Day: January 3, 2015

My life and work with animals has been marked – and blessed- with animals I call spirit animals. Simon was one of them. Spirit animals mark the passages of our lives, they are magical helpers that guide us on our own hero journeys. They come when they are needed, they go when they please, when their work is finished.

I have had a number of spirit animals enter and leave my life – Orson, Rose, Izzy, and now, Simon. I believe that spirit animals do not come to stay with us for long, they come for a purpose, and when done, they enter the lives of other humans, that is their work. Orson led me to Bedlam Farm, Rose helped me survive there, Izzy brought me to hospice and my photography, Simon opened my heart and mind to new experience, and he did, in fact, teach me the meaning of compassion.

Simon was – is – such an animal, a powerful spirit. In many ways, he was the soul and dominant presence of Bedlam Farm, he was the leader of the pasture, the commander of the animals, an animal who loved people and was prickly and domineering with other animals. As much as he loved people, he was not always generous to other creatures. He drove Rocky, our blind pony, off of the farm and sparked his death, he chased the sheep out of the Pole Barn, Lulu and Fanny kicked him regularly to keep him in his place, but never really could.

He was a spirit animal, but he was also a donkey, true to both.

Simon was two creatures really, the one thousands of people flocked to our farm to meet and touch, a grouchy and frequently discordant note in our kingdom. Simon and I were quite connected to one another, a soul connection. We communicated very powerful with each other, and he trusted me completely. I will never forget his permitting me to touch his eyes and put my hand in his infected mouth to rub stinging ointments on his gums. I cherish the memory of reading donkey stories to him, he simply loved it, drank them in. He accepted me completely, and was always calm and loving in my company. Maria came to love him as much.

In my lifetime, spirit animals appear to replace those that have gone, in a place of their own time and choosing. Rose came after Orson, Izzy appeared as Rose faded, Simon came after Izzy died of cancer. Frieda was a powerful spirit animal for Maria, she came when was needed, she is preparing to leave.  Then Red, a powerful animal spirit and now dominant presence on the farm.  Karen Thompson, a mystic and spiritualist, understood we needed to be together when no one else, including me, could see it.

Maria and I do not seek animals out, or look to rescue them. We wait for them to appear, and I suspect another animal will find its way to our farm, our lives with them are not over, I am still a pilgrim on a passage. My spirit animals are all working animals, and for a time, at least, I am their work. I have needed quite a bit of work it seems.

In some ways, Simon’s spirit was very strong, he changed me and challenged me in new and completely unexpected ways. He taught me to see the world differently.  I am sorry he and I will not get to take long walks in the forests behind our farm. I will miss his morning bray, and my daily kiss on his nose. Lulu and Fanny will, I suspect, be stronger presences in their own right, and I see Red as taking his very rightful place as the dominant spirit here on the farm. He too is a leader, a soulmate, a spirit dog who very clearly marks the passages of my life.

Every animal on the farm trusts and knows Red, he is everywhere, doing his herding work, his therapy work, his people work.

I believe Simon’s purpose was to lead me to our new home, and to open me to new experience – Red, community, our new farm, Rocky, the blind pony, a luminous spirit animal. When spirit animals are ready, they find a way to come, when they are done, they find a way to leave. This is my faith, my theology, my life with animals, and what it has shown me and taught me.

I wish green and open pastures for Simon, lady donkeys for him to pursue and flirt with, admirers with bags of carrots and apples,  piles of soft straw for him to rest his twisted legs on, and perhaps most of all, a needy and confused human in need of direction and inspiration. This was his gift to me, my gift to pass on to another. Go in joy, Simon, with gratitude and in peace and compassion.

You have left my life brighter and richer than when you found it.

From the minute I saw Simon struggle with a stroke, I resolved to make sure he was buried on our farm. Often up here, when an animal dies, haulers come in trucks and take the bodies away. Maria and I didn’t want that to happen to Simon. I wasn’t sure if the ground was too frozen for a grave or not, my friend Jack Macmillan suggested I call Vince Vecchio, the man who had dug the trench for our frost free water line.

Sometimes I like to leave the bodies out in the woods for the animals there, but I didn’t want that for Simon. He needed to be here, with us.

Vince is one of those men who can do just about anything and he came mid-day and said he could do it. He was back in two hours. The first grave filled with water, we moved it up the hill. Simon was buried five feet deep to keep scavengers away, Maria leaned over and kissed him on the forehead and Vince covered him up. He is buried just under the apple tree, one of his favorite shade and apple-munching spots. I am glad he is here, and resting there.

