A good death

Else was helped on her way shortly after this article. She had a good death.

{I write a monthly article in Lincoln County News. This was last month's}

“But where is it I will go then?” asked little Opie, the very smallest of the goats, and youngest.

“Go when?” asked old Sophie, a very old goat.

“When I die?” asked Opie.

“You kind of don’t go anywhere, because your body becomes like rain drops and it goes back into the ground so in fact, you will be everywhere,” said Ollie, a bit older than Opie.

“So when you die, I will always be able to talk with you?” asked Opie.

“Sure!” said Ollie, and he romped off to eat a tree.

“It’s just like being the moon,” said Earnest, the very well read pig. “Your body is gone but you become the light of the moon.”

“And you become the sun, and stars and snow,” said old Else, one of the oldest goats.

The conversation had begun because one of the old cats had died, and the animals are always informed by the house boss lady when a death occurs. The animals had seen many herd mates die, and buried. While they don’t carry on in mourning the same way the humans often do, they revered death as an integral part of life, and they respected both. They feared neither. In fact, they sensed death much sooner than most humans. The boss lady always came out and calmly told them who had died, and then she would let them all see the animal lying in repose, and they could sniff the body if they choose. But they knew long before the boss lady when death occurred. It was an innate message but also a scent of the dying that alerted them.

“It sounds like being dead is a very busy time.” said Opie.

“Death is not that important,” said old Else, who was very crippled and old, and felt she was probably the next one to go. “What is important is a good death.”

“What is a good death?” asked Opie.

“Well, think about what it was like to be really little, and you were sitting around with your mother and father, and maybe some other friends, having a nice evening and meal together, and then you got sleepy since you were so young. And your mother tucked you into your straw and kissed you goodnight, and as you fell off to sleep you could hear her and the others chewing their cud, and the moon was out over the barn and maybe you could hear the wind, or smell the ocean nearby...and just like that, you are asleep. That would be a good death,” said Else.

“That sounds okay,” said Opie. “And then when I wake up I would be rain or snow or the moon and you could still see me anytime.”

“That’s right, Opie, all the energy and love in your little body just gets bigger and bigger.”

“I’ve always wanted to be bigger and bigger,” said the little goat in the barnyard. And he ran off to help Ollie eat the tree. “Is this tree someone we once knew?” he asked.

A farewell to old Else, miscalculations and a window opens

Opie views the body. Right after, he came to my side.

Yesterday I got to the front barn and Else would not eat or take water. I always give her a bucket of water so she doesn't have to walk to water bucket....at least for the past month or so, a clear sign she was getting tired. But yesterday, I chose to lift her and move her into a more draft free corner. She cried, in a pain cry. Else never talks. It was clear what she was saying. I went to house to get pain meds, and the injection made her cry out in a distress cry, not a 'hey that hurt cry'. I tried to adjust her body for her, more terrible pain cries.

I told her I would make it right.

Watching an animal suffer is a horrible position to be in, and I was so lucky that one of my vets was very close by, and she came to put her down. She went out like a bulb. She was more than ready.

I had talked to my vet last fall about putting Else down before winter, and I had that in my head as the right thing to do. But then I started really getting good weight on her [for her, she is very thin] and she seemed to be going outside and enjoying life, even though her crippling condition was getting worse, as we knew it would when we adopted her from a state neglect case. For the past months of winter, it has been okay, she was eating, and had a good demeanor. It was about a week ago though that I could tell she had more trouble getting a position that was comfortable. And then yesterday. There was no question we needed to let go.

I am relieved for her.

I told my vet that I had perhaps done her a disservice not acting sooner, but she just didn't seem ready...vets hear this all the time, knowing it is usually the person that isn't ready. But I really didn't think it was time.

So it was a misjudgment on my part. After all the years of doing this, I guess I'm entitled to some miscalculations.

I feel badly though, because she clearly had a morning of pain. But then a big beautiful sleep, and no pain.

This morning she is still in the barn, covered in blankets, with the chickens sleeping on her-it is a process to bury an animal in winter, but we will in the next day or so. It is never a feeling of closure until they are in the ground. I had Wilbur cremated last winter because it was so impossible to bury him with the heavy snow, and I wasn't going to put him out for Nature [I am not opposed to this option, it just doesn't work well in our setting]. I felt really bad about having to take his body into the clinic, put in a freezer to wait for the next cremation pickup. That is how it works. They do the same thing with dogs. And people. I was so relieved to pick his ashes up.

But I want to bury them if I can, return them to the earth in body, feed the worms and tulips.

