abigail414's diaryland diary
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True Confessions
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Yes, I Kill Things
I�ve had a lot of death the past couple days. Friday, I discovered an abdominal mass in a cat and a mouth tumor in dog. Both clients wanted treatment, so the former was sent to a specialty clinic that does surgery on Saturdays and the latter requested palliative care to see how he would do. Both decided to euthanize today. Plus, a dog with a bladder tumor from a week ago went to the emergency clinic and is probably going down. In the clinic, a diabetic, kidney failure cat came in mostly catatonic from a horrid infection, and was euthanized while she lay on the lap of her sobbing owner. Another cat with a tumor blocking her rectum, and a tiny Chihuahua puppy with a temperature so low it wouldn�t register on the thermometer also came in and were euthanized. The death fest was capped off with a client bringing flowers in thanks for treating his prostate cancer dog who died 2 weeks ago, and then I signed about 30 sympathy cards for the rest of the clinic-wide euthanasias that happened the past week.
Perhaps all these dead pets were wanting to die anyway, but you can�t help but feel like you killed them (because you did). Yes, I alleviated suffering, but I still cry when owners cry. I am getting a bit more calloused, though - when the owner of the mouth tumor dog asked what I would do if it was my dog, I said without hesitation, �put it down�. I think she was shocked, but there is no way a cancer eating your skull can be cured or even made comfortable.
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Yes, I Am A Castrating Bitch
This past week I went in on my day off and castrated two large male dogs for Palm Springs Animal Control. One was a pit bull with huge balls who found me utterly fascinating. He was very polite about it, only tried to mount me once and I let him clearly know I was uninterested. He couldn�t bear to be left alone in the cage and felt the same way about me even after his balls were gone. I�ve thought about him since then, and hope he finds a good home in spite of his troubled upbringing. He was very sweet, even to other dogs (which is unusual for a pit bull).
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Yes, I Am A Southern Californian
Oola and I walked around downtown Palm Springs carrying large photos of Robert Redford/Paul Newman and Brad Pitt the other day. I had just gotten them and realized that this is the only way a woman can get noticed here � carry pictures of good-looking men. No one thought it was odd. You can do whatever you want, wear whatever you want, and it is just fine here. No big deal.
Even though I have returned to my �home� state, I am still looking for my home. A book I�m reading theorizes that each town has a �word� and we feel most at home when our word matches the town. Palm Springs can be a �healing oasis� or a 'refuge�. But I suspect the dominant word for Palm Springs is �frivolity� or 'holiday'. I can get into that on occasion, but as a lifestyle it is pretty superficial.
I�m trying to figure out my �word�, but it is changing. At present, I am part �refugee� (from gray skies and unhappy marriage) and this is a good fit with 'refuge'. But I am also �restless� or �searcher� or �enthusiast�. �Frivolity� fits me a lot better than �survival�, which was the word for Bath, Michigan, or �family� which was the word for Chelsea, Michigan. But it still doesn�t feel quite like �home� here. It is too damn hot and the good-looking boys don�t like girls.
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She�s Got Game (And, Yes, I Want to Play)
This is Oola. She is a hot babe and she knows it. Men love her. She is going through her own decision process trying to figure out what she wants, since she has 3 guys and they all clearly want her. She learned in childhood that men are supposed to be strong and caring and supportive and buy her things and take her exotic places and she deserves that and more. In return, she makes them feel like heroes.
I have never had this experience, nor do I make men feel like heroes (unless they are using a power tool). Watching Oola and her guys feels a little like being a third world resident and having someone touch down in their private jet. I may as well be in a seperate universe in the same room. I don't think either is 'right' but we are definately of a different mindset.
I was taught not to rely on a man (or any person) for anything. Independence was my mantra. Who knew that men wanted to be relied on a little, that it made them feel important? I got the impression that they just didn't want to be bothered. As a teenager, my dad taught me to change a tire, a car engine, and gave me my own tools so I would be �beholden to no man� (his words). Genetically, I come from rugged pioneer stock where women stoked fires and carried water, where my grandmother was bigger and smarter and more educated than her husband, where my mother belatedly made most of the money she has. Plus, growing up in the 70's, the new idea was that women should put career first, now that they could be something besides nurse, teacher, or dental assistant.
Even though I've had a couple marriages and a few loves, I think my independence, or more specifically, my inability to relax and rely on someone, has kept me from that sense of being cherished and cherishing a partner. For this to happen, I need a mindset change, a whack on the side of the head to help me believe that I deserve it as well as can give it, that it is the normal and expected way of loving. I'll be working on that one awhile. Of course, I'll probably still kill and castrate things, which won't be much of an aphrodisiac unless the guy is a hog farmer. (Or maybe a lonesome cowboy - that's it - and I can be his cowgirl!)
8:25 p.m. - 2006-06-18
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