The little vole is officially on solid food! Yesterday evening, as it began to suckle my hand in excitement, I offered it a bit of bread to veer its teeth from my skin. And wah-lah, it ate it! And that started the beginning. It's been very active lately. Very independent. In a matter of a day the little thing has completely come to life. It crawls up and down my arm and legs. It avidly enjoys exploring. And it no longer cries out for my company. But when it begins to go to sleep, and feels a bit chilled, I offer up my hand and it hops right onto it. It snuggles into the curve of my fingers and makes tiny clicking sounds of happiness as it falls asleep. My faith in its fully recovery is at an all time high now. I have no doubt it will become such a lovely adult vole.
Feeding The Smallest Baby
The little vole finally began to suckle on the 'bottle' today. It's so very fragile, but eager to eat. It wakes up and cries about once an hour. I pull out a small syringe, fill it with some warm formula, and we're ready to go. The little thing crawls up into my hand, I light wrap my fingers around it to direct its head, and then it finds the syringe on its own. It suckles for only a few seconds. But it's so small that even a few big gulps will fill it up. I give it a light tummy massage and let it snuggle into my lap for a nap. When it's hungry it awakes again and begins to cry to let me know it needs some food. It's a habit that I've come to love. And the little happy chippers of the tiny baby when it's full, right before it falls asleep, is worth every hour spent in its company.
Warm Milk and the Baby Vole
I awoke this morning to the small lonely cry of my new furry child. My vole had gained a bit of strength in the night. It can now move around upright, but I had noticed it hadn't eaten. After some thoughtful consideration, I came to the conclusion it may be a baby. I have never handfed a vole before. I've never raised one from such a young age. But I knew I must try. I grabbed a very small, thin straw, and heated up some milk. Even though the straw was small, it was still too large for the small creatures mouth. So I set drops of milk in front of its mouth with the hopes it would suckle them up. The milk very slowly disappeared, but I don't know if just absorbed into the fur or was actually eaten. I'm hoping deeply that it was eaten. I have also taken the little thing and cradled it into my hand. It became very happy and curled into the warmth. It even took a few minutes to clean its fur. And then I placed it back into its small haphazard habitat. I keep it next to me, and in an hour or two I shall try to feed it again.
Squeak In The Weeds
As I went outside to play with Coho this evening, I found her at the end of her chain. Her ears were perked up, her head cocked sideways, and her nose pointed right into a hug of tall grass. There was a squeaking coming from the weeds. At first I thought it was a baby bird, but after rummaging around I found a very small baby vole. It's fully furred, but it's eyes are barely open. It was laying on its side, crying out in pain. There were two large bite marks on it's back. Knowing that I couldn't just leave it there, I brought it inside and wrapped it in a warm towel. There it could die in comfort and peace rather than in panic on the cold, hard, wet ground. I expected it to pass in one or two hours. But four hours later, it was still breathing. Whimpering and attempting to move. Two more hours and it had regained strength- it could slowly move around the habitat I had put it in, but it was still very weak. I have given it some water and bits of food and I just hope it makes it to tomorrow morning.
Without A Paddle
As we went out to do our habitual salmon fishing, my darling and I had no idea the bad luck we were in for. As we began to pull our net, our motor shut off- and wouldn't restart. So we were back to the stone age. You'd think we'd be comfortable there, considering we live without running water, television, and universal heat most of the time. But being stranded in the Yukon current truly puts things into perspective. We didn't have a paddle. Luckily, a family coming up river stopped and hauled us to shore. From there, we would walk. Well, I would walk. He stayed in the boat and used a stick to push the boat from the shore. I held onto a rope, tied to the boat, and pulled it up the side of the river. About three miles down, we ran into a man at his fish camp and he offered us a ride home. It's traditional Eskimo culture. No one ever leaves anyone stranded. Luckily for us, Eskimo culture is not one of racism- so even our lighter skin tone was blessed with their traditional kindness.
No More Swelled Paw
Rascal's swelling has gone down significantly. He's beginning to use his paw quite normally. No more limping. And he's fully blossoming into his old self. He jumps up on me excitedly when I come to visit. He eagerly runs inside when I strap the leash onto his collar to bring him indoors for a while. He grabs his favorite toy and expects nothing less than the roughest playtime. And he's hyper as can be. I'm so happy he's feeling better. So much of my worries can begin to disappear now. His physical contentment has lead to my emotional contentment. His fast healing is a miracle. I've never seen anything heal from a gunshot so quickly! But I'm so very happy he has.
Berries and Jam
We went berry picking today. Typically I absolutely love picking berries. It's one of the most raw and natural ways to spend a day. But with all of the stress I've experienced lately, my mind wasn't on the happy habit of berry picking. Rather it was caught up in the worries of what was awaiting me at home. Even so, I managed to fill half of my basket. It's not much, but it's made three jars of jam. I hope my energy peaks soon and I manage to fill more jars before winter. The jam is a perfect sweet reminder of summer amidst the snow.
