Goodbye, my Forever Friend

This was supposed to be a good day.  I actually got some restful sleep last night, and the sun was shining when I woke up.  Chores started out rather smoothly — which was much-needed after a tough start to the weekend.  At 10:30am, I was feeling very optimistic about how things were progressing, and so I texted a friend who was organizing a lunch of women business owners today to let her know I would be there.  With that intent, it made sense to take Augustus the Pyrenees inside before the ground thawed out any more.  I did not want him to get covered in mud and need a bath before my departure.  After taking him inside, I decided to grab a quick cup of coffee while the pot was still warm.  Standing at the kitchen window, still in my Carhart overalls, I stared happily at the sunshine warming the farm.  Then, I saw something in the road in front of the barn.  From that distance, it looked like a big brown chunk of ice that could have fallen off a pickup.  With the snow, the mud, and the melting ground, that made perfect sense.  But something in my stomach sank.  I set my coffee down on the counter, grabbed the towel I had just used to wipe off Augustus’s paws, and went outside.  

Labor Day weekend of 2018 was a busy one, at the height of our event season.  The Friday night of that holiday weekend, I was in the house after dark when the dogs went ballistic.  It was late and the sun had already set, but there was still traffic along our country road on a pleasant evening.  I walked outside at the ruckus, expecting to hear coyotes in the distance (which always angers my guard dogs).  Instead, as I walked along the driveway, I found a tiny little kitten sitting there.  I knew a tiny little kitten did not walk there by himself.  I want to believe that the people who left him in my driveway knew that I would love him more.  I picked him up and took him onto the back porch for a meal — and so The Cuteness came into our lives.

After just a few days on the farm, his health took a turn for the worse.  Multiple vet visits to treat upper respiratory infections eventually led to a diagnosis of cat herpes.  This later complicated efforts to neuter him, as Cuteness needed to get his herpes under control so his respiratory situation would improve, to allow him to undergo the surgery needed to neuter him.  And then once he finally was neutered, he somehow managed to develop a hernia.  With all these issues, it was almost unbelievable how adorable this little cat was.  Somehow, The Cuteness made herpes, a hernia, and upper respiratory issues absolutely charming.  Hence his name.  He was truly the cutest thing the Harrison Farm team ever saw, and so he became known as The Cuteness.  Cuteness & I were both extraordinarily grateful for our friend Debbie, who stepped in as his fairy godmother to help with his abundant medical bills.  It was a tremendous blessing to have this financial assistance which allowed us to give him the best quality of life that we could.

Cuteness charmed everyone.  Our visitors fell in love with him, and he was well-known for stealing both hearts and yoga mats.  We got so many great pictures of Cuteness curled up on a yoga mat, as he rotated during classes to snuggle all the yogis he possibly could.  Somehow he also managed to charm the other animals, too.  Maya Leigh the Horse enjoyed him, he often slept in a pen with the goats, and the sheep seemed to think he was one of them.  On the back porch on cold nights, Cuteness was usually right in the middle of a pile of cats snuggling on top of a plush cat bed.  As well-loved as he was, and as much money as Debbie & I had invested in him, I used to tease Cuteness that he had to live a very long time to make up for it.  But then, no amount of time would ever have been enough to enjoy his antics & cuddles.

This morning as I hustled out of the kitchen, I told myself it simply had to be a big chunk of dirty ice in the road.  It made sense for it to be.  It could not be Cuteness.  I had been right down there at the barn.  I would go and check on it, and then laugh at myself for freaking out over a clump of melting snow that had fallen off a pickup.  It simply could not be Cuteness.  But — it was.  Curled up as though simply sleeping.  Dead.  Very dead.  No gaping wounds, no bloodied body, no lingering end.  Death must have been instantaneous on impact.  I want to believe that whoever hit him did not realize it.  I want to believe the person had no idea how many hearts were broken with that death.  Cuteness was still warm.  I wrapped him in Augustus’s towel and held him close to me.  The sun went away, giving way to grayness.

In my grief, it was hard to let go of anger that had been brewing in my heart all weekend.  On Thursday, we had begun treating a beautiful young ewe who was prolapsing.  Alex held her as I cleaned the interior of her vagina that had been expelled outside of her body in an angry red mass.  I positioned it back in place, and inserted a “spoon” — which helps to physically hold the vagina where it should be to allow the body to recover.  On Friday morning, she looked worse, so we treated her with penicillin.  On Friday afternoon, I began to get more & more concerned.  When Marissa came out to care for the ducks, she helped hold the ewe while I removed the spoon and examined her again internally.  I began to worry that she had a dead lamb inside of her.  My hope was that the penicillin would help her body to fight infection, she could pass the baby (whether dead or alive), and then recover.  Sadly, she passed away about 11pm that night, and I immediately went into the mode of an emergency c-section to try to save any babies inside of her.  From the moment, I opened the mother up, however, I knew it was a lost cause.  The outside coloring of the placenta was a fetid brown instead of a thriving purple, and inside were two malformed deceased babies.  It was very late when I finally got to bed that night, and I was exhausted from physical & emotional stress.

