Bracing Myself

Today will begin day three of Operation Idiot, aka this gardening project. Yesterday, I shoveled river rock for approximately two hours, spread thirty bags of mulch over newly planted plants, spent approximately an hour watering new plants, and finished my day by gathering up old landscaping fabric that The Bibbed Wonder had dug up with the skid steer. We have another day of intense planting, mulching, and watering planned. I pray these plants take root and become established this season—a gardener I am not, dear reader. So, please send out some good juju, or whatever that is, so this groundcover does exactly what I want and need it to do. 

After a frustrating and labor-intensive day, I spent my evening in the barn feeding Jessica's, aka Horn's, little girl a bottle. Horns developed an acute case of mastitis shortly after delivering. The poor baby not only had to deal with the postpartum aspect of recovery, but also sore titties. I spent a week doing warm compresses and massaging her udder two to three times a day while Eric dosed her with strong antibiotics, pain meds, and ultimately a medication that is placed directly into her teat hole. Finally, she is making milk and is almost 100% healthly. However, she has twins, and the little boy is bigger and bolder than the little girl. He seems to be taking most of his momma's milk, so we are bottle feeding the little girl. I have named her Poppy because she is bright, fun, and charming. I know the name won't stick. Eric will call her something ridiculous, like "Patchewy Chomp" or something turd-related, but for now, her God-given name is Poppy. Sigh. 

After feeding little Poppy, I went to the other side of the barn. The main area of the barn is divided into two sections. During feeding time, the side that is closest to the milking parlor is alight with activity. There are goats everywhere. They push, head butt, tussle, and jump, vieing to be next in line for milking, being the first at the feeder, or just being first at being annoying. It's a lot. The other side of the barn is where my original girls hang out. They are mature and well-seasoned enough to know that being a pushy pain in the a$$ doesn't really accomplish anything. This is always where I can find Red, Lily, and Little Black. 

I spent the better part of an hour sitting in the hay, cuddling Red. Red is the equivalent of 96 in human years, and my friend is showing her age. Back in the day, Red was the largest goat in the herd. She was big, shiny, calm, wise, and in charge. She was the herd leader for years. She led the herd in and out of the barn and was the first to be on the milk stand (the hierarchy in the herd is real and very obvious). Red was the one to walk by our sides when we went out to the pasture with the herd. She gave the directives, and if one chose to disobey her, they could anticipate a hardy headbutt and an ear bite. Now, my girl is diminished as only age can do. Her coat is dull, she is skin and bones, and her arthritic hip is pronounced and painful to look at. Her eyes have the milky glow of cataracts, and her little nose is bald. Red spends a lot of time lying quietly with her daughter, Lily, who is only a few years younger than she is, and her BFF, Little Black, aka Miss Fuschia.

My bond with Red is something I never anticipated. Really, my bond with the original five was not something I would have thought possible. They are my friends, my family. I know, you probably think I am weird, but we show up for each other like family. When I am in distress, sad, or not feeling well, the girls know. They are always gentle and protective of me. We sit, often with our foreheads touching in quiet, calm silence. When Red doesn't feel well, she seeks me out for comfort. Several years ago, she developed milk fever after delivering. We thought we were going to lose her. I sat with her on the floor of her stall with her baby wrapped in my coat, while Red stood with her head resting on my shoulder. We sat in that position for hours. We love each other. 

Last night, I sat on the floor in the hay with my girls. Red with her head on my shoulder, Lily with her head on my lap, and Little Black standing over us. Red did not want to share my time or attention. Even in her diminished state, she tried to bite Little Black's ear and Lily's nose. I told her she is still a bad a$$ and I love her. I know they love me, too. I also know that this is my last summer with them. I know that we are nearing the point of giving Red and Lily a gentle passing. I know that a gentle passing is what they need. I know it's the right thing to do, and I know it is the kindest thing to do, but how do you say goodbye to such a beloved family? 

My time with my girls is dwindling. Eric already has a call in to our dear vet. He left a message, told him it isn't an emergency, but it is time, and to put us on his schedule. I feel like there is a big, heavy cloud hanging over my head. Part of me wants to know the date and time, but part of me continues to pretend that everything is normal and that there is not another major loss in my future. I am slowly wrapping my head around the fact that sooner rather than later, my girls will be gone. The barn will not be the same. I don't even like to think about how empty and lonely it will be without them.

However, I am formulating a plan. The girls will be buried in a marked grave together with the remains of Mama Boo and Boo. They will be buried in the field where they can rest with their herd. I am going to ask Ashleigh Bowman to paint individual portraits of each of them and a larger portrait of all of them together. Eric had Ashleigh paint me a portrait of Red a few years ago as a Christmas gift. It is probably the best gift he has ever given me. 

I know, you probably think I am a bit over the top, but here's the thing, dear reader. I attribute this life that we are living to these girls. Without them, none of this would be possible. They have given me the gift of this business and made my dreams a reality. They give without ever asking for anything in return except the bare minimum. I view my original five as especially magical. The bond we share, the kindness, love, care, protection, and acceptance, isn't found in most people. 

Five rescue goats, bought on a whim, have changed my life for the better in ways I can't explain. So, my girls deserve a gentle passing, a grave honoring them and the magic they have brought to this farm and family. It is the least I can do for my family. It is the least that they deserve. It just sucks, I don't know what other word to use,  that my time with them is drawing to a close.  However, I believe that if given the option, I would choose a gentle passing for myself as well, surrounded by my family and those who love me. Red and Lily will pass with their heads in my lap, knowing that they are loved and appreciated, and that they have made a difference in this ugly world. That is a pretty hefty accomplishment for little, long-eared goats. To love and be loved as they are is more than most humans achieve. 

So, on this lovely summer-like day, stay safe, be smart, brace yourself for what is to come, do the best you can for those you love, make sure they know all the good they bring into your world, and keep washing your hands.