Last Saturday my teenage ewe, Butterfinger, had her first lamb. I found her in the barn pen, licking off a slippery package of skin-covered bones covered with tiny whorls of wool and placental slime. Even though she was a first-time mom, she was a good one. She attended to her lamb just as she should, licking off the sack and clearing her head and nose first, nickering to her repeatedly, and standing patiently during the lamb’s first wobbly attempts to find the faucet. After I had seen that things were going well and the lamb looked hardy and healthy, I dipped the umbilical cord in iodine, and my guests and I left them alone and walked up the old farm road to visit the rest of the flock grazing in the breeze at the top of the hill.
When we came down the lamb seemed a bit weak; she’d stand up to nurse and then lie down before getting any milk. It was sunny and warm, and because young animals don’t thermoregulate well, I wondered if she was getting overheated. So I picked her up and and moved her and mom into the shade inside the barn. My guests and I went into the house, and I didn’t get back to check on her for over an hour. When I did, I found the lamb dead, sprawled on the ground beside her mother, who was still nickering and nudging in a futile attempt to rouse her newborn.
It’s hard to articulate what it’s like to walk into the barn and find that one of your sheep is dead. It’s a shock of course, but there is so much more that I struggle to translate. It was alive, and now it’s dead, and “dead” is just too damn final to deal with when it comes out of the blue. “Wait!” I want to say… roll back the clock a minute and I’ll come to the barn sooner and do something to save the lamb and then this won’t have happened and the little life that spent five months growing inside Butterfinger will still be here…. If only, If only, If only.
But that way lies madness, and I know it. I’ve raised sheep now for over 20 years, along with ducks and dogs. I’ve been a zoologist for just as long, and have thus seen numerous animals dead or dying and in all states in between. And although I felt physically sick for the rest of the day, I also realized that is this is why I love my farm so much. I imagine that sounds strange, at best, and at worst, an indication that I have indeed gone mad — “I love raising animals because they die” is not an easy line to explain. Bear with me.
It is easy to be disconnected from “life” in our culture. I mean “life” in the sense of “life on earth,” or the complicated all- encompassing web of soil and worms and birds and pollen and dogs and pine trees and streams and flowers that surrounds us whether we focus on it or not. And after living in the country and raising animals, I know now at some primal, atavistic level that you can’t separate out “life” and “death.” They are part and parcel of the same thing, two sides to the coin, the night that defines the day. And as hard as it often is, there’s something about this awareness, this being forced to deal with the shock of a dead newborn lamb along with the joy of watching healthy ones frolic, that gives me comfort. It helps me to feel centered, with the earth holding me up and the land surrounding me, with something bigger and better than my own little life.
And this is also part of why I love dogs so much. What better animal to keep us connected with other species, other realities, the joys and sorrows of biology? Here’s how I expressed that in The Other End of the Leash: “We humans are in such a strange position–we are still animals whose behavior reflects that of our ancestors, yet we are unique–unlike any other animal on earth. Our distinctiveness separates us and makes it easy to forget where we come from. Perhaps dogs help us remember the depth of our roots, reminding us–the animals at the other end of the leash–that we may be special, but we are not alone. No wonder we call them our best friends.”
Last week I spent many hours trying to save my perennial flowers from the inevitable hard freezes we all knew would come after the unseasonable warmth caused them to grow as if it was May instead of March. One evening, as I piled on mulch and covered plants with old towels, I groused in anger about having to spend my time doing this, when what I really wanted to do was “garden.” And then I began laughing at myself, because how else would you define what I was doing, except by calling it gardening? Of course I was gardening, but the weather and the plants got to define what that meant, rather than me. Gardens, and dogs, and the sheep in the barn have their own agendas. We are wise to understand where each of us, just one little life on earth, fits in. Sometimes we get to write the agenda, or direct the traffic. Sometimes we are merely along for the ride. It’s good to remember that, no matter where you live.
Here are some photographs taken by one of our visitors on Saturday. He is a far better photographer than I (and Jim and I lusted after his 500 mm lens), and he graciously agreed to let me post his photographs. Thank you, Rob, I love being able to post these pictures.
