May 25: "Mornings at Blackwater," Pissed, Suffering Puppy

Mary Oliver drinks from Blackwater Pond . . .

Mornings at Blackwater

by:  Mary Oliver

For years, every morning, I drank

from Blackwater Pond.

It was flavored with oak leaves and also, no doubt,

the feet of ducks.

And always it assuaged me

from the dry bowl of the very far past.

What I want to say is

that the past is the past,

and the present is what your life is,

and you are capable 

of choosing what that will be,

darling citizen.

So come to the pond, 

or the river of your imagination,

or the harbor of your longing,

and put your lips to the world.

And live

your life.

This poem is Oliver's call to action.  It's all about living in the present moment and choosing what that present moment will be.  There is no sitting back and letting life simply happen around you.  It's about taking deep, deep drinks of whatever pond or river will quench your longing and need.

First, before I write anything more, I am going to apologize.  This post is going to be angry.  Actually, it's not going to be just angry.  It's going to be pissed.  So, if you are having a bad day, I would suggest skipping today's epistle from Saint Marty and streaming something wholesome and uplifting on Disney+.

As longtime disciples of this blog know, a few months ago, my little puppy, Juno, was attacked by a 90-pound dog.  The dog that attacked Juno was supposed to be a support animal, although it turns out that she never went through the training to be certified.  As a result of that attack, Juno had torn muscles and ligaments in her neck, abdomen, back, leg; a slight pneumothorax; and a dislocated hip.  She underwent two hours of surgery the day of the attack.

Juno has been recovering these last couple months, and today she had a second surgery to try to fix her dislocated hip, which has never healed properly.  She's been pretty much hopping around of three legs since she was able to walk again.  The vet who operated on her today did what is called an FHO procedure, which entails the removal of the femoral head and neck of the femur in order to eliminate bone-on-bone contact.  Pretty much, Juno will never regain full mobility of her hip and is going to require physical therapy to buildup the muscle in the injured leg.

I'm pissed because my puppy (I call her a puppy because she's three-years-old and only weighs 17 pounds) has been suffering, and will continue to suffer, for many months to come.  I'm pissed because the owner of the other dog hasn't offered to pay any of the medical bills so far and hasn't even inquired about Juno's health.  I'm pissed because the owners of the business where the attack occurred have offered to pay half the medical expenses and, thus far, haven't provided any money.  I'm pissed because, ever since the attack (which I was in the middle of, trying to save Juno's life), I've been experiencing moments of severe anxiety that stop me in my tracks.  I literally have to stand in place and take deep breaths to control my racing heart and breaths.  

I am pissed.  That is the cup of pond water from which I'm drinking currently.  I'm done struggling to pay bills that I shouldn't have to pay.  It's the summer, and the paychecks from the university have stopped.  The vet and medical costs are topping out at around $5000 so far, and that doesn't include the physical therapy Juno is going to need.  I want someone to stand up and take responsibility for this shitty situation.

Now, I somehow have to come up with a kernel of wisdom or crumb of happiness that will make what I'm saying today uplifting.  Anger is an emotion that I don't usually indulge.  I always try to be understanding and compassionate.  Everyone struggles, and I try not to contribute to these struggles.  At the moment, however, I find myself unable to shake the red dragon that's been breathing down my neck all day long.  My palms are permanently scarred.  A fingernail on my right hand is still black.  My puppy is probably looking a months of recovery.  Panic stalks me every day.  

Just before I sat down to write this post, I sat by Juno for about 15 minutes, petting her ears in just the right spot to make her relax.  Before she fell asleep, she opened her mouth and licked my hand a little with her tired tongue.

This tiny moment of grace brought to you by an angry saint this evening.