Last night, we had to put to sleep one of our wonderful pigs. Crash had always been special, right from the first days, and we knew that his life would not be as long as his more robust brothers. But we were not expecting to have to say goodbye to this kind soul who was found in great distress at evening barn. As quickly as we could, we eased him out of his failing body and into the night sky. He was only 4 years old. Crash was always cheerful, joyful, delighted to have company, always enjoying his day despite a body that increasingly did not serve him well. This pig lived his life in a way no human I know has done: without complaint. I am so grateful that our brilliant, compassionate farm manager Darcy had made Crash a very special breakfast that day, for no particular reason other than she wished to delight him, something she often does for all our animals. We will be watching carefully to see how Crashs brother, Mickey, responds to this loss. They have been together since birth.We will miss him as we miss all who have gone before us. We are trying not to think of the other funerals that we know lay ahead in the not-too-distant future; we have many elderly animals here, some actively in hospice. But as Crashs death demonstrates, what we think we know and fear is far from a road map as to how and when and where our hearts will be broken in the way that happens when a soul departs and leaves us no physical contact. The Decemberists song, Yankee Bayonet (I Will Be Home Then) says: But oh my love, though our bodies may be parted Though our skin may not touch skin Look for me with the sun-bright sparrow I will come on the breath of the wind. It seems only fitting to read this today, and let the tears continue to flow: horsenation/2014/10/09/how-to-say-goodbye-to-a-unicorn/ Crash was not a unicorn, but he was magical in his own special way. Have the tissues ready. Hug all you love. (Thanks, Kirby, for the link to this.)
Posted on: Thu, 30 Oct 2014 18:30:34 +0000
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