We lose an elder...the beautiful Assumpta

I had to go work on a downed wire in the field this morning. It was only 70 but ninety percent humidity so I was focused on getting done as soon as possible. I had let the sheep and Birdie out of their paddock where they stay at night, and fed the equines. It was all routine. I wasn't paying too much attention to anyone, and then I realized,

There is a sheep missing...Assumpta...

I figured she was hanging low back at the barn due to the high humidity. In the past year, I've noted she is laying down longer, and more. Sometimes she doesn't get up to eat her hay as quickly as she used too. I knew her life was probably more like months versus years. Sheep are very good at carrying on until one day, they don't. It would be a deadly thing for a sheep in a flock to act sick. They are programmed to stay alive, and stay with the flock for security from predators.

I headed back to the barn to check on her, Martyn was close behind working on other projects. And then I saw her lifeless body in the distance. I knew she was gone. I cried out to her, and ran, but she was dead. By her appearance, we think she died early evening. There was no sign of distress from her body, and there were no marks on the ground indicating she had been pawing the dirt. I like to think she went to the back corner to be on her own, to sleep after the sun went down, the ground was probably cooler in that area. Maybe she just dozed off, and never woke up.

Just last night when I brought the girls up from the field, they were panting. Sheep can't sweat, so pant. Assumpta was there and I scratched her chin and told her to hang in there, the weather was supposed to be cooler in a day. I'm so glad I had that brief interaction with her. Assumpta was not one of the more personable sheep, she was like a stern but fair matriarch that didn't need a lot of hands on attention. She was a Blue Leicester cross and had the most beautiful wool. I have yarn from last season, and still have to skirt her fleece from this year. I will have to do something really special with it.

I let the sheep wander over before we dug the grave. They of course already knew she was dead, as did Birdie. As Martyn dug the hole, I picked her a bouquet, and White Dog examined the dirt and hole. We laid her body in the grave, covered her eyes, and buried her with earth. And White Dog sat with me the entire time. Martyn placed one large rock on top, and White Dog marked it as we were leaving.

Don't worry, I'll keep my eye on the grave, was his intention.

I was sad, but also relieved for her. I knew this winter would be hard on her, and she picked a good time to die. She won't have to deal with biting flies and heat, and we could bury her quickly so she could be on her way. I always feel the burial is an important part of the spirit's journey, it is the final goodbye of those of us left behind, and until we let go, they can't totally be free for the intensity of their next journey. That is what I believe.

I went back to the house to cool off, and came back out about an hour later. White Dog was in the shaded barn, and I sat with him, we did our eye to eye conversation without words, and I took the photo of him you see below. I started to leave, but he put a paw up to hold me in my position. I took this to be a simple statement from him,

It's all okay, she's gone now, it's all okay.

And of course, it is.

Thank you for your beautiful wool, Assumpta, I am honored we could care for you in your final years.

We lose a Tiny Apiferian...but it leaves an epiphany

I found one of the Little Apiferians dead this morning. And now we are four. But what was most interesting to me, is that as I cradled his tiny body in my hands, I had an epiphany about my work with animals but also with elder people of late.


First I want to share how much joy these little birds have brought into our home. He and his Zebra Finch mates came to us when we first arrived in Maine, and they were already pretty old. The owner of them was losing his home, and somehow one of his connections thought of us. I had never had birds-and never really thought to. But I somehow thought immediately this was a good thing to do, and it was. The six finches, five males and one female, had their own custom cage hand built by someone. The female died about six months after coming to Apifera, but the males have thrived. I used to count them every night after the female died, worried they were so old and one by one they'd die. There are little bird houses in their house, and some tuck themselves in there and are hard to see. This morning I did a count and had to really look for the fifth bird, and finally found him at the bottom of the cage. Every morning when I get up, the morning routine is to let the dogs out first, but I greet the birds,

"Good morning, boys!"

"Chirp, chirp, chirp!"they greet me back.

If I speak to them, they chirp back. When we watch movies- their house is centrally located in the living room-they react to certain music. If we are angry at the news, a regular thing these days, we ask the boys how they feel, and they start chirping like mad! They are joyful little creatures and enjoy flying around and I give them sticks and natural objects in which they prep nests. One person-of course a complete stranger-scolded me for keeping them telling me they should be set free. Sorry, dumb idea. These were bred and born in captivity. I took them on to help them. If you want to boycott bird breeding, go somewhere else and shame them, not here.

The epiphany

So as I held the little bird in my hands this morning, I apologized for just having found him. He had clearly died at least a day or two before. I'd been swept up in life and had not counted the birds. I told him how joyful he made our home, how his size did not compare to the music and happiness he brought into our world. I prepared his burial setting, and gave him a beautiful cloak to warm him on his journey. He of course did not need it, but the ritual of showing him I cared was important to me. I let the other birds see his body one more time, and then I buried him in the garden. I marked the grave and will bury them all there when their time comes.

The thought came to me immediately, as I held him and talked to him-this is what I was not able to do with White Cloud. And of course, I was not family, or staff, or a nurse, or hired to do that, or legally able to do that. And that is why I can't put myself in those situations any more. I am not wired to work with any creature, be it human or animal, for weeks or years, care for them, do my best, commune on a two way road, and then not be allowed to even say goodbye.

After my experience with White Cloud, I have felt adrift in some ways, floating about wondering why I felt so...awkward. It is because I do not want to work in a system that shuts me out when I feel my work is needed most-at the end of a creature's life. I do not want to walk into one more place and find out someone I cared about and visited for over a year is gone, but nobody can talk about it.

I can't do it, it is opposite of what my soul wants me to do. I have a covenant with my animals, and I have a covenant with people I visit. My job, in my mind and heart, with he elder people is simple-listen tot hem, share story, share animal, do not detract, don't treat them like invalids or babies.

People are so afraid of death, or most people are afraid of it I think. I do not think necessarily that all older people are afraid of it. I am not afraid of it. I don't want to linger in a cement building without nature or things that give my life meaning, being dependent on strangers, or on a bureaucracy that might be keeping people from seeing me, or talking to me. When I'm old, I don't want to be told what to do, I want to be heard. I had a recent conversation with an elderly woman who I used to work with, she is in her 80's-still sharp and interested in life-and the care residence she was in was, in her words, treating her like a baby, not letting her go out on her own after she had fallen once. She did not want to use a walker, because it was hard to get in and out of bookstores, and most importantly, she volunteered at the animal shelter twice a month and it was cumbersome there. She wanted to use her cane, and she said to me, "I don't feel like they want to listen to me, they just tell me what I need. They care more about me falling, than me going out and living."

So, when I held this little creature, I took comfort in the extra years I could give him. I took comfort in preparing his little grave site. I took comfort knowing this is the work I want to do. I don't want to partake in detracting from others. I want to listen, not talk at, other people.