good enough is the new best.

Oh lord I am being schooled. and humbled. Reeling from this perpetual smack down, Sri Lanka brings me to my lily-white north american knees again and again, and forces me to look at my own arrogance, the frequency with which and degree to which I think I’m Right or I know what’s right.
I suspect I am just too soft to stay here. Every day seems to bring either moral outrage or devastation at the suffering of the animals here, from benign neglect to outright cruelty (which might just be ignorance in a very ugly suit). I understand that people here are too consumed by the struggle to keep themselves fed, clothed, housed to have much bandwidth for thoughts of animal welfare, environmental degradation, and such, that they are, by and large, poorly educated and ignorant of many kinds of knowledge I take for granted. Does it take money or education, though, to feel compassion for other sentient beings? Does it require time to contemplate such things or is it just the function of a beating heart to care, to notice, to behave kindly…? I know the answer. These ‘truths” I hold so dear are very modern concepts, and what feels like “natural compassion” to me is, or could be, in fact the product of education and immersion in modern cultural norms. Furthermore, animal cruelty and neglect are most certainly alive and well across the entire globe, and thriving in the factory farms, slaughterhouses, and dog-fighting pits of my own very modern backyard. Same same but different.
At any rate, I break down into hysterical fury at the sight of the temple elephants, chained and weaving side to side neurotically, I cry every day over some dog or another, and the process of adopting out the puppies is killing me. One went out to a home of a relative nearby, and Dinesh came back after a visit to check in on him, sadly reporting that the pup is miserable and tied up because they can’t control him when he’s not*. I know I cannot control the fate of these pups, nor was I responsible for bringing them into the world, that we have done our best for them - but best doesn't feel good enough here, and it kills me to feel like I am failing them. Even here, where we have built them a nice dry cage and a fairly spacious run at the side of the house, I am consumed by guilt every time they whine and cry out of boredom,hunger, and/or desire to be out with the humans.
Last night we had Tissa spayed, at a clinic about as sophisticated and clean as a war zone field hospital. It was brutal. Had I been warned, it might have been less so, but as it was the vet had no assistant that day, was trying to see as many of the line of waiting dogs as possible, and had no time to hold this foreigner’s hand. So, he put her out with 2 injections, hoisted her up on the small stainless steel table, which had been wiped down with some disinfectant spray and a filthy mop, propped her body up between what looked like old phonebooks taped together, her head hanging back almost off the table, tongue sticking out the side like a cartoon, and sliced her open… and then near the end of the operation, she started to wake up and cry pitifully… and i LOST IT. I began haranguing Dinesh (freshly deputized as veterinary nurse and assisting the vet to a small degree) about “WTF is going on???” “no it’s NOT normal to wake up before an operation is even finished…” etc etc etc… the other people waiting with their animals are somewhat sympathetic, but also,I suspect, think I am displaying an embarrassing lack of self-restraint. The vet, to his considerable credit, just kept sewing her up and then gave her another shot - he did not have me thrown out , nor come over and punch me in the face himself. When all was said and done, he explained that “Here in Sri Lanka, we have to use “chemical” anesthesia, which is dangerous, especially for an older dog…” (5+ yrs, he estimated), so he has to use just enough but not too much or she could die - “we trade a bit of pain for not killing the dog, you see…”. I am horrified, but chastened, and apologize for freaking out. He wobbles his head (an indeterminate gesture at the best of times), gives me the post-op low-down, we shake hands, and it is over.


It is monsoon season now in this part of Sri Lanka. The daily torrents that turn the entire yard into a lake, the neighbors yard into a river, the bone-rattling thunder, blinding flashes of lightning - all beautiful, awe-inspiring, and welcome, to my mind. Not so welcome, however, are the new generation of mosquitoes and seeming thousand-fold population explosion of flies. they are everywhere, swarming over everything, and there is nowhere to escape them. Today it got the better of me; I whimpered “Uncle!” and booked into a hotel for the night, citing (to Dinesh’s mother) my need for wifi as an excuse. 
So here I am, binging on wifi access to pay credit card, search out flights, etc. I have some big (-feeling) decisions to make around my plans, whether or not I will extend my visa here or just move on to more stimulating pastures. Questions of money, emotional attachments, lack of clarity and motivation … all obstacles to contend with. I want to make the decisions from a place where I am truly applying myself to the present situation, not just mindlessly enduring it with my head in the Next Thing, so that I am appreciating the truth of the realities I am considering. One thing seems clear, though; that I have run out of steam - either I’m just not made from the Right Stuff, or the stuffing has just been sucked out of me by this village life of heat, dirt, discomfort, and tedium. I “know” there are/must be deep lessons to be learned from this, too, but lord what a struggle to stay awake enough to recognize and receive them.
Next week, I return to volunteer at Animal SOS down on the south coast. More heat, filth, and flies, for sure, but also service and a sense of purpose.

* btw, the pup ended up running away and coming back here, and we just gave him to someone else more prepared and able to deal with an untrained puppy).

Camp Tissa - where i stayed and slept for 2 days with Tissa post-op, trying to keep her from worrying her sutures.