The Antidote
The fabric of my safari pants bit uncomfortably into my rapidly swelling flank. Modesty was not an issue due to the darkness. I painfully slipped my pants down to around my ankles. Using the tiny Mag Light attached to the zipper of my jacket, I lay down in the canoe and turned on my right side as best I could to examine the wound. It was red, swollen and angry, and this was just a graze. How much poison had been infused into my system? It is a fact that everything is a poison depending on dosage; perhaps the amount in my system was too small to cause permanent damage?
I had heard that the best cure for the poison encountered in this part of the world is the guano of a rare bird, the Foo, which follows a migratory path about this time of the year. No sooner had I considered this than the beating of many tiny wing feathers sounded overhead. This must be an hallucination, I thought to myself. Then, I saw them in the waxy light of the full moon…a giant flock of rare Foo birds flapping and squawking overhead. Iridescent blue and green bodies careened joyfully through the air. As I watched slack-jawed, mouth agape, I felt a warm creamy substance land on my head, chest, and exposed injured leg…it ran directly into the wound and immediately soothed the inflamed area. The flock of Foo birds had dropped ballast in exactly the right place! I remembered my jungle survival class taught by Professor Wendell. As we studied the culture of the region and the natives’ affinity for poison darts, I remembered her favorite quote when discussing lifesaving antidotes to these poisons – “If the Foo shits, wear it”.
