#nonreleasable

[grubbinhub]

So recently I picked up this girl named Sasha, she's a Mediterranian House Gecko. She is from Florida and accidentally was shipped up North with some veggies! Normally with wild animals I would check them out and then release them. But she can't survive in the cold of where I live and I can't bring her back to FL since she's invasive there. So instead I'm taking her in as a non-releasable animal, and eventually she will be transferred to an educational program on invasive wildlife where she can live out her life in peace ❤ I'll make sure to post pics of her enclosure once I've got all the plants set up!!

[oldbabysal]

Sal started experiencing difficulties in walking before his surgery and liver diagnosis. He has always been obnoxiously active, so there is no doubt in my mind that his joints and bones have been giving him problems for a while. At the start of the year, I noticed that he would sometimes have a walking “hiccup” in his back right leg, where it would stall or give out, causing him to either inadvertently circle or completely fall down.

More recently, he drags his feet - all of them, but mostly his front paws. The tops of his paws move beneath him and scrape against the ground with most steps he takes. It doesn’t matter what type of flooring “terrain” he’s on - from linoleum and carpet to patio wood and grass - the pressure and friction has caused the tops of select nails to grind down as far as his nail bed. Now he walks around with a bandaged tail, a “bandaged” butt (diaper), and multiple bandaged fingers.

Despite all of this, he has picked up a bit more since surgery. He walks around like he’s got someplace to be, and I’m surprised he’s got any energy left at all. He’s still dragging his feet, fighting to stick around a bit longer. I’m selfishly grateful for it because I’m dragging my feet, too. I’m not ready for him to go.

*disclaimer: all photos are my own | I do not permit their use elsewhere

[oldbabysal]

Here is Sal slubbing on a freeze dried (stillborn) calf in my office.

My interpretation of an unofficial definition: slub·bing (verb, specific to opossums) - the act of utilizing massive amounts of saliva produced by the submandibular glands to either 1. groom another affectionately, 2. generously slop slobber onto extremities when overheating, or 3. slobber on an object before rubbing oneself on said slobber in order to a.) transfer the scent of the object onto oneself, or b.) the scent of oneself onto the object.

I have had this taxidermy calf for almost 2 years, Sal has encountered it on a daily basis, and I have never witnessed him slubbing it. It’s kind of gross, but at this stage in his life, who am I to take away anything that he finds joy in - even if that joy is the smell of a dead cow?

There are many negatives to his circumstances, but one thing I am so grateful for is the obnoxious amount of time we spend together lately. Now I know and have witnessed that he often slubs this cow in passing. It’s like he entrusted a very unsettling secret upon me. 

Really though - We have always been best buds and I have shouted our love from the rooftops, but I am astonished by how much closer we are growing with the constant time spent together lately.

*disclaimer: all photos are my own | I do not permit their use elsewhere

[oldbabysal]

Sal wakes up and I cuddle him for as long as he’ll allow before he gets anxious for breakfast. Here he is enjoying my pillow and a warm spot I left specifically for him. I transferred him from his bedside basket and he immediately curled into position for me to be big spoon. Some people complain about always being big spoon, but with Sal I don’t mind. He is my little spoon forever.

*disclaimer: all photos are my own | I do not permit their use elsewhere

[oldbabysal]

Sal's shirt says “lil’ dude, BIG TUDE.” While he has had this tee for a while, its use is more applicable now than ever before.

Surprisingly, his attitude in old age isn’t nasty. Sal isn’t becoming a bitter old man, even despite the pains he may be having. His attitude is just more forceful and headstrong. It has to be, really. Otherwise he would wither away sooner than later. It’s amazing to see his instincts forcing his determination to continue doing what he wants to do. They don’t have the ability to feel sorry for themselves, so his mood is still carefree as long as he gets his way. Really living up to the t-shirt.

*disclaimer: all photos are my own | I do not permit their use elsewhere

[oldbabysal]

I know every inch of Sal, right down to each whisker on his face (and sometimes his feet). I even have a favorite whisker - one that he has had on his left cheek for over a year. It curls into itself several times, like a corkscrew, and is significantly thicker and more sturdy than any of his other whiskers. It is pictured in both photos above and below, during one of his first post-surgery meals. It looks silly in person so I laugh in his face about it a lot (in a loving way), and I’m ritualistically used to unfurling it while I’m petting him.

So imagine my surprise when I randomly found it on my shirt, as the thickened broken end poked my hand. I knew the whisker. I identified it instantly, no immediate context necessary. Is nothing sacred anymore? Take his sight, take his tail tip, but don’t take his whisker! Just kidding, obviously this whisker doesn’t hold any weight in comparison, but it’s still significant. Sal is falling apart, right down to my favorite whisker.

I figure that I happened upon it for a reason, so I kept it. I am insane and will probably have and be able to locate this small, semi-transparent whisker in my collection of things for the rest of my life. Sal may leave soon, but he won’t -really- be gone. I have him memorized down to individual whiskers, for fuck’s sake. He will live on at least until I die.

*disclaimer: all photos are my own | I do not permit their use elsewhere

[oldbabysal]

I shared a taco with Sal for Cinco De Mayo. It may be the last holiday we celebrate together, and we both love tacos (or, just food) so I had to make it count. Watching him eat made me think of the first few months I had him and how he would walk all over my feet in our small apartment kitchen as I prepared food. I would dance around in avoidance, as he had a penchant for biting feet back then. We had not gotten to the point in our relationship where he would safely take food from the palm of my hand, so I’d drop scraps for him on the floor and giddily sink to my knees, like a child, to watch him eat. I was freshly smitten with the way he chewed his food. It is otherworldly. He still eats well and voraciously these days, but soon he will stop eating altogether, and that is when the reality of him dying will be in its final stage. The simple act of sharing food with Sal is something that I have always cherished. Now that appreciation is deepened in a way I never expected, and I anxiously obsess over watching him eat, to live.

*disclaimer: all photos are my own | I do not permit their use elsewhere

[oldbabysal]

After driving 9 hours overnight on no sleep, I spent most of the day in the vet clinic parking lot, trying (and failing) to sleep in my car (and shamelessly peeing into bottles using paper funnels because the clinic doesn’t have a public restroom and I refused to leave). Most of the 7 hours I sat in that parking lot were spent hysterically sobbing over an opossum. When I take a step back and try to look at this situation from an outside perspective, I realize that the extent of this bond (or even just the bond itself) is probably seen as bizarre or unnecessary by most. I don’t care what anyone else thinks, but I do feel sad for those who cannot appreciate, much less understand, the affection that wild animals are capable of - even those that are the most reviled by society. I’d never be able to adequately convey the extent of my feelings, but I have to try, and that’s what this blog is for.

No interaction (people included) has ever felt more natural to me, and no one knows me the way that Sal does. He has significantly shaped the entirety of who I am today, from compassion and patience (which I previously had zero of), to my appreciation for the natural world and my tolerance and acceptance for things out of my control (ranging from instinct and innocence all the way to the inevitability of death). He has been my soulchild - more my child than any actual human baby could ever be. His old man diapers are literally the only diapers I have ever touched, much less changed. I would give him a decade of my own life if it meant he could live happy and healthy alongside me for that much longer. Sal changed my life. My love for him is so endless, but crippling at the same time.

We stayed in a motel, and he curled up under the blankets beside me (little spoon, as always). His aging body isn’t as warm as it used to be, and that thought alone makes me inexplicably sad.

*disclaimer: all photos are my own | I do not permit their use elsewhere