Last night, at dusk, a scraggly coyote ran along my fence line. My large German Shepard ran along the fence barking furiously. The coyote ran with a slightly hunched back and what could only be called a lope.
“I bet it’s a werewolf,” I said to my husband. “I bet it’s someone we know.” I didn’t say who I thought it was, but I was thinking it.
~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman
The Support Group
“I hate this. Last night I ate my neighbor’s Chihuahua. She took it out in her yard to go pee. I jumped the fence and grabbed it. I then shook and crushed the life out of it. Then I took it out to the woods and ate it. Awww man, he was a sweet little dog. I mean I don’t mean how he tasted. It was a really nice little dog. His name was Bobbie.”
There were murmurs among the others in the group. They sat on two large couches, and half a dozen chairs. On the table was a plate of cookies and a bowl of popcorn. Everyone was drinking Diet Cokes and assorted craft beers. One large man wiped tears away with his hand. A woman handed him a tissue.
I continued. “This morning I brought Bobbie’s collar to Heather. That’s my neighbor…Heather. Her husband Ray died last year. Her kids are in college. Bobbie was her little companion. Oh I hate this.”
“You can’t blame yourself,” said Jack, our facilitator. “Just be there for Heather. This will be a healing time for both of you. Who wants to talk next?”
A middle aged woman wearing a denim skirt and a red flowered blouse raised her hand. Her gray hair was waving over her shoulders. She looked sad and tired. I’d never seen her before.
“Hi. Thank you for including me. My name is Christy and I’m a werewolf.”
We all nodded and said hello, secretly eager and dreading what she had to say next.