I took this shot of Ma and Deb just before Ma died. I feel badly for Deb, she lost her brother Jake – the two were inseparable – and then Ma. Deb is the most spiritual sheep I have yet encountered, there is a peaceful grace about her that is unusual. Ma nearly died during the birthing process, we were all amazed the way she pulled through. In the way of sheep, Deb was out grazing a half hour after Ma died, I have never had an animal that mourns, although many people insist that they do. Still, theirs was a strong connection. The farm teaches me that animals are an alien species, so different from us. Unlike us, they accept life and death with grace and dignity, they move on and inspire me to to the same.
Deb Foster is our farm and petsitter, when we go away, she moves into the farmhouse and takes care of things. She is a good friend, she loves the animals as much as we do and knows them as well. I messaged her that we were about to put Ma down and she came over to say goodbye.
Ma died a little after 11 a.m., I shot her once in the back of the head with my .22 rifle, and then fired three rapid shots into her heart, her death was instant and, I believe, painless. I always feel it’s my responsibility to put the animals down if I can do it. I write about what I call the real lives of real animals, I live on the boundary between pets and animals. I have both, and on a farm, you learn how to let go or it will eat you up.
Ma was sick for the past few weeks, fluids oozing from her mouth and and she was increasingly disoriented, it was time. Deb, her only surviving offspring, came and stood by her, and then, as sheep will, she moved away to graze. Deb lost her brother Jake as well in June. Real animals do not live in a no-kill world. Ma dropped to the ground, her body heaved and twitched for a minute or so, as happens with animals when they die.
Ma was a big and bumbling sheep, I always thought of her as dumb, brave and strong. She came to us as a rescue sheep, she had not been shorn in a couple of years, her coat was felted.
But she also had the wisdom of animals in her, I saw that as well. Maria and I both did visualizations with her today, we talked with her, Maria got a strong message that said “it doesn’t matter. We are one thing.” I sat down with her and got an equally strong message from her, “I am ready to go, let me go.” Her body was worn out, she still had spirit in her. Our friend and neighbor Jack MacMillan came over in his truck and hauled the body away to the deep woods. Deb Foster, our house and pet sitter came by to say goodbye to Ma. Deb and the other sheep are out grazing.
This morning, it was an obvious decision, but Ma rallied mid-morning and we weren’t so sure. We decided to go ahead, it was an inevitable thing and I believe she was suffering.
Ma’s time has come, she has stopped eating and is oozing music and other fluids, she is ill. We heard a message from her this morning – Maria did – it said, “it doesn’t matter, we are one.” I’ve always joked about Ma, calling her the dumbest sheep, but there is a wisdom and strength about her, she nearly died giving birth to Deb this Spring, but she is old and has been through a lot.
This morning, she was utterly disoriented.
I’ve decided to put her down myself, I’ll shoot her as I have other sheep in the past, it is quick and merciful, and I feel a responsibility to our animals to help them leave the world in safety and comfort if I can, rather than die at the hands of a stranger. I think we will put her down this morning, Deb Foster, our farmsitter, wants to come and say goodbye first. More later.
The ground is already too hard to bury her, so we will figure out a way to take her into the deep woods, and offer her to the coyotes and animals there.
