Having been really sick in my tiny home i wasn’t sure how to gage the amount of time that should pass before i asked somebody to come into the space of contagion to help me work on all the dead or malfunctioning appliances. I decided not to ask my coworker’s uncle from up the road to come try to get the stripped screw out of the dryer. Right before i was sick the septic tank became an issue and then right after i fell ill the refrigerator broke. Also the shock absorbers on the car went. It was one of those things you know? when it rains it pours. I had my hands full with the dryer debacle and then seemingly the other items on the homestead all went, “me too, me too, i need attention too!” I wrote everything down and made my calls and scheduled various relatives of coworkers or friends to come out and give me a hand once i got better until the refrigerator broke. My reasoning was that i couldn’t wait to replace the fridge. That would be something i needed to do immediately. Around this time my grandmother decided to gift me the money to replace the appliances. She and my mother have a saying regarding the homestead, “i’m glad you’re happy but i like to be in civilization.” Well, usually i prefer my way but i’d be lying if i said i didn’t like the civilization way of doing things this time around. I was going to fuss and swear and sweat over these wretched uncooperative appliances some more until i sussed out what was wrong, removed the pieces in question, ordered parts, and put them back together. It sounds easier than it is because nothing goes according to plan. Some screw always gets stuck or you’ve misdiagnosed the problem or the part you ordered doesnt actually fit because contrary to the seller’s belief, it is not compatible with that model number. I had several months of fixing things ahead of me. Instead i just ordered new appliances on homedepot.com. They deliver, install, and take the old one away for a 40 dollar fee. I bought a new stacked front loading samsung washer and dryer arriving on the 20th of this month. The refrigerator was not available until November 23. So i am limited what grocery items i can buy until then, but, there wasn’t really a choice. It was no fridge or fridge on November 23, so i ordered it. I told myself it would give me something to be super thankful for on Thanksgiving. I knew it would take me more than a month to figure out how to fix it myself. Really anything involving a cooling system went over my head. Science class was not my forte in school. In fact it was the thing i was usually failing. I just couldnt understand non-concrete concepts. So, a/c units and refrigerators were a bit out of my league. If backed into a corner i’d figure it out eventually but it might take me half a year so if there was any other way, it seemed like i might better take it. Who is that guy who builds flashing glitter bomb skunk spray decoy packages for porch pirates? Or Otto from that Alaska the Last Frontier show….if i was either of them things would be different but alas im not. The broken fridge was a Frigidaire and it had been some level of broken when i moved in. The freezer went through cycles of freeze and thaw which spoiled fish and made it difficult to maintain ice packs. I figured it couldn’t hurt to try the other option for my price range so i went with the LG. Its just a basic refrigerator but if it works it will be a most treasured item on the homestead. So that there is the civilization way. You click some buttons, enter your personal info, pay, and not only do they deliver it to your house but they install it and they haul the old one away. I’d say this is a rare time when i agree with my mother and grandmother. This one time, the city way of doing things was pretty nifty. I still can’t believe they’ll deliver out here. I’d be lying if i said it wasn’t a huge relief to be done with fixing things for a bit. I do it out of necessity, not love of the process. This is probably the best early Christmas present i’ve ever received. I am really beyond grateful. It feels good to have something checked off the list during this season.
I wasn’t feeling too good when i went to bed last night. I buried my face in Sili’s fur, pulled the blanket around me, and hid from life. Something made me roll over and when i did i noted what i first mistook as a flashlight shining through the window. As logic returned to me i realized it wasn’t a flashlight at all. It was a brilliantly illuminated full moon. As it rose it moved higher in the window but remained just as impressive. i usually liked to water the plants during a full moon because it lit the yard so well you didnt need the lantern but i had watered the plants two hours early due to illness and wanting to be inside by the time the temperature became cooler.
It rained for a week and the weeds grew but the grass remains dead for lack of water. It’s so patchy i’m not sure it’s worth mowing. The bushy part next to the well house is the bit that i leave every year so the butterflies and bees can enjoy the naturally occurring thistles.
