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| Lessee here now. It's time to count noses. |
| Feline: 3 |
| Human: 4 or 5 if it's a weekend |
| Lapine: 6 |
| Procyonid: 3 |
| TOTAL NOSES: 16 or 17 if it's a weekend |
| People often ask me (well, now that I think of it, nobody's asked me
yet, but they might), "Bill... what's it really like, being the spouse
of a rehabber?" I pause, tugging my shirt downward like Captain Picard (who presumably had a problem with hiding the undershirt he'd been wearing for a week, just like me) and say, "It's interesting!" "Interesting?" "Yes, well, actually, disruptive but worthwhile." "In what way disruptive," they inquire, ignoring the "worthwhile". After all, bad news is always more attractive than good. "Well," I reply, brushing downward on my pullover in a futile attempt to smooth the wrinkles that remind me of a contour map of the Appalachians, "the bunnies are pretty quiet, but the raccoons seem to complain a bit." "You mean, you're missing your sleep?" "No, not really, " I hasten to defend, "Jo's wonderful with animals, and I think they look at her as a kind of Mother Nature. But it's really the timetable. It takes time to feed these critters. And between that and her email and her word games and Mario Party and her time-shifted TV movies, and the searching for dandelion greens and fresh timothy, well, you know... ". And I trail off sheepishly, because I know what the next comment will be. "Well, I know what I'd do if I had a raccoon or a rabbit in my backyard." And at this point, they either raise their arms to indicate a rifle sighting position, or make a loud, "KaBLAM!" sound. Worthwhile? Definitely. This is all coming at a time when a new life is in development. Scooby Q will be here in October, all things being equal, and what better way of easing us all into that reality than by developing a habit of rabbit, or a routine of raccoon? Do you remember when YOU were a first time mom or dad? If not, let me tell you what I've seen me do. When Ross was a newbie, we used a "Cuddle Karrier" (no longer available) promoted by La Leche League. I carried him at all hours, strapped on my chest, sometimes walking in repetitive circles round the livingroom floor until I was nearly dizzy and he was nearly asleep, but more often strapping him on, taking him out in our Special Hypnotic Car, and then bringing him back and laying him gently on the bed, where he would remain until otherwise motivated by morning sunlight. The feelings of tenderness and love and pride could not be denied. I can't remember if Allan, the first one, got the same treament, but it seems likely. It all seems so distant. But seeing the nursing of bunnies, even through a syringe, and the coons by bottle brings back memories of some paternal feelings that, are best described by the recently badly abused phrase, "shock and awe". The shock was that of realizing that you were a parent, and responsible from now on. The awe was that you were part of a creative process that could never be fully understood. Beyond the biological was the mystical. Jomammatee has always wondered about the meaning of life, especially hers. Surely the nurturing of life is part of the meaning of life. It's something she does. There is some debate currently, about what moniker is appropriate for our own Mother Nature. The grandparent role may lead to "Hudgie and Pudgie", which seems appropriate when you consider the rest of 'em: Amy, Scooby, and Toddy. Whatever. The point is that to the degree that we involve ourselves in the nurturing of the defenseless, the needy, and the unfortunate, whether they have two or four feet, feathers or fins, to that degree we know what it is to be human. So rehab to your heart's content, Jomammatee. But, say, when you have a minute, can you help me find my other sock? 
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