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

Today I drove by a squirrel on the road. He had been hit, his back end flattened and stuck to the road. His front end was alive and trying to escape. Looking as though he was doing push ups, he worked at the pavement with his forequarters, seeking release from his unpleasant wedding to the asphalt. His mouth was open and I could see his tongue. If he had been on my side of the road I would have hit him to finish the deed. Alas he was on the other side, and cars were swerving to avoid striking him.
The squirrel was gone in a flash, I looked back in my mirror, and he was still doing his push ups. I felt sick, as I always do when seeing an animal struck by a car. It seems like such an unjust end. Although I have ended the lives of many animals for many different reasons, I cringe at the thought of an animal under a wheel. I include in this the thought of people under wheels, or over hoods, it all seems too tragic.
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These kinds of deaths affect me in a mysterious way. It has always been the case. Once, in an effort to comfort me my sister Mia told me a story about road kills. She insisted that these animals had conceived of a divine mission, and their practice included darting under the wheels of selected automobiles. To actually die under the chosen vehicle was a great honor and secured that animal a place in their species’ version of heaven. She painted a wonderful picture of the chipmunk, wearing a Toyota medallion around its neck, waiting for the ‘right’ vehicle to drive by. Maybe he would lose his nerve at the last minute or maybe the driver would take evasive maneuvers. In either case the little chipmunk would be left shamed and sorrowful to have failed.
It is a wonderful story, and not the only one I have heard. I hit a squirrel once on my way to a dog show. I arrived distraught, and Deb calmly told me that it was very good luck to hit an animal on the way to a dog show. In fact a cat apparently was the best animal to hit. Deb can be so earnest that she could convince the devil not to sin, so I took her word. When my dog went on to take Best of Winners, Deb was there, smiling in a smug way, “I told you so!”
Just recently I struck a chipmunk on the way home from a dog show. Ian was with me, and was savoring his puppy’s first big win. The death of the chipmunk totally ruined his mood. First I told him Mia’s story, then I told him what Deb had said, to which he replied that we were on our way home. “Same thing, same day,” I blithely responded, but I could tell it did not work for Ian. When we got home we took a cup of gerbil food and left it on the rock at the end of the driveway. This offering of a free lunch to some animal made Ian smile, but it did not erase the memory of that terrible thud under the wheel.

This piece was written a few months following the death of Steve Irwin. I have sat on it largely because reading it makes me sad. Since it was written, Ian has been and gone to Africa, so now both of my sons have lived in Africa, something I believe all Americans need to accomplish- and I am not talking about a poofy safari, but a ground level experience. I continued to use Croc talk this year in my classroom, but wonder what will happen as the years go by. I still have not found a nature show that touches me, and actually have encountered a few that are profoundly troubling, including the whole ‘reality’ side of ‘man’ in the natural setting.

It was one of those news moments, where you lunge for the volume. The news was bad enough that I pulled over to hear the two minute report. Two minutes for a man who changed the face of ecology. I have been sulking about this since I heard, and my heart goes out to his family. My husband is a firefighter, and I know every time he goes to work there is an unfortunate chance that he might not come home. He points out that I am a teacher, and the risks of being shot, stabbed, or pushed down the stairs continues to rise. I can only hope that Steve’s wife had made her peace with her husband’s close relationship with death and had not fallen prey to the idea that he was invincible which is certainly how he was depicted on television.
Over the week I have heard the usual commentary that is released after someone dies. Being the controversial character he was, some people have taken the opportunity to rank on Mr. Irwin. To them I say, shame on you. Perhaps these older adults do not have access to children. For years now, all I had to do was break into an Aussie accent when I lifted an animal out of its cage (particularly a snake) and the students would all say ‘Crikey’ and smile at one another. Soon the whole classroom would be indulging in that trademark accent, smiling and treating their classroom animals with a new respect.
Complex work with brain scans has determined that learning occurs best when the subject is smiling. Research has shown that if students can make clear links between learning in school and something from home (yes, even TV.) they tend to retain that information for a longer period of time. This perhaps explains why students can recall lyrics to songs, lines from movies, and great video game moves. Psychological research shows that empathy is vital to appropriate psychosocial development. There are three cheers for Steve Irwin. I know for a fact that imitating him allowed me to turn otherwise dry observations of the natural world into fun and enthusiastic lessons. I won’t be able to do it this year, because it will make me cry.
The tears started when I saw a political cartoon that shows a stingray hovering, tears welling, its’ thought bubble states, “I’m sorry Steve. I didn’t know it was you.” Listening to the radio commentary made me sad, reading the editorials made me mad, that cartoon let me in on the grief. It is silly, I know, to grieve for a man that I never met, but he was the last of a group of three men who helped to create my world-view.