I woke up this morning after having a terrifying dream. i was outside speaking to someone as the wind whipped my hair into my face and pulled at my clothes. The house creaked and groaned with each blustery gust. The unknown person which im fairly sure was a tv character i’d seen on an internet clip of Yellowstone was showing me the weather forecast for where he was going to be for the next week. The phone showed “low 0* high 1*” under all 7 days. I chuckled and shook my head, “Boy i’m sure glad that i live in Texas and not wherever you’re going.” He looked at me with confusion written on his face. He said, “No, that’s for here. Read the top of the screen. I’m staying up the road for the next week.” My stomach dropped open and i grabbed the screen from his hands. Sure enough, the forecast was local. “How could this be,” i thought? The man said, “What do you think all this wind is about? It’s blowing in right now!!” I frantically scrolled through the hourly report. He wasn’t wrong. There was no time! It would be 30 degrees within the hour! How would i get all the plants covered?! What about the fruit trees, the aloe vera?! Oh i had to hurry. As i ran through the yard towards the shed to get the blankets the man disappeared and it was like a time lapse ensued…the clouds flew across the sky in fast motion, the position of the sun changed, the weather became overcast and it began to snow. I was outside rushing to get blankets over the trees and it was too late. How could this be happening? In a matter of minutes the weather went from 65 to 30 and now there was snow falling on everything. In my desperation i tripped over one of the blankets and fell. I was sitting on the ground tangled in the blankets which weren’t on the completely exposed young fruit trees when a huge gust of wind slammed into the side of the house and i sat straight up in bed. The wind had been real. The house was moaning and creaking in real life as well. It was 8 oclock. I had slept through dawn. I had slept through the 8 oclock alarm and Cashew was doing what i’d trained her to do: howl until mom actually gets up when the alarm goes off. Sili was tucked beneath my arm under the blanket which was sweet because she had wanted to sleep on my feet. I had felt really crummy and i asked her to sleep on the pillow cuddled up near me. I remembered her sniffing my hair and tucking her muzzle against my face as i drifted off to sleep using her fur as a pillow. Apparently she had stayed put even though she prefers to be free of the blankets when the weather is warm. I unzipped the mosquito net tent and went straight to the front door windows to look out. As i drew the curtain to the side with my hand i noted that there was no snow in the yard. It was 55 degrees. The forecast stated it would be 80 degrees in a few hours. I turned off the alarm and fed Cashew her dog crackers as a reward for howling until i woke up. I took my temperature with the thermometer housed in a sandwich bag because i don’t understand why i should pay extra money for thermometer covers when plastic bags are essentially the same thing and i already have them. My temperature read 97.9. It was the first time in 5 days that i didn’t have a fever. I tried to slowly and calmly let the dogs and chickens out and get them situated with food and water without doing anything taxing or strenuous. Then i ate all the alkalinizing foods; the oranges, the seaweed, the kale/potato/onion/mushroom mixture. I drank my elderberry syrup, colloidal silver, and all my vitamins. I made a decision that i would do very little today. I would monitor my temperature and let my boss know if it stayed around 97…which was normal for me. I noticed i could breathe a bit easier and my headache was gone. Perhaps this was a return to the world of the well. I sooooo wanted to rejoin that world. I was tired of this madness. And so began the struggle to keep myself still for 12 hours so that this could continue to be a much better day than the past 5. I watched a lot of “the people’s court.” That judge will never know how much her show is appreciated. She has these sayings that she sprinkles in here and there that i write down if i find them relevant. Today so far we have “the devil knows more from being ancient than he does from being the devil” and when she wanted to tell a litigant that she had created a situation she said, “the mangoes and rice that you have created…it means you don’t know where the grain of rice ends and the mango begins…”. It sounds way more impressive when she says it in rapid fire spanish but i digress. I do like watching her no nonsense command of the courtroom, so, that is what is on the menu for today…watching the people’s court, taking vitamins, drinking nasty liquids, monitoring my temp, and hopefully staying at 97.9 or below. I usually sit around 97.3 or 97.5. I took my temperature a few minutes ago and it was 97.5. Things are looking up. As for the dream i usually have some form of temperature panic every fall, after the temperatures start dropping in the mornings and before the first freeze. You dont have to think about monitoring the forecast for a number of months and then it can be an adjustment to get back into it. I think it was a bit of runaway weather anxiety as i noted the mornings dipping below 60 and sensed the coming of winter but it doesnt usually freeze until after halloween.
