Quiet - and Still

The new medication is taking its toll. My feelings went from a lot of anxiety and minimal depression, to little anxiety and a ton of depression. I’m missing Hardy more than ever, and I’m seeing him everywhere again. It’s difficult to think positively about anything. To make matters worse, my children haven’t checked in since a dropped call from my son yesterday, and last night I had a bad dream about my sister.

Yesterday evening wasn’t so bad. After I got control over my exhaustion, we went for a walk on UCSC property. Dogs are not allowed on the property, so I knew I wouldn’t have to deal with any surprises. It’s a beautiful campus where deer and bunnies are easily spotted. We saw at least five deer on two different occasions. There are tall redwood trees and vistas galore. Our walk traversed through a redwood grove and fern grotto, and then opened up to a view of Monterey Bay.

I wonder if the wildlife on campus is there because of the no dog rule. I’ve never seen a wild rabbit feel so comfortable as we walked by. I didn’t see an escape route or nearby hole for it to jump down, in the event of an approaching predator. It reminds me of the tame birds one will encounter in a place like Disneyland, or the squirrels in Washington D.C. Those animals will take food from an interested human. I’ve experienced it first hand. Literally.

I surmised that it was because of the no dog policy, and that realization made me feel a little sad. Until yesterday, I didn’t feel like Hardy was a nuisance to wildlife. I’ve certainly spotted numbers of animals while walking with him. Of course, I kept him on leash, but we still managed to regularly view the California Quail on the trail at home in Dublin. Once we saw a coyote.

The one thing I notice is that wild animals are quiet – and still. I know it’s not because they are peaceful, but for their own survival. It must be adaptive to be quiet and still. Except in the case of birds. Sound seems to be what they are about. For example, as we walked through the redwood grove yesterday, the birds seemed to continually chirp and downright scream at one another. I surmised that there must have been danger – at least in the trees.

Who knows? Maybe they were warning each other about the trespassers below them. I’ve heard that many animals depend on birds’ warning calls. The warning calls from the air are beneficial for those that inhabit the forest floor.

I wish there would have been a warning call for Hardy and me. I don’t think a day has gone by when I haven’t run through the details again - trying to figure a way out for us, trying to figure a way to save him. I still feel guilty, even though I know it wasn’t my fault, and I know I couldn’t save him. My conclusion? I would not be as adaptive in the wild. I lack the killer instinct.