I woke up still very tired on Saturday morning, but we had much work to get done on that wintry day.  As I sipped my coffee in an effort to clear my head of its foggy headache, I checked my email & Facebook . . . And found a social media troll commenting inappropriately on the Harrison Farm page.  This person was from Canada, and had a Facebook page full of posts against livestock farming, 4-H, medical research involving animals, etc.  This person made a rude comment on a picture of me with my favorite goat Katherine, asking if I was planning to kill & eat this animal that I supposedly loved.  Then, they made a similar comment (edited here for my own gentle readers) on a picture of Cuteness asking if I was going to kill & eat him.  I am very transparent about my belief in the circle of life.  I believe that if humans are to use animal products, these creatures should be shown respect in life & in death.  I train my team to understand animal welfare principles, and I allow animals to follow their true natures — even if I would want to change their natural behavior.  Each of us must contribute to the well-being of the farm.  For some animals, their contribution is to become meat.  We work hard to ensure that they have a good quality of life, and when their end comes, we use every part to show respect for the gift of that animal.  I am open to having honest debates about these principles — but I will not tolerate those who make a mockery of the circle of life or the hard work that I put into caring for these animals.  After seeking guidance from two friends whose opinions I respect highly, I simply banned that troll from our Facebook page. 

As I stood there in the road in my grief, holding Cuteness against my chest, it seemed so unfair that this little man who I loved so much could be lost — especially the day after a very rude person made such an unacceptable comment on a picture of him.  I try to find grace in my heart for those who make my life more difficult, but it is not easy.  In my own life, I cannot imagine having the time to troll others on the internet (from another country, even) who believe differently than I do.  I am too exhausted — physically, emotionally, and financially — from actually taking care of animals to have that kind of free time. Cuteness was the epitome of love and charm.  He was gone, my heart was overwhelmed with grief, and yet there were still people out there who felt completely justified in attacking me for being a farmer.  And that was almost too much for me to manage today.

Katrina helped me bury Cuteness this afternoon.  He rests where there is a clear view of the yoga lawn he loved and the barn where he played.  He leaves behind so many people who loved him, and who valued his sweet, resilient spirit.  He was just a cat, just another animal — but he was a magnificent one.

Our society right now is one of rage.  I observe this constantly.  There is no tolerance for other values, other faiths, other political parties, other beliefs.  It saddens me every time someone I care about makes a rude comment about another person or shares a demeaning meme.  They seem to believe they are completely justified in mocking another person or another belief system — just as that Facebook troll felt completely justified in attacking me, in mocking a picture of the Cuteness.  I am blessed to have a wonderful group of friends supporting me, and I am grateful that they will be there to comfort me & lift my spirits whether due to hurts or losses.  But I would ask my friends in a most heartfelt manner to stop using their own social platforms to nurture hurts or anger.  Every time you mock another person or another belief system, you are personally contributing to making it acceptable for others to do so . . . And sometimes I am the farmer who receives the brunt of that anger.  Most days, I can let it roll off my shoulders.  That day is not today.

Wheels Up!

It is important to me that Harrison Farm is a place where every human and every animal is valued.  Everyone on this farm has to contribute to it, if the farm is going to keep existing.  Sometimes I easily recognize potential of an animal, and other times their purpose is more of a mystery.  Wheels the Lamb was one of those little puzzles.  After living his best life for three months, Wheels the Lamb finished his journey on this earth early on Sunday morning 11 January 2020.  

Wheels was born on a particularly chaotic weekend in early October.  We were hosting our monthly First Thursday community event, had three yoga classes on the schedule that weekend, were looking forward to hosting a wedding shower for a dear friend, had several very pregnant ewes about to give birth, and my adopted mum Kathy was visiting from San Antonio.  I had one afternoon that I was supposed to be able to simply enjoy time with Kathy & her friends — and, of course, the animals came up with an emergency which required my presence.  We were at Quarter Horse Congress when the updates I received made me realize that I had to get home: a mis-shaped baby had been born and was struggling mightily.  It was just my luck that I had left my vehicle at Kathy’s hotel.  Thankfully, my friend Rebecca drove to the Exposition Center to pick me up to get me back to the farm.  Unfortunately, the location which I suggested as an easy pickup for her as a driver proved to be very difficult to access on foot.  And so, I had a memorable moment of scaling a fence in a mini-dress & cowboy boots in an effort to get where I needed to be.  The animals have no idea what embarrassing lengths I go to for their well-being!  