This strain is much more benign. At this point its a glorified head cold, but a glorified head cold i can’t get rid of. There is a cough, a deep voice, mucus, a splitting headache, fever, and fatigue. The fatigue is impressive. After every little exertion i end up sleeping a couple hours. Standing at the counter and slicing onion rounds is grounds for a nap. The fever is the other thing that wont let up. Just when i think i’m on the mend, the evening chores have to be done and as soon as i do them i have a fever again. Every little bit of work sets me backwards. Well, there are no sick days on a homestead. Everyone still needs fed and watered. This is day 4. I’m bored out of my mind and i want to go back to work. I need to go to the post office, home depot, and the laundromat. Lets go lets go lets go immune system. What r ya doin?!
In a small town in which i work there is a little storefront in which sits a register and straight before that is a sleeping boxer named Maverick. He is a bit scarred and has a swollen paw. He has been both run over by a car and attacked by an itty bitty barker. He’s seen some ****. And through it all he has remained a gentle giant. He is a very mellow guy that just sits beneath the register all day waiting for someone to come in and shower him with pets and cuddles. If you like, his owner will produce a leash and you can walk him. Only in a small town. I can’t wait for Wednesday. I’m going back to get my healthy dose of doggy kisses, to say hi to a good boy and give some well-deserved belly scratches while a new friend holds my arm with his paw.
Before the pandemic i would only include beautiful movies with happy endings in my collection. Now i include anything that invokes a feeling. I was trying to figure out why. My conclusion is this: when you see mass amounts of fear, anger, suffering, relief, sadness…. At a point you become desensitized to it all. You throw the towel in on human emotions and the experience of them doesnt hit the same way it did before. There is a tendency to say “oh well the whole thing has gone to the crapper anyways, what does it matter to make sense of any of it now?” So if a movie is beautifully shot, has a message, and can transport me to a different place…captivate my attention…it now goes in the collection whether it ends in joy or tragedy, because nowadays the struggle is to feel anything deeply, not just the good.
A young man asks a woman in a professional uniform exiting an expensive foreign car for a donation for his organization. She smiles sheepishly and replies “not today.” He repeats her answer back to her loudly and shakes his head in front of people passing by. He exchanges a look with his comrade. He’s got her type pegged. All that wealth and no heart for others. The young man is pretty proud of himself, shaming the woman for her flippant answer. She should be generous. Obviously she has the money to give if she can afford a car like the one she drives. What the young man does not know is that the car is the last remnant of a life she once had, before her circumstances changed. That the windshield wiper fluid pump, the trunk door, and the key fob are all broken and she hasnt had the ability to fix them, that the interior of the car is smeared with flood water mud from two years ago that she hasnt spent the cash to clean. It looks shiny and expensive from the outside. What the young man is unaware of is that she is just returning to work part time in her professional uniform, that she has been making minimum wage for the past two years and has been relying on others to carry her from bill to bill because her paycheck falls short. What the young man fails to realize is that the reason the woman said no to him was because now that she has a small profit in her pocket, that money is earmarked for the produce warehouse that fed her for free when she had enough money for the mortgage or food but not both, because others left money that was used to cover her veggies, for the listener supported radio station that played the christian songs her soul needed to hear when there was no hope left on her darkest days, and for the pastor whose sermons she’s been listening to for free for two years because she hasn’t had the money to pay up front for his knowledge and spiritual wisdom… member donations being the source of his salary in a very small church. What he doesnt know is that the money she couldnt give him is not for her but for others. I tell this story so that people will realize, you never know what is going on in someone’s life. God may already be at work. He has many gardeners spreading and watering seeds. Don’t cut down a sapling because it is in the way of you planting a seed when the end goal is a forest of trees.
