Last year I wrote an entry about life and the early morning sounds of life on our farm. The same sounds I can still count on morning after morning.
“Those moments after my feet hit the ground for a full day, like every day. When Sissy, the barn cat, is meowing at the back door to be fed and loved on. The sound of our neighbor leaving his place. His diesel engine pulling at the work trailer he tows every day. And, the sound of the goats and chickens as I round the corner of the house going down to feed their morning bottles and turn out the coop.” –And so Farm Life Goes On
I hear my does calling to be milked and turned out. I hear the crows of the roosters greeting the morning. And, I hear the bellowing of our buck, Pancho calling for his ladies.
But, Friday morning his bellowing was different. I could hear the difference before even seeing him. He stood at the gate. He stood over Bear, our beloved llama and herd guard, bellowing. His bellowing was grievous, and the closer I came, the higher my stomach clawed its way up my throat till I was ready to bellow, too.
Bear’s body was silent and still. There were no signs of attack. There weren’t any signs of anything. He was simply gone. He had been fine at the previous evening’s pasture checks at 8:30/9:00. And, then sometime overnight, he wasn’t.
Llamas are alert, stoic, curious creatures. Qualities that make them excellent herd guards. But, also makes it difficult to detect anything internally amiss. He’d just had a physical a few weeks ago and all was well, or so it seemed. Due to our large livestock vet’s busy schedule and the mounting heat of the morning, we weren’t able to procure a necropsy to find out what happened. We were able to rule out a few things with a last fecal check. But, it just leaves more questions than answers. And, as much as I want answers, want to blame myself, answers aren’t going to bring him back. They won’t take this hurt away.
So, I turn back to that entry from last year, to that prayer I prayed after losing Truvy. And, I turn to it for comfort as life on the farm goes on.
“As I sat trying to juggle a flashlight between my shoulder and ear, along with three bottles, watching dawn’s fingers of light slowly wiping away the dark of night, I prayed the prayer of all those living among the ebb and flow, give and take of life on a farm.
Sweet, merciful Creator,
Thank you for this beautiful life. It is glorious. Precious. And, full of hope and pain all wrapped up together. Bless our family, two and four legs alike. And, may we seek to bless those around us with the light of your love. Thank you, gracious, glorious Creator of all.
Amen.”
