Simon died here at the second Bedlam Farm five or six years ago; I’m never great on dates. I walked by his tombstone yesterday and got the itch to look back at my photos – something I rarely do – to remember him.

I don’t have the heart to tell his story again; most people know it, and I wrote a book about it.

 Saving Simon was one of the books I most loved, and Simon was one of the animals I most loved.

He was rescued near death by the New York State Police and given to me to help him heal and find a good home. Everyone who saw him wanted to put him down. He was in awful shape.

I never saw an animal as abused and suffering as Simon. I can’t ever forget the hours lying with him in our pasture, rubbing his gums with anti-biotic ointments and feeding him some blades of hay one at a time, as he struggled to stay alive after months of starvation and abuse.

It took a long time to nurse him back to health, and it was touching to see how sweet he was and how trusting, forgiving, and loving he turned out to be.

Simon and I fell in love, I was crazy about that donkey, and he brayed to spin the moon when he saw me every morning.

I loved walking with him in the woods, brushing him, and reading to him. He opened up something profound inside of me. He had a stroke out in our pasture. I saw him staggering from the bedroom window and knew he would die shortly. Large animals never really recover from strokes.

The Large Animal vet rushed over and told us we needed to euthanize him, and we did.

I did get to sit down with him and hold his head in my lap.

I loved you very much, Simon, and I am glad you had some great and happy years with us. You deserved more. You had a great spirit. Simon loved to be loved, hugged, petted, brushed, read to, and fed. It was almost as if his response to all the cruelty he suffered was to be all the more loving.

You drove Lulu and Fanny crazy, and each day began with each one kicking you in the head. This did not deter you from pestering them and hoping to mate somehow.

They were both sad when you died, but not too low.

I was, and so was Maria.

You are buried in the pasture, and we put a stone on the spot as a gravestone.

I think of Simon every time I walk past there, and I am so sorry he didn’t get to walk in our woods with me as I had planned. He loved those walks, staying close to me and reaching up into the trees for some leaves to munch on.

He never ran from me or pulled away on those walks. It was as if we had been talking in the woods together all of our lives.

I think that’s all I want to say about Simon today, I know many of the people reading this followed his story closely (hundreds came to see him at our Open Houses), and I thought it would be nice for me and them to share a few of the photos.

 

 

Simon was a sweetheart, and the other animals seemed to love him. The chickens were especially fond of him and liked to ride around on his back, which was okay with him. They picked the bugs and ticks off of him, which he appreciated. There has been a lot of life and death on our two farms, but Simon’s death went deep. I was hoping he would have more years of peace and love than he got, but I am grateful he was with us as long as he was.