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 | | From: | Morticia | | Subject: | R.I.P. | | Date: | Fri, 21 Jan 2005 05:30:38 GMT |
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 | I lost a friend today.
A homeless stranger that I had the great fortune of meeting on the street.
I took him into my home without a second thought. Someone so gentle and
quiet and kind that I never heard a peep out of him the whole time he stayed
with us. No, he didn't help with the dishes or the vacuuming nor did he pick
up after himself. I didn't mind his indolence at all, as I knew that he was
injured and given the horrific circumstances of our meeting, possibly more
than a little depressed.
I have been there my friend, so I knew what he was going through and left
him alone for the most part. He seemed to perk up the first day once the
chill had left his undernourished body and took to slowing plodding around
and around in circles in my house, aimlessly, restlessly and without
purpose. It was about then that I noticed that he was limping. Upon
inspection I noted that his toes were turning black on one foot.
Frostbite.
Because of the snow in the yard holding us prisoner it was out of the
question to take him to the hospital. No, that was not an option. It was
going to take a bit of careful home surgery to save him and I was certainly
up to the task. After all, what else could I do? The black flesh was inching
up his leg at an alarming rate. So rolling up my sleeves and grabbing my
smallest, sharpest scissors, I began.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v305/digital_reality/sal.jpg
I had no anesthetic to give him, you see. And even if I did, I wouldn't know
what dosage to give him, as he was so small and frail and emaciated.
I cooed softly to him as I held him still and taking my sharp little
scissors in hand I saw his eyes grow wider in fright. I whispered to him,
There there, little one. I will be as gentle and as quick as possible. I
snipped the blackened toes off and stopped to survey my handiwork. No, that
wasn't enough. Snipped higher up. Snipped again. At the last snip the ankle
was off and the blackened flesh was gone.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v305/digital_reality/missingfoot.jpg
Whether he felt any pain I do not know. I myself felt a pang of guilt from
causing him more distress than he had already been through in his short
brutal life, brave little soldier. By rights, he should have been under the
pond mud situated in the cow field at the side of our road. It was January
and brutally cold out for a baby salamander and he had no business being on
the road that day. He was with us for 2 weeks in total and during that whole
time, despite my trying to entice him with cut up house flies and live baby
ladybugs, he ate not a thing. Slowly he wasted away till he was no more.
I cried a bitter tear for him, shaking my salamander-clutching fist at the
sky and shouting WHY GHOD WHY?? Why not take ME? Why take an innocent
creature, no more than a babe? Resignedly, I gathered him up in my arms to
say my goodbye. But what to do with his little corpse? It seemed undignified
and wasteful to flush him down the toilet and he was way too small to make
into a finger puppet.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v305/digital_reality/salfinger.jpg
I pondered this conundrum for a while until I hit on the perfect solution. I
dropped him out the bathroom window on top of the oil tank so that I could
watch him reposing on the crusted snow after I had my daily bowel movement
but before I gave myself a wipe. I miss that poor fellow. I go now, to drink
a bottle of vodka in his honor.
Rest in peace my moist little friend.
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