It was almost a year to the date after I first met "M" that one of our most unusual experiences transpired. Our adventures together often included animals, as you have already observed in the bird (and alligator) photos. Much of our time also involved not so wild creatures, but rather the beloved pets of family and friends, such as dogs, cats, and donkeys.
Yes! Donkeys! You see, across the street from "M"s hilltop home of over fifty years was a ranch, complete with an assortment of out-buildings and a well-worn split-rail wooden fence. It was a highly unusual sight for this area, which consisted of many large estates belonging to well-to-do residents who did most of their business in nearby New York City. Most likely, the ranch was home to a dense forest when "M" and her husband first purchased their property well over sixty years ago, a natural habitat for a wide variety of waterfowl, deer, and other woods dwellers.
But now the property, which was extensive, was fronted by a ranch. Not the kind where you would find herds of cattle, sheep, goats, or chickens (please forgive me... I'm not a cattle expert, but I'm pretty sure that chickens do not exist in a "herd"). And not the kind that was home to horses groomed for show or racing. In fact, the house that occupied the ranch was mammoth in size and quite modern in design. It was stunning and rather surprising to see when one emerged from the bottom of "M"s long, steep, windy, and very woodsy driveway. That's where we would often walk together to get our daily exercise. The trek to and from the base of the driveway was quite hearty, and always required a strong cup of tea afterwards!
At this point in our relationship, I was not "M"s only caregiver, although I was the one she spent the most time due to all the overnights I enjoyed while her daughter was traveling. "M"s life was filled with some other very lovely women who would spent short periods of time with her during the day while she was at her own home, ensuring that she was safe and well-fed. One nearby neighbor would frequently bring over a traditional picnic basket full of healthy, hand-packed lunches and home-made baked goods. I was there for one of those occasions, and couldn't have felt more "less than" despite the woman's completely kind intentions. This was definitely not the type of picnic I was used to. Embarrassing as it is to admit, my contribution to my stays with "M" pretty much included granola bars, boxes of raisins, and cans of soda. In my defense, "M"s daughter provided plenty of enough nutritious foods during her absences, so there was no really no need for me to bring very much during my overnight stays.
One late Autumn afternoon, a very sweet woman that "M" had been acquainted with for years was spending some time with her. She was not the basket bringer, although she did bring many other qualities and characteristics that made her visits just as memorable. I was scheduled to be with "M" the following day, so the woman and I, having met previously, had each other's phone numbers so that we could coordinate our caregiving.
Like me, this woman would spent time with "M" walking down her driveway to look at the ranch across the street. It was excellent exercise for "M" and her caregivers, provided lots of opportunity for conversation and reflection, and on a crisp, colorful Autumn day, could be matched by nothing in terms of its natural beauty. Well... nothing except for "M"s well-worn yet still stunning, eternally expressive face.
Late that afternoon, I received a distress call from the woman, who was extremely upset. Through her sobs, I deduced that there had been some kind of "accident" in which "M" had gotten hurt. Her daughter had been contacted, and come home early from work. Although I couldn't quite understand the specifics of what had happened, I distinctly recall hearing something about a hospital visit and stitches. I also remember trying to comfort the woman, who was distraught beyond words, telling her that whatever happened wasn't her fault because it was an accident.
I was beyond worried, but soon received a follow-up call form "M"s daughter, who updated me as to the details of the event. Apparently, "M" and the caregiver had walked across the narrow road at the end of the driveway to visit the donkeys. This wasn't an unusual occurrence, as "M" loved animals indiscriminately, and often would cross the street to say "hello" to their four-legged friends. To be honest, I'd even stopped to say "hello" to them during one of my early visits to "M"s home. They certainly were not a common site in these parts, and I would imagine many a stray visitor to the area would pull over and make their acquaintance.
From what I could ascertain from the daughter's description of the events, "M" had been bit quite badly and needed stitches. She was doing fine, however, and was in her usual good spirits. The only thing needed on my end was to take her for a follow-up appointment at the hospital during my stay the next day. I told the daughter I'd be happy to do so, as it was also an occasion for "M" and I go out into her local community. Maybe we could even have lunch somewhere downtown, if she was up to it? "Sure," her daughter encouraged, both of us agreeing that this might be good for her in light of the recent "doggie bite."
