Burying a beloved animal, whether pet or otherwise, weighs on a soul. The act of digging into hard ground to make a permanent bed folds me in half. I cannot think of her without feeling the lifeless weight of her in my arms.
But these things are expected, the final acts of letting go of a vibrant part of a family. What's unexpected are the small things that prick and sting as your heart is trying to heal.
Soon after laying our sweet Audrey into the ground, we called the veterinary's office to let them know what had happened. They had been working with her and with us so diligently over the last few months - and even that morning - that we felt it important to let them know.
We all moved into the back yard, hoping to comfort Audrey's sister, Kate, who had not stopped calling for her all morning. Kate had seemed curious earlier in the day when we let the chickens free range, so we decided to move Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather in with her to keep her company.
About the time we turned around, the skies opened up and started dumping fat drops of rain all around us. Rachel, Ella, and I were stuck in the covered goat pen, waiting for it to pass, while Big Daddy and Scout ran back and forth under the two giant cedar trees, dodging the wetness as best as possible,
Scout proved she had no interest in staying warm and dry when she purposefully walked right out into the heart of the rain, then pranced right back under the tree beside Big Daddy and, as a favor to him in her mind, shook vigorously.
Of course...
After the storm passed and we moved the chickens (to which Kate became curious enough to keep sniffing their butts,) we went back inside. Everything had been such a blur, we hadn't bothered to clean as we went. Audrey's raisins were still lying on the kitchen counter. Bits of hay were spread about where we had brought a handful in and drop pieces as we walked. Water still pooled on the edge of the bathtub from where we drew her a warm bath to bring her temperature back up.
Big Daddy looked around the room and said, "I don't know about ya'll, but I'm going to be drinking tonight."
Then he loaded us all into the truck and headed to the Kroger's to get our version of comfort foods - cheeses, crackers, fruits, and hard cider (he was already stocked up on Crown Royal Monarch.)
As we sat around watching whatever would distract the majority of us, we ate, tried to laugh, and occasionally sunk into a quietness that resulted in tears. Hours later, we went to bed knowing none of us would sleep right.
By morning, we knew we had a new problem.
Kate's loneliness only grew. The chickens entertained her, but she would still cry out constantly. We had to find a companion and fast, something we had not financially or logistically prepared for.
I poured through my Facebook groups specializing in Nigerian Dwarf goats, both raising and selling. Unable to reach our original breeder, I searched ones close by. Dead end after dead end kept appearing.
Since Nigerian Dwarf goats can be bred year-round, many breeders plan out their year far in advance. In many cases, we had either just missed the latest round or would have to wait another 2-3 months.
A small network began working on our behalf to track down someone who might have a registered doeling to sell.
Through all this, Big Daddy and I decided we needed to consider getting a third goat, just in case this occurred again. Considering we hadn't even gotten to the birthing part of their lives when things could become risky, we needed to be more practical.
We decided to check out the doelings brought to the county fairs in our areas and even consider going back to the South Carolina State Fair to see if there were potentials. We wanted to avoid racing around and risking making a poor choice because we were time-pressed.
The next morning, I realized we needed to contact the American Dairy Goat Association to file papers about Audrey's passing. I signed into my account, only to find their website was down until next week because of a site upgrade. Of course.
I sent a quick message on their contact link in hopes of hearing something sooner.
Within a few hours, a message arrived. They were very sorry for our loss, especially with Audrey being so young. All I needed to do was take her registry letter, write "DEAD" across the page, sign it, and mail it to them.
I was taken aback.
It was like they had asked me to nonchalantly scribble across her birth certificate and mail it in, virtually erasing her from ever existing.
I found myself sitting at my desk, tears welling up again. I knew there would be uncomfortable tasks when any one of our animals died, but I hadn't prepared for my reactions.
I felt foolish.
I picked at myself, mentally telling myself I was overreacting, processing this at the rate of a child rather than a grown adult.
I made myself more miserable for not allowing myself to simply feel how attached I was to Audrey. I made fun of myself for doing the very things I set out to do - to care for animals with love and grace.
I made fun of myself in ways I had expected outsiders would, but none had.
Everyone who had heard responded with love and caring and support and an overabundance of understanding, relaying their stories of loss and heartbreak.
I treated myself worse than anyone had even thought to.
I chanted softly to myself, hoping for the grace to care for my own heart the way I cared for the ones around me.
Last night, a relief message came in from our original breeder. Supportive and sympathetic, she offered to help with locating a new doeling, including ones in her own herd.
While the details are being worked out, we've mapped out a fluid plan to get there this weekend if need be, even getting a loan against our 401ks to make this happen.
Like everyone, we have to do everything and anything to support those around us, two-legged, four-legged, or otherwise.
copyright - All rights to the work posted on this site are retained by Cass Van Gelder. If you'd like to use some of my work, please ask. To do so, the permissions must be spelled out in writing...from me...I mean it. I have horribly mean cats; don't make me use them.