This is Butterfinger and the lamb that died a bit later. Butterfinger is doing well, by the way, she called for her lamb for about two days and now is quiet. She stays close to her mother and her sister, Oreo, who has a two-week old, healthy lamb. I’m afraid I am going to have to change her name: although I’m not giving her any supplemental food, Butterfinger is downright fat. After a few more days of sympathy, I’m going to start calling her Butterfat. (And by the way, just in case you’re not used to seeing them, newborn lambs come out little more than bones and skin, so this little lamb looked perfectly normal compared to the rest.)
Here’s her sister Oreo and her black and white lamb. The other 3 lambs are solid white (2) or black (1), it’s just this one who is replicating a Border Collie. We’re still waiting on Spot and Rosebud, who must not have been bred the first time they mated with King Charles. He was a young ram and I suspect his sperm just wasn’t up to it. Ewes cycle every 17 days, so we’re hoping for some more lambs this weekend.
And here’s a photo of me and Willie boy. He’s a bit out of focus, but after a year of his severe exercise restrictions, it still makes my heart sing to see him run.
Melissa Ottjepka says
I’m grateful to have spent summers on my grandparents farm in South Dakota. Now that I’m 40+ I can truely appreciate all of lifes lessons I learned from the farm and my grandparents. Spent many hours bottle feeding baby calves because their mother died, was too weak or had twins & not enough milk. I remember “checking/counting cattle” with my grandfather and when the count was off we’d go looking only to find a dead heffer. This whole experience – sad as it may be – has taught me so many things about life.
I miss them terriby now that they are both gone and truly wish more kids could have such life experiences.
jackied says
Sorry to hear about Butterfinger’s lamb.
I know what you mean about needing to know the value of life and death – some years ago I started keeping a few chickens. Chickens die. A lot. And they don’t do well with being taken to the vets, it stresses them too much. So I love keeping them and occasionally breeding them but I love them plural rather than singular. And if I can tell they’re not going to make it I’ve learned how to quietly and quickly end their suffering myself.
Monique Feyrecilde says
Agree wholeheartedly with your post. This is my first year lambing and it has been a really grounding experience. We just had our final lamb born on Easter, 37 live lambs all told and a handful that did not make it for various reasons like you describe.
I think a lot of people intentionally separate themselves from death especially the death of what they EAT. My mom is a great example of this. I only eat home raised meat, otherwise vegetarian. My mom is the opposite. She never ever wants to know what happened to bring that juicy factory farmed steak to her grocery store.
I don’t have kids and I often wonder how I turned out the way I have given my disparate views with my mother. There is something good and REAL for the soul in agriculture. If I had my career to do over again I often wonder if I would have been a farmer from the start!
Barb Stanek says
Thank you for this post. You’ve stated why I value living in farm country and keeping animals. Barb
Maggi Burtt says
I have always thought of myself as rather pragmatic about death…some hit me more than others and I have said goodbye to many lovely animals, some mine, some clients from the clinic I worked at and clients whom I have walked over the years. It’s never easy but it’s usually not as visceral as an experience I had last summer.
A six month old dane at the beach. Smaller than most males, I commented on his size to his owner. Turns out the pup had SAS (sub aortic stenosis) and was likely to have a very much shortened life. The young man who belonged to Henry, the dane, said he loved coming to the beach and that they didn’t want to coddle him..that he would go when he goes and that will be that. Henry bounded up to me, snuffled my bait bag and I said hi and had a wonderful “eye” moment…less than a minute later there was a thud and he was down, dying. I searched for a pulse, knowing there was not likely to be one. I asked the young man whether he wanted me to do cpr..though we both knew it would not help. He said no. He caressed Henry’s head while he passed. I cleaned him up so the owner wouldn’t have to deal with it when his bowels released and then I walked them to his car.
I still get quite emotional about it, but I do truly believe that life and death are so linked that we should be grateful for both. This post, Patricia, speaks to this..and to me. One second he was THERE and I was WITH him..the next he was not. Yet, he still exists, in our memories and I barely knew him…but he touched me. His owner should be commended for letting him live his life and he did say that he was so happy that he went at the beach, having fun with his friends.