I was leaving the house at 4 am every morning so i could get to the nursing home at 4:50, take a ten minute nap in the car, and go in to assist patients with dressing and toileting tasks while they got ready for breakfast.
At the time i was worried about somebody and they were apparently on my mind when i reclined my seat and took that ten minute nap before work in the dark one morning because i had this dream.
I was sitting in a restaurant outdoor patio garden that looked just like my friend’s yard and it was very late at night. We were finishing up our food when a mutual friend’s cousin who had been telling us all he wanted to die wrapped a noose around his neck and jumped from an iron stairwell fence railing. He free-fell for a moment and then gravity did its job and his body tugged hard on the rope, jolting the corpse and breaking the man’s neck. I watched the whole thing happen before me and i screamed this prolonged multi-syllable scream like somehow my words were going to stop his actions, as if somehow i could communicate or interact with the scenario unfolding before my eyes. I couldn’t. The moment he jumped those that could see what was unfolding knew his neck snapping was shortly to follow and death was the inevitable conclusion of his initial action that had been put into motion and could not be undone. My friend wrapped her arms around me and tried to shush the noise escaping me for the man’s family member was bound to be more devastated and we were all trying to stuff our shock down in an effort to turn to and comfort the actual family member who would grieve him. I covered my open mouth with a trembling hand as i watched his lifeless body swing through the dark in the chilly night air. The finality, the instantaneous finality of the thing was so comprehended and i just kept thinking, i have to go back in time and stop this series of events. I have to stop him jumping. But it was done. And so he swung until the rope went still and he hung motionless. There was no wind. The night was absolutely still and now quiet. Just blackness in every direction. I awoke abruptly to the noise of an alarm and was in the darkness of my car. It was 5 am: time to go to work.
There are no pictures of this debacle as i was a bit too tied up with the events at hand to set up a camera to document the whole thing. I discovered lice crawling on my chickens one day when i parted their feathers while petting them and noticed these long, slender beige bugs just living their best lives sucking my chickens’ blood. Light colored combs, difficulty putting on weight, and white debris around the feather shafts can all be signs of poultry lice infestation. Daisy had a moderate amount of bugs on her while the rest of them seemed to only have a few here and there. I figured i should nip this in the butt while it was still manageable so i did some research and headed to the feed store for spray. They sold me the same spray they used on their own chickens and i was instructed to “soak” each chicken with the spray, aiming to get their skin and not just their feathers. I stared at the young man who had always been quite helpful to me at the local feed store. I asked, “How am i supposed to soak the chickens? At best only 3 will let me catch them and as soon as i start spraying they’re going to panic and death roll. i mean, how am i supposed to soak a fleeing chicken?” The young man said to me, “maybe do it at night when they’re all bedding down and kind of stationary.” Something told me this was not the problem solving brilliant idea it sounded like it would be. Something told me bedded down chickens could always wake up if they thought they were under attack. So i sought to get as many chickens sprayed as i could before nightfall, so i wouldnt have to work so hard in the dark. Of course the first chicken i sprayed was Daisy. She was the only one that would willingly climb in my lap. She did not disappoint and after a minimal amount of struggling she settled her head on my arm and let me spray her under her wings and around her vent, parting her feathers to soak her in this poultry lice killing fluid. She did still kick me at the end before fleeing in a mess of feathers but she sat still