THINGS THAT MAY NOT BE
(The Handsomest Sasquatch Sighting in Santa Fe)
So, it may be or may not be, for I still reserve that the truth - and nothing but the truth - is squarely based on the principle that seeing is believing (unless you happen to be on the street with David Blaine), BUT, apparently, them cougars I was all excited about may merely be little pussy cats that simply sound big and ferocious.
According to our neighbor and “friend,” Rich “Back from The Dead” Headly, who apparently likes to go around bursting bubbles and breaking dreamers’ hearts or at least revels in crushing my fantasy of living and almost-dying in the bad-ass Wild, Wild West of Cerrillos, tells me that we’re more scaredy-cats than they are scary cats, for what we heard is, or more likely are - just our friendly neighborhood Lynx, bobcats that are small, cute and practically cuddly.
And to think, I was all ready to forsake my peaceful beginnings for some peace of mind and make me a cougar skin rug with a rubber gun and some rubber bullets.
I imagine the next time I see Rich “The COVID Slayer” he will tell me, in his best Arnold-accent, “You are like a ba-by, scared of kittens.” That said, nonetheless and allthemore, I’m still not wholly convinced that what we’re dealing with here is NOT a mountain lion. I just finished watching a few Lynx videos and their growls sound more like adolescent boys reenacting a Monty Python skit, than anything we’ve heard this week on the mountainside.
Secondly, and maybe more importantly, I may or may not have seen George Clooney in the parking lot of Sprouts off of Zafarano this afternoon.
Chelsea and the kids were inside getting some eggs, because the hens ain’t making any just yet.
Funny thing is, it wasn’t until last night that it occurred to me that you may need a rooster for that. Fortunately, we got one - his name is “Squawker,” but apparently he’s a shy guy. Can you imagine being that sole cock being cooped up every night with ten hens and not having the chutzpah to take advantage? (Oh, oh, here comes the Blow that brought down Pepé)…
That all said, according to the all-knowing Internet you don’t actually need any funny business happening in the hen house to make “non-fertilized” and edible eggs. Who knew? Now, we do.
Anyway, I volunteered to stay behind and puppy sit. So, there I was just quietly scrolling through Facebook when, lo-and-behold, I look up to see Mr. October in-the-flesh, Señor Salt & Pepper, Mister I’m always looking-good.
Granted, he was without Amal and the twins and his billion dollar bottle of tequila, but I knew it was him, and he looked at me just long enough with a squint that might have convinced me that he was actually Clint Eastwood, because actors are good at that, but even with that minim of a glance and that glimmer of eye contact, I knew that he knew that I knew - it was him.
I swear it felt like I had spotted Sasquatch, here in the middle of Santa Fe.
However, rather than taking a photo, as I should have, I wasted time by checking his height on Wikipedia instead, as he moved his paper bags from his shopping cart to the cab of his normal-person truck, which I also knew was simply a ruse.
Luckily, his height, 5’11”, seemed to match my recollection of the vertical tape measure I’ve seen at 7-11, now often Allsup’s, and many a WaWa, over my lifetime.
Then, realizing I should make like the paparazzi and snap at least one good photo as a testament to my sighting of this unearthly, heavenly-handsome, creature, who has seemingly long-gone into hiding - I raised my phone and caught him on camera - or at least I got the back of his head.
Giggly, I googled “Clooney and Santa Fe,” for I was sure to find that he had a multi-million dollar home here or that he was on site making a new Netflix film in Albuquerque.
Admittedly, I couldn’t help but also gawk at all the picture-perfect couple-photos of him and Amal out-and-about or on the red carpet that I came across on my etherly and ethereal search path.
Ultimately, I came up empty-handed and nothing seemed to confirm that he was actually here, in town, a mere ten feet away from me across the blacktop, pretending (“acting”) he was not who he was.
So, I immediately surmised that his presence was a governmental plot to cover up the fact that he is actually here - filming some top secret movie at Los Alamos, in which he is portraying the mastermind behind one of science’s most powerful inventions, J. Robert Oppenheimer.
Anyway, my conspiracy theory may or may not be true, much like the notion that we may only have “little cats with the big voices” here at Hacienda Dominguez & Chelenzo Farms.