Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Damn night school and full speed ahead: Buzzard Day is Saturday!
This year's Holy Week buzzard posts have been slightly weirder than in years past. (Yeah, slightly weirder than Anne's usual heavily weird. I know.)
Today I've been thinking about what happens when buzzards get sick and die.
Have you ever owned a cage bird? I can tell you that birds stubbornly refuse to act sick ... until the moment they croak. I'm assuming, based on logic, that vultures are particularly fussy about this. My guess is that they hold themselves up stoically until the last gasp. No fun being consumed by a flock of your nearest and dearest if you can feel them doing it.
Some people are like this too. They will ignore the first symptoms of illness (or worse, they're uninsured). Only when things get critical do they seek medical attention. By and large, though, people are quick to ask for help when they're sick. My cat Alpha's vet says that animals bear up much better under pain than people. As a species, we're also more likely to be sympathetic to other people who are ailing. That's one positive about being human.
There are days, though, when I wish I could adopt the Vulture Model. I'd like to stand looking dandy even as I'm falling apart inside. It's a bummer, having to be such a human wimp. Oh yes, I try the Vulture Model when I can, but ... as my vet tells me ... humans aren't programmed to conceal.
Doesn't mean we should't try.
I'm not advocating pretending you're doing great, skipping those mammograms and other unpleasant tests just because you're adopting the Vulture Model. However, no one really wants to hear other people whine. So I'm trying to stiffen my spine, hold up my ugly bald head, and stop feeding my pain to other people.
Going strong until you drop is the Vulture Model. We humans can't do it, but we can admire it. All hail the Sacred Thunderbird!