Dire news for the good citizens of Colorado Springs: the elusive and dangerous Chupacabra has returned. A local resident, Miss Sunshine, a retired mid-wife and medicine woman, spotted the semi-mythical creature sitting in the road in front of her home, and than later that night she found it feasting on feral cat food on her deck. She described it as a mangy muscled brown hot mess about the size of a large dog. The critter had glowing eyes that seared into her brain, a long pink snout, and illuminated toxic drool dripped from it’s mouth as it chomped down on a bowl of Little Friskies Feral Cat Feast.
Local NPR field reporter Maya Sharona asked her a few questions about her unnerving encounter with the Chupa.
MS: Miss Sunshine, what makes you think this was the mythical Chupacabra?
Sunshine: At first I thought it was the dog down the road, old John Boy, but the closer I got, it was clear to me that this was a Chupa. I drove around the thing and it started chasing me, sort of like those dinosaurs in Jurassic Park, chasing that jeep. I floored my Prius and made into my garage and into the house, that’s when I called the sheriffs office to report it. Officer Fife and Chief Andy came out, but the thing was gone by then. Later that night it showed up on my deck and was eating the Friskies I put out for the herd of feral cats that live in the woods behind my house. I worry about them kitties because Sasquatch lives out there too and I hear he is fond of Cat meat. I took a good picture with my iPhone.
This past Saturday, while visiting my wife’s lovely Daughter, husband, and her young family in Colorado Springs, we visited the Old Town Colorado Farmers Market in the original 1800s village of Colorado Springs. It is the happening place to be if you are an aficionado or an original member of the 1960s. My wife and I are both, so we were looking forward to taking a time machine back to the days of innocence and peace.
A beautiful day; the weather was in the low 70s, sunny and bright, and the scents of fresh organic produce, fragrant honey, extravagant lemonade, and Rocky Mountain High pot floated through the park. Sunshine was on our shoulders and flowers in our hair. I thought I spied John Denver strumming his Martin guitar, but then, remembered he has been dead for a while now, thanks to not checking his fuel gauge on his plane.
Young families with passels of little kids, every breed of dog imaginable, and I believe that every old hippie that came to Colorado Springs in the 60s never left. Grandmas with dreadlocks, granny dresses, and boobs hanging south to their knees were escorted by their husbands that resembled Rip Van Winkle more than a modern-era man. I thought we were at a “reproduction” of Woodstock. One cool guy may be the twin of the late Joe Cocker, down to the cowboy boots and the tye-dye tee shirt, while another was a ringer for Arlo Guthrie. It was a fantastic trip; my wife and I were stone-cold sober, so that made it even more surreal.
Tents with vendors selling “Colorado Eco Hip Friendly Bee Honey,” “Homemade and Cosmic Blessed Hemp Jelly,” “Granny Sunshines Fresh Baked Love Buns,” ” Hip Harry’s Secret Tomatoes,” and so on. A few booths were original and had quite a queue: “Madam Gina’s Personal Physcriatic Help-$20 for ten minutes.” Another was “Personal Weed Advice.” With all the different varieties, one could, if not careful, might choose a lousy bag and wake up in hell.
The only thing that did worry me was the number of young folks wearing backpacks. Men and women seemed to be carrying all their belongings in a variety of fashionable packs; maybe in case, they were called on a long-distance personal quest at the last minute.
What did those bags include? I am guessing they would be some “smart water,” “an Apple Laptop and iPhone ( required of the hipsters),” some high-quality weed, an extra pair of Doc Martin sandals, maybe a few organic pieces of fruit, and a flash drive containing the soundtrack from Woodstock or Dave Mathews. Of course, I could be wrong.
After the market, we went to the exquisite “Broadmoor Hotel.” This place has gardens equal to those of biblical Eden. Beautiful trees, flowers, and bushes that would never be found in Texas, and enough grounds staff to ensure it all stayed in perfect cosmic alignment.
Beautiful people strolling the sacred grounds with their Gucci sweaters tied around their shoulders and their Tacova boots shined to perfection. The reflection from their Rolex watches would have blinded me if not for my $10.00 pair of gas station sunglasses. This is how the other half of the country lives at a grand a night for a bed and bathroom. If I had a tin cup and a sign, I would have begged for enough money to pay for the trip.
The lobby reminded me of Fort Worth’s Amon Carter Museum. Fredrick Remmington’s famous oil paintings hung on every wall. There were easily ten million bucks in original western art in that lobby. I was in a trance.
It was a great trip to see the family, with good food, and perfect weather. We look forward to going back and having to wear a jacket.
It will be 104 degrees in Granbury today. I think God has a sense of humor and may have chosen Texas for his new “weather Hell” because of all the Californians moving here. Nothing looks funnier than a toasted Wokie.
Notes From The Cactus Patch 