Saving Fred’s Life Was My Choice to Make
Everything in life comes down to a choice. You choose from when you eat to what you eat and how you eat it. Even something like using the restroom is essentially a choice. Our body tells us when it’s time but the choice between going right away and waiting is ours to make. I would bet my life savings everyone reading this has at least once made the choice to finish typing that urgent email, until the pain of holding it in became so unbearable that you made a dash for the restroom hoping a coworker didn’t stop you along the way.
Not every choice we make is good just like not every choice is detrimental. The fact stands that life is full of choices. My choice to save Fred’s life ended up saving mine.
Not every choice we make is good just like not every choice is detrimental. The fact stands that life is full of choices. My choice to save Fred’s life ended up saving mine. In a typical rush to get past the mountain of trash laid out on the curb for Thursday pickup, a distressed squeak, like a newborn’s cry for his mother cut through me like a shard of glass. I didn’t notice him right away. I don’t think any of the people rushing past did. He was the size of a peach pit and after an unsuccessful maneuver to free himself his face was stuck to the glue trap by his feet. He was tossed on the pile of trash sentenced to death by starvation. If luck should have it he would go quick, getting crushed inside the dump truck, his tragic demise stemming from human fear.
Many people do “fear the smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor” so perhaps elephants fear these tiny creatures as well.
I wonder if elephants actually fear mice or is that just something that was thought up to make people laugh? Many people do “fear the smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor” so perhaps elephants fear these tiny creatures as well. We fear what we don’t understand and everything that scares us we try to dispose of. Mice are a nuisance to our lives. Mice scare us, so we trap and kill them to insure they don’t come back. There are people who make the excuse that this is the circle of life but if it that’s the case shouldn’t they eat the mouse they killed? Did Jesus kill the mice in his home? Probably… Even if killing a tiny creature like a mouse is a sin most believe we have our Sundays to absolve and start fresh.
The squeaking stopped when I picked the trap up and began tearing it apart. It was stickier than I imagined. As my frustration grew my mind got flooded with thoughts of ending his misery. Why is it we always think of the bad before the good? My initial thoughts should have been to take him to an animal clinic or home and try soapy, warm water to get him loose. Instead I wondered if I could crush him with my heel. When that seemed like I bad idea I looked around to see if there might be a brick lying around that I could use instead. Compassionate killing some would call it but to me it seemed more like compassionate murder.
Compassionate killing some would call it but to me it seemed more like compassionate murder.
A lump in my throat, ready to breakdown in tears I focused back on the task of tearing the trap apart. I ignored the mumbling and disgusted stares. I hadn’t paid much attention to any of it until one woman shrieked and shouted, “Lord hell no!” I think it was her use of Lord that churned my stomach. Maybe it was with out doubt that this was a “have a blessed day” lady, one of many in my neighborhood. The ones that swear at their children when frustrated, ram into people with their shopping utility carts which I had no idea existed until I moved to Brooklyn. The same type of lady who is too lazy to hold on to her trash and throw it into the bin down the street so instead she just throws it onto the ground. The same “have a blessed day” lady that cuts in line at the supermarket and tries to justify her action through a screaming match because you had the courage to tell her no cutting the line. Argue long enough and Jesus always makes way into the conversation before she tells you to “have a blessed day.”
I can’t remember what I said. I don’t even think it was what I said as to how I said it. Her look of disgust turned quickly to one of fright as she picked up her pace and I concentrated back on ripping the trap apart. After much effort I was able to free his face leaving some of the hair on the trap. I used a coin I found in my pocket to pry his feet from the glue. I was nervous I might crush him. I was nervous he was diseased. I was nervous he would bite me out of fear but he didn’t even struggle. I held his little body between my fingers and pulled him loose. A few minutes later I was removing pieces of the glue trap from his tail. To my surprise he didn’t struggle. Once I was finished he bolted. I watched hoping he would stop and turn to glance back. He didn’t, he just ran. In my mind I name him Fred. At the time I didn’t know why I chose the name Fred. As I write this I think I figured out why. Growing up I remember seeing wooden mice traps tossed outside with dead mice inside. One of those wooden ones with a metal frame that snaps down and suffocates the mouse. I still look for Fred and smile whenever I pass that spot. I’d like to think the hair on his face has grown back and he’s living out the rest of his life feasting on trash.
