concerning road kill

When I saw this deer along the road this morning, I thought 'That deer looks burnt'. When I drove past it coming home this evening, I thought 'It really does look burnt - how odd.'
So now I'm sure about it, but I think there are more questions than answers.

curiouser and curiouser

death in the basement

I began this post the 6th of September, (It is now the 6th of Ocotber - the blog's date is the date is was begun, not posted) Bimquist died the night/morning of the 5th/6th. Since then, school has begun in full force and I have had little time to type more than my notes. I have also not had time to 'grieve'. I couldn't grieve for a mouse in the way the word denotes the emotion, but there is a loss. Something that I was taking care of is dead, and there was nothing I could do about it - and I tried. His eyes had opened a day or two before he died. I was so proud of him. I don't suppose it makes sense to be proud of something that happens naturally, but I was proud nonetheless.
About two weeks into the semester, we had an assignment in Secondary Reading class to tell the class of a mistake we had made or a time that we had gotten into trouble. I sat and tried to think of times I had gotten into trouble and nothing came to mind. I tried to think of mistakes, and nothing came to mind that I could tell my class. Then Sheryl mentioned Bimquist and the hole under the bathroom cabinet. So I told my class of my long history of rescuing. I knew that there were ways that this instinct has encouraged me to make decisions in life that have had devastating consequences, but I also knew that I could not share this with 30 strangers. I began the story with our squirrel Nutkin. While we all still lived in the cabin in WeirWood, Dad brought home a squirrel that he had found walking along the driveway at work. It was in sad shape and it certainly needed a mom - we knew that ours would do it wonders. And wonders she did. During the day she monitored the goings-on of a four-year-old and a two-year-old while feeding a sickly, orphaned squirrel. Our squirrel Nutkin thrived and, still a juvenile, moved to town with us. He matured at the new mansion of a house and began to live outside. He still came in for treats and attentions, but he was getting less and less domesticated. We would see him in the yard and offer him food. He began to bite us as he took the food and (wisely) we offered it to him less often. We were certain that he was doing well and saw him about the yard often.
One day on the bus to swimming lessons, the neighbor girls came unto the bus singing 'We shot your squirrel, we shot your squirrel.' I don't remember how we got the whole story, but they, essentially, had. One of them had been trying to feed him and had been bitten. Concerned, another neighbor had shot our Nutkin. We learned from this, not that we shouldn't rescue animals, but that we should wean them into the wild - safely away from people.

For my class, I then told of the guinea pigs adopted from the petting zoo. I don't think that they actually needed to be rescued, but I am certain that I did not need to have them. Both of them were 'wild hair' guinea pigs - one had two colors and one had three. They were named Beely (Mbili) and Tatu respectively. I was violently allergic to them, only less than Sheryl was - who could not step into the basement. When the guinea pigs came to the basement, there were in residence: two cocktiels, one rabbit, two fish tanks, a dog and me. The menagerie was a bit overwhelming and my allergies took a turn for the worse. Apparently I was not the only one being affected by the mix of animals in the basement. The guinea pigs both became ill from a bacteria that I believe they may have gotten from the rabbit. I hadn't believed that a guinea pig could express pain until I was with those two piggies through their deaths. Thankfully, their final hours were just that - hours, not days. I had class right after Beely died and we always started class saying a little about ourselves- if the day was great or horrid. I had come from holding my dying guinea pig to class and didn't make it though my statement of how I was doing. I felt ridiculous for crying about a guinea pig in front of my class. But I suppose being real with each other on some level was the point of starting the day that way. I also knew that Tatu was sick and there would be nothing I could do for him. I tried though. I blended vegetables and feed him with a syringe. I hoped if I could keep him hydrated he would stay alive long enough to beat the bug he had.

After the story of the guinea pig I told of Bimquist and his hopping and his escape under the bathroom counter. Finally I told of his untimely death.

