SIREN SONG OF THE DESERT

Just about anywhere you camp in the desert you can hear the coyotes at night.  Their yip, yip, yipping, sometimes far away, sometimes just outside the RV door, is as much a part of the desert night as the starry sky and saguaros in the moonlight.  Naive little Rudy thinks they are calling to him “Come out and play with us.  We’re your friends……arooooh!”  Rudy doesn’t speak coyote, you see.  He only speaks dog and he thinks all dogs want to play with him.  He’s still a puppy and he wants to play with any and every dog so he doesn’t know any better.  He hasn’t yet learned that it is a cold, cruel world out there.  He doesn’t know that the coyotes would tear him into pieces.

What the coyotes really mean behind their siren song is “Give us the little black dog and we’ll leave you alone.”  The coyotes are trying to strike a bargain but I’m not buying.  They don’t intimidate me.  A man with a stout club is more than a match for a pack of coyotes.  I might even use the jaw bone of an ass, Sampson style, to subdue them.  I say “Bring it on, coyotes!”

Speaking of Sampson, I wonder what would have become of him if he had lived into old age.  They say his strength lay in his long hair.  Well what if Sampson had lived to be 67 like me and gone bald (like me)?  Would his strength have decreased as each hair follicle shrivelled up and blew away?  Would he have become weaker and weaker until he was just a feeble old man (unlike me)?  Would some Phillistine punk have jumped him in an alley and kicked the _ _ _ _ out of him?  Would the lead story in the Jericho Times the next day have been “SAMPSON ROLLED IN ALLEY BEHIND AARON’S BAR”?  Alas, we’ll never know since that Delilah bitch sold him down the river.  Poor Sampson.


SAMPSON AT 67

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