August 17, 2011
Recently, I was caring for two neonate baby opossums. Sadly, they both died. They came from a litter of ten, who were found tucked inside their mother’s pouch after she was killed by a dog. I am even sadder to hear that none of the others survived either. Everyone caring for them did their best; I guess they were just too little.
Since May, aside from writing, my life revolved around the baby raccoons I was caring for. I had a bottle goat kid throughout the summer as well. It seems that they were literally just weaned from their bottles (which they were) and as I was driving to pick up the opossums I mentally groaned, thinking of the all the times the alarm on my cell would be going off waking me for feedings every four hours.
I was so burned out on mixing formula and boiling bottles for the raccoons. They could not even pee without help, and I knew I was getting into the same thing all over again with the baby opossums.
Bought formula, sterilized bottles, trotted out the trusty heating pad, which has warmed more creatures than you can possibly imagine, and I felt prepared.
A couple of nights with little sleep and I was already frazzled. The opossums were difficult to feed. A syringe didn’t work, tubing was needed. Tubing something the size of a field mouse is not an easy task.
I’d wake to the happy little song playing on my cell phone alarm and I wanted to throw it through the wall, just wishing for more sleep.
I slept in this morning because there were no opossums to feed. I feel sad today. Sleep is over-rated.
August 12,2011
Summer is whizzing by, the tomatoes in the garden are red, despite the weeds that look like they should have long ago choked them out. I should weed the garden, but I have been writing and taking care of animals, so I haven’t. I probably won’t. We’ll still have tomatoes, maybe not as many, but they will survive without my help. The peppers are doing well too, and I can’t wait to make homemade salsa. I grew cilantro especially for that purpose.
The fence around the garden keeps the goat out, even though his pen doesn’t keep him in. He knocks on the front door with his hooves, or stands at the top of the hill watching the horses. I’m positive he believes he is one. He gets really excited when he watches them run, I like to think he is imagining that one day when he’s all grown up he’ll be able to run with them. Shh, don’t tell him, everyone needs to have a dream-even a goat.
The bleeding hearts have died back and now the lilies are doing the same. I don’t see them that much, sitting at my desk staring at the computer.
It's hard for me to stay involved with current events, I don’t watch the news during the summer, preferring not to watch much television at all. I don’t live on a schedule like I do during the school year. Nothing is scheduled except for the care of whatever animals are here. I don’t think the last tiny opossum I am caring for will make it, but I will keep trying.
The Runner ducks are gorgeous, fully grown with their adult feathers. I promised to sell a few, but I think I will have to break that promise. Spring’s rescued baby raccoons are little bruisers, raring to go. Rough and tumble boys, I remember when they fit in my palm and were blind and helpless. They are tangible reminders that I have done something. I held them and fed them with syringes. They grew a little bigger and graduated to bottles. I memorized every detail of them as they ate, and I saw them grow, their eyes open, their wobbly steps. I spent hours giving special attention to the little runt, only to watch him finally stop fighting to live. I watched the other two thrive and was thankful when they finally could go to the bathroom without my assistance. Little victories…
They’ll go free very soon, and I’ll miss them.
In between feedings and life, I write. I wrote my longest book, The Lion Man, in the midst of mixing formula and the chittering of raccoons. Steven read it last night. He doesn’t usually read my books anymore, he quit after probably the 5th. He said “Wow” when he finished it and I’m happy with that. No, forget happy, I’m thrilled!
It's been said to be happy as an adult you should remember what you loved doing when you were a child. When I was a child I wanted to be a veterinarian, or a writer. I cared about animals and I wrote. Not too far from the life I have now. I’ll never be rich, but I’m happy with my life. There are those who would give every penny they have for happiness and will look for it in places where they will never find it.
When your life makes you happy, you don’t have to look for happiness. Well, that- and you don’t really have time to either.