This morning I did my chores, and I realized how tired I was. I was moving slowly. I have actually given myself permission to move more slowly during chores, and take moments to look and feel and smell it all in. I don't make morning appointments anymore if I don't have to, I just don't want to rush. I've rushed enough. As I did chores I realized how much care taking fills a space, and when the creature or person is gone there is a big space left. I do not have one moment where I think "I wish I didn't have to care for this animal', never, but there is an initial empty space and a feeling of, "now what?" and then, life steps in...another old goat will come along or crippled one...the space Else left will be taken up by another Misfit who fails, or a new comer. A window will open.

So in a way, I guess her death is one more gift-it opens a space, and leaves behind the memory of her sweet self.

The Goose gives Else one last peck...just to make sure.

How I will remember her

If you open a space, they will come to you, they will shift

Captain Sparkle leans into my guest

I wanted to write about this before I get swept up in the next days of the annual event [on Saturday]. Some beautiful encounters took place in the last couple days. I can say this is a daily thing here, but sometimes even I am reminded of the intuitive skills of nature and animals [and humans if we can recognize it and practice it].

Yesterday friends came to visit for the morning all the way from Oregon. It was so great to take time with them, since they knew Apifera out west from the onset, and actually delivered several Misfits to me to help out, including goats and dear sweet Hughie. But what was even more special for me was to see how some of the animals responded to the visit. I was surprised but also delighted that of all the current animals, I never thought Captain Sparkle would show such camaraderie with a guest. I've only had him out with strangers once as you know, and he did fine, but was a bit sidetracked since we were in a strange place. So when we stepped into his paddock where he lives with Arlo and The Teapot, we we all so happy to see that he almost immediately went up to my friend Lisa and leaned into her. He was so quiet and calm, and even started napping. He stood there the entire time. I felt a real shift in him in the last week or so. I think he definitely understands now that he is safe, and that I am the leader and protector against the boss pants, aka The Teapot. Captain Sparkle just swept me away on this visit, and I knew that in time, this little chap will evolve his purpose here, and get great reciprocal healing from it.

There was also an exciting–for me–shift with Harry. We went into the new barn addition to hang out with the donkeys and Harry, and we probably stood there for a half hour or more chatting. Within time, Harry started coming over to me. Harry is not scared or mean, he is still just ungrounded here, but he has begun to recognize my role here. My friend noticed he was paying close attention to me [wow, someone really listens to me].

It dawned on me that the way to put this into words...is that when we give the animals space, they can feel comfortable making their own intuitive response. If you back a horse into a corner and he doesn't trust you, it's dangerous and scary for the horse; if you give that horse space to understand the situation, he responds more calmly. 

I realized that having some people there that I was focused on, allowed Harry to feel more open to exploring...me.

It was a shift.

And then this morning a heart in throat encounter. Many of you who follow along know the beautiful story of friendship between The Goose and Birdie the llama. He was with her through it all. And you know that The Goose seems to gravitate to those in need. I do not take his skill lightly. We all know that Else is very old and crippled and fading...but this morning when I came back from the outer barn, she had brought herself outside to sun, without my help. I squatted down to take a photo as Opie stood near her. And in seconds, The Goose came over to make sure things were as they should be. He preened her some, but not a lot, circled her, and they tilted their heads together for seconds.

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A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Oct 3, 2019 at 9:22am PDT

The Goose checks on old Else

My friend Lisa gets a surprise visit from Harry

Don't put a fear of death on my old goat

If there is one thing I have come to understand about people, or many of them, is they see death as this giant black curtain, the end, the thing to avoid, the thing to prevent at all costs. Nowhere is it more apparent than in how you see people talking about animals on social media [often other people's animals they have no clue of what they speak]. If you have a personal relationship with an animal, that is your relationship, and any covenant you have with them is yours, not mine. The decisions you make about your animals are, I assume and hope, based on experience, your knowledge of the actual animal and your feedback from your vet if needed. And such is the case with my relationships with all my animals. Just because their might be certain things you can do to keep an animal alive for another...3 months...doesn't mean you should, nor does the animal necessarily benefit from it as an animal.

An animal that's growing old, that is clearly coming to the final season, is not asking for pity, prayers or healing. He or she just wants their space and to be able to find a quiet spot if needed, or maybe change their spot if it doesn't feel right anymore. That's my job - to watch that animal as I go about my business and make sure I can accommodate it's needs as it transitions-and it is a transition. Rarely, in my experience anyway, does an animal get old, and boom, die. Just like with people there are shifts in the body and conditioning and all sorts of things before an animal dies. It can take months or years even.

