I am made of sleepies. I've been dragging my tail all day, and doing what is necessary to address pain has only added weight to that tail. I had fallen asleep in my chair while Mr X was out running errands. When he came in and woke me, I mused out loud that I wished he could blog for me so I could just go to bed. He mimicked what he, an over-caffeinated squirrel, would look like composing random silliness for me, typing on an imaginary typewriter with just his index fingers and enthusiasm. I told him I could hear the music that accompanied him, and he just looked at me blankly. Does not everyone know and love Leroy Anderson music like I do? I played the proper video, which amused him, and now I'm wandering down a lovely lane of mid-century musical goodness. There are many pieces I didn't know before, like the Trumpeter's Lullaby, and I'm absolutely in heaven.
I want you to picture in your mind what I'm about to describe, mostly because I have not yet been given permission to share any photographic evidence. My brother has been sharing his friend's stories about an albino raccoon that she has currently living at her animal sanctuary. When he first sent a photo of this little creature, I thought maybe it was an opossum. I didn't recognize him without his mask. I have delighted in the stories and the pictures of a pure white, pointy-nosed, long-fingered juvenile learning about the world around him, safe in the arms of a woman who offers him nothing less than soft blankets and sufficient food. He was rescued young enough to feel secure and tame around her. I've seen photos of him relaxed and curious, obviously happy. Today she took him to be neutered, and she posted a video of him still quite stoned from his surgical and post-surgical meds, eating peanut butter. On the way home from the vet clinic, he found a candy cane in her car, and she took a picture of that too.
I have emotional scars related to raccoons that I wish I could erase forever. When we first moved to Charleston, we stayed at an apartment complex, where we met people who became our best friends in town. Several weeks in a row, we were swimming in the pool late at night, and saw a family of young raccoons rifling through the trash cans for dinner. Animal lovers that we are, we just watched from the water, quietly holding our breath so we didn't scare them off. It's possible that we brought out dog food one or two of those nights (I honestly don't remember, but I wouldn't put it past us). We and our friends loved the raccoons, but the trash collector had a different opinion. I will not give you the details (because it would scar you as badly as it did to me), but he dispatched the raccoons in a horrible, inhumane way. If I could have done the same to him, I would have without hesitation. I have never forgiven, and I will never forget.
I like raccoons. I'm not saying that I haven't been frustrated by them stealing "food" from my property (including all occupants from our one attempt at a fishpond in coastal California). But I like the little guys. I think they're cute, and they are part of the great circle of life. I told my brother today, when he sent the pictures of the albino raccoon eating the candy cane (before I Facebook friended the rescuer at his prompting) that after the atrocious year I have had, watching this little guy know nothing but love and safety might just save 2016 for me. At the very least, it is saving Christmas.
No comments:
Post a Comment