I'm typing this on my iphone, wasting battery life. We've been three days without power. The lines are down in the field and the equines are not amused, as they've been locked up in a teensy dry lit the entire time. I've been hauling water to them by hand. Horses drink a lot. But at least they appreciate me. And really, I'd give anything to be heaving water for four hooved ones, not just three. Still having sobby moments over that matter. Probably will for a while yet.
The cats think this is the best sleepover ever. All but SealCat, who's shown us that she maintains an unholy hatred for the sound of the bedroom phone ringing. With no power, that's the only phone that works. It rings. SealCat growls. It rings. SealCat growls. This goes on until the phone is either answered or the call is swallowed by whatever strange ether exists to consume phone calls that ring through to answering machines that can't function. Perhaps that phone has taken possession of a little girl named Carol-Ann and SealCat is the only one who can hear her asking about the light.
Really, that's what all of us want to know. When will we have light? Power? Running water??? Yeah, no idea. The latest news suggests maybe Sunday, or Monday. *sigh* So much technology, and they're thrown totally off when they can't use it. Not that I really blame the linemen. I know precisely how hard it is to lug stuff by hand over this kind of terrain. I'm doing it daily for my horses.
But I CAN tell you this: Scarlet (The Lunar Chronicles) is an AMAZING read!!! I'm tucked into When We Wake, and might end up reading it cover to cover. And it's kinda fun to write by lamplight. As long as you don't have to do it for a week...
Also, apparently it is impossible to 'tag' this post using my phone. Poop on you, technology.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Beauty in Darkness...
I stood within a swirling maelstrom of snowflakes, their gossamer flickering a brilliant contrast to the depthless black of the surrounding night. Di remained unmoving, her head pressed into the length of my side, ardent breaths seeping into my coveralls and warming my hip.
Those moments of unity remain wielded to my heart. Stretching back to the beginning of time, and out into all the days of the future, even beyond my own small existence in the world. Because life is ephemeral but love is infinite.
Within an hour Di would be dead.
The snow waned. The halcyon moment faded. The pain returned. Di left my side, once more pacing back and forth, me trailing along on the end of the shank. When she lay down, I let her, intervening only when she tried to roll. No drugs I had could alleviate her discomfort. The situation was beyond that.
The vet was already on his way, but I knew what the end result would be even before he confirmed it. A section of Di's small intestine had twisted, the tissue dying. Sometimes surgery is an option, but under even the best circumstances, the success rate hovers around just 50%. For my sweet Di, even getting to the clinic was an insurmountable obstacle. She couldn't bear to stand for more than a few minutes at a time.
Once the vet arrived, we dosed her heavily with the strongest painkilling narcotics available to medical personnel. They gave her only minutes of relief. Just long enough for us to confirm diagnostically that Di's intestines had twisted, and would soon rupture, causing even greater pain (inconceivable, considering what I knew she was already going through) then septicemia, shock and, eventually, death.
Our course of action was clear. Di deserved the kind of mercy that comes from letting go, rather than hanging on. So we set her free.
My sister Rachel, and close friend and coworker Bekah were already there. They'd come for Di, as much as for me. Because that's what you do when you love horses. You rush toward the impossible. Brace steadfastly against the unbearable. You endure the unendurable.
And then you go on.
With, or without the horse you loved, depending on which way fate decided to swing, but always with the memories of those moments of unity when you and the horse were one creation. One being in two bodies.
It is so with all of life. We occupy these bodies and this place for only the briefest of spans. Some even briefer than others. But the moments of connection between our souls and the souls of others, human and animal both, cannot be confined within a paltry lifetime. Those connections exist infinitely. And as painful as everyday life can sometimes be, we always have those moments to fall back on and remember.
No matter how dark the world around us gets, there is always beauty within it, always the speckled light of the souls we've already met, and the glimmer of those we have yet to meet.
Those moments of unity remain wielded to my heart. Stretching back to the beginning of time, and out into all the days of the future, even beyond my own small existence in the world. Because life is ephemeral but love is infinite.
Within an hour Di would be dead.
The snow waned. The halcyon moment faded. The pain returned. Di left my side, once more pacing back and forth, me trailing along on the end of the shank. When she lay down, I let her, intervening only when she tried to roll. No drugs I had could alleviate her discomfort. The situation was beyond that.
The vet was already on his way, but I knew what the end result would be even before he confirmed it. A section of Di's small intestine had twisted, the tissue dying. Sometimes surgery is an option, but under even the best circumstances, the success rate hovers around just 50%. For my sweet Di, even getting to the clinic was an insurmountable obstacle. She couldn't bear to stand for more than a few minutes at a time.
Once the vet arrived, we dosed her heavily with the strongest painkilling narcotics available to medical personnel. They gave her only minutes of relief. Just long enough for us to confirm diagnostically that Di's intestines had twisted, and would soon rupture, causing even greater pain (inconceivable, considering what I knew she was already going through) then septicemia, shock and, eventually, death.
Our course of action was clear. Di deserved the kind of mercy that comes from letting go, rather than hanging on. So we set her free.
My sister Rachel, and close friend and coworker Bekah were already there. They'd come for Di, as much as for me. Because that's what you do when you love horses. You rush toward the impossible. Brace steadfastly against the unbearable. You endure the unendurable.
And then you go on.
With, or without the horse you loved, depending on which way fate decided to swing, but always with the memories of those moments of unity when you and the horse were one creation. One being in two bodies.
It is so with all of life. We occupy these bodies and this place for only the briefest of spans. Some even briefer than others. But the moments of connection between our souls and the souls of others, human and animal both, cannot be confined within a paltry lifetime. Those connections exist infinitely. And as painful as everyday life can sometimes be, we always have those moments to fall back on and remember.
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