging and not-so-agile looking guy on the ridge, gingerly opening and then dancing back from a blue-and-yellow bucket, might have observed.

What’s this got to do with Trump?

Well, as I said, Ivanka called to invite me today. But, sorry, the Big Cheeto never got to first base with me. And I’ve already gone to the polls. I very deliberately inked in the little circle beside that Nasty Woman.

I’ve never been as enamored of the Clintons — really smart and really sloppy — as I am of the Obamas, but nonetheless I’ve been thinking “Nasty Woman” on my bicep might make a great first tattoo.

One thought

  1. Nobody’s gonna believe it. Free-roaming mountain bikers? A garage band of horses? Rattlers in November? Soon I’ll have to keep my dog on a leash year round.

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