Pegleg
Every once in a great while, that is, when I am actually out late enough, which is rare, I get a glimpse of the wild world that sleeps in the shadows of the forest during daylight. The creatures that come out only at night; The deer, the bear, the raccoon, and exclusive to my neighborhood, the three legged fox. How long he's been without one of his limbs is unknown to me, but I first saw him 3 years ago, scampering into the woodline from the open road fleeing from the sight of my headlights.
At first it was sadness that struck my heart upon seeing him. How terrible it must be to live without a vital piece such as a leg. Never have I ever seen him with another fox, companion or offspring. I could only imagine the treacherous trap which most likely claimed his limb, where is the rest of his family? Were they not fortunate enough to escape?
More encounters yielded the same thing, a quick glimpse of the off cadence gallop as our survivor evaded danger. And every time my chest sank with sympathy. How cruel this world, how cruel our devices that destroy the natural order of things. But one evening all of these thoughts changed. It wasn't until one evening that I saw Mr. Fox standing proud at the side of the road, staring me down, his prey hanging dead in his mouth that I realized that even though I felt bad for him, he didn't feel bad for himself. He was going to eat well tonight, it wasn't the first time, and it wasn't going to be the last. Despite this devastating injury, Mr. Fox, Mr. Pegleg, Mr. Tripod did what he had to do to survive. His predatory body designed for four limbs, but he could still kill with three. When his precious front leg was crushed and torn from his body he could have laid down to die, but he got up to live.
What's more is this amazing little creature did so without doctors, without pain medications, without physical therapy, he's managed to live, to hunt, to survive, without prosthesis, without a support group telling him "he could do it," without a google search to find instructions on how to manage his symptoms, without care takers to make sure he's safe and fed. No, instead he survived because he wanted to. Because he fought for it. Because giving up just wasn't an option.
When it comes right down to it, it makes you think about how pampered we are as a society. Have a runny nose? Run to the ER. Want to be thinner? Take this pill. Engorged yourself to the point where it's uncomfortable to walk? Ride this electric wheelchair. It's not your fault, the government can help, it hurts? Run away. It's hard? Do it tomorrow.
With one less limb Mr. Fox has to work twice as hard just to get by, just to get the same result he used to get before he lost his leg. I highly doubt he sits around feeling sorry for himself. I doubt he's bitter about it. In fact if Mr. Fox spent anytime sulking, he'd have been someone else's lunch by now. And now he's probably twice the predator he used to be. His skills now refined, and exact. Every time we quit when it gets hard, it weakens us. Every time we medicate a flaw, we're just sawing off one of our own legs. Every time we hold our hand out for a freebie we're teaching ourselves how to be helpless. And we get so lost in all the things that matter not to our well being, our strength, and our survival, that we forget how to manage the things that count the most.
Now when I see those eyes glowing in the night's black cloak, I smile, and I cheer. You're a bad ass Mr. Fox. And you don't do it to impress, you don't do it for praise, you don't do it for any other reason because you weren't willing to lay down and die. That is heart. That is true desire. That is a fire that won't be stomped out. We should all be a little bit more like Mr. Fox. If he can make it missing a limb, how much can we do with all of our parts?
At first it was sadness that struck my heart upon seeing him. How terrible it must be to live without a vital piece such as a leg. Never have I ever seen him with another fox, companion or offspring. I could only imagine the treacherous trap which most likely claimed his limb, where is the rest of his family? Were they not fortunate enough to escape?
More encounters yielded the same thing, a quick glimpse of the off cadence gallop as our survivor evaded danger. And every time my chest sank with sympathy. How cruel this world, how cruel our devices that destroy the natural order of things. But one evening all of these thoughts changed. It wasn't until one evening that I saw Mr. Fox standing proud at the side of the road, staring me down, his prey hanging dead in his mouth that I realized that even though I felt bad for him, he didn't feel bad for himself. He was going to eat well tonight, it wasn't the first time, and it wasn't going to be the last. Despite this devastating injury, Mr. Fox, Mr. Pegleg, Mr. Tripod did what he had to do to survive. His predatory body designed for four limbs, but he could still kill with three. When his precious front leg was crushed and torn from his body he could have laid down to die, but he got up to live.
What's more is this amazing little creature did so without doctors, without pain medications, without physical therapy, he's managed to live, to hunt, to survive, without prosthesis, without a support group telling him "he could do it," without a google search to find instructions on how to manage his symptoms, without care takers to make sure he's safe and fed. No, instead he survived because he wanted to. Because he fought for it. Because giving up just wasn't an option.
When it comes right down to it, it makes you think about how pampered we are as a society. Have a runny nose? Run to the ER. Want to be thinner? Take this pill. Engorged yourself to the point where it's uncomfortable to walk? Ride this electric wheelchair. It's not your fault, the government can help, it hurts? Run away. It's hard? Do it tomorrow.
With one less limb Mr. Fox has to work twice as hard just to get by, just to get the same result he used to get before he lost his leg. I highly doubt he sits around feeling sorry for himself. I doubt he's bitter about it. In fact if Mr. Fox spent anytime sulking, he'd have been someone else's lunch by now. And now he's probably twice the predator he used to be. His skills now refined, and exact. Every time we quit when it gets hard, it weakens us. Every time we medicate a flaw, we're just sawing off one of our own legs. Every time we hold our hand out for a freebie we're teaching ourselves how to be helpless. And we get so lost in all the things that matter not to our well being, our strength, and our survival, that we forget how to manage the things that count the most.
Now when I see those eyes glowing in the night's black cloak, I smile, and I cheer. You're a bad ass Mr. Fox. And you don't do it to impress, you don't do it for praise, you don't do it for any other reason because you weren't willing to lay down and die. That is heart. That is true desire. That is a fire that won't be stomped out. We should all be a little bit more like Mr. Fox. If he can make it missing a limb, how much can we do with all of our parts?