The Underbelly

Some folks in DC couldn’t be more annoyed by the drive to Baltimore. But I’ve come to love my hour-long journeys to turtle rescue days at the aquarium. It’s my little window of time to be alone with my thoughts and usually a good podcast or new favorite song on repeat. Some levity before seeing the flippered crew. Except when that little peace pocket gets punctured. Stopped at a light this week, a fellow in the passenger’s seat of a semi caught my eye as he rolled down his window. Flung a plastic wrapper from his e-cigarette out the opening. Didn’t bother to look up (or out the window for that matter), far too occupied. I had come scarily close to calculating how fast I could throw my hazards on, climb out of the car and, oh so gingerly, cradle that piece of rubbish in my hands until it reached that window of his before truly realizing that was a terrible idea. No matter how calm and cool I wanted to be. So let’s all thank the goddesses the light turned green when it did.

Frankly, no one hasn’t seen this scene.

But what I have seen that many have not is what happens when this plastic gets funneled to sewers and swallowed by waterways, ending up in places like the ocean looking a whole lot like jellyfish to a hungry sea turtle. On a visit to the Karen Beasley Sea Turtle Hospital last fall, the staff informed us that of all the sea turtles they have rescued and operated on, 100% had plastic in their bellies. And I fully believe it. In fact, the World Wildlife Foundation reports that more than half of the world’s sea turtles have devoured plastic waste – nothing’s too small. You know, maybe it’s a good thing Mr. Litterbug and I didn’t make eye contact that hour.

Pammy the loggerhead being treated at Karen Beasley Sea Turtle Hospital in North Carolina.

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It’s funny when I see what we parents (of all form) do to care for our ultimate prized possession – our young. May as well slap my hand on a bible; I was capable of bending over backwards to do almost anything for Ferg. Just as parents of humans discuss sleeping and feeding strategies, so do pet parents. We trade tips for grain-free diets and allergy prone pups. Backpack carriers that fit the bill for subways. Best booties to keep salt at bay for wintertime. The list goes on. It’s inherent. It’s love. It’s natural. For years I even swore I wasn’t the “craziest” of pup moms – just a sane, rather level headed, protective one. Then one day, my little guy was offered wheels of freedom by a good samaritan on the street. For free. Because she saw him heavy in my arms, unable to walk any further. Knowing he was in the golden years. Right then, I ate my words, gulped my judgment. Because nothing about caring so much it hurts for love seemed an ounce of crazy.

My friend Kelley recently reminded me on a call that sometimes the value of something is far greater than the actual price. “I know you did everything you could for Ferg’s care, and for me it’s the same - those vet bills are high, but I never think twice about the inherent value of giving my cats the best care.” Bingo, simpatico. So let me ask you this. Can you imagine – just for one hot second – what this earth would look like if everyone cared for her as they do their most prized possession: their children, their pets, their young? Because we’re all standing on the same big, blue one.

I mean, really. Can you picture a parent throwing a piece of trash into their kid’s bathtub because it’s more convenient than the garbage can down the hall? And how is choosing the best ergonomic pup carrier that much different than committing to carrying our goods in reusable bags? Maybe we could use a little more dog park or playground chit chat focused on how to best supplement the soil with richness in addition to our own diets. But nature is what’s outside. ← I now worry about how common this type of mindset has become. For good reason. Because that’s often what it feels like. Everything’s on the outside. I don’t entirely know why one truth bomb dropped last fall by my new, wise friend, Christine, woke me up on this — like I had slept through a little of life. “Our bodies ARE nature,” she said. I mean, I knew it. But not all of me knew it. I’d somehow put up invisible walls of separation, even for a “nature loving” human. I know I’m not alone when I say I’ve thought often – especially in those early days of grief – what I could have done differently to prolong or enhance the life of my best friend. It’s normal to contemplate, I have come to realize with the help of others. But I also know that most wholehearted caregivers do the damn best they can with what they have to work with when the time strikes. So why should we act any differently toward our own greatest mother? Why should we give any less?

P.S. If you’d like to join me in the exploration of reducing single-use plastics, I’ve been turning to a fun little book Can I Recycle This? by Jennie Romer that I keep it on my kitchen shelf where I can see it every day (by page 12 my eyes were very wide.) Oh, and here's that new favorite song on repeat (thanks, Mindy!).