A tragically comical comedic tragedy

I have discovered that it is completely impossible to sleep in past seven here. There is always something happening even early in the morning, be it howling dogs, prayer meetings or people coming to work early because their watch is broken and then deciding to sweep the porch outside my window whistling really loud. This morning was one of these mornings when I was awoken earlier than I wanted to be (but then I don’t think I’m ever that eager to wake up). I’m pretty sure this morning was just about the only time in my entire life I have ever literally leapt out of bed. Now, I wouldn’t exactly call myself a brilliant person, this being a direct result of the ownership of a certain brain that takes a good lot more road trips then the average sane person. BUT sometimes I can actually logically deduce things with surprising accuracy even within the confines of a few groggy half-asleep seconds. And it was on one of these rare occasions that I awoke this morning to the sound of feet pat-a-pat-patting quick as anything past my window. I simply put two and two together and translated the resulting four into a completely logical conclusion. The only people running around outside that early in the morning are the guards and the only reason they would be running was if they were chasing something. So I jumped out of bed, ran to the window and pressed my pillow-imprinted face against the cold glass. I saw three blanketed forms silhouetted in the darkness. There was a shout and a fourth came rushing through the gate that connects our compound and the Wright’s. Zorro, the youngest and by far the stupidest of our three dogs, came bolting out of the thorn bushes that line our compound, either chasing something or having a neck-to-neck race with himself. He then did several summersaults to the great amusement of the now five guards who followed quickly behind him, their bows cocked and loaded. I saw a flash of white, heard the surprised shouts of the guards and pathetic barking of Zorro, and then all seven dashed out of the range that the window had permitted my vision. By seven I now mean the seven parties involved: five jovial night watchmen, one very excited dog, and a slightly crumpled but none-the-less incredibly agile honey badger.

As I mentioned, the window prohibited me from watching any more of the tragic comedy…or is it a comedic tragedy? I can never tell. All of Shakespeare’s comedies ended with weddings and all of his tragedies ended with funerals so I’m not really sure how to judge each one. Well, I suppose this story did end with a funeral of sorts, but there definitely was no wedding in it…they skipped straight to the feast. I of course only heard of these things (though from a very reliable source). I really don’t understand why they didn’t invite me to feast on their triumphant spoils with them. I mean, come on…it’s a honey badger. Need I say more?