Socks, Rest Peacefully

Socks died this morning.

I wasn’t expecting it, she’d shown no signs of not being well.  Old, maybe, she was 13 but yesterday morning she was in the barn as usual waiting for her grain.  Last night she was eating with the rest of the sheep.

This morning Socks wasn’t in the barn, baaing impatiently as she has been all winter waiting for her grain.

So I knew something was wrong.

I went looking for her and found her lying on her side in the back pasture.  I helped her up, but she had a hard time standing.  There was something wrong with her front and back leg on her left side.  With my help she was able to make it back to the barnyard.  I thought at any moment she might find her footing and be okay.

But that didn’t happen.  Without me to lean up against, she couldn’t stand.  She couldn’t even sit up and soon Socks was lying on her side again.

When Jon saw her we both agreed that it was best to euthanize her.  Jon said he would do it and came back with his gun.

After Socks died, I started to second guess myself about making her walk all the way back to the barnyard.   But a friend reminded me that it’s aways easy to second guess looking back on something.

That made me think that even though I saw myself as responsible for Socks, we were in it together.

Our relationship, just like the relationship with all my animals is not one-sided.  We exist together and do the best we can.  I don’t know what Socks was thinking, but I do believe she trusted me as much as I trusted her.

When I texted my friend Suzy and told her about Socks and how strange it was that she died so soon after my sheep Suzy, she wrote back that Socks probably missed Suzy.

I know what she means.

Socks and Suzy spent their whole lives together. They came to the farm when they were a year old and lived for another 12 years together.   Jon and I often say that when one of the donkeys die of old age, the other probably won’t live long after her.  So why wouldn’t it be the same with Socks and Suzy.

Jon called Mike to come and take Socks’ body, but he was on a job and couldn’t come right away.

It’s all about feeling.  On Sunday I wrote that I didn’t have it in me to cut Suzy wool after she died.  But today, the idea of cutting Sock’s wool felt good to do.

So I got my scissor and trimmed a small bag full of Socks soft gray wool.  While I did Constance and Issachar came by.  They sniffed at Socks then walked away.

There was something cathartic about cutting Socks wool.  It was a way of saying goodbye.  It was a tribute to our relationship and what we each brought to it.