Don’t make a decision based on just a glimpse of a life

By Jessica Coleman

Staff Writer

   At this very moment, I have a bedroom full of baby opossums, a deaf, blind, epileptic dog and a three-legged dog in my living room, and probably a husband who is rolling his eyes because I had him blow- dry a chicken. 

   It all sounds like something out of a sitcom, and as a writer who loves a laugh, I often present it as fun and light hearted.    People see a photo on Facebook of me with my pet chicken Mildred sitting on the sofa and they think, “Oh! I want a pet chicken!” They see me posting pictures of Bingham (the blind, deaf, epileptic one) and think “Oh, he is so quirky and fun! He bumped into the pole! He is so cute! I want a special needs pet.”  They see me post a selfie with a baby opossum and think    “I want to rehabilitate wildlife!” or “I want one as a pet!”

   Of course, most people don’t think about the fact that, when we purchased three-dollar chickens, we also we spent a couple of hundred dollars on supplies for them. We had to build them a place to roost, so we spent quite a bit of time on them too. Not to mention, Mildred (she is the favorite chicken, but if you tell the others I said that, I will call you a liar) is tame, which took time to do. I didn’t just throw her in a pen and then she decided she loved me. I spent a lot of time with her. 

   I go to training once a month and had to get a permit to keep wildlife in my home. I didn’t just go pick up some baby opossums off the side of the road, and they are not pets. They will be released when they are old enough, and I am under the instruction of a rehabber with far more knowledge and experience than I have. I also have to feed the very small baby opossums six times a day. If I work eight hours a day, that means I have to wake up several times a  night to do it. They are adorable little critters, but considerably less so at 3 a.m. I can’t imagine much that is cute to me at 3 a.m., and I have my very own children.

   Oh, and Bingham? Oh, my darling little canine train wreck who lives in a dark silence, but can smell me unwrapping a slice of muenster cheese from across the house and come bounding into the kitchen, knocking over every table between us on the way? I adore that boy. He lights up my life like few dogs before him have. Everyone who meets him loves him. My bank account does not. He takes daily medications and needs regular vet visits. It isn’t cheap and it isn’t easy. He is expensive and time consuming. He has been difficult to housebreak because I can’t teach him with voice commands, and I can’t use the hand signals usually used on deaf dogs (he can’t see me). So, I clean up a lot of urine. Thank goodness for apple cider vinegar. That stuff can get any smell out of any item.   

   I am not telling you any of this to scare you away. If you think you can handle a special needs dog, by all means, adopt one. There are so many sitting in shelters right now who need homes. Some who face being euthanized by the end of the day. Please, consider a special needs pet. But by “consider” I mean “think about it.” Think it through. Consult your family and your finances.   I go without quite a bit to pay for Bingham’s vet visits, and my vet is very affordable, relatively speaking.    I wake up at night with him having a seizure beside me and I am terrified that he may not make it through this one. I shoot out of bed and grab his emergency medication and I cry as I administer it. This isn’t for the faint of heart, or the weak-stomached. Ask your spouse if he or she is ok with you diving out of bed in the middle of the night while your dog seizes and shoots pee everywhere.

   If you want to rehab wildlife, please, get ahold of me. I will gladly take you with me to a meeting and set you up with people who can teach you what they know. It is basically raining baby opossums right now and the more people that rehab, the fewer times we have to wake up at night. I would love to help you, but please think it through. Please know that these are not pets and we do not treat them as such. It is our job to get them ready to live in the wild, where they need a healthy fear of humans. 

    Social media gives others a glimpse of our lives. A tiny peek into what is a much larger situation.  You see “Cute! Bingham is so adorable” You don’t see the tears and the fears and the worry that I may not have him long. The four a.m. screaming “I can’t lose you, baby, please stay with me.” (I teared up again, just typing that). Nor, the frantic calls to the vet and the bill for coming in on a Saturday.

   For what it’s worth, it is worth every tear, every penny, every new frown line, every ounce of apple cider vinegar and every minute scrubbing my floor. I have soared beyond blessed and landed smack dab in the middle of cloud nine. I love my life. I am not complaining. Not even a little bit. 

   Ask me again at 2 a.m.

   And at 4 a.m.

   And again at 6 a.m.