I have written a bit about old Else in the past summer months. I sense it is her final summer. But we are not there yet. Since I am with her daily, sometimes I am immune to seeing some things, that my vet might see when she comes next time. So I always am open to a discussion. She has gotten thinner. I think her body just isn't absorbing the nutrients, which happens in age. She has never been a voracious eater but gets supplements and all the hay she wants. Her front leg is weakening more, her muscle what little she had when she arrived, is lessening.

What is a good life for a goat? Well, just being–A plot of grass, or sand, or shade mixed with sun, fresh water, a place that they know is theirs to go to-anytime-when they need, a human counterpart that is consistent in bringing food and water and is there for them.

Else has more and more chosen to stay in the barn, especially with the heat. Rather than always helping her out, I test her, and if she is pulling back, she seems very content in her barn with the door open to the outside world. A couple days ago, I was really pleased that while I was busy doing chores, she went out on her own to her orchard, and lay down. I've noticed though that rather than waiting all afternoon to let me know it is getting to be time to return to barn [I bring goats back in each night around 5], she might call out to me sooner. It might just be the flies, but she is sprayed well and they seem to leave her alone. At night, I put Opie with her, and The Goose, and Henneth the blind chicken.

No matter what, Else is not afraid of death. She is not thinking about that. Nor does she sit and wish for another summer, because she lives completely in the moment. Animals are often very stoic about pain,so Try to balance that in my perception of her everyday. But I do feel she is very content to separate out a little but more, which to me is a sign she is on her journey of transitioning.

Else

It is what she does. She suns, she naps, she sits looking out of whatever is in front of her. Her vista becomes what is in front of her. Like an elder woman confined to a front porch, she awaits her meals that are brought to her, and needs some help to get up each day. But all and all, I believe she is still content, for now. One day at a time.

As she fades, she is the first I look for her each morning when I open the barn door.

The goose continues on as caretaker

The goose seems to be continuing her-his care taking role. After first gravitating to Rosie the pig in her final weeks, then Birdie his llama in need, he has now latched on to old Else, who is elderly and crippled and frail. She arrived that way and seems to be growing farther into that state. I do not know if she will be with us in the coming winter, or if it is right to let her go through another winter. But for now, she is able to nap in the sun and lives in contentment. It is just much harder for her to walk, and she seems more tired, taking longer to get up in the morning.

The goose still roams and grazes, but he seems to go back to Else during the day to nap with her, or sun near her side.

It's endearing. I know I have a vivid imagination but I truly feel she-he gravitates to those bodies trying to release. Perhaps it is a smell we humans are closed down to. Perhaps she-he just knows.

The goose has not laid an egg. I have taken to referring to the goose as she-he, or The Goose, or My Grace that is Goose a guy. I suppose by mid summer it will be definitive that she-he is in fact either male or female, and not much will change, since I call her-him simply, Goose.

Else is glad it is spring again

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A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Mar 26, 2019 at 5:37am PDT

It is finally warm enough to get the crippled elders outside. Else came to us very crippled and old and we knew her front leg would only continue to get worse over time, but last winter was tough on her lying around so much. One of the lifts we had been using for Birdie is now used to give the old girl some help. I don't take it lightly the thread of that-it helped one animal and now it helps another. We carry on. I was pleased that even in the two days Else has been out more, she is walking better.

My waistline has a plan of its own but I can help an old goat

A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on May 8, 2018 at 9:33am PDT

I have tried and finally succeeded in getting a quick video of old Else coming out of the barn in the morning. The elder, crippled goat has seemed to come to life after winter -–who of us hasn't?–and I get such a good feeling when I see how content she looks coming out to go to the orchard pasture where she, Opie and Sir Tripod Goat spend much of the summer.

Else's front leg is getting more and more bent. She reminds me a bit of Stevie, our beloved very crippled goat we had out West, in the way she moves that front leg. She arrived really thin but has put on weight by feeding her twice a day away from other animals, with minerals. For her age and breed though, she's doing okay.

When I come upon her as I did later this morning after chores, sunning, it just gives me great inner peace. I can't save the world from destructive powers out of my control, I can't win every argument with the angry masses online [and I don't try], I guess I'll never have a book deal and my waistline has a plan of its own, but I can work in inside the fences of Apifera that protect us all from The Noisy But Necessary Road to Everywhere [aka Maine Route 32], trying to make an old goat comfortable, giving her a feeling of safety and permanence. Each day and night her routine is, well, routine. I have always understood the importance to animals, and us humans too, of an understood routine. Sure you go out of the routine sometimes, but a daily knowledge of what is going to happen, and not happen, brings calm to the animal and barnyard. That knowledge has worked well for me all these years. It also means when something goes wrong, the entire barnyard knows.

