We knew this afternoon that Suzy was suffering.
She struggled to stand up, had stopped eating, and rolled onto her side, trembling. She died a few hours later, shot in the head.
She left a large hole in the farm’s life. She was an important animal in our life on the farm.
We agreed a couple of days ago when Maria warned me she was fading to give her the chance to die naturally, as the last ewe who died did, and to intervene if she seemed to be suffering.
We picked a time. Maria and I agreed that this had to happen before any of our animals died. We each have a veto. She made the final call late this afternoon, asking me again if I thought it was right. She had no doubt, and neither did I.
Suzy was with us for 13 years, almost as long as we were married, and she was one of Maria’s favorite sheep. She gave birth to Liam, our gentle wether. He died before her. Her life is woven deeply into our story.
In the afternoon, several sheep stood by her.
Suzy helped Maria understand sheep and care for them well. She was gentle and calm.
She helped Maria gain the confidence to take over the care of the sheep; while I had a herding dog, I took care of them.
She visited with them at least once a day, counted them, brushed them, grained them when cold, gathered their wool, and sold it as yarn.
That relationship is born for intimacy, a unique way to love and learn about an animal. She helped Maria grow strong.
Having seen some large animal vets put sheep down – IVs and wrestling to the ground – we decided the most humane way for her to die was to be shot. I usually did the shooting, but I couldn’t shoot Suzy; it was too much like shooting family. I knew her for too long.
She followed Maria into the barn – we believe sheep know when it’s time – and sat down. She had surrendered.
She died instantly and without suffering. We didn’t want her to die out in the cold by herself.
We know someone, a friend, who does this and does it well. He shot Suzy on the back of her head between the ears. I was behind her; Maria waited outside.
She moved her legs once or twice and never moved again. She no longer seemed aware of her surroundings. Take care, Suzy, and thanks; we are grateful for knowing you for so long. She’s gone out to a peaceful spot in the woods.
Life goes on. This spring, we have a lot of healthy sheep to shear and a lot of yarn to process.