Minot's Ledge: Paramedics, Pitbulls, Ponies, and Poultry

Previously published in The American Orchid Society Magazine May 2004: winner of the 2003 Gordon W. Dillon/Richard C. Peterson Memorial Essay Award

I feel like a border collie. Eyes glued on the plants I gently herd them about, twisting a pot, picking off a dead flower, nudging another plant back into place. As I move around the growing tables the plants hum their appreciation. “Honey, you are not listening to me.” The words cut into my reverie, the hum apparently not coming from the plants but rather my beloved spouse JP. I can’t look away from my latest acquisition, a stunning white cattleya from Hawaii. Without turning I respond honestly that no, I was not listening and apologize. Then, before he can draw in a breath I implore him to investigate the aroma of this latest plant, distracting him from what might have been a timely reprimand.

So there I stood, angel food cake in hand, frozen with shock. How had this come to pass? What evil had visited that I should be standing in the garage, clad in fuzzy slippers and jammies, surveying a wall of putrid flesh? Even as I paused there was ooze seeping across the floor, threatening aforementioned slippers. “The cake, I must save the cake”, flashed through my scattered thoughts, and I fled.
The disaster had slipped in unannounced, possibly as many as three days prior. Perhaps a circuit breaker, or a power outage had precipitated the event. Whatever the cause, I now had a freezer fully defrosted, while still half full. This is no ordinary freezer. It is big enough to hold a cow, I know because I used to put one inside every year. Cut up of course, but nine hundred pounds of meat is no laughing matter. The freezer had come from Lorraine, who felt I needed it to make my life simpler. “Buy in bulk,” she advised, “You will save money.” This has not always proven to be the truth.

Flutie Galloping Away

“Look at him, he just doesn’t want to move anymore, I think he’s given up.” These were the words that would seal Flutie’s fate, the end to a long story. Painful words spoken by my friend Sara. Words regarding her horse, true words, but painful nonetheless, the words of someone who has decided to put an animal down. Flutie, oblivious, continued to eat his hay, not the picture of a horse on the edge of a grave.
Putting an animal down is a difficult process. There are so many reasons, both good and bad, and many animals travel that road. It was actually one of the things that put me off becoming a vet. Working as a vet’s assistant I saw animals put down because they were unwanted, because their illness was too much trouble for the owner. Any vet can tell you horror stories about euthanasia.
Even the language is peculiar: ‘put down’ or ‘put to sleep’ as if it were that simple. It is death; the practitioner has to kill the animal, which exacts a personal toll from the vet. I have slaughtered my own animals for their meat; I have killed puppies that suffered from physical defects. These killings were separated by time and space, a luxury that is not enjoyed in a busy vet practice.
As with any highly emotional topic, there are opinions on all sides. For each owner that will put an animal to sleep to be rid of it there is an owner who will pay thousands to keep an aged animal clinging to life. Then there are people use euthanasia to ease an animal’s pain. Lots of people would argue that we have no right to make such a decision, that an animal has the right to die at Nature’s hand.
If you want to confuse the issue further, just bring up the topic of euthanasia in humans. The same people who defend an animal’s right to a natural death may defend the right for people to choose euthanasia. Death with dignity, rather than the ignoble death that one might suffer at the hands of Alzheimers or AIDS. If dignity is what is important about how one dies, than what is the difference for the sufferer, be it human or dog? When a dog dies after a long battle with cancer, a cancer that leaves him weak, unable to walk, incontinent, or even demented, has he died with dignity? If the owner intervenes while the dog still possesses some vestige of normalcy, is that death dignified? It is still death, and each creature must face death in its own way.

Are all Porcupines created equal?
We have a new resident on the property. Living as we do, between the Conway State Forest and Protected Watershed land, we get a lot of wild visitors. Most are just passing through. Some are regulars, like the fox Reynard, and the exceptionally large grey coyote. Others are seasonal, including the moose and deer. There is an endless supply of birds, from the tiny hummingbirds all the way up to a Great Grey Owl, who is very far from home.
Over time we have come to know them all. It is hard not to be fascinated by the hummingbirds, as they lay claim to the Monarda plants. We even had a hummingbird sport- totally black and white plumage- for several years. This bird left a genetic footprint on the colors of our local population as he assisted in the production of several clutches. The owls take over the deck at night, using it as a staging area for hunting. Their wild variety of calls keeps me company during my sleepless nights.
The porcupines, like the beavers, largely keep to their own locations, rarely venturing onto our property. We see them down at the pond or on the side of the road. After many years, certain individuals do stand out and become recognizable. This is why the presence of a porcupine in the yard was notable.
It would have been one thing if this were a ‘normal’ porcupine; then it would have moved through the yard, a one-time thing. JP spotted it first, at the bottom of the yard. He told me that we had a ‘retarded’ porcupine. What he meant was the quill pig moved slowly, and reacted strangely to stimuli. We were both worried that the animal was ill, or injured, and so when I cam home we went in search of the pig.