The Snow White Delusion

Reaching a point in my life where I realize that there is no magic spell that makes all animals love you has been, in a word, disappointing. If you thought I was going to say liberating, sorry. I really wanted all animals to love me. Or at least be rendered tame in my presence. No amount of time would have undone the expectations animated movies had given me....but an adrenaline flooded squirrel would eventually be the antidote to my Snow White delusion. My what? If you watch enough vintage Disney, you will notice a common theme among the heroines....Snow White had bluebirds landing on her fingers, deer flocked to Aurora, Cinderella had mice so devoted they designed and sewed her a ballgown. (!) "IF YOU ARE A TRULY GOOD PERSON, ANIMALS WILL LOVE YOU." THAT is the Snow White Delusion. Seeking validation in this fashion, I always desperately want my friends' pets to love me, as if it somehow will increase my value in their eyes. The same goes for their children. (I'm always afraid children recoiling is a sort of indicator of sensing True Evil) This mindset unfortunately also extends to failed attempts at wild animal rescue. Most people learn not to touch wild animals around the same time they memorize their addresses and not to talk to strangers. I elected to learn this around a week before I turned 30.... I happened upon a chaotic scene one July day last year. The squirrel: intact but injured, the neighbor: distraught. As I assessed the situation I could see a tragedy unfolding....the woman's three year old daughter was watching as a man with a shovel approached the squirrel to do it in. It was feebly dragging itself around by its front legs, as it had been hit by a car and decided NOT to die. This is not how I want this child to learn about the circle of life.

As the neighbor hesitated, and stirred the rodent around with his spade, it suddenly darted under a nearby SUV. THIS IS WHEN I SHOULD HAVE CONTINUED ON MY WAY. But wait! I'm Snow White.....Or I could be. I leap into action, volunteering to take the squirrel with me for rehabilitation. Already envisioning a tame pet squirrel of my own,

I remove him from the wheel well of the SUV without incident. I wrap him in my jacket (it had been raining) and spirit him away, already congratulating myself on my ability to handle wild animals. (Nothing like shock to make a creature seem calm) I make him a nice little home inside a plastic tote with slits cut in it, and put in a towel and even some fruit. (IDIOT) After a small amount of time reality sets in: This squirrel is going to die. He's got two broken legs, and now it seems cruel to let him fester. I remember the animal rescue and try the number. Closed. Then I start to revert to my true self, who is not Snow White at all. We live in a neighborhood full of cats and raccoons and well, what more can I do but surrender my furry friend to the circle of life? I go and get the container, with the untouched food and suddenly very....alert....squirrel. I attempt to free him so that he may drag himself to the great green jungle behind my garage, but he has other plans. Like a wheelchair Olympian he expertly maneuvers himself with two limbs, and faster than I can think crawls up under and inside the front end of my parked car. THIS. CAN. NOT. END. WELL. Here we go. Now I am going to have rotten dead squirrel marinating around my engine all summer. I call a friend that has a tire shop, panicking. "Don't drive it over he may get all chopped up by the fan." And he is quickly at my house, jacking up the front end. It probably is worth mentioning that I had been painting walls in the house and had paint in my hair, on my arms and face, and bright purple sweat pants on. This time I was ready to be realistic. I had a few rags and a plastic grocery store bag. The plan had quickly deteriorated from squirrel rehabilitation to "I'll twist his neck off while I have him wrapped in a rag and seal it up in this here bag." Charming, I know. But he must have sensed my intent, because he writhed and latched onto my ring finger like the world's smallest pit bull and unleashed unholy retribution on my foolish foolish finger. As I rolled in the driveway, kicking and yelling, I wondered how long this would last, hoping my neighbors would stay in their houses. My friend kicked it away, and that was that. I leaped up bawling, and yelling "I'm sorry, I'M SORRYYYYY" to no one in particular.

I should have let it die, I should have let it die.....I am covered in blood and I am wearing a horrible pair of sweatpants and I am going to get rabies and OHMYGOD I CAN'T GO TO THE HOSPITAL LIKE THIS. Still wailing, with my friend just standing in the driveway bewildered, I run in the house to wrap up the mangled pulp that is my finger. Then I do what I have to do. I find a decent pair of pants, and put on a hat that covers up all the paint in my hair. NOW i can drive myself to the ER. I tell my friend to go ahead, and soggily apologize and take off for the hospital. Not too much later, the ER doctor echoes down the hall way as I wait in the examination room. "WHO DOES THAT?!?!" I know she is talking about me. I am NOT Snow White. >

Cringing

Cringe....it is a pretty accurate way to describe how I view most all things I do after an unspecified amount of time goes by....and so I imagine with any luck I will review this at some time in the not-too-distant future and recoil in horror. Later, while walking my dog I will flash back to a memory, wince as I play it back in my mind....like that time I showed a group of middle aged women to dance to Soulja Boy and I totally made most of it up but they didn't know and no one at the wedding reception could call me out on it....BUT I KNEW. For crap's sake I was using foot movements from the electric slide!