The Surprise Fetch
Today I went out for my habitual morning check on Rascal. Gave him some cold water and rubbed his tummy for a bit. When I got up to leave he did something that really surprised me. He hobbled over and picked up his favorite fetch rope that I had given him about four months ago. Then he hobbled back and demanded that I throw it. I really didn't want him getting excited and hurting his leg worse, bu...t he was very consistent. Finally, I threw it. And out of no where be becomes three-legged-super-dog jumping into the air and catching it without a problem. Pretty sure that was a sign he's going to be perfectly fine. I know he has picked up on the fact I've been fairly upset the last few days. I think this was his way of proving to me that I don't need to worry. He's always been my big strong boy. Even with a gunshot wound that didn't change.
Rascal's Blessing Amidst Misfortune
Rascal is still very weak and wobbly. He is a very big dog, so walking on three legs is very difficult for him. He lays around most of the time, licking his wound. The wound is healing up nicely, but the swelling is not going down. He can't move around very well. I bring him water habitually and feed him regularly. Today I took him some frozen salmon. I held onto it while he bit off pieces. His appetite is slowly growing. And by the wag of his tail whenever I'm in his company- I know he'll be just fine. And today, when his original owner say me taking care of him- he gave him to me. So today, I became the official owner of Rascal. And of course- there's still Coho. So I have them both now. And you have no idea what a blessing I think that is. What a miracle it is. What a magnificent light at the end of the tunnel that is.
The Special Stop
After the terrible day yesterday, today things got a little better. After many hours of weather delay, a plane finally landed in the village. The pilot had heard the story of Luck and made an extra stop to pick her up. It was a special stop, and one that would cost the airline around $200.00. Her flight would usually cost about $600.00. But all of the fees were waived by Era Aviation, and she was taken to Anchorage for free. As I brought her up the plane and handed her to the pilot, I cannot lie that I was saddened to say goodbye. I handed her over, along with a pink blanket, her favorite toy, and a donation for the rescue. It would be the last time I ever saw her playful heartwarming charm. But I am forever grateful that I got to be a part of the miracle of saving her life.
Rascal's Gunshot
This morning, my darling came in the front door with some horrible news. As I was preparing Luck for her venture from the village... something terrible happened. Rascal had been shot. My darling found him laying on the side of the road with a wound in the joint above his front left paw. As I ran outside to check on him, his tail wagged. But his body went limp. He could barely move. Blood rushed out of his wounds. One entering, one exiting. He licked it over and over, and I sat beside him. I cried, although I didn't want to. I couldn't help it. Seeing him in pain made my heart break. And yet, even amidst the pain- HE tried to comfort ME. He licked my tears. Rested his head on my leg. And nuzzled into me as best he could. Eventually I had to leave to take Luck to the airport. Her crate would be coming on a plane. But one unfortunate event lead to another and the plane didn't arrive. I was devastated, and spent the remainder of the day with many tears streaming down my face.
Finding Care
Alaskan Animal Rescue Friends will be working with me to get Luck some help. Her wound, once again, seems to be going the opposite way of healing. The puss is overwhelming. Every time I bring her inside the smell instantly takes over the house. It's an awful stench- one that assures my assumptions that it's infected is correct. AARF will be sending a crate out to her soon. With the help from Bethel Friends of Canines, hopefully this little love can get the care she needs. She's still as happy as can be. But I really can't stand to wait and see if that happiness turns to sickness. So I've put getting her to safety on the top of my priority list.
Luck's Cut
Luck's cut has gotten worse. The infection is oozing out a clear liquid. It smells, very badly. And the cut looks gruesome. I feel so helpless and sad. Yet, she, is as bright and happy as can be. She behaves as if nothing is wrong at all. She doesn't have a care in the world. She's happy and curious and ever so eager to see whatever in the world her human friends are doing. Feet are among her favorite toys, although hands are equally as entertaining. Tall grass is her favorite place to hide. And she absolutely loves milk bones. She plays constantly- almost too much. And even with her energetic spirit. I am worried. So I intend to contact an animal rescue tonight and hopefully have her removed from the village.
The Pup Named Luck
Today, a small puppy arrived on my doorstep. My neighbor's introduced me to her. Her name is Lucky. She's about three months old and by far one of the most playful little things I have ever met. She seems to have a cut around her neck. I brought her inside to check up on her and make sure there was not a rope left around her. It seems like the rope- which did cut her open, is gone. But her neck is very infected. I've told the children (her owners) to clean her up, but I worry that they're just too young to help her. She's very active and happy, and I think she'll muttle through just fine. But I will be keeping an eye on her for the next day or two.
