One World

Listening to catastrophic events, both natural and man made, I can feel the Earth bleeding.  From the fires in California, to the floods in Colorado and from the killings in Anywhere, U.S.A. to the Monsanto massacre of our foods, this world we call home is dying.  Such events are happening all over this little blue dot and it is up to everyone to do something to salvage what we have left of this world.
I  watch a lot of nature shows and spend a good bit of time observing nature all around me.  One thing that I thought was amazing was the murmuration that starlings do.  If anyone does not know about murmuration, check out this video:

The fact that these small birds are able to fly in such formation as this is absolutely amazing.  If they sense a danger, such as a predator, a few birds will make the decision to fly in a different direction, then the 6 or 7 neighboring birds will follow suit, and then their neighbors will follow as well, causing this wondrous aerial display.  In a way, it is the bird's version of paying it forward.  In the end, the actions of a few directing the group to work in unison, saves the flock. 
It only takes one person to get the ball rolling... could it be you?


 The other day I took some donated supplies to the local humane society.  I was overwhelmed with the amount of kittens that were there.  Litters and litters waiting to find a place in someone's home and heart.  What I don't get is why they are even in the shelters to begin with?  In this day and age of convenient spay and neutering options, why do we still have this overpopulation of kittens?  Are people too ignorant to realize that wanting their kids to witness a birthing, only to dump the unwanted after the cuteness of it all wears off, is not only selfish, but inhumane?  What are they really teaching their kids?  That animals are just for show and are disposable once the novelty is over?  Don't get me started on pet store animals and puppy mills...
The sight of all these kittens and adult cats, without homes, makes me want to become a crazy cat lady, but thankfully, I am too sane and rational for that.   On the other hand, with the recent loss of our kitty, Orion, from a possible pulmonary embolism, the house seems so much emptier.  He was the clown, the mischievous elf, the trouble maker, the leader, the bread stealer, the dairy king.  I keep expecting him to climb on the dining room table to beg for food.  I wake up to look for stolen loaves of bread that get nabbed in the night, so I can snatch it up before our dog, Sagan, eats it all.  I look over at the little fig tree he used to torment to get our attention, and long to see his impish face again, smugly saying, "see, made you look!"

The quiet emptiness is begging to have some kitten energy back in the home.  Maybe we will have TWO new balls of energy to help distract from our grief, to keep the other pets and ourselves entertained, and to give them forever homes.   This is my moment of murmuration. So if anyone is considering buying a pet, check out the shelters first - and save a life. 

From Within

Sometime last week, I was reheating leftovers when I heard a pretty loud thump against the window.  Even with the reflectors on the window, I knew a bird flew right into it.  I immediately put on my shoes and ran out to search under all the overgrown catmint, wild strawberry plants and creeping charlie.  Finally I found this little guy:

What I am assuming is a baby White-breasted Nuthatch, appeared to be pretty stunned.  He (or she), kept closing its eyes  and there were moments when I thought he was not going to make it.  Every time that happened I made sure to pet him more on the head and talk to him.

 Once he was able to have his foot up under him, I attempted to introduce him to our pine tree, in the hopes that he would cling on the bark on his own.  As soon as I neared the tree, a pair of House Wrens swooped down and chattered disapprovingly at our presence.  I realized later that they had a clutch of babies in our sap bucket birdhouse that they were steering us from, much to our delight.  Needless to say the "fake nest" we thought they had made was the real thing. 

 To placate the wrens, I took the nuthatch to the neighboring maple tree.  He was still a little out of it.  Every now and then he would open his eyes and wrestle in my hand to be freed, but he was definitely still unstable and unable to grasp the bark of the tree.

 His grip was pretty good with his right foot, but the left was delayed.  He would eye me quietly, almost seeming to appreciate the bodyguard I became, since during this ordeal I had witnessed some type of raptor fly overhead a couple of times.  We would stare at each other and I would tell him he would be ok.

 At one point, while attempting to get him onto the tree, he fluttered onto my shoulder and seemed a little reluctant to leave.

I was finally able to get him to grab onto the tree.  I tried to grab a hold of him a few times, and he would fight a little and climb higher... I wanted to see if he was alright, alone, up in that tree.  I watched him for a good bit, forgetting all about my food in the oven, worried only for this little feathered friend.  I watched him climb a little higher and respond more to outside stimuli, so I let him be.  I hope he is well and that he visits our tree and feeders as he gets older.
Standing out there for an undetermined amount of time, it dawned upon me how connected I feel to animals and nature, and how much of an introvert I am.  Many times I feel like I am the black sheep of the human race, able to communicate more with other animal species than my own.  What does this mean for me?  Many times I am disgusted at what humanity has done to the Earth, let alone to each other, and I wonder, is it better to be that black sheep?  It is almost as if I feel confined when among people, but free and open to everything when I am out in nature.  Grounded, is what I feel, like the deep roots of the oldest trees.  Why change?

