After a week to compose my thoughts, here is the tragedy, and triumph....and tragedy of Father's Day, 2016.
You know how you can't keep track of EVERYTHING at one of those Barnum and Bailey circuses? Drives me crazy. You miss the motorcycles in the sphere or the trapeze high-wire act or the tigers in the daring lion-tamer act....because you can only concentrate on one thing at a time.
The elephants might be in center stage, but the clown act off to the side is distracting, and then there's the glittery sequined outfits of something happening...over...there.... Horses whipping full-speed in the middle until they are nearly horizontal against the side of the ring, dogs jumping through hoops on the right, clowns (again) on the left... Yeah.
Big Bea was due to deliver piglets. She was huge, uncomfortable, and ready... In ring #1.
Samoa the fainting goat yearling was looking ready to deliver an oopsie baby or two.... In ring #2.
Unknown to me, there was a Ring #3...
10:30 at night, I check on Bea, and she has two little piglets born already. (Did I mention that I'd been checking on Bea AND Samoa nightly for about a week?!!! Plus the new puppies were not sleeping through the night and Taffy was whining at least once a night to go outside in addition to puppy noises keeping us awake...) I was exhausted, but pulled up a bale of straw, grabbed a clean rag towel, and settled in to help. Pellets of piglet poo and streaks of blood in the discharge between each birth suggested that it was a more difficult labor than Bea's had previously.
I could see Samoa in the other stall, and there seemed to be some drama and lots of noise going on over in that direction, but my attention needed to stay on Bea.
By 12:30, and piglet #10, I was praying that the next push was going to produce the placenta. Nope, piglet #11. Bea has 10 teats. It was going to be interesting, every feeding with 11 scrabbling and biting piglets. I took mental note of how much cheap beer we had on hand...for Bea, not for me!
Checking on Samoa, she was calmly chewing her cud. Not in labor.
I looked in on the sheep and goats in the south end of the barn, because they were very quiet and more subdued than usual. All looked well, I even took a photo.
Time for bed.
The next morning, Father's Day, I checked on Bea. She was up and ready for food. 11 little piglets snoozed in a big pile while Mama nosed through soggy straw.
In Ring #2, Samoa was up and ready for food. No babies. I gave her fresh straw, a handful of pellets, and fresh water.
And in ring #3, the south end of the barn, was a large, dead, bloated lamb with his head right next to the water bucket.
I poked him. No movement.
Without thinking, I swore and punched him in the side. Did I mention how exhausted I was? Still, no excuse.
Apparently, in Ring #3 the night before, this lamb (who was meant for the freezer in a few months, who cost me $75 plus whatever I'd spent on his feed in 2 months) needed a drink of water, and the black bucket of what looked like clear water was actually inky black swill from many, many ducks... I missed it, and it cost a life.
We had rounded up this lamb and two others in the far reaches of the small pasture the night before. Straight past the water trough. Straight into the barn where I always keep a full bucket of clean water for the sheep and goats. Except, I had looked into the bucket, seen it half-way full, and thought I would fill it the next morning.
In Ring #3, as I sat with Bea in the ring on the other far end of the barn, as Bea struggled to deliver her large litter, the dramatic noises that I thought had been coming from drama queen Samoa were actually the sounds of the lamb in agony as he bloated and died.
On Father's Day, in addition to our plans for Jeff's special day, the men dug a large hole for a 50+ pound lamb and laid him to rest.
And in one more stroke of tragedy....I walked past Bea and babies that night. It was stiflingly hot. Without thinking, I counted them. Eleven. Bea shifted as I walked past.
I walked to the other end of the barn, took the water bucket, refilled TWO of them for good measure, and watched the sheep and goats for a while to be sure they were OK. So far, so good.
Walking back past Bea, I noticed that little dog Taffy was peering intently at something black sticking out from under Bea's relaxed body. A piglet. Poking Bea none-too-gently, I rolled her just enough to retrieve the little body. Very warm, but despite roughing it up a little, no life. Taffy even tried to help after I set the little one down.
Quick count of the blissfully nursing piglets on the other side. NINE!!! There should have been ten.
Well, I admit, I swore again. Punched and rolled Bea until she got up off of her side and I could see a perfect male piglet, flat in the straw under her belly. Another life-saving attempt, but I knew this one was a lost cause.
So in less than 24 hours' time, 11 piglets were born. No goats delivered kids. One lamb lost his life. And two of those newborn piglets were crushed as their mother shifted when I walked past. No circus has THIS much happening at one time. I wouldn't PAY to have this much happen at once!!!
Someone well-meaning at church said "Well, maybe you just have too many things going on". That's not exactly it. We take good care of everything. We don't keep up with everything all at the same time, that would be impossible. But the vet assures me that we're doing a good job. He's seen a LOT of bad animal husbandry... When I check with him on what I could do differently or better, he tells me about some of the stuff he's seen. We aren't keeping a perfectly clean barn, but our animals are cared for.
The other day, a duckling got out of the safe area where I have that tiny flock penned in with their mother. The geese mauled it to death.
Despite all human efforts, there are animals that will die, or be injured, or not thrive.
You can buy a ticket to a 3 ring circus, and thoroughly enjoy the show, even as you are frustrated that you can't see everything at once.
That's where I am.
But as I get ready to TRY to leave for a few days' vacation, my parting thought for the farm sitter will be the same thing I need to tell myself: "There is so much life here that death is a part of it all. If something dies, don't take it too hard. Just do your best".
In church that morning, after Bea had 11 beautiful babies, after I discovered the bloated lamb, this song brought tears to my eyes:
"With all creation I sing, Praise to the King of Kings. You are my everything. And I will....adore you". (Matt Redman, I think)
Maybe it was the lack of sleep, and maybe it was just an outpouring of emotion for everything that had taken place in less than 24 hours, but tears sprang to my eyes as I sang out with the friends and family around me.
Laura
