.. was no good wind at all…
Bad news should always be delivered fast I think. So here it is.
Yesterday when I woke up I discovered that our Old Big Dog had died in the night. I won’t put you through a nostalgic slide show. He was a good dog. And an old dog too. And now he has died quietly in his sleep.
When I looked out the window at dawn, I saw Boo circling and circling around his old mentor (the one who taught him to bark at cars up to 2 miles away) , then sitting and looking at the house, then circling again. When I came out to see – I discovered that, under his blanket, the old dog had died. Right in the line of the sunrise, where he always slept so as to catch the first rays of the day.
Rest in Peace Big Dog. He was almost 18 years old, his name was Cooter and he was found by John as a pup on a construction site, tied with wire, his head at a cruel angle, to a barbed wire fence. Covered in bites and cuts and bruises. John put him in the cab of his truck and brought him home and they have wandered through life together every since – almost 18 years. That is a pretty long relationship.
John buried him in the shade of the tree by the root cellar, then took out a six pack and sat with him a while and allowed the sadness.
Miserably there is more.
Yesterday Daisy’s mastitis began to morph into something really evil, holes appearing in her udder. We have lost the fight to save her. The vet concurred that she is not pregnant and that the end is in sight for her. When this manifested itself one of The Fellowship was here visiting, and she knew a guy who knew a guy who came around straight away. So tomorrow the guy will come back and take her away with him in his big truck and have her put down for me. And that will be that. She is in pain now but soon it will be over. I cannot have her suffering any more of this. I think that many of you saw this coming. Mastitis is awful. I am spraying the sores every hour to keep the flies out, it is all I can do. This will be a long day.
My neighbours heard and came over to pay their respects to the Big Dog and carried in bags of freshly dug carrots and garden treats for Daisy, so she has piles of good tasty food to nibble while we wait. The waiting is pretty hard. Thankfully Daisy is a cow and does not seem to mind. But I could just scream my head off. I am not very good at Allowing the Sadness. I do not go softly. I rage. I rage …
Sometimes don’t you feel like sitting on a stump and just Howling. Just letting yourself Sob – loudly. And when this great sobbing howling misery surfaces we never cry for just that one thing. We cry for it all. We cry for every last one we lost. We cry a litany. We cry for our mothers and cry for our lost babies. We chant all their names and roll our heads and wring our minds, tears running through the dust while we scratch out all their faces and just Bawl. Bawl.
People used to say to me that having a good cry is good for you. Well, I think that is crap. After I cry my thoat aches and my head spins and I feel just awful – then I have to crawl all over the floor and pick up every precious miserable memory and re wrap each one tightly so it will fit back into the Misery Box that I keep in my head. Because I refuse to forget any of them. Then I have to sit on the metaphorical lid of the metaphorical misery box so I can redo the heavy lead latch. Then once all my tears have been choked back down through the throat of the box I turn the Key. Lock. And I am alone again.
I still miss them. I do. But I own my sadness, it will not own me.
But I so thought Daisy was going to make it. I really did.
Well there you are – now we are all crying. But that is Ok.
Tomorrow I will not be here in the farmy blog.
But the next day I will be back. Of course I will. We will. You and I. Because we are The Fellowship and seeing each other through this stuff is what we do. And there is work to be done.
Love from
celi
The Kitchen's Garden 
143 responses to “The ill wind that blew no good”
Many hugs to you, so sorry to hear the news. It’s never an easy road to care deeply about people or animals. It is always a shock to the soul even when there is every reason to know intellectually that this is a close possibility at all times in this life.
The middle school kids who walked into the library while I was eating lunch and reading your post did not know what to make of the situation… librarian eating lunch and crying into her salad. It’s what life brings us, and we hope to appreciate the joy of it along the way. Then the leaving is hard, but at least it has some meaning. And you have. XOXO
Nina
No words except those one is not supposed to put down on paper . . . . just the biggest hugs to you and Big John . . . . wish we had been there with you – would have brought quite a few six-packs methinks to share . . . this too will pass, as the saying tells us . . . love, love, love Eha
For John –
It came to me that every time I lose a dog they take a piece of my heart with them and every new dog who comes into my life gifts me with a piece of their heart.