The Quickness of Life

It is winter in Vermont.  The snow has finally come to the delight of many and to the little kid in all of us.  The birds have been in a frenzy, snagging what they can to keep their preserves up during this cold, brutal, season.  Our feeders have been very active this winter.  To the delight of our fellow birders for the Christmas Bird Count, aside from the usual chickadees and Blue Jays,  Common Redpolls, a Brown Creeper, and a Grackle made their appearance at our feeder.  The shy, lonely Grackle came by almost daily to feed, and when the first snows came, he seemed to be unsure of this cold, wet stuff that was in the way of his ground feeding.

He would scamper from branch to branch in our lilac bush to get near our feeders.   Eventually he braved the snow, just like the rest of them, and we admired his solitary tenacity to our daily feedings.

His blue-black feathers shined in the light and was a nice contrast to the white snow that covered our island.  We looked forward to his visits, along with all our other feathered visitors.

This was the last picture I took of the Grackle.  The sky was a clear and crisp blue.  The picture doesn't give his feathers that nice sheen, but it does make him look like he is part of the shepherd's hook - iron and permanent.   Just a few short days later, my wife texts me to let me know that what appeared to be an immature Red-Tailed Hawk had possible killed the Grackle and had carried it off.

This is the picture my wife took through the screened window.  We know it is all part of the circle of life and everyone has to eat, but it won't make losing one of our daily feathered visitors any less sad. 
We all lose friends and loved ones, sometimes way too soon.  We start thinking of ways we could have been more a part of their lives, how we could have been a better friend.  Unfortunately it is sometimes too late to be able to do anything when we think these things.  We must make that effort to make sure no more time is lost between loved ones from this point on.  So write that letter, send that e-mail, pick up a phone, or plan a visit.  Cherish those moments you have and treasure them forever.

Every minute cherished

Enjoying the summer. All the beauty, the colors, the joy we all get from being outdoors on gorgeous sunny days are being absorbed and put away, to be remembered when the snow and zero degree weather makes its entrance.
This is the summer I proposed to my girlfriend.
The experience was nerve racking for me.  I had planned on doing it while on a hike.  I was not sure where, but the date had to be May 13th - and no, not because it was Mother's Day.  This Mother's Day just happened to fall on the date where three years ago Heather came down the escalator at the airport and her hand clicked into my own, fitting better than a puzzle piece.  We packed the dogs, I packed the ring in my cargo shorts and off we went to a new trail.  The whole time I wondered if the trail would be fine and hoped it wouldn't rain.  Just a few yards into the trail we began hearing thunder.  It didn't start to sprinkle until further down our walk, but that didn't stop us.  The rain was actually cooling on the warm day.  The whole time we walked along, I kept an eye out for the perfect spot.  We walked through swampy areas, on boardwalks, admiring the ferns and watching the dogs enjoy themselves taking in all the nature smells.  We had reached the end of the trail and it opened up to an area where the creek broke off into different tributaries.  The view was beautiful and silent, making us feel like we were the only ones on Earth.  I knew this should be the spot.  Heather started to turn around to head back onto the trail and I fumbled around a bench with the dog to stall when all of a sudden I heard loud croaking squawk.  We look up to see a Great Blue Heron fly over us.  Being that the Great Blue is my favorite bird, and one I recently had tattooed on my calf, we stood there in awe at its beauty.  I second later we hear more squawking and are shocked to see SIX more fly in a criss-cross-like pattern over our heads.  With our mouths hanging open at seeing this incredible site, I realize this is a sign.  If there was ever a time to do it, it definitely should be NOW!  As the last of the herons fly away, I tell Heather that I found something and I wanted her to look at it.  She was still in awe over seeing such a display of herons and confused that I was not in the same state of awe, when she took in the seriousness of my tone as I handed her the stone.  The rock was a stone I found, its shape that of a heart.  My nervous words to her spilled out, telling her since the first day her hand went into mine, how perfect it felt... and that I wanted to hold her hand forever.  As she turned the over, she saw that I had written "Will you Marry Me?" on the back, and I got down on one knee and asked her to marry me.  Thankfully she said yes!

