Stop and Smell the Road Kill

I haven’t posted in a while. It’s that time of year, school up and running for the kids, UConn in full swing, deadlines at work. This was the ultimate test for working parents with new puppies. Actually, our puppies, Lily and Savannah, are more or less adolescents at this stage – they sit quietly while we wait for the school bus, but every now and then, they’ll still pee on the carpet. There are other comparisons, but I’ll leave it at that. 

We’ve managed, though, going home for lunches, taking them on long runs to make up for crate time. Dogs in autumn are different from dogs in the summer, I’ve learned. Crisp air, tree nuts all over the ground, little critters picking up nuts, and deer, oh dear, lots of deer. Running on the leash has proven much easier than simply walking. At a run, they are focused on the road ahead. At a walk, they are essentially a nose on a leash. We must stop for everything, moldering leaves, weathered chives, squished apples and, of course, squished chipmunks. I am aware of the road kill count in ways I never have been before, anticipating the point in the walk where the deer was hit or the squirrel was run over. Even if it’s no more than a dark stain, my puppies will identify it as a former critter. I will pay silent homage as I yank them back to the side of the road, lest they become the next victims.

At first I was dismayed and alarmed and irritated that so many of my neighbors, apparently, run over animals willy nilly. Then my son informed me that “Daddy hit a bunny.” Oh no, not the bunny that lived in the wall? “Yup.” The truth is they are out there in force, gathering provisions for the winter, and in low light a blowing leaf and a bouncing bunny look an awful lot alike. 

In this midst of this road kill bonanza, I was walking in the rain to my office on campus and noticed an exceptionally lively worm on the sidewalk. Impressed by its vigor, I walked a few steps forward and then went back and picked up the worm and deposited it on the grass. Of course, I had probably slaughtered dozens of unsuspecting worms, rushing around during that especially damp week, trying to get from school to work to puppies and back to work and school and after school and sports and work and you get the picture. Saving the worm, I’m sure, was some kind of act of self-preservation. I did slow down. I got less done, but I was less destructive.

I recall a professor of mine in graduate school telling me to “slow down” at the busy time of my degree. “You’ll do better work,” she argued. 

“I’ll do less work,” I countered.

“You’ll do better work,” she repeated. And she was right. Since then, I’ve been telling the students that I work with that if they can do one thing well and thoroughly, that is an achievement. There will likely be more achievements, but at least one intention, one goal was protected and not left to get run over in poor light on a rainy day because someone was rushing to get somewhere.