I'm Not A Drinker's Kind
You know what impresses me? Sober courage. Sophisticated humor that drunks can't understand. The intelligence that comes with not being intoxicated. Moral of the story: The most attractive feature in a person is their ability to be more entertaining without a glass of alcohol in their hand. I never want to be the girl who only likes her guy on Saturday night. I only want a guy who I'll be proud of Sunday morning.
Rain On My Parade
I guess the rain is mimicking my mood. I've cried out most of my sorrows. The tears flowed pretty freely into the evening. I didn't wake up this morning feeling entirely better. But that doesn't mean I can't force myself to get over this. This? I haven't really explained it- have I? My darling's daughter and I got in a bit (actually a lot more than a bit) of an argument- leaving her sour to my appearance. She's refused to accept me being around and I am left as the evil 'stepmother'. I am not. Nor would I ever be. And that's what breaks my heart the most. I've been with him three years. I've tried with every bone in my body to be the very best person I could be to his daughter. And in a matter of one tension-filled argument, she can decide I am worth nothing to her or her father. And I'm left with the deepest pit of heartbreak in my stomach.
Dying, My Mind
Life hands me lemons. I don't make lemonade. I experience every ounce of their sour fruit. I let them break my heart and drown my sorrows in alcohol spritzed with their flavor. Lately I've been doing a lot of that. Drinking away the pain. I never used to be like that, and I keep trying to write about the positives. But today I want to delve into my own emotional suicide. Maybe I'm a little drunk. Maybe it's only 3:30 in the afternoon. Maybe I have no excuse. But I'm dying. Not physically- but my mind is leaving me. Every second is a battle to not reach for the razor and drag it across my skin. I want the scars. You wouldn't understand that would you? My life isn't perfect, but I'm privileged. Why is everything aching? I don't know. And maybe that's what makes it so bad. I can't do anything to make it better.
Running From The Heat
The bright sunshine has been almost overwhelming. The heat makes me want so badly to run into the Yukon River and not come out until dusk. My cabin offers shade, but also causes stagnant air. The front porch offers a slight breeze but is dreadfully in direct line of the sun. The heat certainly doesn't make things seem very easy. In fact it tends to make everything harder. Even fishing gets irritable when combined with hot weather. Obviously I was born an Alaskan- for only the kind of humans that dearly despise warmth would happily delve into snow nine months out of the year.
Fishing For Pennies
Fishing has been a blessing lately. The sun shines so brightly in the sky, and yet the breeze (cooled by the river) keeps you pleasantly refreshed on the water. The salmon have been abundant, practically jumping into the net. The work has been easy. Glass calm waters make the work seem almost majestic. The pennies are collecting freely in my hand, and the days spent to earn them are ever so worthwhile.
Just A Message
I didn't think of you until I got your note today. "We are having an amazing rain storm here. Wish you were here to come and run around in it with me". It's been a while since we've spoken. I don't think you realize I had the biggest crush on you. So I was caught off guard by your message, but that didn't stop me from being flattered. I was amidst a not-so-wonderful day, so your little words were ever so welcome. I won't deny the fact my heart skipped an oh so miniscule of a beat. But a beat nevertheless. Thank you for the smile; it won't be forgotten.
F/V Late Dawn
I went to go get on the boat this afternoon and saw there was a new name painted on the side. When my captain updated his permit and boat license info this year he named his vessel 'Late Dawn'. Because I'm never on time... especially in the morning. The letters are black, a subtle contrast to the silver-colored metal. Up until now, I had no idea he had bestowed his lady with the same name as mine. He thinks it's funny, but I think it's lovely. Commercial Fisherman Dawn, F/V Late Dawn. I'm ecstatic about the entire ordeal. A fishing vessel named after me. What a way to flatter someone to bits and pieces. A boat, my loves! Named after me...
Well-Written Love Songs
I haven't listened to music for a long time. Not sure why I lost my interest in romantic songs and upbeat guitar hums, but I did. But for some reason I've found it again. There's something really magic about the way music can move you. It can take you back to a different time. Transport you to a moment you thought you'd forgotten. It can give you courage, give you freedom, give you the inability to stay still (sometimes your body just must move to the beat). It can provoke sadness, alleviate anger, and simply let you let go of every emotion. For me, I fall so into a well-written song. Lyrics speak to me more than anything else. And if they're perfectly written I will repeat them over and over again.
Brighter Sky
I'm sending sincerest wishes for sun. I've lost my appetite lately. Not sure if it's from the lack of sunlit motivation or because I'm too lost in my own thought to eat. Either way, food seems unappetizing. I've forced myself to eat meals for the last two or three days. I've lost count of how long it's been since I've seen the sun. A week, maybe two? Either way the dreary weather is wearing on me. As much as I love clouds, I am in dire need of a brighter skyward view.