for a good amount of the spraying, voicing appreciation of the cool liquid on a very hot day and unappreciation of being pinned interchangeably. I then grabbed Rosie, who made a completely unnecessary amount of fuss and in all probability didnt even need it. I couldnt find a bug on her though she didnt really let me have a thorough look. she was a super fat chicken with a dark red comb and shiny feathers. Chickens try to keep poultry lice at bay themselves by taking dust baths and i made sure they had plenty of dust to roll around in at the back of the pen. Rosie was probably doing a good job of lice management by herself but without a proper look i couldnt be sure so she got deloused just like everybody else. She wiped a fair amount of it on my feet and clothes. I really expected ellis and oakley would be the hardest to treat but huge Ellis is very motivated by food. Thinking i might have some, she walked right up to my extended hand and into my trap. I clamped my hands down around her and pinned her between my knees as i parted feathers and sprayed things. I pinned her with an elbow and one knee and now sprayed under a wing and around her neck. I suddenly remembered that you were supposed to do the neck first so all the lice didnt just crawl immediately to the chickens head for safety knowing you cant spray the eyes. I was barely getting any spray on their skin. Most of it was soaking feathers. How the heck was i supposed to establish a barrier around the neck? It took me another hour to catch Lily and then surprisingly distrustful little oakley. It was Petunia that made me wait until nightfall to put the wet clothes back on and finish what i started by spraying the last chicken. As i made a decision to save Petunia for nightfall, i emerged from the chicken pen drenched in foul smelling liquid. I had bits of corn and feathers in my hair and on my clothes. I spent three hours in the house before placing the door on the chicken coop. I waited about five minutes. Then i opened the big door to the coop, identified Petunia with the lantern, and tried to catch her. she ran around in circles, knocking chickens off roosting bars, stepping over chickens, flying into chickens, flying into bars, walls, and a window. She almost escaped through my feet three times. Then there would have been no catching her and the activity would have been over before it started. I finally realized i was going to have to get dirty for this and i wrestled her down in the shavings and spent chicken feed. She squawked loudly, screaming bloody murder as if i was killing her as i sprayed her down. Daisy took heed and rushed to the rescue, running like she does in that signature velociraptor way chickens do. She waddle-ran over to me where she grabbed a vein in the back of my hand and tried to wrestle it from under my skin. I thought about pulling Daisy off of me but i recognized this would be an effective tactic to get me to release my grip on Petunia so she could make her escape. I refused to take the bait. Instead i continued to spray Petunia thoroughly as Daisy collapsed not one but two veins in the back of my left hand and created cuts in the skin that would still be trying to scab over a week later. The cuts became immediately infected and required raw organic coconut and tea tree oil to heal. The chickens covered my spray laden clothing in feathers, discarded feed, poop, and dirt. I am sure i looked very festive. I was trying not to inhale as they had kicked up a large amount of old bedding dust which could contain harmful spores from bacteria in their waste that could scar my lungs. I crawled out of the chicken coop with debris all over my clothes and in my hair, blood and poop on my hand, and spray all over my glasses and neck. The final chicken was done. All had been sprayed. Yes, i deloused the chickens. I had done my duty. They would all be somewhat protected now. I called the feed store and asked about how often i would need to repeat this ritual with the chickens to keep them lice free. The young man answered cheerfully, “oh about once a week.” I stared at the chickens from where i stood in the grass, “round two next monday.” They looked about as excited for the event as i was.