If I live long enough all the components of my heart will be dog, and I will become as generous and loving as they are.
Anonymous
For Celi –
A life is a life, no matter how long or short and all life deserves to be celebrated.
And when any animal dies we must pause. It’s as though their tiny beating hearts become part of our own heart’s rhythm, intertwined somehow, like the bass beat in a loud band or the repeating brush from a drum. So we need to pause for a while and readjust our own hearts to beating along with them.
Don’t know who wrote that last one but I feel it is fitting. So much sadness packed into one day and then the minks. Crying stinks, runny nose, burning eyes, sore throat and headache but cry we must, if only to honor those we loved and lost, human or animal. And then we pick ouselves up, shudder and go on but never forget.
Oh Celi, I’m so very sorry. I’m having a cry for you too and your wonderful animals that mean so much. Thinking of you and John …
Celi, what a day of grief this is. Big grief, for you and John. You love your animals so much and you did all you could for Daisy. Sending you lots of love as these storms pass through you.
Thinking of you and the sadness, the missing. Your words make our eyes well up and get a lump in our throats. Loss is hard. Even if it is inevitable.
I know when the grief bag opens it’s bigger than biggest … And I am aware of the power of ALL the loss and I rage first and try and just ride it out, pay the respect and close the damn thing as it doesn’t serve me. Enough said…… Bastard minks … Bastard mastitis ….hugs all around … To you, yours and us
Oh dear. You had me throwing snot all over my computer at work when I read this earlier. So sad to hear. Rage away.
I can’t tell you how sadden I am to hear about your Old Big Dog and Daisy. And you’re right, I was crying as I read your post today.
I don’t know if there is such a thing as a good cry when it is tears of sorrow and grief. It hurts! Easing that pain takes times.
When my son died, a friend of mine told me something that rang so true and has stuck with me. She said our hearts are left with a hole in the shape of the loved one lost. At first, the edges are raw and painful, but with time, those edges begin to heal and scar. The pain lessens with time.
The pain does lessen, but I’m not convinced it will ever go away. Birthdays, special occasions, memories or the death of others can bring back sorrow and grief. It’s the cross-roads in our lives that remind us of what we have lost. It’s something I wrote about a couple years after my son died https://worldofweeks.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=2064&action=edit.
Somehow, reading of your sorrow reminds me of my own. My pain is less, while today yours is more, but it is pain we share none-the-less.
Dammit Celi, sorry for cursing. But my heart aches for you. Sending you love and hugs. What a tough day for you. I hope your animals find their way over the rainbow bridge.
Could we all please pray for that rainbow bridge . . . . please . . .
I know that pain of loss. I know it’s going to come again – I’ve got a large 14 year old dog whose hindquarters aren’t what they used to be. Found this quote earlier today: “The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not ‘get over’ the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again but, you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same, nor would you want to be.” – Elizabeth Kubler-Ross & John Kessler. Wish the wretched things didn’t happen. Old Dog couldn’t have been unexpected at 18. Daisy and the chickens were just too much. Try and rest yourself, grieve, comfort John if you can. You will recover.
I am thinking of you today, Celi. Your beautiful animals & your expressive love for them have brought me so much pleasure, and many tears too. I’ve kissed & hugged my old dog, Luc, some extra times since I read about your sorrows yesterday. I send you & John my sympathy and hopes for healing of your wounded caring hearts.
You say it so clearly and so beautifully Celi, that this post left me in virtual tears. The worst of life is in losing the living things we so adore and I understand your need to howl. Go ahead and let it all come out. Many of us are howling with you.
I hope the memories of a Big Dog, with a life well lived, will give you peace. I ache for your untimely loss of Daisy, few know the intimate relationship of a milker and the giver of milk. Again, sustain yourself with the knowledge that she had care and love, so much more than most creatures of a farm. Our sincere condolences.
Oh, what a horrible day. I am so sorry. I’ve lost a half dozen dogs in my lifetime and it’s always bad. We’re lucky to have them as long as we do. I’ve never owned a cow, but I can’t imagine it’s any better, just different. Good luck. Ken