We often face death on the homestead. From raising and butchering you own meat, predator raids, sickness, or a beloved pet growing old and dying. Yet we do not become immune to the pain and mourning of death. It still hurts. It’s still not anyone’s favourite job. We still rack our brain trying to figure out where we went wrong, what we can do to fix it. The weight of responsibility never leaves a farmer. But please, don’t let it cause you to quit. Don’t let it hold you back. Feel, learn, and grow.
My heart lurched and plummeted into my gut as I entered the goat pen.
My favourite goat, a four month old Nigerian Dwarf doeling, SweetPea, wobbled and collapsed into the straw.
This was not good.
This was not right.
I admit, I was a complete novice. I had only recently brought home our first goats a few months prior, this was my first time.
With their adorable miniature size, they easily wiggled their way into my heart. They were as playful as puppies, so friendly and loveable. My little boys had endless entertainment going into the goat pen, crouching on their hands and knees. The excited, giddy goats would hop on my sons’ backs, leaping from one to another. We had invested time, money, and heart into these little farm animals.
I was not sure how to handle this dreadfully urgent situation.
I quickly got our sickly goat situated under a heat lamp, called my neighbour, and texted my goat breeder. Between the three of us, we were able to source the best medications to treat my little doe.
I brought SweetPea into the house and placed her under a heat lamp in our mudroom. I woke up through the night and continued to give her fluids and electrolytes through a syringe. By the following morning, she was looking much better.
It was a miracle!
We hadn’t expected her to make it through the night.
Thankfully, she continued to improve while members of the family diligently doted on her, feeding her fluids every few hours. A few days of antibiotics and tender loving care, and she was eating and drinking on her own.
Later that week, I had a few errands to run, so I took her back out to the barn to be with her siblings while I went to town.
Four hours later and she was dead.
I knew it the moment I saw her laying with her head resting awkwardly to the side. I held my breath as I stood over her body, staring, hoping for the sudden rise of her chest- focused, searching for the slightest movement.
Nothing.
There were no signs of distress or disturbance. Nothing out of the ordinary. She was exactly where I had left her under the heat lamp.
I leaned down and picked her up. As I lifted her into my arms, the last puff of breath held in her lungs, escaped. It startled me. I wrinkled my nose at the smell of sickness.
“They breathe their last.”
In the past when I’ve heard this saying, I always imagined it was an exhale. They release their last tie to the earth, no longer needing the unconscious anchor to terra firma. As a friend sat at the bedside of a loved one nearing their final minutes, they told me that their last breath was an inhale. The falling of their chest never followed.
I envision an exhale of relief with arms outstretched, as they danced to the gates of Glory.
However, those of us left earth-side are rarely rejoicing.
As I carried our goat out of the pen, I was shocked and disappointed. Angry. Frustrated. All the time and energy invested into her recovery felt wasted.
So many accusations flew through my mind.
What happened? What did I miss? Why?
The ‘could have’, ‘would have’, ‘should have’s’ bulldozed all of my reason aside.
I felt awful. I felt guilty.
We cried and buried her in the yard. My 12 year old son took a spade and chopped through the partially frozen November soil and dug a grave for her near the garden.
People reassured me that it wasn’t my fault. That I did everything I could. They applauded me for caring for her so diligently.
But regret still squeezed the breath out of me like a straight jacket. I acknowledged my short comings and vowed to do better next time.
We do all that we can, but there are times when things are out of our hands- despite our best efforts an animal still dies. It’s not our fault, but we can’t help but over analyze every interaction and decision that led to the dire conclusion.
What could I have done differently? What if…
We rack our brain trying to determine a cause, so that we can prevent it from happening again.
But sometimes there isn’t an answer.
We do our best to put it behind us, learn from the experience, and do better when we can.
The weight of responsibility never leaves a farmer.
It’s part of life.
I imagine a farmer’s heart like an old fencepost; still strong, stable, productive, and holding the line. Yet it’s grey and weather-worn; beaten by the elements with deep scars and notches, engraved furrows travelling from the top to the bottom.
The sacrifice of service.
Animal death is a part of homestead life, but it can be a hard burden to carry, no matter which form it takes. Here are some situations you may be faced with:
1. Raising animals for meat and home butchery
As someone who raises their own meat animal, we make it our priority to give them a good life. When it comes time for butchering, I don’t look forward to ending their life, but I know that we gave that animal the best entire life they could ask for! Especially if we consider the questionable conditions commercial livestock can be raised under.
It’s ok to feel sad and cry and mourn. It’s normal and healthy. It doesn’t mean that it is wrong to raise animals for meat, or that there isn’t a time for death. It means that you’ve poured your heart and soul into your work.
We only raise a handful of animals at a time, so we become very attached to them. We name our animals, even if we are going to butcher them. It’s a way that we care for, nurture, and love our animals. We enjoy being with them. Then one day they will die and continue to care for and sustain my family, just like our kunekune pigs.
No farmer likes killing their livestock.
It’s probably the worst part of the job.
But what we do like is:
- knowing we give our animals the best life they could ask for
- no stress in transporting
- prioritize a humane and as painless as possible death
- use all of the animal; no waste
- high quality, nutrient dense meat with exceptional flavour on our dinner table
- learning valuable skills
- appreciating the true value; the true cost of meat
2. Death from predator raid
Sometimes we face death in an abrupt, offensive, traumatic experience. A racoon got into our chicken coop and many of our first chickens were killed. It was shocking and sad. It was a huge hit to our little flock.
It’s important to regularly evaluate the security of our set ups. A guardian dog or a guard goose could be a consideration. Learn more ways to protect your chickens here.
4. Death from sickness
You now know my story of losing the battle, and how sickness claimed our little goat. Sickness isn’t an overly common enemy on the farm, especially in free-range, pasture rotating environments, but it can be nasty when you fight it.
Prevention! Cleanliness goes extremely far in keeping sickness at bay. Make sure you are rotating pasture early enough and not grazing the same land in a season. Keep coops clean and dry. Learn more about rotational grazing here.
Do your best, follow your gut, have supplies on hand. Check out this homestead first aid kit.
4. Human error
It’s an awful feeling when an animal suffers or dies as a result of our inexperience, oversight, or mistake. We take great strides to provide them with the best quality of life, so when we miss the mark, it’s upsetting. I imagine that as one gains years of experience there would be fewer instances, but at the same time accidents happen, things get missed, we cut corners.
If it is our fault, we need to own up, figure out what went wrong, and do better next time.
Don’t get lazy. Stay alert. Don’t assume. Don’t take on too much at once. Practice good habits and husbandry. Be kind to yourself. Mistakes happen. Don’t give up. Learn and keep going.
5. When breeding stock or a beloved pet dies
It hits closer to home when the animal that dies was a pet or breeding stock.
You may choose to invest more resources by enlisting the help of a vet regularly with these animals. The extra support and advice will go a long way. You will appreciate having someone to bounce off ideas and problem solve with if things go awry.
Just like I was encouraged when we lost our goat, I encourage you:
Don’t beat yourself up.
Keep going.
It happens to the best of us.
Learn from your mistakes, but know that sometimes things are out of your control.
Cry.
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Such a great topic to discuss. Most don’t think of this.