When we were children and lived at the beach on a quarter acre section, we had lots of guinea pigs. Thirty-six at one time I remember. (We were very proud of that number) Males and females, shorthaired and long haired, all colours. The only ones who went into cages were the pregnant mothers, the rest ran free. My father even built a rock mountain with tunnels running under and through it for them to hide in away from the cats, there were even little rooms for sleeping. We used to put ads in the newspaper and sell the babies. Every morning after breakfast, already dressed in my school uniform, I would take a pot of porridge down the back, bang on the pot with the wooden spoon and call Guinea, Guinea, Guinea! They would erupt at a gallop from where-ever they were hiding and line up to eat, as I ladled the porridge out in a row on the grass.
Our back yard was pretty wild. My mother told us that it was important to keep and breed the animals because as well as learning to take care of animals (which we did) we also learnt about birth and death and it’s natural progression. Needless to say we had a little graveyard behind the swings with named white crosses and everything. My elder brother was in charge of making the crosses, he did a very good job and my little brother provided the shoe boxes for coffins. We sung hymns and said prayers and had quite elaborate little funeral services.
My mother died almost 30 years ago now, when I was a very young mother, but I need to tell her that I have learnt this lesson now and can she please stop teaching me. The Duke of Kupa died last night. I am sorry to be blunt. But I don’t like euphemisms for death especially after we have worked so hard to keep him alive. He did not pass, he is not gone, he died. He was our beautiful bird.
There has been a wee bit of a thaw so I hope the ground is not too frozen, I will bury him down the back with the piglets, Mama’s lambs and White Cat. John is working 12 hour days so I will do this by myself.
And he died with such relief poor fellow. His lungs stopped. The bellows exhaled. He shut his eyes. And his whole body relaxed.
He managed to die under a warm light on a miserable grey day. All very fitting for the day we lose our jewel.
God knows it is hard not to throw myself into a snow bank and say Woe is ME! How could I have missed the signs. But there you are, the milk is spilled. Even a short time with an animal or a friend can be wonderful. Just because he did not live for twenty years does not mean his life was any less complete. He was so beautiful. But there are animals out there who need me on my toes and paying attention.
Ok Mum, let’s get to work with the living now.
I am sorry. I know you loved him too.
Do take care and have a lovely day for Kupa.
your friend
celi
The Kitchen's Garden 
135 responses to “The Duke of Kupa”
Poor Kupa – I’m sure you did the very best you could for him 🙂
I don’t like the euphemisms either.
Sorry about your bird c. Throw yourself into the snow bank if you feel like it.
I took your advice Rosemary and went looking for a snow bank but Everything is covered in a fat film of solid ice, it is a skating rink out there, so maybe I will leave it for tomorrow.. c
oh… i am sorry celi. i am sure he had a wonderful life at your little farmy! sending some love ❤
OH honey more loss. You are right the snowbank is out but our hearts will always hurt when things go amiss and we can not fix them all. Sending you a big hug. He was a beautiful bird and his presence will be missed dearly as you go out and about doing chores. You are right the others will need you. Farming is not for the faint of heart 😦
Oh Celi, the tears are running down my face reading this! RIP dear Kupa, your struggle is over.
Death is a hard lesson to take, be it peaceful or dramatic, someone close or just an acquaintance. But for some reason when it is an animal or bird for me it is just that little bit harder as no matter what people say, you still wonder if you could have done more to prevent the inevitable. Or even wish you could have at least been able to explain to the pet what was going on. And with each one we grow more determined to do better by those left behind. Hoping to not be caught out again by deaths cruel embrace. We forget that WE are not gods and most of the time it is not under our control. All we can do is our very best by the animals and birds that we have under our protection, and hope it is enough. Celi my dear heart you did do your very best, and although it is not much consultation, he did die under conditions that were warm and comfortable, with care from a great compassionate human being. Take care my friend, I know you will shed tears, but time will heal, and as you say you have others needing you so badly.
BIG HUGS
I’m so sorry, Celi. He was beautiful, and his time was too short, but while you had him, he truly was a jewel, and when you remember him, it must be as a glittering jewel in the sun, not the sick, valiantly struggling Duke of his last days. You have done everything in your power to make him better, but he couldn’t be saved, and now he’s glad to rest. Be glad for him, while you are sad for yourself. Kate xx
I am so sorry for your loss of a beautiful friend
When our critters die it feels like a failure of will or a failure of love on our part. It only *feels* that way, but it is not the case. It hurts anyway. I will miss Kupa, too.
“We have lost our jewel” … weeping here right along with you. Avoid the snow bank … pneumonia wouldn’t be any more pleasant for you …. and we all still need you. Big thanks to Duke of Kupa for brightening up our days as we watched him grow up. Hugs to you miss c. Laura
I knew as soon as I saw the title 😦 I’m so very sorry Celi … He was beautiful and amazing and you both fought hard. There are tears here in Townsville, Qld for the King tonight xox
Thank you for sharing his short life with us. I don’t think I’ll forget Kupa as time goes on, and that’s as it should be, I reckon.
I’m dreadfully sorry C. no matter how many times it happens it doesn’t steel you against the void. A lot of loss on my farmy this year. I try not to let it get me down but it does some days. I look forward to the coming year with hope and a little reserve. Maybe…if the snowbank helps relieve the ache in the back of your throat go ahead and jump in. We’ll be here to pull you out when you holler. Blessings.
He is mourned by a wide circle of friends who only knew him in words and pictures – those were enough.
People who love birds and beasties find it never gets easier to take the pain of parting, no matter how many times it happens. Easier, then, not to get attached at all?
Not so: the many joys of when they were with us outweigh the sorrow of loss by far.
I echo Col’s words, Virtual Hugs, Celi.
Oh I am so so sorry – I feel wrenched by Kupa’s death. Love you my friend.
I am sorry for your loss Miss C. toss one back for him and go on with life.