On returning to the farm, I found a lamb who was made very differently than most.  His front legs were curved inward, and his palate was slightly off.  These outer characteristics were easily observed, but I had no idea if his insides were misshapen as well.  His mother loved him, though, and he wanted to live.  We managed to get the little lamb to nurse by holding him up to his mother’s udder.  After repeating this effort every few hours over his initial days of life, the little lamb figured out how to hold himself up on his bent limbs.  

I began calling the little lamb “Wheels”.  I kept hoping that if I used that name enough, we might run into someone who could make a lamb wheelchair.  Wheels surprised me, however, by proving he could get by on his own little legs.  His mother proved extremely devoted, as she patiently stood as long as he needed to let him nurse.  We began wrapping his legs to create little leg warmers.  Since he walked on his bent legs, we did not want to risk him breaking his skin open.  Rebecca proved to be a devoted godmother to little Wheels, and found him some booties (designed for dogs) to help protect his ankles.  When we would change his leggings, I would always jokingly say “Wheels Up!” when I wanted my assistant to lift him up.  I am sure Wheels appreciated my humor.  The best way that I could describe his handicap was by explaining that he had all his parts, but they were the wrong sizes and put together oddly.

With his handicap — and his relative lack of interest in interacting with humans — I knew that the best I could offer Wheels was as many good days as possible.  Yesterday, Wheels acted like he had an upset stomach.  I gave him Milk of Magnesia, theorizing that he could have a bit of bloat from overeating.  Wheels never missed a meal and had grown to be quite a little chunk!  At the bedtime check, Wheels seemed to be acting like his normal self.  I bid him goodnight, and steeled myself that I would have to put him down if he continued to be in pain.  I never want animals to suffer, and meat is always needed to feed our dogs.  I was shocked today when I did the morning check and found Wheels had passed onward in his sleep.  He was curled up so peacefully that I had to shake him to discern if he was just sound asleep, or if he had left us.

When an animal’s passing is a mystery, I usually do a necropsy.  It is very important for farmers to educate themselves on what happens on the inside of the animal.  From the moment I opened up Wheels’s mid-section, I knew things were not right.  Looking inside of Wheels, his organs were all the wrong color and the wrong size.  In particular, his kidneys were more than twice the size they should have been, extremely pale tan (when they should have been a vibrant maroon), and were full of tiny pus pockets when I opened them.  His bladder was affected, his liver was discolored, there was a great deal of fluid in his abdominal cavity, and he had pockets of pus in his abdominal wall.  This all led me to acknowledge that Wheels was not made for longevity.

Wheels was only with us for three months.  From the perspective of a successful farm, he was a total loss — I fed & nursed him for three months, and yet his body was so suspect at the end that I could not even use some of his meat to make dog food.  Despite that, Wheels taught me & my team many lessons about patience & resourcefulness.  He always had a good spirit about him, and he persevered despite his challenges.  Wheels had one day of sickness, but many weeks of enjoying life to the best of his ability.  My team & my friends supported me in caring for him despite his challenges, and that was greatly appreciated.

Not a single one of us has a perfect body.  Every living creature has its own challenges — but every life has great value in our world.  We all contribute in different ways, and we all deserve the opportunity to do this to the best of our abilities.  For the days that we are here, we should all get to live our best lives.  Wheels did.  His time here was short; time is short for all of us.  May we each find the wisdom to learn the lessons of this life, and the courage to live that life as nobly as possible.  

Wheels Up!

RIP Pat the Goat

Patrick Euripides Ottman (aka Pat the Goat) slept peacefully into the goat afterlife at the ancient age of 12, in the early morning hours of 4 January 2020 — already judging harshly what the new year was offering.  

Patrick was a long-time resident of Harrison Farm, joining the herd for a temporary stay in 2010.  Pat was a noted activist, ornithologist, philanthropist, and aspiring astronaut.  He loved carrots and Cecilia Donkey, and hated virtually everything & everyone else.  Patrick & Cecilia were an enjoyable pair of instigators, who often played the role of the two grumpy old Muppets mocking all others.  This noted curmudgeon had recently decided (after nearly a decade of evaluation) that maybe the Goatherd was not the absolute worst person he had ever encountered, and had begun accepting treats & attention over the last couple months.  

Besides his BFF Cecilia Donkey, Pat is survived by his owner Angela Ottman, young goat Orange 25 who liked to snuggle with him (and who will now likely be named in honor of Patrick), a sad Goatherd, Maya Leigh the Horse, and 100 other goats who Pat disliked.  Pat was preceded in death by his frenemies Mustard E. Goat and Beef E. Goat.

Patrick was buried in a private graveside service on Saturday 4 January 2020 at Harrison Farm officiated by the Reverend Goatherd, with Herd Manager Alex & Student Assistant Austin serving as pallbearers.  Due to the rain, all goats stayed in the barn eating Christmas trees, but the ducks loudly quacked their condolences.