“Remember me and smile, for it's better to forget than to remember me and cry.” - Dr. Seuss

I apologize for how quiet it has been here. I have been trying to write a post since Friday the 3rd... and I have written several of them which remain unfinished. On Friday one of my Vets came out, a man I've known for over a decade. In fact he saw the first horse I had ever known and loved, off to the other side. Mellow had been starved, abused, and abandoned. We had tried everything possible to get her back on her feet, and had indeed seen her quality of life improve quite a bit. But it wasn't enough. The damage was too great to repair.

The Vet came in my barn, looked at the situation and then looked at me and sighed. I have known this entire time that I wouldn't be able to fix Sammy. That the reason this happened is because, although it seemed sudden to me, it had been a long process that had begun four years ago when he was a very sick little kid. Multiple times the Vet was here and looked at his legs, his feet. He's always walked funny, had terrible hooves, had off and on issues with standing, and discomfort which I've managed with pain meds, rest, constant care of his feet, salves... love. He told me we couldn't fix it and he believed it was damage. His joints pretty much just gave out, or became too sore. There was no swelling, no other problems. He was happy, perky, eating. But completely unable to stand.

I had told myself before the Vet came I needed to be strong no matter what but as the Vet waited for me to give him further imput, he knew I wasn't ready. He gave me pain medication to last a few days, and told me to call him Tuesday when he'd be back out this way. I agreed. Who knew what could happen in that amount of time. Over the weekend, Sammy was happy in most ways, but still in pain despite the meds. He kept struggling to try and stand, and it was frustrating, impossible, and painful, emotionally and physically. I went through all the stages of grief, at least twice. I was a wreck.

I've always trusted myself to make the right decision when it comes to my animals, even when I am forced to make decisions I'd rather never make. And I've known since Sammy was a sick little kid, there was a good chance at some point, I'd have to make a choice I wouldn't want to make. When Sammy was a baby, so sick, terribly sick, the Vets told me I couldn't save him. But somehow I did, and he was one of the happiest animals I've ever known. And most loving. But having said that, when faced with this now... it was one of the more painful things I've ever gone through. I'd rather go through all the pain and suffering after my surgery again, than this.

I honestly feel that death is not an end. I cannot believe that it is. I believe in my heart of hearts, even though sometimes I have let skepticism in, that it is just... a transformation. The light inside each being on this earth is too great to just go out, once and for all. I debated writing this post at all. To be honest, it hurts to much. But it is... life... and a reality of it and I felt it was important to share.

Amit Abraham, an Indian writer, wrote: "Some people in your life, touch you so very deeply, that you drown totally in that depth."

I have loved many animals, and I have been blessed to have been able to do so. I have tried very hard to always give them a safe, loving, home, where they are content, happy, and not hungry. They give me much in return. But with Sammy, he gave me more. My connection with him was so much deeper. When I looked into his eyes, I could see inside them, and he loved me back in a way I've never experienced before, not even with a dog. I know he was a goat. Just a simple Saanen goat that was going to be discarded at the dairy he was born at, but he would put his head up against my shoulder, and I could feel his heart. 

Tuesday morning I told him if I could take all of his pain, I would... and I did. I just wish I had another way. I could have given him more time by just continuing pain medication, but I would not have been doing it for him. I would have been doing it for me, and that's not fair. I could see the pain he was in, and it was greater than the light that was inside of him. Goodbye is always hard. Always. It always hurts, even when it's necessary. I've had to say goodbye a lot, when I was deep into rescue, and also on this farm. But this goodbye was probably the hardest one I've ever said. Time made me feel confident with my decision, which is important, the concern that I was making the wrong decision, which always comes, had passed. I was at peace with it.

But when the time came, my heart gave out on me, and so did my body. My mind went blank, I stopped breathing. I felt like I was falling off of the highest building in New York City. I had to turn away, something I've never done. I've never felt anxiety that bad in my life either, I thought for a while that I would just stop breathing. My eyes focused on Brie, and Henrietta, and Bulrush, all looking at me from their pens, standing up, their eyes, level with mine. They were unsure of what was happening, why my energy had become so anxious, so dark... But because of them, I remembered to breathe. They reminded me they were still living, and so was I.

And so it goes. A New Year begins on the farm with a very hard goodbye. It will take time for my heart to heal, although I am able to think of him already with happiness, the pain still comes when the realization I can no longer hold him comes back over me. The physical loss is always where we struggle most. But I am a better person for having loved that goat - and for having had his love, and complete trust.



Sammy and Puffin

And because of this, even though it hurts, I feel peaceful, grateful. Animals, just like people, come into our lives and sometimes leave it. Sometimes it hurts. But sometimes it transforms us in ways we had not expected, and sometimes we are left with more than we started with.

And so... it's worth it. Every single time.