Poor Little Martha Chicken

A raccoon tried to kill Martha and hadn't quite succeeded when Schuyler interrupted, so Schuyler had to finish the job which was certainly upsetting. I don't suppose he has killed anything before. It is so hard to be in that position. Is it because we are removed from killing, because the only life and death situations we see are those on tv shows in which it is shown to be necessary to try at all costs to prevent death. Is it because our only other job of responsible caretaker is with pets and, starting with this generation, we are urged to try at all costs to prevent death. We are given to understand that even in war, when we do unspeakable things to kill and maim the enemy, when we put at risk our own soldiers, then we must patch them up and must try at all costs to prevent death, and then pretend that there is nothing worse than death.

When we take on the responsibility for any living creature, we are responsible for the death as well as for the life. The death part always goes so hard. Maybe that's it - if you do everything possible, then you can feel that you have discharged your responsibility. You have allayed it by spending money. I think that the responsibility extends to making the decision, or however many decisions are necessary, about how much to do and when to stop and whether or not to do the killing yourself. It seems way easier to spend the money but way kinder, and much more difficult, to make a decision that ends suffering.

Now, if I can only learn to feel what I believe.

She seemed so strong and alive as I held her. Perhaps she could have been saved again. Obviously, she would have ended up a one eyed chicken, and removing that eye would have necessitated the involvement of a veterinarian, and chickens are not pets. Furthermore, what suffering would be involved. She seemed fine last time, recovering from the wound to her neck. Poor tame little chicken with the strange deformed feet. What is one's responsibility to a chicken. It is to keep her safe, and we did not do that.

5/18/10

Sixty years old today, and not a twin anymore.

5/9/10

I don't think about Batman anymore. I don't post on Craig's List for China. I don't really miss my mother, due to her having declined over many years, I think. I do miss my father although I don't think about him often. I do miss him even though I am hurt every time I think of him not mentioning me in those newspaper interviews. So, there you go. I think I have a big pool of sadness inside me but I don't go look at it very often. I suppose that's the survival thing, that it can't keep hurting forever. Robby died on 26 April. I saw him on the 23rd, 24th, and 25th. It was very strange. It was strange to know that he was dying and it was super strange to have it all happening in a sort of weird party atmosphere. Now I have been given to understand that I either actually offended someone or maybe just that someone thought I acted inappropriately. I guess I was supposed to join in the hugging and chatting and eating but it was just too weird for me to act as if he were dead when he wasn't. I don't go to those things when there is a dead body and I had definitely decided that I would never attend his funeral or memorial or what have you. I figured it would give people something to talk about, and, hey, I guess it has. I really, really don't care, and I also think that these people don't care either. I guess I will just ignore it unless and until someone speaks to me directly on the subject, which probably won't happen. I'm OK with being mean old aunt Sally, can you believe she was Robby's twin, they were NOTHING alike. It's all OK because Robby liked me.