Yup. Doggie bite. That's what I heard, and that's what I went into the visit believing. "M" had been bitten by the neighbor's dog during her walk with the other caregiver, which was unusual, because the animal was "usually very friendly." Luckily, she had received treatment right away, including the standard tetanus shot, and the wound looked like it would heal easily. "She's very strong," her daughter always told me, and I had found this to be nothing but true during our acquaintance so far.
When I got to "M"s residence the next day, I helped her into my car and listened carefully as she described the events of the previous day to me. Needless to say, her version was unique and very distinctive from the other two versions I'd heard so far. From "M"s perspective, she had done something "very bad" by invading the animal's space, and it was only trying to protect itself and its young. This is a natural thing for animals to do, of course, and "M"s version of the tale made just as much sense as any other. What was interesting was that "M" continued to blame herself and defend the animal. No matter what question I asked about the accident, "M" would return to the same idea. Somehow, this whole incident was her fault and she should have "known better."
At the hospital, a very upscale business that served a very upscale clientele, an extremely polite and exquisitely dressed gentleman escorted "M" up to the follow-up clinic in a wheelchair. True to her nature, she insisted that she didn't need the chair, but I convinced her to let herself be treated like royalty for a little bit. "When you live to be eighty-nine, you deserve to be pampered sometimes." She looked skeptical, but when I told her that I would do the same thing if it were me, she reluctantly agreed to ride in the chair. Then she added, with her typically shocked response, "I'm that old?"
When she was wheeled into the follow-up clinic, I was in for quite a shock myself. Not only was she treated like royalty by the hospital staff, who all seemed to know her quite well, greeting her with genuine deference as if I had accompanied a local celebrity. They also were amazed at the nature of her injury. "That's odd," I thought to myself. A doggie bite isn't that uncommon an occurrence, even among the rich and famous. I heard one nursing assistant say, "I've been here over twenty years, and I've never seen that type of bite!" Then "M" shrugged it off, telling them all how it wasn't the animal's fault, and that is was probably only defending its space and possible young. "I shouldn't have bothered it," she said again and again.
The doctor finally came out, and seemed to be well-acquainted with "M" and very familiar with her medical history. And he quickly concurred with the nursing assistant, only this time adding much more clarity as to the nature of the wound. "We certainly don't see many donkey bits around here! In fact, I don't think I've ever seen one in my whole time at this hospital!"
A donkey bite! Of course! Now the whole situation made more sense to me. "M", being the warm, friendly, nurturing soul that she is, had walked down the driveway with her other caregiver to visit the donkeys who lived at the ranch across the street. Somehow (and I never did get much clarity as to the "how and why" of the event), one of the donkeys had grabbed "M"s pant leg while she was petting its head, and bitten her quite thoroughly in her calf. The bite went clear through the pants and the imprint of the donkey's mouth could be seen in the wound, which the doctors were generous enough to show me while cleaning and re-dressing the injury. Thanks, docs!
"It's healing very nicely," the head doctor stated, and "M" was pleased with this news. Then, directing his statements toward me as the caregiver, he told me to make sure that the wound was cleaned thoroughly and dressed twice a day. I agreed, knowing that I would be passing the care instructions onto "M"s daughter that evening. "You're an amazing woman!" he said to "M" as another extremely polite and exquisitely dressed escort wheeled "M" to the elevator. No doubt about that statement. Amazing was the perfect word to describe "M".
To be honest, I can't even recall if "M" and I stopped for lunch that day, or just had our usual soup and sandwiches at her home. I was mesmerized by the whole occurrence, which, you have to admit, was extremely unusual. Even more fascinating to me was "M"s interpretation of what had happened, and how she kept blaming herself for its occurrence.
That's what I remember most about that beautifully crisp late Autumn day. The way that "M" kept putting herself down and taking responsibility for what had been truly a freak accident. We talked about this at length, and "M" could give me no further insight that day. All I knew was that a part of me, buried deep down inside, ached for her. I could empathize with the emotions she was experiencing, and knew first-hand what it was like to feel responsible for something that had gone horribly wrong.
In the weeks to come, which would include our first visit to Florida together for Thanksgiving with her senior sisters, we would have much more time to talk. To share stories and events that had shaped our lives and lay the foundation for who we were as human beings... in the way that only two very old and close friends could do.
