RIP Tash

May 1, 2008– RIP Tash

     It has been a difficult day.  Things haven’t being going well in general, over the last week.  The horse we board has had an abscessed hoof return.  It is a painful problem, and her diligent owner and I spend much time, icing, poulticing, rubbing Absorbine in….

     I had given a few of our new English Game hens away, thinking I had a few to spare, but this morning, two of the three are missing.  I spotted the mischievous dog next door near the back of the barn this morning, and I suspect he had himself breakfast take-out today, but that was a risk I took when I let the hens roam my yard freely.

     Normally I’d be upset by this, but this morning I’ve had a much deeper, greater sadness to overshadow losing a couple of hens.   Sadly, I had to make the decision to put our beloved goat Tash to sleep today.  Tash had been worsening over the last month, a simple case of old age that couldn’t be rectified, no matter what I did for her, and believe me, I tried everything.  She was no longer going outside with the other goats, where she would get knocked over, and instead, became my sidekick, following me around the yard or through the barn while I toiled away.  That goat was pure love.

     She was one of those animals everyone who visited was drawn to.  One of those animals that was so gentle,  you could trust her alone with any child, no matter how small.  Tash had had a very difficult life. She hadn’t been taken care of by an older man that had lost his marbles, so to speak, and was then re-located with another goat (Tess, who also lives with us, and to whom I still haven’t broken the news ).  Sadly, after her initial rescue, two other sanctuaries that at first appeared safe havens, ended up neglecting her.  Tash was living in a field with no shelter and little food before she came to our farm.  The first time I went for her I couldn’t catch her–she was terrified of people.  A month later, someone else brought her to the farm.  I am very glad now, that we didn’t give up.  She became a goat that loved people.

     Yesterday something wasn’t right;  she was calling out for no reason, walking around the barn looking confused, staring at walls.  She wasn’t eating much hay.  My usual remedies were useless.  This morning, at 7 am, I found her unable to get up, her eyes dim, as though she had given up.  Every so often she let out a soft bellow.  I knew that, for the first time on the farm, I was going to have to make the decisioin to put an animal down.

     By 10 am she was only looking worse. I tried lifting her, but her legs couldn’t hold her weight.  My friend Siobhan called the vet and made arrangements for me.  We made one appt. and then changed it to one sooner, as Tash was beginning to look like she was really suffering.   I gave Tash a final meal of watermelon and sweetfeed, although she could only eat a little.  I covered her with a blanket.  While waiting on the vet, I tried to busy myself with chores, but ended up sobbing against my horse’s stall.  Hope paused from eating the hay I’d just tossed her, and lowered her head solemnly, as if commiserating with me.  I went back and pet Tash, kissed her head, said good-bye. This was not going to be like all those time with Tallulah… this time there was no turning death away.

     The vet arrived, as did my friend Siobhan.  Harold is everything you could want in a country vet.  Nearly retired, a grey-haired gentleman with kind eyes.  “I hate doing this,” he commented.  He gave Tash a sedative so she wouldn’t know what was happening.  Once she was groggy, he pulled Tash into the centre of the stall to give her the last injection, 30 cc’s of an anaesthetic that stops the heart.  Tash’s blood pressure lowered quickly, and he couldn’t find a vein, and in the end, had to inject her right into the chest cavity.  It is a slower death, but still painless.

     He kneeled by the goat’s side, and I sat next to Tash.  He was not flustered by the tears that kept dripping down my cheeks.  “I’m sorry,” I said.  “This is the first time I’ve had to make this decision at the farm.”

    “Well,” the vet said quietly.  “This is a kindness we can do for animals that we can’t do for people.”  As I pulled the blanket up around Tash’s neck, and stroked her face, speaking softly to her, I suddenly realized just what a kindness it was.  Tash didn’t die alone in a field. She died with a belly full of sweet feed, lying on soft straw, with a smitten girl by her side.  After many long minutes, Tash’s pupils grew large, and she let out one last groan.  It was over.  Dr. Harold pulled the red tartan blanket up over Tash’s body.

     Once everyone had left, I tried to carry on with my work, and seemed to do so until my sister called.  I burst into tears.  I recounted my sad story to my sister, while sitting next to Tash’s lifeless body in her stall.  Once I’d vented, I felt better.   This is a very sad day. There will be a burial tonight.  But although I am tired, and sad, I also feel a strange peace that dear old Tash won’t suffer any longer.  I will try and focus on the very happy times we had, since she came to the Flawed Farm.