But these things are expected, the final acts of letting go of a vibrant part of a family. What's unexpected are the small things that prick and sting as your heart is trying to heal.
 |
| Audrey on Ella's lap at the vet's office last month |
 |
| Kate and Audrey checking out the backyard for the first time |
Soon after laying our sweet Audrey into the ground, we called the veterinary's office to let them know what had happened. They had been working with her and with us so diligently over the last few months - and even that morning - that we felt it important to let them know.
We all moved into the back yard, hoping to comfort Audrey's sister, Kate, who had not stopped calling for her all morning. Kate had seemed curious earlier in the day when we let the chickens free range, so we decided to move Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather in with her to keep her company.
 |
| Kate and Audrey their first day in their new home |
About the time we turned around, the skies opened up and started dumping fat drops of rain all around us. Rachel, Ella, and I were stuck in the covered goat pen, waiting for it to pass, while Big Daddy and Scout ran back and forth under the two giant cedar trees, dodging the wetness as best as possible,
Scout proved she had no interest in staying warm and dry when she purposefully walked right out into the heart of the rain, then pranced right back under the tree beside Big Daddy and, as a favor to him in her mind, shook vigorously.
Of course...
After the storm passed and we moved the chickens (to which Kate became curious enough to keep sniffing their butts,) we went back inside. Everything had been such a blur, we hadn't bothered to clean as we went. Audrey's raisins were still lying on the kitchen counter. Bits of hay were spread about where we had brought a handful in and drop pieces as we walked. Water still pooled on the edge of the bathtub from where we drew her a warm bath to bring her temperature back up.
Big Daddy looked around the room and said, "I don't know about ya'll, but I'm going to be drinking tonight."
Then he loaded us all into the truck and headed to the Kroger's to get our version of comfort foods - cheeses, crackers, fruits, and hard cider (he was already stocked up on Crown Royal Monarch.)
As we sat around watching whatever would distract the majority of us, we ate, tried to laugh, and occasionally sunk into a quietness that resulted in tears. Hours later, we went to bed knowing none of us would sleep right.
By morning, we knew we had a new problem.
Kate's loneliness only grew. The chickens entertained her, but she would still cry out constantly. We had to find a companion and fast, something we had not financially or logistically prepared for.
I poured through my Facebook groups specializing in Nigerian Dwarf goats, both raising and selling. Unable to reach our original breeder, I searched ones close by. Dead end after dead end kept appearing.
Since Nigerian Dwarf goats can be bred year-round, many breeders plan out their year far in advance. In many cases, we had either just missed the latest round or would have to wait another 2-3 months.
A small network began working on our behalf to track down someone who might have a registered doeling to sell.
Through all this, Big Daddy and I decided we needed to consider getting a third goat, just in case this occurred again. Considering we hadn't even gotten to the birthing part of their lives when things could become risky, we needed to be more practical.
We decided to check out the doelings brought to the county fairs in our areas and even consider going back to the South Carolina State Fair to see if there were potentials. We wanted to avoid racing around and risking making a poor choice because we were time-pressed.
I sent a quick message on their contact link in hopes of hearing something sooner.
Within a few hours, a message arrived. They were very sorry for our loss, especially with Audrey being so young. All I needed to do was take her registry letter, write "DEAD" across the page, sign it, and mail it to them.
I was taken aback.
It was like they had asked me to nonchalantly scribble across her birth certificate and mail it in, virtually erasing her from ever existing.
I found myself sitting at my desk, tears welling up again. I knew there would be uncomfortable tasks when any one of our animals died, but I hadn't prepared for my reactions.
I felt foolish.
I picked at myself, mentally telling myself I was overreacting, processing this at the rate of a child rather than a grown adult.
I made myself more miserable for not allowing myself to simply feel how attached I was to Audrey. I made fun of myself for doing the very things I set out to do - to care for animals with love and grace.
I made fun of myself in ways I had expected outsiders would, but none had.
Everyone who had heard responded with love and caring and support and an overabundance of understanding, relaying their stories of loss and heartbreak.
I treated myself worse than anyone had even thought to.
I chanted softly to myself, hoping for the grace to care for my own heart the way I cared for the ones around me.
Last night, a relief message came in from our original breeder. Supportive and sympathetic, she offered to help with locating a new doeling, including ones in her own herd.
While the details are being worked out, we've mapped out a fluid plan to get there this weekend if need be, even getting a loan against our 401ks to make this happen.
Like everyone, we have to do everything and anything to support those around us, two-legged, four-legged, or otherwise.
copyright - All rights to the work posted on this site are retained by Cass Van Gelder. If you'd like to use some of my work, please ask. To do so, the permissions must be spelled out in writing...from me...I mean it. I have horribly mean cats; don't make me use them.
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