We all get to die. This is one of the truths we try very hard not to look in the face. In fact we will say Pass Away, or Passed or Gone. But the truth is these poor bodies we wear when we are dancing, will one day stop dancing at all. They cannot go on forever. So, more important than hiding from the thought of our ending, is the pursuit of our wonderful glorious beginning. Every moment is that beginning. I know this sounds tiring maybe even a little challenging but Dying is OK. We will all do it one day. 
Mama died yesterday. My beautiful big old sheep. I know that sheep are pretty low on the totem pole for many. But she and I (as you know) had spent many, many freezing nights tending to her myriad babies. She always had four at a time and gave birth straight into my hands. She had washed her newborn babies and washed me as well. She had looked me in the eye and refused to speak, then looked back and spoken. She was not clever or startling in any way. Except there was a cable between Mama and I forged over all those years of nights as we worked together feeding her babies. I will miss her. 
The vet came and while I sat on a brick, he talked Mama through the procedure. His student vet held her head ever so gently, my hand in her fleece, as the senior vet gave her a sedative and then the shot that helped her go into her final sleep. It was all so gentle and calm that Marcel continued to sleep tucked in behind her as she closed her eyes and sighed into death – Minty and Tilly stood on the other side like dirty angels, waiting for their next assignment.
I will miss her. But every animal, man, woman, beast and tree has their time. A long time is not necessarily a better time, a short time can be a full time, but for a sheep, Mama had had a good long time. And Mama was ready. She was ready to lay all her burdens down and sleep. My dear old darling. 
Later the vet checked out Daisy and his sewing skills. The teat he had stitched back on the night before last is not as swollen as he had expected and the catheter is still in place and dripping clean milk. He is cautiously pleased. It is possible that she will heal and the quarter might be saved. He did say that he had been thinking about the injury and concluded that because her udder is so long and droopy and full, she gives a lot of milk, he said it is more than likely that she literally stood on it as she winched her considerable body up. Not a nice thought. But she had a good day yesterday, even managing to pick the lock of her perfectly clean stall and take herself out to stand in the cool sunshine.
Today will be a better day, I hope you have a good day too. I am off to find a street corner now. This vet bill is going to be horrendous! But I am deeply grateful that I have a vet who could come to the farm and help me. Deeply grateful.
Ni Ni Mama.
Have a lovely day.
Your friend on the farm,
celi
The Kitchen's Garden 
103 responses to “Ni Ni Mama”
Ah miss C I’ve been reading your updates and now having read this beautiful post I’d say she’d had a good innings and you enabled a good death.
Now about this street corner. … sounds a bit well you know street cornerish ! Big kisses x
I’m sorry, Celi. You really did have a special connection with Mama, one that began when she gave birth for the first time. I’m glad, for the both of you that you were there for her last breath. A dignified death. Isn’t that what we all hope for and the best gift we can give others — even when the “other” is of the 4-legged kind?
Celi, I’m so sorry for your loss of Mama, she wasn’t uncomfortable for long you did the right thing quickly. It doesn’t matter furry or feathered, it’s never easy, they are all our family.
Take care Celi
Robin
Ah Cinders…I can’t say it any better or more eloquent than what some of the others have said before me. I also couldn’t comment until today after thinking about what you wrote yesterday about your beloved Mama. As always your writing was exquisite…so much so that you had the whole lot of us dripping tears on to our keyboards. What a beautiful, beautiful tribute to Mama and another lesson in grace for all of us. You gifted her the last show of kindness, compassion and love…all that any of us 2 or 4 legged could ever hope for.
Sending much love to heal your heart….
Sweet Mama. 😦
You have let her go with love and grace.
Blessings, Celia. Sorry for your loss. We’ve had to bury several good animal friends, and it’s always heartbreaking, especially when we have to assist them. Luckily many have died a natural death. Nice tribute.
I gave a quiet chuckle over the “street corner” image. I have thought the same thing many a month wondering how the bills might get paid with so little in the bank. My dear husband, bless his heart, swears that we could make a million if I went into “the oldest profession” but he is hopelessly in love with me and can’t see the forest of flaws. Time marches on and the bills somehow get paid, and new little ones bounce into our lives to remind us of others we have loved.
Your writing and your images are so beautiful that this post brought me to tears. – also because it has not been so long since we had to put our old dog, Rozie, down the same way as your Mama went. Thank goodness for the travelling vet who came to our home too, so Rozie could be in loving surroundings.
I am so sorry to hear about Mama. I know that she had a very good life with you and that she was loved and cared for right up to the end.
Sorry about your fleecey friend. May Mama have a restful sleep.
Life and Death on a farm are so odd. There are the animals we eat. There are the animals we love. And sometimes they are the same thing. My dad never let me name the stock cattle or hogs or chickens. He’d say, “They’re bound for somebody’s freezer—don’t get attached.” Being vegan now makes all that easier.
I read about this particular meditation one time. You sit there and you say the following to yourself:
I know I am going to die.
I do not know when.
What am I going to do about it…