The stone and the ring.  The ring is based on the Gimmel rings from long ago.

The Great Blue Heron.  Not one of the ones we saw that day, but one that happened to stand still long enough for me to snap a picture of it.

The heron's likeness tattooed on my leg by Nora at Jade Lotus.  For me they symbolize peace, strength and patience - all of which I have finally found.

The best decisions are always the hardest to make

There are times in our lives where we hit a crossroads.  Turn right and the outcome can be vastly different than if you had turned left.  Before making that choice, I try to look ahead at the possible outcomes of each decision.  I weigh the pros and cons to each consequence and choose from there, closing my eyes and hoping for the best.  On Saturday, March 31, 2012, I came upon that crossroad.

On my way to work that early Saturday morning, I came across a young doe lying down in the middle of the northbound lane.  The sun was barely up and even in the dim dawn light, I saw the dark crimson dripping from her nose.   I briefly thought, well, maybe she was just stunned and would get up and go once I drove by her.  As I approached in my truck, she barely moved, and it was then I realized that I had to stop and do something.   I pulled over in the shoulder and put my hazard lights on and, knowing my gas tank was almost on E, I turned off my car.  I got out and slowly approached her.  Her eyes were shut.  My presence was hardly noticed.  I even tried to nudge her a bit to see if she could get up.  I knew it was not good when a wild animal will not even appear to want to flee.  The poor thing was most likely in shock.  I made a few phone calls and was told the game warden would be out soon.

As the light of day began to shine down, I stayed with her, directing traffic around her and quietly letting her know it would be ok.  But would it?  In a previous post I made about the injured coyote, I cheered at the strength and the will to live that creature had.  He still had a chance.  This doe, on the other hand, did not appear to have that gleam of life in her, that will that would have allowed her to get up and disappear into the nearby woods.  As someone who has worked in the animal health field for so long, I knew what possible internal injuries she may have had that the naked eye could not see.

At one point I thought she was going to rally and get up to move off of the road.

When she did get up, it was only to relieve herself, which further enforced my fears.  There she stood while cars slowly passed us, most people stopping to pity a fellow living thing.  Most were grown men, who probably hunted, and who respected wildlife in their own way.  They felt the loss of this wood spirit as they drove on down the road, watching us as we got smaller in their rear view mirror.

One older gentleman stopped in the northbound lane and helped me direct traffic.  We chatted for a bit, and he spoke softly to the yearling, gently touching her as she stood there.  When the game warden came, I was relieved and saddened, as he stepped out of his truck with a type of shotgun, waving us back and looking to make sure there were no other approaching vehicles.
I watched as what I knew what would happen did.  At the sound of the first shot, she went down, what life there was in her eyes disappeared.  I turned away, tears streaming down my face.  Bruce, the older gentleman, grabbed a hold of me and let me cry it all out as I heard two more shots meant to make sure she was out of pain. 
After they got her in the game warden's truck, I asked if there was anything else he needed.  He apologized, saying he thought I knew what would happen.  I told him I knew, but seeing it is different from just knowing.  Bruce asked if I would be ok.  I reassured him I would be and I made my way back to my truck and cried my way to work.
I knew this choice was one I had to make.  I couldn't leave her laying there, only to get run over again, or get up and end up drowning in the nearby swamp.  Limiting her suffering was the least I could do.  I wondered numerous times if I had my gun, would I have it in me to end her suffering?  I think that question is still unanswered.
Now every time I head home from work, I drive over the spot where it all happened.   One afternoon, the rains washed the blood from the road.  The next day's light brought the sun's rays onto the land, revealing the rusty stain, like an echo, bouncing off the walls of memory.

Are missed opportunities really all that bad?

Here I am, enjoying a surprisingly mild Vermont winter, observing the first signs of spring. The birds come to our feeders and it is always a pleasure to see the birds come back, some showing off their colorful plumage.  I would love to eventually have a picture of every breed of bird I see that visit us throughout the year, so patiently, I sometimes wait by a window to snap the perfect picture.

There are times when I do get a decent pic of a curious and shy Blue Jay looking for his meal of peanuts.

Other times the Blue Jay is a bit too shy and all I get are bird feet.

 Then there is the flashy red male Cardinal perched on the bird feeder... only to catch a glimpse of him in flight.  His feet, like the wheels of a plane, prepare to retract into the feathery undercarriage of his body.

And here again, with his feet and tail end in the most interesting position, another missed opportunity.

