My brain feels as blasted as The Possum’s, a sick little creature square in the middle of the driveway this morning. To my space-time present moment awareness, He was clearly in need of death--not wanting any suffering to atone for sins—but his damaged face and lack of mobility plunged my heart into sadness.
His picture is below; you can see the cuteness that attracts some to possums. The head coyly turned, the eyes making “contact”—but this one could only hiss and wobble. Perhaps hit by a truck earlier in the day.
Taking a gun in hand to end the pain of an animal is a choice.
When one lives rurally, a gun is used for protection, for food hunting, for games like skill shooting (similar to playing horse in basketball). My cats once De-Gloved a juvenile rabbit. This means they managed to pretty much skin it alive. I found it on my way to the truck, the wicked cats being now inside near the food bowls, curled up warm and toasty in soft baskets with a view to the prairie...I took what i had at the time, a knife, and prepared the rabbit, looked away, and slit its throat.
I remember wishing i had a little kit full of morphine and needles. I'm sure my neighboring farmer friends laugh at my tears. What a weenie.
Life is not the same when one lives rurally. (e.g. A litter of kittens in the city may be irresponsible; in the country where there are no half-pipes or arcades or theatres or basketball courts, a litter of kittens is life and fun. and protection from rats.)
The shock of a thing dying is a strange experience. Life is here; then no more. It is not electricity, although that is no longer present.
An entity has left the building.
Life is in your hands in a small animal; then there is nothing but a small ball of food for another creature.
Why then is it so hard? Why is there a carving into one's heart?
Why trouble seeing through the windshield on the drive into town?
In order to lose a few pounds before the holiday eating extravaganza, I am now on the possum diet.
That is, i think of the little ness, the unasked for end of life, the wounded little buddy, and my appetite leaves.
No, you sick twisted freak, what did you think i meant??
poor possum
click pic to enlarge
Poor Possum
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| now in possum afterlife |
UPDATED:
Here is the hawk that startled away two vultures eating on the possum carcass:
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| the hawk interested in the possum |