Kristen says
thank you for this lovely post. You so captured the whys of choosing to live this life. Just this week I have experienced both the amazing miracles of new lambs and kids, and the death of the patriarch of my herd. As much as the loss pains me, I can’t imagine doing anything else.
Marcia in NorCal says
1. Thank you, Patricia, for having the wisdom to recognize truth when you see it, whether it’s the reality of gardening or the reality of REAL life (as opposed to “reality TV” and such), and then sharing it with the rest of us.
2. Maggi Burtt, thank you for sharing the story of Henry — understandably a shock for you, how could you not still be touched by it these many months later, but oh my, what a reminder of the importance of allowing our dogs to know JOY. Too many animals in general, and domestic animals in particular, live lives of being controlled and not having choices, and too little joy … Henry was a lucky, lucky pup. I can’t think of any better way for a dog to spend his last minutes: play, and sniffing, and making a new friend.
3. Willie is in fact a bit out of focus in the photograph, but that seems like a very natural state of being for a healthy BC!
suenosdeuomi says
Your posts always engage my mind and touch my heart, but this one even more so. I was not prepared for having to miss so many buddies that I met at the dog park with Isbella-girl, my first dog. It took me by surprise. I am all for embracing the realities of life, including death – on principle.
Nicole Lobry de Bruyn says
a very moving piece- and i thoroughly agree – those of us with animals in our lives are luckier than those without.
Annie R says
@Maggi, what a gift to the young owner that you were there to support him during the passing of his sweet friend; that MUST have happened for a reason, that someone experienced and calm was there to witness and to “hold the space” with your experience and kind heart. I can’t think of a better way to explain what “karma” means in the best sense; that by being loving in the most generous of ways, having the courage to let his dog live, that young man had support when it came time for Henry to die. Bless you for assisting them both.
Gretchen says
How we carry grief is one of those lifelong lessons we all must learn. I raised sheep years ago and I was always amazed that, when a ewe rejected her lamb, no matter how hard we tried to bottle feed and rescue, most of them survived. Broke my heart every time, but somehow the mother knew something we did not. I am still learning how to carry grief. We have much to learn from other animals.
LaDonna King says
Tricia, for many years you have touched my brain with your knowledge. Often you touch my funny bone. Today you touched my heart. Bless you for the person you are and for sharing so much of yourself with the rest of us.
Dawn says
I have lurked on this blog for some time. All of the posts are fascinating and informative. I felt compelled to respond to this one though. It so eloquently expresses thoughts that all of us have, if only for fleeting moments. Thank you for posting it. I will share it with my 13 year old daughter who often struggles with the concept of life and death. A right of passage at her age.
Kat says
Having grown up with a host of animals I find that my attitude toward death is often at odds with that of those who haven’t shared their lives with a succession of four legged friends. Thank you such an eloquent post on the subject.
Heidi Meinzer says
So sorry to hear about the loss of that sweet lamb. What a very beautiful way to memorialize her with this post, though. Will Butterfinger participate in raising or nursing the other lambs? And sweet Willie, so glad to see him doing better!
Rachel says
I’m so sorry for you and Butterfinger that she lost the lamb. I’m happy for you that you have that beautiful photo of them! I was recently introduced to your writing via a favorite fostering blog and have been eating you up! I read ‘the cautious canine’ and just finished the dominance chapter of ‘the other end of the leash’. I have a beagle and a pit bull and currently have my 13th foster dog through a bully-specific rescue. I managed a boarding kennel for 6 years and started my new job as a veterinary technician last October. I have loved reading your books and hearing about your personal dogs as well as your clients. I am constantly learning and growing 🙂 I am wildly passionate about my animals and I feel like you are too!
em says
What a beautiful tribute to Butterfinger’s lamb. And what a beautiful reflection on the way in which death illuminates the joy and goodness of life.
