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”
So sorry for the loss of Duke of Kupa. Enjoyed reading about him & the beautiful pictures you posted of him. Glad to know he died warm & comfortable. Poor thing.
In an odd way I feel sorry for anyone who doesn’t know the sorrow of losing a creature, dog, bird, horse, whatever. For if you don’t know the sorrow you haven’t know the glorious joy those creatures bring to our lives. No matter how often I’ve cried I never even considered NOT having animals. I would miss far too much without them.
I have often flayed myself, did I wait to long to let them go?, did I miss something when they first got sick?, it does no good and only dims the beautiful memories. You can only do what you can do and love them every day.
You are right.. it does no good… and the bond between animals and their people is a wonderful thing.. c
As an aside, I just now came across a very interesting website, thought you might find it so too: http://farmsteadhealth.com/formulas.html
I went over and that looks like a great series of products, i must investigate further, thank you sherry.. c
Whoops,sorry, didn’t copy the home page! http://farmsteadhealth.com/index.html
The Duke was a joy to many, many people, and I’m sorry he died. Quite the celebrity in his short life, and a beautiful companion to his flock. And so it goes. May the rest of the farmy flock rebound wonderfully and the Duke preside in spirit over all of you.
xo
So sorry. Thinking of you and the beautiful Kupa. This is the way of farming, unfortunately. :*(
Feeling the sadness, but it is okay; sadness is part of a full and rich life.
I am so sorry for the loss of your handsome Kupa. The jewel. He literally brought sparkle to the farmy. You were barely able to take care of YOU with your injury, so don’t be too hard on yourself. I’m glad to see from the previous post that you are able to drive again. It looks like Boo had better get Ton a new frisbee! Hugs.
I am sorry, Celi. I will miss the Duke of Kupa, as I know you will.
Celi, there is nothing I can add that hasn’t already been penned here. I can only share that I am sorry to read this news about your dear friend Kupa.
I have been present at the death of my mother and two beloved dogs, my hand on their heart to feel that last beat. As precious as those moments were, I dread the next time, knowing there will indeed be a next time. I suspect that lesson is never fully learned until the moment is our own last heartbeat. Goodbye, Kupa, you bright jewel. We loved you well.
I am late to offer my sympathies—when I saw the title I just could not read it because I knew my tears would flow for the Duke of Kupa. He was a magnificent animal and one that you showered with all the love and care that you had to offer. We all loved seeing his splendor and know how difficult it was for you to realize that his health was in jeopardy. As everyone else has stated–he lived with one of the most wonderful people in the world and his life was rich for it. Blessings to you and to the rest of the farm—-you are all in our hearts today.
Such a shame – what a year you’ve had. I know running a farm is all about the good and the bad, birth, life death – but it’s still tough. Here’s hoping 2014 brings more smiles and laughters than tears.
I’ve only just caught up with this post. Your mother taught you well, how to care for living things and also how to let them go. Tenderness plus realism: it’s a recipe for resilience. Goodbye beautiful Kupa, you had the best of care.
Oh, crud. That’s not how we wanted this story to end. But in truth, it’s more than a story, it’s a life and we loved him through you. So sorry, Celi.
I’m so sorry. The Duke truly was a jewel and we’ll all miss him. It’s so true what your mother said about pets. They are responsibility and death 101. Still, it doesn’t get any easier to say goodbye.
So sorry. But you put it beautifully as always.