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!
