The Runt of the Litter

Watching Nature at work can sometimes break my heart. I was thinking a lot the past few days about being the low man on the totem pole. It's an unusual place for me, almost always I have instinctively clamored my way to the top, or nearly so. There have been times when being at the top was not neccessary and so it was easy to hang back and submitt, to stay backstage and be an understudy...


When I was about fourteen I lived in a very rural area of southwest Missouri. My mother and her husband at the time had rented a little tin trailer for us to live in. There was no rent to be paid only ranch chores to exchange in the deal. Being compulsively poor, it was really our last hope.
The ranch was large for the area and owned by a widow with two children. Helping out around the barn area I got to know animals in an up close and personal way. I still remember the first time I saw the top bull, a huge Black Angus, mating with one of the cows. Interesting is the only thing I can say... Anyway the ranch had several working dogs, they were not treated as pets but rather hired hands.
I had a hard time with the attitude toward some of the animals. So matter of fact, just do your job, no pat on the head, no play time. To me, it was cruel. So, this particular year we had a late spring, it actually snowed eight inches on Easter that year. One of the dogs had given birth to ten pups right by our little trailer. I wanted to bring them in, but I was not allowed to do so. I knew they would probably all die in the cold but I was told firmly not to touch them. So, I simply watched. Everyday I would bundle up, sit outside hoping that somehow I could will them the strength to surrvive.
I did what I was told and never interfered. I regret that now.
The pups seemed at the time healthy enough, had it been spring to surrvive. Except for one. She was born last, she was the smallest of all. I'm sure you know the story, feeding time would come around and of course there was no plce for her. She would fight and fight with all her little strength and get nowhere. She was stepped on and pushed aside, the survival instincts of her siblings pushed her aside time after time. She never gained weight, she never thrived.
I came home from school one afternoon to find her lying dead, cold and stiff and alone. I cried for her, I cried for the unjustice, the unfairness of it all. I raged against the adult veiw point of nature and the cycle of life. So, in my rage I took a shovel and in that frozen ground, after what seemed hours of trying to dig a hole, I burried her. Sobbing all the while, I covered her with the frozen earth and cried out against the merciless nature of things.


...I've been thinking this week about placing myself last in line. There is something in me that fights it. A part of me that loathes it and fights and pushes to achieve. Can I accept being last in line if the desire for the end result is stronger than my desire to be standing on a higher rung of the ladder.

I don't know.

There is a fight taking place within my spirit, my sub-conscious. I can feel it.
I know I should be more open, I know that you think because you use intelectual words like "primary" and "secondary" that it shouldn't feel so emotional.

I have a strong spirit, I have a strong sense of self. I have always had a struggle with submission.

Is it possible to train myself to always be last?
Should I even be okay with always being last?

I'm glad I have next week to think about it in the quiet of the trees. To be by myself and unravel the knotted questions lurking in the back of my mind.

If I am the runt of the litter will something in my spirit die?