I was outside working in the yard one day when i noticed a pop of color underneath the car. It was a butterfly! I was immediately terrified i’d run him over or hit him with the grill of the car earlier when i’d parked, since that was where i found him, beneath the front of the car. He was laying in the dirt. Ants were gathering around him. He was kind of crawling on his side. I say he but i have no idea what gender the butterfly was. His wings were fully intact and beautiful. I knew that older butterflies sported dull colored wings and his were bright and vibrantly patterned, so he was not an elderly butterfly. I was careful not to touch his wings as the oils from my hands would make it so he could never fly again. Instead, i offered my finger to his sideways splayed legs and the butterfly grabbed on. His legs held me tightly and curved to grip my finger as i lifted him off the ground and over the porch. I was surprised he didnt let go the whole way to the house as his wings hung draped to the side. I laid him on a wooden chair on the porch. It was only then that i realized the extent to which he was infested with ants. I had to get them off of him. I also couldnt touch him or he’d never be able to fly again. All i could think of was water. I said to the butterfly, “Hold on, i’ve got to get these ants off you. I have an idea. Hold on here. I’ll be right back.” I filled a cup with well water and returned to the chair on the porch where these horrible ants were seemingly killing the butterfly. I poured the water over the butterfly and the ants floated out from underneath him, then climbed right back on. I had to really flood the spot where the butterfly lay struggling to wash all the ants out from under him. A few were seemingly inside his body cavity. I didn’t understand where they had come from. Once the ants were flushed out they began tracing their scent trail back to the butterfly so i smooshed them all with the edge of the cup or my fingers. I decided to look up what kind of butterfly i had as a guest on my porch and name it. I had to have something to call this new visitor in crisis. The butterfly turned out to be a black swallowtail which i named “Blue” for the brilliant pop of color on his wings. Blue flapped around in circles while laying sideways and wiggling his legs.
After around fifteen minutes of this it became apparent to me that Blue was not going to make a miraculous recovery once rid of the ants and fly away. Blue was hurt in some way. I first examined Blue’s abdomen, as it was where i had seen two ants crawl out of. I could see strings of orange goo on Blue’s legs and hanging from his abdomen. I wasn’t sure what to make of his condition. His wings were so bright and colorful, perfectly intact, not a scratch or a tatter anywhere on them. And yet he was clearly injured in some way. As Blue twirled around on his side i got a good look at his underside and realized it was hollowed out. Something had seemingly taken his guts out and now his abdomen was shriveled and hollow save for the strings of orange goo he was dragging around. I was unsure whether these were his guts or whether this was a poisonous substance secreted by a predatory animal that had victimized this butterfly. To my dismay the ants continued to follow their scent trails and find him. I doused him with more water. He seemed to welcome the water as it meant the ants were floating away and his legs relaxed each time the water flowed over him in a little wave. I then got a better look at Blue’s face. His head was half caved in. One eye was cracked open and the other intact but cloudy. It seemed something had crushed one side of his face. I realized that he couldn’t see. His little spiral curl tongue was in its resting position. I could see every little individual hair that collectively made his head and torso appear fuzzy. I had never seen a butterfly up close before. I sat and googled all the parasites and predatory animals that could cause a butterfly this kind of damage. I ruled out dragonflies, snakes, mice, praying mantises, birds, and lizards. The praying mantis would have eaten the head only and the rest of the aforementioned animals would have swallowed Blue whole. I had to focus on animals that would be more likely to eat Blue in pieces or just poison him and then leave him to the mercy of some opportunistic ants. I knew from my eyeballs that ants were an enemy of butterflies but it seemed unlikely that they themselves would have smashed Blue’s head open and crushed his eye. I felt the ants must have a similar relationship to butterflies as vultures have to deer. Wasps and spiders were both possible suspects. I did wonder if ants were capable of bringing down a butterfly or just scavenging someone else’s kill. The problem was that Blue was not dead. He was alive and the ants were carrying away pieces of his abdomen as he struggled to crawl around on his side. Blue was clearly broken. I decided to sit with him while he died. I kept the ants off of him and spoke softly to him about how wonderful and peaceful he would find heaven and that it was all going to be okay once he got where he was going and i would be here with him until he let go and made the journey. I continued to research what could hollow out a butterfly’s abdomen out of insatiable curiosity and a willingness to understand as i sat with him next to the chair on the porch, standing guard against the ants. Then google stated that butterflies could live without their abdomens. I took the phone into the house briefly to see the screen better and read the full article. The title was a bit misleading. Butterflies could live without their abdomen for a number of hours before inevitable death set in. My hopes dropped and i returned to the porch to sit with Blue. As time ticked on Blue remained alive and struggling around in circles on his side. Sometimes he would lie still but his legs would move. One common thread through all my research was that butterflies couldn’t feel pain. Every article stated that scientists had found no pain receptors in butterflies’ brains and so therefore they could not perceive pain. One article stated that butterflies could feel sensation and knew when something was touching them but since they had no pain receptors they could not know the sensation of pain. I sat with Blue for a long time. I watched his stiff legs shake and twitch. Every limb was extended and stiff in the air. He pulled a leg in towards him or tremored a bit from time to time. His movements appeared labored and strained. When his legs shook he reminded me of myself trying to deal with the pain of pcos before ultimately vomiting, passing out, and going to the ER for help with pain management. When your insides are in such a tremendous amount of pain and theres nothing you can do to get at it the natural reaction is to tense all your muscles and writhe. That was what i was watching Blue do.