Different people appeared. Eli Anita-Norman came with blankets, just in case he needed one, Deb Foster, our house and pet-sitter came, as I knew she would. VInce came by to see about burying Simon. Our friend Mandy Meyer-Hill showed up with soup and bread, Kim and Jack Macmillan came by to offer comfort and help, Scott Carrino came by to say goodbye to Simon,  with whom he had a powerful connection.

And there was the vet, John McDermott of the Granville Large Animal Service, he came rushing in minutes and helped Simon leave the world quickly and peacefully.

Afterwards, I had to go into my study with Red, and Maria, Eli, Deb and then Mandy had tea and talked and laughed. This was the country way, people appear when you need them, they don’t need invitations, they just show up to help. It was just a donkey, I thought, but that was not the point, and they knew that. Simon was not just a donkey, and his loss was not just another day on the farm.

I will visit Simon every morning, our walk together through the theater of chance will continue, he still lives on Bedlam Farm.

There is one especially painful and enduring horror of a life with animals, it comes when you see them suffer and are absolutely helpless to do anything about it. For nearly two hours, we watched Simon struggle to live, and we watched him lose that struggle. We are fortunate to be able to spare animal’s the eternal struggle people go through at the end of their lives.

We knew we had to end Simon’s suffering, we understand there was no light at the end of the tunnel or him. That doesn’t make it easy or painless, of course. It was wrenching to watch the spirit and life drain out of Simon, it was a gift to be able to end his pain. Godspeed, Simon, I hope you are standing by some pasture gate, long lines of admirers bring you carrots. It happened often here on earth.

I said goodbye to Simon once, and thanked him for his time with me. When an animal dies on a farm, there is a lot to do. Calling vets, figuring out what to do with the body, getting the other animals out of the way, letting people know who ought to know, comforting the animal, comforting the people. I looked out of the farmhouse window and saw the stroke come over him, saw  his head shake, by the time we rushed out to the pasture I knew how this story would unfold, Simon’s life was over.

So I put my camera down and said goodbye. Maria picked it up and took a photo of Simon and I, for which I am grateful. Simon had a great life, he was a lucky donkey, loved all over the world, celebrated in a book, his photos shared all over the Internet. He helped spread the word about donkey, he helped people understand what it really means to abuse an animal. Every morning here, he brayed a welcome for me, I kissed him on the nose.

I will miss that.

Simon died in the loving hands of people who knew him and cared about him, he was an exceptionally well loved donkey, he had bad luck and very good luck in his life. He suffered at the hands of neglectful humans, was rescued and healed at the hands of good people with big hearts.

Simone died quickly, instantly after several hours of suffering and disorientation, he was failing rapidly. At the end, he was conscious but I believe unaware of what was happening around him. I felt a powerful connection with him a few minutes earlier, Maria had gone into the farmhouse to get some warmer clothes – we had rushed outside earlier without much time to dress and it was bitter cold – and I sat with Simon.

“Thank you,” I said, “I love you very much.” And then I put his head in my hands, leaned over and said, “get up, Simon, get up.” I had said this to him before, when he came to us, when he lay stricken and crippled on the ground and could barely stand up. He stood up then. And this morning, when I urged him to get up once more, he struggled to his feet, slowly and painfully, and he did get up, he did stand up, and was standing still the vet came and we knew we had to put him down.

Simon was a charismatic and loving animal, people were powerfully drawn to him and  his story. The first thing Maria and I noticed about him, something that drew both of us to him, was his will to live. He wanted to live, he wanted to be part of the world, and I sat that again in  him this morning, when he stood up once more me, and tried to live. This time, life was too much for him, even his determination could not overcome the stroke that had paralyzed him, or his failing heart.

When I came home from my own heart surgery in July, Simon sniffed my chest and my scars and stitches very carefully, he went over ever inch. He wanted the story. He often checked my heart this summer, he would lean his head against my chest and I would scratch his ears and nose, something he loved.

In our own and different ways, we showed our  broken hearts to one another, Simon was my partner, an affectionate, intelligent, willful donkey. Simon could be a lot of trouble, as he was when he assaulted Rocky, our blind Appaloosa Pony, and he could be the sweetest creature in the world. He protected Lulu and Fanny to the end and greeted me every morning with his joyous bray.

I believe in celebrating life rather than mourning death. I am sad, but not only sad. Grateful as well. There is a big hole in our pasture, in our pole barn, on our farm, in our lives. Life will fill it. I celebrate Simon’s life in the best possible way, I will smile every time I think of him.