Running wild in the woods, surrounded by downed trees, my black wolf-dog, Bones by my side, my little brother keeping pace on his short stubby redhead legs, we were pack.

There were rusted mattress springs to jump on, tiny beautiful chickens to feed and collect the eggs from, and a deer herd to chase, follow and pet. As a chikd, the very first thing I wanted to be, was an animal. I don't think I really figured out that I was one before I was fully an adult and further away from animal instincts than I care to admit. (Or, maybe my witch instincts just filled in the pieces where animal instincts have been domesticated.)

Then, I wanted to be a dog breeder. Because, obviously, if I bred dogs, I would have like sixteen of them. My favorite book at that time was "Beautiful Joe" which I remember strongly as being a story about an ugly and kind pitbull dog who finds his family after being seriously abused by his initial master. He lives in harmony and joy with his new family in their managrie of strange animals. Guinea pigs, ducks, chickens, hawks, horses, Jersey cows and a full pack of mutt-related dogs.

I reread part of this book as an adult, because Mom moved this year and I got my book, with admonitions to keep it safe and be careful, and I cracked it open to discover.... it's a period piece of the 1800s. Which means, its got some seriously racist mindsets inside it and makes me wonder if I should reread the whole thing and delve into any potential things that may be lurking in my subconscious from reading and rereading this book, or if I should take it as vhildren do- its about animals, from the dog, Ugly Joe's perspective. I only remember the animal parts of the stories.

Then, when I was older than eleven and younger than fourteen, Spring, my deer-friend, was pregnant with a spring baby. We saw she was COVERED IN TICKS and Fleas and we had our farm dog/horse deflea/de ticker and I sprinkled it on her butt to help her with the nasty bugs. She lost the baby that year and I recognized it as being the de-ticker medication, because I was teaching myself biology while homeschooling myself in the kindergarden classroom closet, with my little brother's teacher, Ms. Doty.

I drew my first biologically correct, realistic mushroom in that closet. I knew then and there- I wanted to be a vet and to learn all about animals and science and everything to do with them. I had no idea I was going to be this prolific, determined artist that I currently am. Animals were my whole life, and I still really love them. I just draw them more now.

So, Spring got pregnant again and this... this moment was my absolute favorite childhood memory. This is the moment I recount to dates, to new lovers, to friends who ask these things in the dance of getting to know you.

I came out one forest morning and Spring was lying under a bush in my backyard. She was looking thick, uncomfortable and irritated and I was barefoot, naked under the long flannel nightgown my mother made me wear and it was cold. I saw her there and dashed back in for a bowl of corn and some water and maybe to tell my mom or grab my camera, as there is a photograph of her poor uncomfortable self.

Insert here.

I fed her the corn. I let her lap some water and I petted her head and her shoulder. We were on head/shoulder petting terms up until then and I had only briefly touched her back and never her sharp hooves or round belly. Today though, for some reason, I looked down and her belly was moving. I put my hands on her belly and felt the little baby buck inside of her kick and flutter his feet.

My. Heart. Exploded. Sense memory fades here and becomes brilliant ecstatic colors and I sat with my hand on her belly, petting her neck while she ate her corn. I am sure I stayed there, as frozen and calm as I could be until she struggled to her feet and bounced away into the woods.

A month or so later, there was Autumn. He was speckled and beautiful and I have no idea how I knew he was a boy, but I knew and I never tried to tTame or domesticate him while he was growing up. Bucks are best meant to be left be, because humans like to kill beautiful things.

What is your favorite Childhood Memory? Who were you between the ages of ten and fifteen?
If you don't remember, call someone who does and ask them about your activities during that time. There's something to be said about what our actual genuine soul purpose is in this world, by looking back to that time period.

I called Mom and she said: "You mostly hung out with the animals and made art. You were always drawing, painting, doodling, writing or in the woods with the dogs and deer exploring."

What were you meant for during your one wild and wonderous life?