I found a baby squirrel after a wind storm. It looked like a little rat. I bought a doll's baby bottle, filled it with some kind of liquid nutrition, and tried to nurse the tiny squirrel back to health. But I hadn't been trained in taking care of wild animals, and such training would have probably saved the little squirrel.
But, Lord, I bonded with that tiny creature. Kept it going for two days. My mistake was I aspirated its lungs unknowingly. On the morning it died, I noticed it was breathing in tiny, strong, abbreviated gasps.
I called my school, left a message I'd be late, and rushed the squirrel over to the emergency vet downtown Richmond. 6:30 in the morning. The vet took it from its basket, examined it, and said, "This little squirrel is in agonal breathing." "What does that mean?" I asked. "It means the little squirrel is trying to die. You can either let it die trying to breathe, or I can put it down." Well, that was my little baby and I didn't want it to suffer, so I asked her to put it down. $79 for an emergency shot of permanent slumber.
My Uncle John, upon hearing the tale, said, "I would have drowned it before I spent 79 dollars!"
Only a mother would understand. (Yeah, guys can be mothers, too. I know...I know.)
Beast regards,
WW
PS: So, agonal breathing is a term used just for the beasts?
