When I was a kid, I dreamt of becoming a veterinarian. I found an injured bunny when I was 10 and tried my very hardest to nurse it back to health. I put the little guy in a crate and watched it slowly die. I was devastated. That was my first experience death.
Since we began our journey through the country life, I have had a significant increase of these experiences. The first chicken we lost was a barred rock named Dolly. She was attacked by a dog and we had to put her down. Others followed suit through tragic or unexpected events and I felt myself handling death better.. When rhonda (our very first chicken) died last summer in my arms, I felt myself taking a step back in my progress.
Again, I healed and again, we lost another pet. Sophie the goose was one of a kind. This time I was vengeful and just wanted to kill the coyotes that took her. Then just as I begin to heal from her, I lose my first puddy tat.
He was so beautiful. He had the markings of a tiger and a coat so soft.
From the moment he arrived, he took a liking to me. He would 'knead' me and cuddle into my neck. I welcomed his affection, even though he would cause my skin to break out in hives.
He was so curious.
And he was always seeking contact with his humans.
Just a few days ago I was playing with him in the field. Today, I am without him. My heart physically hurts. We buried him yesterday. He didn't even look like himself. He didn't even feel like him. Is that strange?
Why do we allow ourselves to love someone so freely, when the pain of losing them is difficult? I think it's because the time we have with them is so worth the pain we feel when they are no longer with us.
So, here is to my boy Henry. I love you and I miss you. I may be the worst farmer ever, but I dont think I would want it any other way.