Yup. Doggie bite. That's what I heard, and that's what I went into the visit believing. "M" had been bitten by the neighbor's dog during her walk with the other caregiver, which was unusual, because the animal was "usually very friendly." Luckily, she had received treatment right away, including the standard tetanus shot, and the wound looked like it would heal easily. "She's very strong," her daughter always told me, and I had found this to be nothing but true during our acquaintance so far.
When I got to "M"s residence the next day, I helped her into my car and listened carefully as she described the events of the previous day to me. Needless to say, her version was unique and very distinctive from the other two versions I'd heard so far. From "M"s perspective, she had done something "very bad" by invading the animal's space, and it was only trying to protect itself and its young. This is a natural thing for animals to do, of course, and "M"s version of the tale made just as much sense as any other. What was interesting was that "M" continued to blame herself and defend the animal. No matter what question I asked about the accident, "M" would return to the same idea. Somehow, this whole incident was her fault and she should have "known better."
At the hospital, a very upscale business that served a very upscale clientele, an extremely polite and exquisitely dressed gentleman escorted "M" up to the follow-up clinic in a wheelchair. True to her nature, she insisted that she didn't need the chair, but I convinced her to let herself be treated like royalty for a little bit. "When you live to be eighty-nine, you deserve to be pampered sometimes." She looked skeptical, but when I told her that I would do the same thing if it were me, she reluctantly agreed to ride in the chair. Then she added, with her typically shocked response, "I'm that old?"
When she was wheeled into the follow-up clinic, I was in for quite a shock myself. Not only was she treated like royalty by the hospital staff, who all seemed to know her quite well, greeting her with genuine deference as if I had accompanied a local celebrity. They also were amazed at the nature of her injury. "That's odd," I thought to myself. A doggie bite isn't that uncommon an occurrence, even among the rich and famous. I heard one nursing assistant say, "I've been here over twenty years, and I've never seen that type of bite!" Then "M" shrugged it off, telling them all how it wasn't the animal's fault, and that is was probably only defending its space and possible young. "I shouldn't have bothered it," she said again and again.
The doctor finally came out, and seemed to be well-acquainted with "M" and very familiar with her medical history. And he quickly concurred with the nursing assistant, only this time adding much more clarity as to the nature of the wound. "We certainly don't see many donkey bits around here! In fact, I don't think I've ever seen one in my whole time at this hospital!"
A donkey bite! Of course! Now the whole situation made more sense to me. "M", being the warm, friendly, nurturing soul that she is, had walked down the driveway with her other caregiver to visit the donkeys who lived at the ranch across the street. Somehow (and I never did get much clarity as to the "how and why" of the event), one of the donkeys had grabbed "M"s pant leg while she was petting its head, and bitten her quite thoroughly in her calf. The bite went clear through the pants and the imprint of the donkey's mouth could be seen in the wound, which the doctors were generous enough to show me while cleaning and re-dressing the injury. Thanks, docs!
"It's healing very nicely," the head doctor stated, and "M" was pleased with this news. Then, directing his statements toward me as the caregiver, he told me to make sure that the wound was cleaned thoroughly and dressed twice a day. I agreed, knowing that I would be passing the care instructions onto "M"s daughter that evening. "You're an amazing woman!" he said to "M" as another extremely polite and exquisitely dressed escort wheeled "M" to the elevator. No doubt about that statement. Amazing was the perfect word to describe "M".
To be honest, I can't even recall if "M" and I stopped for lunch that day, or just had our usual soup and sandwiches at her home. I was mesmerized by the whole occurrence, which, you have to admit, was extremely unusual. Even more fascinating to me was "M"s interpretation of what had happened, and how she kept blaming herself for its occurrence.
That's what I remember most about that beautifully crisp late Autumn day. The way that "M" kept putting herself down and taking responsibility for what had been truly a freak accident. We talked about this at length, and "M" could give me no further insight that day. All I knew was that a part of me, buried deep down inside, ached for her. I could empathize with the emotions she was experiencing, and knew first-hand what it was like to feel responsible for something that had gone horribly wrong.
In the weeks to come, which would include our first visit to Florida together for Thanksgiving with her senior sisters, we would have much more time to talk. To share stories and events that had shaped our lives and lay the foundation for who we were as human beings... in the way that only two very old and close friends could do.
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