Laura says
I’m so sorry you lost the lamb. Your post was beautiful and reminded us that we can all learn something from suffering and death. When my Marlin was striken with cancer, I decided to give him meds to shrink the tumor. I could’ve given him threatments to try and stop it, but he would’ve only lived another year and it would be a crappy year at that. I wanted to see him happy the rest of his time with me, and he was. Dogs seem to think of cancer like this. “I have cancer… where’s my ball?” They live entirely in the moment and even though we don’t operate like that, we can concentrate on what makes us happy instead of focusing on what makes us sad. Marlin had a happy 2 months and when it was time, I held my big yello boy in my lap, told him over and over again that he was a good boy and sang him his song. There were no tears until after he’d slipped away. I wanted to send him off with a smile. I miss that dog, but he taught me what it was to grieve, what it meant to let go and how different creatures embrace suffering and death. I love you Marlin/Duster-butt. 🙂
Dena Norton ("Izzee's Mom") says
Trisha, regarding that last photograph: Your heart’s song shines in the expression on your face. Thank you for touching MY heart once again.
trisha says
Here’s to “Duster-butt” and all the creatures that pass through our lives like spring flowers. And thanks so much for all your comments. Rosebud had triplets on Saturday, and Spot (aka Explodo Ewe) had twins yesterday, so life goes on, as it should. Photos coming next blog…
Debbie Schoene says
Thank you for another beautifully written post, Patricia. I do not farm but I live in the country where the cycle of life always seems to be close at hand. I also participate in hunting and there is no escaping the reality that a living creature has to die if I want to eat meat; whether it has died by my hand or in a slaughter house makes no difference. I worry about the increasing number of people–especially children–who have absolutely no connection to the natural world. (I think there’s even a term for it–Nature Deficit Disorder). The consequences are numerous and harsh, not the least of which is having a child’s very first experience with death be that of a parent or grandparent or sibling.
001mum says
not trying to be too simple
but yes, we live,we die and darn -it can happen so quickly
may we all embrace life with each other and our animals
and treasure each interaction and hold those memories close to our hearts
Patricia, a heart wretching post, but truthful. very, very tender.
sweet lambie……RIP
nancy says
There is an old saying, You can’t lose them if you don’t have them. I was born on a dairy and have lived on the land my whole life. You never get used to the loss of life and if you do, you’re in the wrong business. i raise cattle and hogs for food, my own and private sales. Any loss I take personally. I have questioned myself until blue in the face, WHY? I had sheep for years as a 4-H project and the death of a lanb was tragic. No matter how well cared for, vetted, treated,housed and loved, death happens. Very sorry for your loss.
LarryC says
I just found an entertaining article about things veterinarians have to say about treatin animals.
http://www.rd.com/slideshows/50-things-your-vet-wont-tell-you/?trkid=slidecirc-50-things-your-vet-wont-tell-you
trisha says
If you don’t have them, you can’t lose them. What a simple statement that still somehow stops you in your tracks. And I agree with many of you: If you don’t care about the death of an animal in your care, you should stop raising animals.
Kat says
This video is kind of off topic but it does go directly to the entertainment value of animals being themselves and doing what they do. http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=jaLor7d7NEs When I found it in my news feed this morning I immediately thought of you.
Janice says
I haven’t visited your site for a few weeks because my own sheep and then the goats have been having babies. It has been a busy time. Last week the goats had 5 sets of triplets and a set of quads–and I am trying to cut back on the size of my goat herd!! (They must have heard me considering downsizing and in their own persnickety way decided to try to foil my plans). But I love how when I come to visit your site, you are talking about the same things that have been running around in my head. You try to do everything right –knowing that no matter how hard you try, this can never be done. Yesterday I found a goat kid who had died and immediately the If Only, If Only If Onlys started up. But I have a mantra that I try to use to replace the If Onlys with–to drown them out in my head. “Take care the living, take care of the living, they are who needs you, take care of the living.” So you fix what you can, recognize you will never be able to do everything and move on to care for those who still need you. Today I watched a whole hoard of lively, cavorting goat kids (the lambs and ewes were off in the pasture) playing in the sun, leaping and racing. What a reminder that Life is a gift.