Well Bottom Blues

NOPD has moved their K-9s into their horse stable next to the Couterie Forest with the same consideration and concern they show when they park their SUV right at the corner, six inches into the cross street, to play with their phone so that you almost hit someone on a bicycle you cant sde while trying to get on to Broad Street.
If I wanted to listen to a neighbor’s ill-behaved dogs’ constant barking I could have stayed home in my yard beside the roaring interstate. If these were my neighbors dogs I would call the police but that clearly won’t work in this situation.
I go to the forest to manage the stress of living in this dysfunctional city and this cracker-ass backwards state and this disintegrating country. I go to hear song birds and the cries of the water birds, to the chorus frogs celebrating the puddly places after it rains, for the quiet when it comes. I go because I am (mostly) in remission from Bi-polar Disorder II and I have walked away from the Ochsner Psych pill. ursed and the meds they han out like Haloween candy. Walking and sitting in the quiet doredgt is essential to regulating my mood. And the NOPD are taking that away with their ill-behaved K-9s and their incesssant barking  because fuck-it, they’re the cops and they can do whatever they want.
Is this another signal that I should consider leaving the city I swore 20 years ago I would only leave as cremains in the river and find myself a place in the country?  I spend more time in Couterie Forest and wild Scout Island than I do in the restaurants and music clubs. I haven’t been to a parade in years. I no longer have a friend’s house on the route, and the belligerently narcissistic, post-COVID barbarians have ruined the experience.
I am reminded of the story of the wolf Fenrir, spawn of problematic Loki and a giantess. The Aesir were aware of a terrible prophecy that Fenrir would cause the gods great harm, and so sought to bind him. On the third try they took him to an island with a magic ribbon built by the dwarves, to once again convince him to test his great strength against yet another fetter. Suspecting trickery from such a delicate looking ribbon he demanded a god place their right hand in his mouth as a show of good faith that this was not all a ruse to entrap him. The god Tyr agreed, and when Fenrir found he could not break the magic binding, he bit Tyr’s right hand off.
And I wonder what I would give to shut these police hell hounds up, to save wild Couterie and Scout Island from their baleful barking? For now I will avoid the place and flee south to Scout Island which is, alas, closer to the howling interstate that bisects the park. The godsons of cotton and their henchmen, the three hospitality executives in a trench coat,  who run this city don’t give a shit about the people who actually live here. Maybe it’s time to give up and go, to find a place where the experience of the dorest it outside my backdoor.