Facing Fears

Did you know that some people call Guinea Pigs "Cavis"? I don't really know what scientific name it's from, but the web site that gives me all my information is called "Cavi Care." I call them Piggies. Sometimes Pigeriffics. Abby says, "No Mom, they're Guineas!" Whatever you call them, they were the source of one of my fears.

You know, the irrational one about trimming animals' nails. The fact that guinea pigs need their toenails trimmed was almost a deal-breaker for bringing Snowflake and Charcoal home. I have never liked the idea of putting my delicate skin in the vicinity of sharp claws, not to mention sharp teeth. I mean, really, my experience was with children, and does any child like having their nails clipped? I imagined a wiggling, writhing piggie in my hands, trying to get away and biting at the hand that held him.

I decided I would take them to the vet every 6 weeks or so. My Farmer said he would rather trim them himself than take them to the vet. I decided I would just wait until they were so long I absolutely HAD to do something about it.

So today, I gave those guinea pigs a bath. Over the weekend I mentioned to my Cavi Savvy friend that my pigs really stink. She mentioned that these small rodents need a bath every now and then. Bathe a rodent? Oh my!! It wasn't my favorite idea, but they really did stink.

This morning Abby and I rolled up our sleeves, cleaned out their cage and proceeded to bathe both the piggerifics. I use the term "Abby and I" loosely, as you might imagine. :) So I won't go into all the details of Guinea Pigs freaking out when they get in water, but I will say that at some point in the bathing and drying process, they both were so stunned with this new experience as to be very, very still.

It dawned on me that this "I can't believe what is happening to me" state might be a good time to pull out the nail clippers. After all, if I could catch them while they were in a stupor, I might get out without getting bit or scratched. Abby ran for the clippers. I wrapped Snowflake in a towel, strategically placing the towel between his mouth and my hand, and proceeded to trim his nails. Piece of cake.

You would have thought I had scaled Mt. Rushmore from the sense of accomplishment I felt when I placed my second clean, dry piggie in the the fresh, clean cage. Mission accomplished. And more importantly, I learned that I can do it. I faced my fear.

What else in life might I be procrastinating or prepared to pay someone else to do because I fear the outcome? I question my competence? I don't want to get hurt, or fail, or mess things up? Sometimes my fears are obvious, like small tents and rodent claws. Other times my fears are less obvious, subconscious, subtle, hidden. . . but still impacting my day-to-day choices and relationships. Those are the ones I would like to have the eyes to see and the courage to face. Because, as with my piggie paws, I think I might find that the thing I fear is not as bad as the fear itself.