Our day is a bit disordered.  Tonight we celebrate what we call Hunt’s Night — it is the eve of the legendary ride of a spectral Huntsman with his hounds.  He is various named, almost by country — sometimes called Gwynn ap Nudd, or Arawn (Welsh), or Herne the Hunter (Anglo-Saxon) or Woden, Odin, or Ullr (Nordic/German).

Since the Manchild will go to work soon and not be home till very late, we had a celebratory meal already…with raw ribs set aside for offering to the Hunter’s hounds.  In our family, two of us have seen one such hound — huge and white with dark ears.  Others with us did not see the dog in two separate incidents, and we witnesses both fell ill in the wake of the sighting.  I viewed this as a selection/initiation process — the fevers that followed seemed intent on burning out the last bits…