Waiting On Fate
What do you do, when fall hopelessly in lust with someone who doesn't even know you exist? First, you try to make them know you exist- right? You try anything to be noticed. It seems so simple. But yet... not so simple. What if you're noticed, but they choose to ignore you anyways? Or what if you're noticed, but not in the way you intended to be? What if you're noticed for your faults rather than your admirable traits? But then again... what if you're never noticed at all? It's such a hard thing to want so badly to be given a chance. And typically in life- you can make your own chances. But in love, the only thing that could ever create a chance is fate. And fate never works out as easily as easily as we'd like it to...
Impossible Dream's Existence
I'll be honest. I'm often irrational. I make ridiculous wishes and then strive with everything in my soul to make them come true. I spend money hopelessly in an attempt to make something impossible, possible. I spend every waking moment working towards something that can't truly be worked for. It's ridiculous, to say the least. I am a hopeless dreamer. Dreaming dreams far too big for me to achieve. And I know that I can't ever reach them. But that doesn't stop me from working tirelessly for their existence.
Small Cabin, Ablaze
There was a house fire yesterday evening. I remember distinctly awaking to the sound of the siren. Coho was howling outside (the sound of the siren always inspires her to do that). At first I was in a daze. Then someone asked on the VHF, "Where's the fire?". The panic struck then. I realized why the siren was going off. My first instinct lead me to the window. There was no smoke anywhere in the village, until I looked way off in the distance- to the corner very far from my home. I pulled on rain gear over my pajamas and hitched a ride down. The sight was a devastating one. A small, one bedroom cabin ablaze in flames. The entire building was engulfed. You could make out each of the beams- they burned a bit brighter than everything else. The crackling was soft, yet loud. There was nothing anyone could do. The village has no running water. Our fire truck's battery had run dead long ago. So we all stood around and watched. I hate to say it was romantic, but in some odd way it was. No one was inside, so we could all just patiently wait until it fell to the ground. And that's what everyone did. In thoughtful silence, among the flames.
Counting Rain Drops
The weather has been terribly dark lately. The Bering Sea has sent winds eastward and they haven't died down for over three days. The dark clouds loom over, making even the happiest of emotions a bit more dreary. I've been counting rain drops on my window, listening to love songs, and waiting for the sunshine. It's the kind of weather you can't pull yourself up from. And the choice of slow dance music isn't making my loneliness any more easy to handle.
You're An Addiction To Me
I've seen a lot of broken dreams. But none is more powerful as watching you fall apart. You sit on your half of the world, distantly getting high while I wait for you to step through my door. And if you ever did visit, would you wake up and watch me walk out to the kitchen in my morning attire? Or would the drugs be more important, as you barely raise your eyes to meet my risqué hopes? I'd wish every second in your company that you'd absent-mindedly escape your haze and take me somewhere with you. I'd let your dark eyes melt into my blue ones. And I'd let you're brown hair tangle in my blonde hair. And I might, if the world turns in the wrong direction, wrap my fingers into yours while you step away from your addictions and get addicted to me....
Coming From Misfortune
Most people will never truly understand depression. They cannot fathom someone replaying suicide in their heads over and over again. And for that, they are lucky. They are lucky that they will never know that kind of hurt. But I am not so lucky. Before my awakening of maturity, I was left with a shattered array of teenage years. Ones that battled suicide over and over again. The scars on my arms from cutting are a reminder of the girl I was growing up. She was so beautiful, but she had no idea. Self-expressive, different, undeniably uncomfortable in her own skin. She went at war with eating disorders, experimented in one too many promiscuous activities, and was diagnosed a chronological liar at only 15 years of age. When she grabbed the kitchen knife and threatened to kill herself (the note, already written in her bedroom) I wish I could have been there. Not to pull the knife away, but to get to her before she even reached that kitchen drawer. To stop her. To drag her, crying with bloody wrists, to the bathroom mirror. And then to cry, leaning over the bathtub in pain from the sobs, and cry with her. Let her bawl her eyes out, choking on heaves that were too heavy to swallow. She needed that. Someone to break down with her. To let her know that those demons that came to her, came to others too. She never knew. She never knew that other people fell as deeply dark as she did. And that loneliness shadowed the happiness of her life. It stripped her of her childhood, forced her to runaway to Alaska, and made her into I am today. I don't regret those years. I wish, for her sake, that she wouldn't have gone through them. But without them, she never would have grown into a storyteller (rather than a liar). And she never would have found her fate.
Dreaming For The Impossible
Do you ever have one of those dreams- those crazy irrational dreams- that you just can't help but wish come true? I'm having one of those dreams. There's no way in the world it will ever materialize, but here I am spending second upon wasted second hoping for it to become a reality. It won't. Fate rarely hands someone a miraculous collection of perfectly aligned events. But if it did, oh my gosh if it did, my heart would explode with happiness.
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