If you like the work we are doing hoping old/special needs animals, please consider a donation to our non profit. Thank you!

I'm an optimist...I can't imagine how the pessimists felt

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm already making my list for winter prep. But first did I mention that we actually felt Spring, right through our skin into our old bones? What a long awaited day we had this weekend, sun and sixties. Oh my, I told Martyn I wasn't sure I'd ever see and feel this kind of day again, and I'm an optimist so I can only imagine how the pessimists were doing this spring in New England.

I much prefer to know my animals can roam around, and this winter was hard on all of them with so much snow and ice, one storm after another.

But yesterday, that disappeared. We have hope again...at least until the flies arrive, and arrive they will.

I got so much done yesterday that it reminded me of my mother telling me when I was young I would work and play all day from sun up to sun down, and then collapse on arriving in the house. That's how yesterday felt, but what a blessing to feel warm but not hot, the breeze wasn't chilly, and just seeing the animals sun napping made me happy. We worked on the garden and the area where we plan to have our elder visits so that is all coming together.

But, warm weather is also the time to get things done for winter. Our road to the outer barn is very soggy in wet spring days, so come summer, I like to get the majority of our hay in, some 800+ bales this year were used, up from 600 due to the hard winter. I'd say we have a month supply left, but soon we will have the pastures open.

But I need to begin to collect money for hay for 2018-2019 winter and will have some hay fundraisers soon. It is always the biggest achievement to get the hay in the barn, it feels like you are really taking car of things, for the animals. I'm glad we found two good sources now for hay, a load off my mind. Hay was really tough to find when we first got here, and it is more expensive than out West so I was a bit agitated by it. But all is well.

We also will be doing a lot of tree work and hopefully clearing for more pastures. A huge undertaking. The third barn is beginning in June or July and there is lots of reorganization to do with fencing and such before that begins, and then it will all have to be arranged once the barn is built.

But for now, it's warm and sunny, and I'm going to focus on that today. I worked all weekend, going to give myself an hour with Boone, it will be or first work together since last fall. We have a lot to accomplish this summer, or I do, after our accident last year. I need to work on some things in that regard.

Conversation of Misfit goats

"Why are you here? It is not morning." said Opie.

"And it is not evening," said Else.

"It is precisely 1:12 post mayhem or...what is it called?" said Sir Tripod.

"I think it's called 'muffins"..."Post muffins'..." said Opie.

I retreated to the feed room to do spring cleaning. They continued on as I shut the door behind me, arguing back and forth.

"It's 'meridian', guys, 'Post Meridian'," I yelled through the door.

Silence. Cud chewing.

"I like 'muffins' better," Opie said under his breath.

New elders arrive!

Else is on the right, the hermaphrodite is on the left

I had intended on bringing two home. Somehow three ended up in the truck. Oops.

We drove up to Augusta to rendezvous in the parking lot of the civic center to make the big goat exchange. My life is full of wonderful things-getting to visit new places I've never been, hang out with my husband while doing it...and drive around with old goats.

They are all female, although the vets says one is a hermaphrodite. I have not examined her yet, but will need to investigate. It's a first at Apifera, anyway.

They were the most well behaved goats on the ride home. I can not go into any details about the rescue case, but over 100 animals were taken from a private residence, including about 20 goats. Due to the court case, they were in limbo since August and were homed at a rescue farm a couple hours away. I was in touch with the state on the proceedings and the case was finally resolved and we were able to pick them up yesterday. The farm did a great job putting weight on them which I'm grateful for since it is winter-and I also have a new contact to be in touch with about helping animals.

I hung with them when we got home, put them in the barn with Sir Tripod Goat. I decided to put little Opie in with Marcella so the new girls could acclimate without a little bucket of love bouncing all over. Sir Tripod is so forgiving and tolerant and took it in stride napping in his little cubby. I told the girls first thing that this was now their home, they would not have to leave or move again. They have had a lot of change int he past six months. They are doing just fine. I believe animals sense intention in us, and my intention is pure.

The rescue farm was calling the one girl Else, which I think suits her. She is a bit shy around animals but really likes people and I think she responds to her name, so Else she is. She has arthritis. The other two I have to take time to hear their names...stay tuned. The one with the horns has a crippled hind end, but do not let that fool you-she is a whipper snapper for sure. The bigger girl is a beautiful brown-red, I love her, and she likes to walk around with her tongue out–we all have our unique beauties.

Not only do I have a mate that gladly hops in the truck to help me pick up old goats, I found him happily cleaning out my truck after we got home.

Life is good. Stay tuned as the new arrivals settle in.

Else

Best co-pilot ever, and he even cleaned the truck