Searching for the Happy Medium

Do you see the lovely grand dame that is to the left of your screen?  That is Precious.  She came to our farm nearly two years ago, and has delivered us four beautiful babies. 

Precious came to us as an adult, and quickly established herself as the Herd Queen.  All rankings of the does were through her.  She put the youngsters in line, and the older does knew that she was wise and kind.  She was an assertive, gal, however, and didn’t hesitate to pull rank if necessary.

We lost Precious two weeks ago.  It has taken a while for me to be able to compose this sad story for my blog.  Her death hit us hard.

She died doing what she did best—being a mom.  She was pregnant with triplets, naturaly, as she was a fabulous doe.  She had a difficult birth with the first two boys, and I had to go in and reposition them so I could pull them.  We missed the third kid and did not realize she had a last baby in there until it was too late.  The next morning, I pulled the last kid, but the kid (a doe) was dead, and Precious died a few minutes later.

I feel so sad about her death.  First and foremost, because she is a great doe.  Not only a great producer and asset to our farm, but a nice goat.   Secondly, because I missed the kid.  I feel as though I failed her.  She depended on me and I let her down—not just a mild letdown, but she paid with her life.

She did deliver her two beautiful boys before she died, and for that we are thankful.  There is not a day that goes by that we are not sad about her passing and thankful for the contribution she made to our farm and our breeding program.

We had to dig a big grave, and it was no small feat.  Dragging her out to the grave was one of the worst things I have ever had to do.  I was on the verge of being sick the entire time.  Thank goodness for B, as he did the lion’s share of the nasty work.  I don’t know how he held it together.

You know, I started this blog to chronicle my transformation from suburban woman to farm woman.  I wanted to track the events as they happened, and my reaction to them.  I remember blogging about the mice in my house, being mortified that these creatures would live among us.  I have graduated, (and blogged about it) to accepting the mice (or at least having a great mouser), and to accepting the vast differences that living here entails.  But I don’t know if I can come to terms with this as easily.

I don’t know if losing animals will get any easier as time goes on.  I look at the farmers who live around me, and if you asked me if they were hardened or calloused about such things, I would probably answered with a qualified yes.  They certainly don’t seem as affected as I am.  That being said, I have had discussions with some of those hardened farmers, and they have told me that it affects them.  That even slaughtering animals affects them.  That doesn’t mean that they don’t do it, but it lends an aspect of respect and thankfulness that most folks don’t have.  You just don’t feel grateful to the animal when you pick up the styrofoam package of extruded ground beef at the store.

I know I have written about it before, but it doesn’t seem to get easier as the other things did.  I go back and forth about this.  I want the sadness to go away, to be replaced by acceptance and the ability to just move on.  However, I am grateful for my compassion and respect.  I never want to forget that they are God’s creatures, and I am entrusted with their care.  They look to me for food, water, shelter, and protection.  Total trust.  I never want to lose sight of that aspect, either.