Change of species here to capture a pretty cool moment.  "Squirrel with Goddess Figure" is what I will call this one.

Even though most of my bird shots that one day were of bird feet, I did find it to be quite a unique view as they begin their ascent into the heavens.  It was never my initial intention to capture these beings in motion like this, but I saw their potential, their connection to something we all deal with at some time or another.  The feet photos can be seen as a loss, a missed opportunity, a frustration at not getting something just right.  What I see from this is opportunity.  A potential.  Observing something from a different angle and maybe getting something more out of it.   Many times in our lives we tend to focus on the negative, that missed moment, the what ifs.  It drains us, like a leech, sucking any chance to take care of ourselves and to live life to our utmost potential.
Missed opportunities are just that - missed.  They are in the past.  Time to look ahead.  So as Mother Nature continues to tease us with her mood swings, I look forward to catching more critters - and their feet- on camera as the years go by.

The scales of life

I am a veterinary technician.  It is what I went to school for, and even though in the last 17 years I had other side careers in between, teching is what I always did.  Working in this field all of these years, I have seen many things - from helping to bring puppies into this world, to helping old friends pass on to the next.  The latter never gets easier and there are always some that I secretly have a spot for in my heart.  I do believe in humane euthanasia.  When an animal is sick beyond any reasonable help, when quality of life is close to zero, when you see the pain in their eyes or when the light they used to house there dims, you know it is time.
A recent encounter made me look a little deeper into all of this.  While driving home from an outing in Burlington, we spotted what looked like what I thought was a dog running towards us along the opposite edge of road.  As the distance between us and the critter closed a bit, we realized it was a coyote, and a pretty decently sized one.  We also noticed it had a noticeable left front leg limp.  My first response, after being awestruck by such a magnificent looking animal, was to take out my phone and take it's picture.

My second response was how could we help it?  Logically, we could not just take a leash and lure it into our car and get it some medical attention... although the thought did briefly enter our minds.  I did not know of any wildlife rescues who would come way out where we live for a coyote.  Plus, the fact that the coyote was running on three legs, would make it impossible for anyone to catch up with it.  Being it was the weekend,  I called Vermont Wildlife and left a message, and asked for other ideas on Facebook.  Some suggested doing what we had done, but not much else.  We just hoped the creature did not get hit by a car, or suffer much.  Thoughts of hunters shooting it and putting out of it's misery made me shudder, because aside from it's bum leg, it looked like a healthy and strong animal.  I am not sure how a pack animal can survive on its own, but shouldn't it be left up to coyote?  If nothing else could be done to help it, shouldn't we see if nature will wrap her arms around him and either help him find his way in the world, or return him to the earth?  
As a technician, I wish we could have helped... as a human, I wished we could have helped... but I feel that death is not the answer we need to give to a being still so filled with life.
I have had the pleasure of having creatures come into my life who were so close to death.  My first was Misty, a 6 month old chihuahua with horrendous demodex mange.  Her owners could not afford the money or time to treat, so were going to put her to sleep.  An intervention occurred and we acquired her, and I fell in puppy love with her.  After many baths and months of medication, she was all healed.

Misty as a young pup.

Then there was the stray kitten brought into the ER by a good samaritan late one evening.  The kitten's left leg was almost completely severed, but he still purred and cuddled as if nothing was wrong.  Being he had no owner, and a severe injury, he was going to be euthanized... until my co-workers and I convinced ourselves otherwise and went into giving this little 5-6 week old kitten a chance - even though it was against work policy to do so.  After finishing off the amputation and closing him up, only antibiotics and time would tell if he would make it.  After a small infection scare and longer antibiotics, his wounds healed and he made his way into my heart.   Five years later, he is a tough, fast, mouse catching, dog ambushing, three-legged cat.

Nibo at home post-op.

Nibo and I,  a couple of years after the amputation.

And more recently, we found a couple of pups at a rescue.  One of which was missing her right eye.  We are not sure how she lost it, or why she was at a kill shelter in North Carolina, but we are happy she is home with us. 

Ahnah at obedience graduation.

The creatures that are alive and in this world deserve a chance.  If their will, bodies and souls are strong enough, why not give them that opportunity?  The human race should never dismiss them as being just a "mangy dog", a "worthless cat", or a "bothersome coyote".  We should walk their steps, see through their eyes, feel their pain... then we can really call ourselves human(e).

"The measure of a society can be how well its people treat its animals." ~Mohandas Gandhi