And Now We Are Seven
June 12th, 2013 · 1 Comment · Posted in farming
Death, a common occurrence on the farm
Barely three weeks ago, eight sheep–all ewes–were delivered to our new home in Upstate New York. Six were yearlings who had run afoul of the spring lambing schedule. Two were much older. The oldest, Ginger, 14, amazingly had given birth this year to yet another lamb. But this was to be her last season. She and the other old lady were freebies.
Ginger was expected to be a steady, calming influence on the other sheep. I was told she would take longer to get around than the others, and that was certainly true. When I brought the grain out in the morning, Ginger was always last to make it to the feeding trough. When we moved to new pasture, she was always the last to move, watching us from the rear with a kind of scornful look, bleating in her low, guttural voice as if to say: What, again we’re moving?
Lately Ginger had been even more lethargic than usual. Sometimes I had to search for her in the tall grass in some corner of the paddock. She just wanted to lie down, it seemed. There were swarms of flies buzzing around her. I took that as a bad sign.
This morning when I brought the sheep their grain, Ginger was nowhere to be seen. After I emptied the bucket, I went looking for her and found her lying peacefully, her lifeless body sprawled on its side.
On a big sheep farm, Ginger’s body would be consigned to the compost heap and she would later rejoin the life cycle as soil. I don’t have a compost heap anything like that. So I proceeded to dig a hole in the pasture where she lay. With all the rain we’ve had lately, it was tough going. The dirt was wet and heavy. Water pooled at the bottom of the hole.
Ginger led a full and productive life. But all farm animals eventually die. Many of them are eaten by us humans. As my wife would say, be glad you’re at the top of the food chain.
R.I.P. Ginger!