My Name is Baby

My world is frigid as water rushes over my back, chilling me to the bone. I try to keep my head above the rush, but I can’t even open my eyes. My chest burns with inhaled water, while my small body is entirely numb. The roar of the rain drowns out all other sounds, including the hard crunch of wheels on gravel, the sharp slam of a door, and the hushed whispers of a man. I’m pulled from the Edge, wrapped in something warm, and sheltered from the rain. I can hear the door shut this time, but everything is hitting my ears from a distance. My name is Baby, and I almost died today.

The next morning light streams into the cabin through a single window, falling on my folded body. I’m very weak and young, but the humans are also very stubborn. I can’t remember much of the next few days. Sometimes the woman just silently holds me, sometimes she murmurs to me, and sometimes she tries to trickle something down my throat, but my throat's too small. One evening my stomach grumbles, and the woman is elated. She keeps talking to me encouragingly, telling me everything will be okay.

The liquid she gives me can go down my throat to fill my hungry tummy now, and I have enough strength to be introduced to the humans I’ve heard on the other side of the door. There's a little boy, and an even younger girl, and they hold my bottle for me. After we gawk at one another for a few minutes and they talk excitedly about me, I’m too tired and drift to sleep. Each new day, though, finds me stronger and stronger until I can stand on my wobbly stick legs. They were far too long for me, and I don’t know how I got around on them. It must’ve been funny watching me try to make it across the room.

Now that I can stand and walk, I’m able to play with the little humans and their dog. We dance around each other, laughing together and having an all around good time. I love the squeals and giggles the toddlers make when I suck on their ears. As I get older, I grow taller than them, and my spots start to fade. The humans tell me how big I am getting, and I start spending most of my time outside in the woods, listening to the birds. I enjoy smelling the early autumn foliage, watching the sun rise and set, and listening to the light splatter of rain on the canopy above me. When the clouds are very angry, and the thunder startles me, I go inside the humans’ cabin and stay there until the storm passes.

But as I get bigger, and start exploring the forest more, I start to feel like I don’t belong in this world of the humans. The time I’m spending with them becomes irregular as I venture into the mountains for days at a time. The humans always greet me openly when I return. I love how they imitate the way I talk, and I call back to them eagerly, but something just doesn’t feel right.

>>By the end of the fall, Baby had stopped coming for bottles. We didn’t see her again until two springs had passed, when she brought her twins to the cabin, and let them walk between us and her. That was the magical moment when we knew we had been able to give back to the wilderness in a very unique way. Sometimes we saw her in the underbrush off the side of the road. When we maa-ed at her, she would call back or bob her head, but our little Baby had grown up.<<