Is spending the night at the vet, and she is in good hands. Looks like something lodged in the intestine, and also some tick-borne disease. I’ll get a report in the morning, but it doesn’t sound serious. Rose truly hates to be at the vet, and tries everything to get out of there, unlike Lenore, who rushes in to greet everybody. The farm is quiet, fortunately, and I suspect Rose will be home tomorrow. When Rose goes to the vet, I always think about how much she has meant to me here, and how different life here would be without her. We would survive, of course, but it does help me appreciate her.

  Had to rush Rosie to the vet this morning, as she hasn’t eaten in two days, unusual even for her. Rose doesn’t ever eat much or care much about food, but she is also sluggish and when you know a dog as well as I know Rose, you can sense when something is wrong. Hope it’s just something she ate in the woods. Without Rose, the place can be pretty naked.
  Getting much interesting e-mail about change. Some people are fraught at the idea of animals like Elvis or Luna leaving, others seem to understand that change is inevitable or personal. Some are worried that I’ll be criticized if I get rid of animals, and I’m sure that’s true, but I have a strong notion of making decisions. If I am comfortable with them, I don’t pay a lot of attention to what other people think.
  I grasp that for some people, the farm is a respite from the grinds of life, and that is nice, but it is also a real place that sometimes requires difficult decisions and a strong focus to manage. What I want to make sure of is the farm continues to function as a viable and creative and spiritual place. I think that means rethinking it, taking a hard look at the number of animals, how the tie into my writing and work, how I can protect the core animals and the farm for the future.
  I want to be comfortable with myself and the choices I make.
  This is, in some ways, a new way of thinking for me. I have been impulsive and myopic and let others worry about the details of my life. This farm is a working farm in every sense of the term – the animals and their stories are my work, and it has to make economic as well as emotional sense, especially in challenging times.
  I appreciate the feedback, it does help me and informs me and gives me pause and food for thought. I’m sure most people understand, though, that any decisions I make about the farm are mine and mine alone, and I will be honest about them and take responsibility for them. This is not going to be a diminished and depressing place, not while I live here. The standard is not what everybody else thinks, but what I think. Self-respect.
  I’ve done few worthwhile things in my life that most people would approve it, and some have worked out, and others haven’t. It’s a very worthwhile discussion, though.
  Here’s where I am: I have too many animals, the cost and nature of work and chores is too much. It isn’t just a question of whether I can afford it, or whether I can deal with it. I can handle it.
  It’s more in the nature of perspective, proportion and appropriateness.  It isn’t just about the number of animals either – it’s about my emotional life, a sense of peacefulness and spirituality, the ability to move freely and leave the farm on occasion, and about tractors, hay, manure, grain, water systems and vet care.
 So I’ve got to make some decisions, and I’m just starting that. I want the place to be simpler, more spiritual, more peaceful. But I do not want a farm without animals.