Occasionally i was not quick enough to thwart the ants and they would crawl on him. While they were crawling on him he would remain stiff and his movements were slow and labored. When the ants crawled inside his abdomen and began tearing off chunks of him to take back to their nest Blue began to writhe uncontrollably, moving his little legs quickly and shaking at times. He appeared frantic. As soon as i got the ants out of him the movements became slower and more labored. I could use science to explain this and say the ants had found some muscle control center and were operating the butterfly’s legs from within the abdomen but even before the ants would tear off a chunk of him, he responded differently when the ants were just traveling over him than he did when the ants had climbed into his wound. The slow, labored, jerky movements and occasional tremor turned to quick frantic movements where his legs grasped at anything within reach and they flailed about rapidly as if to signal panic or crisis. Every time i removed the ants with water Blue’s legs relaxed and he flapped his wings once or twice while lying on his side.
The internet told me, “Don’t worry, your butterfly does not feel pain. Butterflies are incapable of perceiving pain.” I sat and watched Blue. It seemed pretty clear to me that the insect was suffering. His legs shook and tremored, extended and held their position for a moment before shaking or retracting and extending again. The ants were gone. So what was causing the strained movements of his legs now if not pain? I wondered how scientists could be so sure that there was an animal without any semblance of the survival warning system we knew as pain. What made them think butterflies could not perceive pain? Well, they found no pain receptors in butterflies’ brains when they cut them open. Are we sure we know where they are located in insects? Are we sure that the system is even anywhere similar to human anatomy? Maybe butterflies had some other way of perceiving and processing pain, not brain receptors. I was not a scientist and i tended to draw conclusions through observation of body language and behavior, not images on a slide. I put my face close to Blue’s and stared into his one crushed and remaining cloudy eye. I stared at his shriveled hollowed out abdomen. The movements of his legs reminded me so much of mine when i couldn’t any longer cope with the pain of pcos. They were tensed at all times and tremored and retracted during some moments. It became apparent to me at this point that Blue would be with me for hours before his passing. This was going to be an all day event. I knew what the internet said but in my heart i felt it was wrong. My eyeballs and instincts told me i was looking at an animal who was suffering, despite article after article telling me that Butterflies don’t perceive pain. I wondered why humans believed God would make only one animal without the ability to feel pain. I felt butterflies could perceive pain, we just didn’t understand how and so we vetoed the existence of the whole thing.
