Heavy Hearts

Welcome to Thursday, dear reader. Today's post is a tough one for me to write. It is with a heavy heart that I share with you that my sweet original girls, Red, Lily, and Lil'Black, crossed the rainbow bridge earlier this week. The bond I shared with my five original girls is unlike anything I could have imagined when we answered an ad for goats for sale. It's unfathomable that we answered that ad eleven years ago. I never would have thought that those five sweet, personable, lovable nannies would take me on such an incredible journey. My girls were bound for auction, and many have said, "Oh, you saved them." However, if truth be told, those five darling girls have saved me...all of us, really. 

Red, Lilly, Mama Boo, Boo, and Lil' Black are the reason we fell in love with goats. Each had such a unique, endearing, and definitive personality. Red was the herd leader for many years. She was smart, calm, wise, strong, and everything you could want in a goat. I loved that girl best of all. Although I claimed not to have favorites, Red knew she was my special girl. When I needed to decompress, sit in the quiet, or just be alone with my thoughts, my Red girl was right beside me. She would linger with me in the barn or the field when everyone else moved on. Often, at least one part of her body was touching me. Her favorite position was to stand or lie with her head resting on me. I loved hearing the steadiness of her breathing and the sweet, molasses-like scent of her breath. She had a way of looking at me that expressed both adoration and the message, "I'm here." I considered her my friend. 

This year, the aging process overthrew my girl. Her hip was disfigured with arthritis; she was down to skin and bone; her lovely brown eyes were cataract-ridden; her teeth had worn down to nubs; and as the year progressed, she lost most of her lovely red coat. I have known for a few years now that my time with her was limited. I knew I would know when it was time to let her go. I also knew that making the call to let her go would be one of the hardest things I would do. I was right. She went quietly, peacefully, and loved. I gave her all the animal crackers she wanted, kissed her sweet face, and we rested our foreheads together one last time. She was happy, and that is all I could have asked for. 

I followed the same ritual with all three girls. They went quietly, separately so as not to be afraid, and each went knowing they were loved, respected, and valued. My Lil ate her crackers and looked for more. Lily loved her treats more than anything. The special diet I had been feeding them of senior horse feed, beet pulp, and alfalfa pellets soaked in warm water had added some weight to my Lily girl and given her coat a healthy sheen. However, Lil had inherited Red's arthritic hip, and the meningeal worm she suffered several years ago weakened her back end. My girl was getting knocked about by the younger ones, not on purpose; they simply aren't considerate of her aging needs. It was time to let my Lily girl go before she could no longer get up or stand on her own. 

Lily was my funny girl and my glutton. Her gluttonous ways got her into more trouble than any other goat. She broke into a stall and ate her weight in corn. She gave herself the bloat with that episode. The vet came out, drenched her with mineral oil and Kaopectate, and told us to place her front feed higher than her back feet, then shake her belly for 20-30 minutes every half hour. The vet gave her a 50/50 chance of making it. It was a very long day for her, but we saved her. Lifting Lily's front feet was no easy task; my girl Lil was a hefty lady. When Lily was sick, she looked to me for comfort. I would sit with her head in my lap and tell her of all the wonderful things we would do if she made it through. Lily always made it. Saying good-bye broke my heart. 

My little black goat, whose God-given name was actually Fuschia, was our smart, mischievous little trickster. Lil' Black taught the other girls how to open the stalls' latches. She is the reason we have clips on all the stall doors. Lil' Black was too smart for her own good. She was always the most polite lady on the stand. She would lift her leg to accommodate you while you connected the milker, or if we milked her by hand. She was patient, kind, and loving. She loved attention, but it was on her terms. She would seek us out when she wanted attention, nip at everyone else who tried to push in, and when she had had enough, she would wander off. Lil' Black had the most impressive beard of all the ladies. She would stand and let me braid it after I was done brushing her. All the girls loved being brushed and fawned over. Saying good-bye to Lil' Black was on her terms. There was no cuddling her for very long. I rested my head against hers, told her how much I loved her, thanked her for being a good girl, and kissed her on top of her head. She nibbled my pants in search of more cookies. 

The Bibbed Wonder dug a grave for my girls and buried them on the hill overlooking the field. We spent the week in tender quiet. The most asked question throughout the week was "Are you doing okay? or Are you good?" We were all very careful with each other because we all sensed a breakdown was just under the surface. Of course, I am more emotional than anyone else. I had my shower cry, my barn cry, my walking cry, my trailer cry, and my I am sitting alone, and the loss is overwhelming cry. Now I am having my blog-writing cry. 

This week is my week to milk. The loss in the barn is palpable. I find myself looking to the other side of the barn for my sweet geriatric girls, but they are not there. I will admit, I don't have a strong connection to any of the younger girls, aside from Mama Boo's last little girl, Teenie Boo. She is the only girl out there who stands with her head resting against mine when I sit down. We bonded over the loss of Mama. Teenie was newly weaned when Mama passed last August, and I spent many a quiet evening with my sad little girl. I don't believe, dear reader, I will ever have a bond with any of the other girls as I did with my five original girls. It is the end of an era here on the farm. I have vowed to stop saying, "I hate this year," but trust me, the feeling prevails. 

So, dear reader, that is the sad news from here on the farm. I know we made the correct choice for our beloved girls. I know that it was past due. I know that I want them here for my own selfish reasons, but I will miss my girls and the joy they brought to our family. There is a goat-sized hole in all our hearts over their loss. 

It brings me comfort to know their pain is over. No more aching bones, stiff joints, wobbly back ends, or trouble getting around. They are reunited with Mama Boo, Boo, and Tiger Lily. I'm certain my dad and Eric's dad are watching over them. I'm also certain Monica is making sure my girls are enjoying every aspect of heaven. I don't believe for a moment that those gentle souls don't have a soft place to land in heaven. They'll be there waiting for me when it's my turn. It's just one more reunion to look forward to. 

On this early August Thursday, stay safe, be smart, give the ones you love an extra hug, and keep washing your hands.