Wise, but Unforgiving (a sad entry)
Yes, I'm referring to Mother Nature, the callous, heartless ***** .....
Four out of the five kits Millie delivered were causing me concern:
One had a seemingly underdeveloped front paw, which he is now using to jump around the cage most energetically. Case closed.
One is smaller than the others and I've been feeding him extra milk to try and give him a boost, but he seems healthy in all other respects. So hopefully, case closed.
One has been picked on by its siblings and has a damaged eye, ear and nose. She's a good size and is obviously getting milk from Millie. But I may have to make a hard choice, weighing her injuries against her quality of life. At the moment I'm chickening out and playing a waiting game .... decision looming.
Another one was also being bitten by the stronger kits and died on Friday night .....
After arriving home from work I went out to check on the chinchillas and to give the smallest one some milk. I heard a feeble peeping sound coming from the cardboard box in their cage and knew that all was not well.
The little beige one was lying weak and prostrate, fighting for breath. Its nose and mouth were a mass of congealed blood and serous fluid, and it had been bitten around its ears and toes. I took it out of the cage and fed the runty one milk while I tried to figure out the best way to put the beige one out of its misery. I was reminded of Mirë's experience with the baby bunny her cat dragged home .....
I was upset seeing the little thing hurting, but still couldn't decisively act to stop the pain, and I felt that its injuries where somehow my fault.
I'd talked to Rebecca that very day about how I was worried about some of the babies and she reminded me that maybe there was something congenitally wrong with the ones that were getting picked on. Something that wasn't apparent .... that maybe the stronger siblings sensed the abnormality and it was just Mother Nature's way of weeding out the weakest genes.
All very logical and pragmatic, but didn't really help the way I felt.
So I just sat there and cried and searched the little chest for each rise and fall of breath.
Then the breathing stopped and I thought it was over. And while I stared, there was a little shudder (maybe a last breath, I'm not sure), the little legs lifted and went stiff, and I knew I'd witnessed the death rattle. It was all I could do to keep from balling like a baby. I didn't particularly want to wake up the household with sobbing ... it was around midnight, you see.
I've recounted this experience to a few people who asked after the babies, and I've started crying each time. I'm crying all over again even now.
Millie had a kit in her first litter that died, but it was different because I found it dead in the cage and it hadn't been injured.
The emotional reaction I've experienced has been surprising. And because of it I'm really dreading the decision I might have to make about the other injured kit ......
Four out of the five kits Millie delivered were causing me concern:
One had a seemingly underdeveloped front paw, which he is now using to jump around the cage most energetically. Case closed.
One is smaller than the others and I've been feeding him extra milk to try and give him a boost, but he seems healthy in all other respects. So hopefully, case closed.
One has been picked on by its siblings and has a damaged eye, ear and nose. She's a good size and is obviously getting milk from Millie. But I may have to make a hard choice, weighing her injuries against her quality of life. At the moment I'm chickening out and playing a waiting game .... decision looming.
Another one was also being bitten by the stronger kits and died on Friday night .....
After arriving home from work I went out to check on the chinchillas and to give the smallest one some milk. I heard a feeble peeping sound coming from the cardboard box in their cage and knew that all was not well.
The little beige one was lying weak and prostrate, fighting for breath. Its nose and mouth were a mass of congealed blood and serous fluid, and it had been bitten around its ears and toes. I took it out of the cage and fed the runty one milk while I tried to figure out the best way to put the beige one out of its misery. I was reminded of Mirë's experience with the baby bunny her cat dragged home .....
I was upset seeing the little thing hurting, but still couldn't decisively act to stop the pain, and I felt that its injuries where somehow my fault.
I'd talked to Rebecca that very day about how I was worried about some of the babies and she reminded me that maybe there was something congenitally wrong with the ones that were getting picked on. Something that wasn't apparent .... that maybe the stronger siblings sensed the abnormality and it was just Mother Nature's way of weeding out the weakest genes.
All very logical and pragmatic, but didn't really help the way I felt.
So I just sat there and cried and searched the little chest for each rise and fall of breath.
Then the breathing stopped and I thought it was over. And while I stared, there was a little shudder (maybe a last breath, I'm not sure), the little legs lifted and went stiff, and I knew I'd witnessed the death rattle. It was all I could do to keep from balling like a baby. I didn't particularly want to wake up the household with sobbing ... it was around midnight, you see.
I've recounted this experience to a few people who asked after the babies, and I've started crying each time. I'm crying all over again even now.
Millie had a kit in her first litter that died, but it was different because I found it dead in the cage and it hadn't been injured.
The emotional reaction I've experienced has been surprising. And because of it I'm really dreading the decision I might have to make about the other injured kit ......