rain, pain and the end of a hard week

i sat in rainy traffic for two hours on friday, slowly making my way north after a 4 hour agency meeting on the west side. i tried to lower my exasperation level by listening to cnn, but stories about union busting and libyan casualties didn't really help. as i crept slowly along, i thought about the little hen we had put down earlier in the day, and the chores awaiting me at home, despite the rain.

when i finally arrived, the pups were happy to see me. i changed into rain pants and a sweater, tied my hair back and slipped into a rain jacket and boots. i threw a few supplies into a plastic bag and trudged out into the storm. by the look of the standing water in the back, we'd received 2-3 inches of rain in a short period. i folded back the tarp across the front of the shed, went in and turned on a lantern. the ewes were resting, with ben nestled against his mom, the twins snuggled together, and the youngest lamb, abby, fast asleep next to the feeder. temperatures were due to drop through the night, so i dressed the youngest lambs in little fleece jackets. the ewes inspected them closely, puzzled, but not too concerned. i woke little abby, squirted some betadine on her tail, then stretched a small green band over it with the elastrator (a small metal tool) and rolled the band off the metal tines about a third of the way up her tail. she didn't react at all, which was perfect. in a couple of weeks, her tail will be docked at the site of the band, which cuts off blood flow. by the time i'd finished, tango was waiting at the shed gate, followed by banjo. they rarely come out in the rain voluntarily, but tango's fascination with the lambs must have trumped his discomfort, and banjo clearly didn't want to be left behind. i let both of them into the shed to socialize for a bit, then we headed back towards the house.

i grabbed a spade from the barn, and walked to the back of the yard, looking for a suitable spot for a grave. there was a small patch of dirt next to the cactus garden, which i tested with the tip of the shovel in to see if it was soft enough. it was, so i began digging as the rain fell, until i had created a small hole about two feet deep. i walked back to one of the wheely pens in the front, where a rhode island red hen named leigh was waiting, wrapped in a towel. she was one of our oldest hens - 7 years - and a victim of an awful case of flystrike. i had seen this kind of thing once before, and knew she couldn't be saved. she was suffering, so i asked dr. martin to come out and put her down as quicky as possible that day. it's an odd thing to know with surety that an animal will die. the course of action becomes clear - there is no choice but to summon the strength to act in the animal's best interest. i had to leave before the vet was available, so our caretaker michelle came to the house. i said goodbye to leigh before i left, and she was there waiting for me when i returned, to finally put her to rest. i carried her gently to the grave, told her i loved her and placed her inside as the rain poured down.

all the stresses and strains of the week led me to reflect on the nature of humans and animals. a friend posted an article from peta, urging a boycott of wool related to the treatment of sheep with flystrike in australia. the more i learn about animals, the more i'm struck by the absurdity of the human tendency to presume control over all of nature. i see it in myself - a subconscious superiority that assumes animals don't know what's best for them, or should never suffer, or constantly need our intervention. it's our task as caretakers to provide food, shelter and a healthy environment, but we cannot control every aspect of an animals existence. allowing a creature to live an authentic life means that risk is part of the bargain, just as it is with humans. everyone who values free range eggs should understand that allowing a hen to range freely is not without risk. a range hen (or any range animal, for that matter) is vulnerable to hawks, predators, pests, diseases and parasites that exist in nature. at what point is risk misinterpreted as cruelty? at what point do we deny animals the chance to live an authentic life with our misguided attempts to prevent suffering? pain and suffering are as inevitable for animals as they are for humans, and without them, none of us are complete. this was clear to me as i watched becky give birth this week, head twisting and teeth gnashing as she rolled on the ground. for a moment, i wondered if she was in serious distress and thought about how i could get her to the hospital quickly if needed. two minutes later, her lamb was on the ground, breathing and squirming, and momma was quickly on her feet, cleaning her. humans are the only mammals who routinely require assistance to give birth. most animals do it on their own, and do it perfectly - with pain, and without our help.