Death again

Ashley the spring lamb didn't make it. About a week ago, Bruce went out to the barn and found her dead. She had been doing wonderfully, and it was a suprise.

He had felt she was strong enough to leave with her mother, but was going out twice a day and making sure she got something to eat. The ewe seemed to be letting her nurse along with her twin brother, after a couple of weeks of being held still for the act. I was working a couple of stretches of day shift (10 with 2 off in the middle), or maybe I would have been more involved. I might have been able to relieve Bruce of the fuss a little more. I might even have made her a house lamb, and not tried to graft her back onto her mother.

As it was, day shift is pretty rough on me. I get up between 3:30 and 4 am, rush, rush, rush; feel kind of zombified and not all quite there by 4 or 5pm when I get home, and try to get to bed by 8 or 9 to feel refreshed enough for the next day, and the next.

I felt obligated to update, since I wrote about her.

First, there is that her mother rejected her to begin with, and it was only by chance that I even found her. Once in a while, such efforts pan out; but more often they don't. The "when they don'ts" have had me on the verge of giving up farming on numerous occaisions. To keep going, one almost has to rationalize death a little. It is very similar to nursing. Everyone rationalizes in their own way - and needs to.

I don't get as devastated as I used to. But I tend to disconnect - to not talk about it - for a while. I repress, which seems both to others and to myself like I Don't Feel. But then, it always catches up with me some time. How could a little lamb, that I saved, just up and die like that? It catches up when I am alone, and feel safe to think and feel. I don't like to really think and feel around others, because I have to take into account their reactions.

We ordered peeps. It is complicated - maybe my husband's and my way of dealing with death; maybe we just like chickens. And hate them too sometimes. We've wanted more, and I've wanted Buff Orpingtons. So that is what we got. By the time they grow up, some of them die too. They trample and pick at each other. We've already lost about 4 or 5, just 2 days into it. We still have 20 or so.

I am reading a book called, "That Dark and Bloody River," still. I mentioned it several posts ago. It is about the settling and warring over the Ohio River. In the larger picture, death isn't so unusual. Natural death is, in fact, almost a little more sweet. Not desired; not happy; but a whole lot better than intentional.