The instructor for the class tied my retelling of our pets' death to the lesson that I wished to portray by saying specifically we cannot always rescue - nor are we 'called' to. As teachers there will be students that we may want to rescue. Families that we want to rescue. Rescuing is not the calling. Rescuing so often times means trouble for all parties and in the worst cases, death to one and possibly hurt to the rescuer as well. I think my rescuer tendencies go hand-in-hand with my inability to hurt someone - at least to their face. This lack of assertiveness tends to wreck havoc on my boundaries and has made for some situations, that had the hurt been dealt with and dealt out early on, the resulting pain and suffering would have been far less.
(Digston did not die in an untimely manner, he lived to a ripe, old (unknown) age after his borrowed time given him by our cutting his teeth for him. - it did make more sense than getting him braces.)

controlled 'pest', more effort

The mouse, Bimquist Greystone, has been living with us for 3 days now. Yesterday I brought home kitten formula for him which was supposed to help with the diarrhea that had started Friday afternoon. When I took him out and set him on the bathroom rug to feed him the new formula he ran under the sink counter cabinet. There is no access to 'under the bathroom counter', there also is no exit. As his tail disappeared beneath the 1/2 inch gap, I thought 'You've got to be kidding' and 'Hey, you move pretty well' simultaneously. My pride in his demonstrated vigor evaporated as I ran to get something to sweep under the gap. I could not swipe him out with a dowel, carpenter ruler or yard stick. I was concerned that blindly poking at him with sticks could break a leg or in some way hurt him. Lying on the bathroom floor using the smallest flash light we have for light - I could periodically see his feet in amongst the Japanese beetle shells. With both Dad and I lying on the floor we could see his feet more suredly. After locating him and with greater accuracy performing a stick swipe to remove him, he made a horrid discovery. He could crawl up on a piece of particle board that serves as the base of the counter unit and be clear of the removal sticks. With him sitting on that 'ledge', there was no way for me to get him out. I tried a bent wire hanger with a rag tied on the end and then knew that this would be it. (and it wouldn't smell good.) But as it turns out, fathers can remove barriers that are otherwise impassable. Thirty seconds with a jigsaw and a 6"X6" hole provided the necessary access to the (unbeknownst-to-him) doomed mouse. Now Bimquist is no longer allowed to sit on the bathroom floor for his feeding and/or bath time. But he seems to be adjusting to his new formula and his eyes should be opening shortly. I have never felt so relieved to see a mouse as when Dad pulled him from under my freshly remodeled bathroom cabinet. It is good that I will be able to clean the beetle and cricket bits and pieces from beneath the cabinet.

pink frogs and high chair monkeys

Today I got to work in the 'baby room' at the day care. Two summers ago I worked primarily in the baby room. There were four babies born within 2 months of each other. They all learned to sit, crawl (one chose to scoot), and walk at very much the same time. That class will now soon be graduating to the 3-year-old room. They are potty trained and communicate quite efficiently in verbal English. They communicated quite efficiently when they were babies as well, but it wasn't in English.
Isabella's verbal skills have always been good. She told me once that when you cook a frog you can tell it is done when it turns pink. Her favorite color has been green from about 18 months old, perhaps cooked frogs are not then as appealing as live ones. One afternoon, Bella's advanced communication skills contributed to a bit of a squabble in the buggy. (We have a 6-seater buggy for the infants thru two-year-olds.) We all went walking and I asked all the kids in the buggy if they would like to go back to the day care or over to the park. Isabella enthusiastically replied 'Park!' Another girl, younger than Bella, equally enthusiastically answered 'No!' unbeknownst to Bella, the younger girl was not in actuality arguing with Bella or stating that she didn't desire to go the park - she was only verbalizing one of the only words that she knew well. What she clearing communicated was her enthusiasm and interest in answering the question and contributing to the conversation. Bella yelled back 'Park', to which hearty 'No!' was returned and on we went - to the park.
Kamden would climb anything in the baby room - he has always been a strong boy. Once (while I was sitting across the room feeding another infant) he pulled himself to standing on the high chair. He then grabbed the tray and did a full chin up while I panicked on the other side of the room. I was sure if I ran he would startle and fall. After checking the tray top, he lowered himself much more slowly and calmly than my heart rate did. Today I came outside holding an infant and Kamden came running and said 'Watch me'. He then ran up the side of the geodome, turned around on the bar, and jumped off. I couldn't resist the standard line, 'Be careful', but I have always wondered why adults think this statement will change the behavior of a child. Today was Kamden's last day. I don't feel ready to miss seeing the heights he will climb to, although it has been a blessing to witness those he has conquered.