After watching Blue suffer for an hour i read that if i wanted to put a dying butterfly out of its non-existent misery i could place him in a ziploc bag and set him in the freezer. He would first feel cold, then warm, then drift to sleep and not wake up. I felt this was a kinder end for Blue than struggling all day on the chair while the ants continued to find him and rip chunks from his abdomen. I told him my plan. I spoke to Blue that it seemed his abdomen was missing and his face was smashed and he would not be making a recovery from this. I told him that the internet said he would feel cold and then warm and then drift off to sleep…take a nap that he wouldn’t wake up from, and then he would be with God in heaven. Blue did not seem afraid of me in the slightest. He never tried to crawl away from me and any time i gave him my finger he latched on with his legs and did not let go until i put him down at the destination. Blue trusted me. I sought to end his misery when i realized i couldn’t help him get back up on his feet. I brought out a little plastic sandwich bag and opened it, placing it next to his body. I looked for a stick to nudge him in with but there was no need. Blue climbed into the little baggy before my eyes. I wanted him to die of hypothermia, not suffocation, which is a very different and more cruel experience. So i made sure to trap a bubble of air in there with him. I told him not to worry, that he would be with God soon and relief was coming. I placed the baggy in the freezer. I looked in once as Blue was drifting into his eternal nap. I said goodbye. Then i closed the freezer again and Blue was frozen the next time i opened it. Blue was finally still. His body looked relaxed, peaceful…resting. His legs laid flat. I thought about the body language of the butterfly. It would have been read as agony in any other species. Why was i to believe it was not so in butterflies? I realize i am wrong in the eyes of science but i know what i saw. A butterfly in any other situation has a healthy fear of humans. You lower your standards to accept help from anyone that is willing to give in extremely painful situations, when you are desperate and weak and cannot manage to cope much longer. He let me transport him. He held on so tightly to my finger with his little legs and it wasnt an unconscious reflex because he let go when i placed him on the porch or on the chair. Throw me in jail if you must, i will believe to my dying day that all animals have the ability to perceive pain. It is a warning system to increase likelihood of survival. Why would God bestow some animals with this and not others? Is it not useful to everybody? My eyeballs tell me an animal is writhing and if it is writhing would it not be writhing for the same reason that the rest of us do (dogs, snakes, elephants, cats, fish, monkeys, scorpions), the perception of pain? I have watched many an insect battle out here and there is nothing you can say to me to convince me that animals with different anatomy feel no pain because they are not constructed in the way that we see humans are when we cut them open. I feel pain. Blue feels pain.
I said a prayer while Blue was dying in the freezer. I asked God to forgive me for killing one of his children and i asked that he receive Blue with open arms, end his suffering, and welcome him into an eternity of peace. While i was sitting outside the freezer keeping Blue company i realized why i could never drag a deer corpse off the highway. I had touched dozens of deceased people working in the nursing homes both in holding their hands while they passed and cleaning them up for their families to come in and see them one last time before they went to the morgue. Some families prefer to do this for closure and when they request we close the door and leave them in there until they can drive up to see them we first clean and bathe the body, brush their hair, dress them, and place new linens on the bed so they will look their best for their family to view them. This does not terrify me in the slightest but touching a corpse of a deer on the road, i have never been able to do. I finally realized why. I viewed myself as an animal more than a human. Butterflies, cotton tails, deer…they all seemed like my species to me. Humans i understood much less inherently. Humans were not my people. And so when one died it was easier for me to tend to them with empathy because this was just another part of the job. Their death did not strike fear into my heart. But animals i identified with more than humans. I saw myself in their behaviors. When i see a deer dead on the road i think i see myself in that corpse more than a human who has passed on. As strange as it sounds, this registers as a corpse to me while the other one is a somber series of steps that need to be completed with respect and care for the sake of the soul that once occupied the body, the personality you had come to know and will miss, and for the sake of the family members who will be devastated by the loss. I should mention that this in no way means i don’t feel sadness when a human i have cared for over years dies. It simply means i don’t see myself in them. I mourn humans and animals alike when they leave. Its just, something additional is happening when i look at deceased animals. There is a personal fear that i have not yet overcome when i realize… “some day, that will be me.” I think my brain expects to die in the woods where the vultures will peck my eyes out and the coyotes will do what they do, instead of in a bed in a gown where an embalmer will take me apart and put me back together. Ideally, i will die in the woods. I don’t want to die in a building. I want to be an animal just like the deer and the cottontails. I want to go back to the earth when it’s my time.
