Welcome Home from the Pet Sitter

While we were gone for the week, we did find out that one of the chickens had died.  We don't know what happen to her, but she had been broody so I wonder if she wasn't eating or drinking enough.  A friend came to bury her because I didn't want the pet sitters to have to deal with that part of the job.

When we got home there was a bag at our door with some homemade cookies and salsa inside and a journal that the pet sitters had made.  It was a mom and her two school-aged kids and the journal made me laugh, especially the pictures, so I wanted to share it.

Off the Farm and to the Beach

Every once in awhile I try to get us off the farm. It isn't easy because we have to find someone to take care of the animals for us, but this time I found someone to come by three times a day for the goats and chickens and we took the puppies with us and headed to North Carolina to the beach.

We took our time driving down and stopped just about every 60-90 minutes to let the dogs out for breaks.

Paisley and Cash

Whether it was a good idea or a bad one, we got two puppies.  We haven't told many people as I am still grieving the loss of Faith and I didn't want anyone to think we replaced her, as there will never be any way to replace her.

It has been two weeks now, and I figured it was time to make it public.

Cash is a fairly mellow little boy and will often sit calmly down next to me and just look at me.  I've snuck him on to the couch  (where they are not allowed) to cuddle with me twice and into my bed for a few hours while we slept one night.  He learned to come first and mastered "sit" within one day.  He's a cute boy and tends to be more passive.

Paisley is pretty active and full of energy.  She is constantly trying to jump at us, unfortunately with her mouth open and wanting to play.  She takes all of the toys or treats that Cash gets and instigates all of their wrestling matches.  She's worn herself out a few times and so she was the first to be snuck into my room to sleep for a few hours one night.  She learned her name first and learned to "sit" within 15 minutes.

They are siblings that were born on April 1st from a litter that were Shar Pei and Pitbull mixes.  It wasn't my intention to get a pit, but since these are mutts and definitely have some distinct Shar Pei looks to them, I agreed.

We are crate training them, which I've never done before.  They have to pee so often, it is crazy, but they have been really good about either going outside or having an accident on puppy pads that are set up on one corner of the living room.

So far they haven't been allowed out of the living room or on the furniture.  They sleep in separate crates, although they were next to each other until today.  We finally moved them so they are about 4 feet away from each other and through a doorway.  They can still see each other but the goal is to eventually have them in separate rooms.

They will be going on vacation with us to the beach because I was worried that a pet sitter wouldn't keep up with the potty training and we would lose ground.  They've done okay in the car for the two trips to the vet and I'm planning to take longer to get to the beach so that we can stop to let them out more often.

I'll save everyone from my sad and pathetic feelings that have come up about Faith since Cash and Paisley have come into our lives and I won't admit that I've caught myself looking up at her urn and asking what the heck was I thinking when they are whining to go outside at 1 in the morning.

**Yes, we did name one of the goats Cash when we had him for the first few months of his life, but we liked the name and used it again.

Pheasant hatching

The same girl that asked us to hatch some duck eggs under our broody girls also asked us to try to hatch some pheasants.  

I didn't expect that

We knew that the guinea were laying eggs somewhere, but we hadn't stumbled upon the nest yet.

Then the oldest told me that he saw the nest by the big tree.  A few hours later when I was going outside to check on the chickens I heard a guinea go crazy across the yard and an orange stray tabby cat came from the area the guinea was trying to hurry away from.

Upon closer inspection I found this.

Duckie Wuckie

We had SEVEN broody hens so I offered to hatch some eggs in one of my chicken groups.  A girl came by and dropped off several duck eggs for us to try to hatch for her.

Oh my, the cuteness! 

This will be the only time I ever truly get personal...

(Preface:  Grandma, you may not want to read this one...)

A friend of mine is dealing with the prospect of losing her dog.  He became sick from kidney failure and tumors before Faith ever became sick.  Even though they elected to have a surgery to remove his kidney, it wasn't very long after the surgery when she saw that his health was declining again.

Tonight, she asked me how she should know when to put him down, or when to do it.  And as I sat there trying to think of the right words to say back to her, I knew I couldn't do what I was suppose to do.  You're suppose to be positive and helpful.  Say things that will help someone to make that decision and feel right about doing it.  You're suppose to offer a glimmer of hope to them.

But I couldn't.

I had to be honest.

So I told her what I hadn't told anyone else:

Everyone said that if Faith was suffering, she needed to be put down.  They told me that it was the right thing to do and it was the most loving thing that I could do for her.  They said that if she suffers for one day, that's one day too many.

I understand these thoughts.  I understand why they said them.  I can even understand why they may be true.

But what I felt and what I feel goes far beyond those feelings.

On that day, I knew that I was not going to let Faith die alone, away from me.

When she was given the first shot, to help her feel drowsy and fall asleep, she fought it.  For ten to twenty minutes I laid on the hospital floor with her as she was losing feeling in her limbs and getting tired, but refusing to close her eyes and sleep.  Over the next 20 minutes or so, she felt herself losing control of her bowels, she was fighting it, every moment of it.

I know she was thinking how she wasn't "suppose" to have accidents and was trying to figure out how to get up and get outside to go to the bathroom.  Even though she was "just a dog", I bet it was humiliating for her when she couldn't hold on any longer.  She was breathing hard and looking at us with eyes that screamed out to me.  She just to get up and go outside to go to the bathroom.  She just wanted to get up and just be Faith again.  She was fighting.

When the vet finally came in to give her the final injection, the vet couldn't find a vein for a few minutes.  Faith had no strength at that point and was just breathing hard, fighting the drowsy feeling, trying to fight losing feeling in her body.  After several more minutes, she was gone.

As my oldest and I sat there, crying over her and petting her, I could not erase the fact that I killed her.  It was me that took her to the vet.  It was me that chose to put her down.  And I can't get past the fact that in those last moments, she may have been screaming out to me asking me why.

A few hours later, I had contacted another vet, shared the test results and was getting another opinion on what Faith had been suffering from.  I needed to hear from someone else that it really was bad and that she wasn't going to get better, and all the while I was thinking how I should have done this before.  Even though I'd already had two vets give me their thoughts, I needed someone else to tell me that she had been suffering and there was nothing I could have done to fix things for her.

I understand that it may have been a "loving" thing for me to help her not be in pain.  I understand that it may have been the "right thing" to do.  But none of those things matter, because those things do not erase the guilt that I felt that day or the guilt that creeps up in my heart when I don't keep myself busy enough.

I did not want Faith to ever suffer or to be in any pain.  I would have done anything to have been able to keep her healthy and safe, at home where she was comfortable, for the rest of my life.

I believe she had already held on for those two weeks that she couldn't eat, for me.  I believe she was fighting to stay alive that day, for me.  I believe she was screaming out to me asking me why it was happening because she knew just how much I needed her and just how hard it would be for me to come home without her.

I believe she did everything for me.

Because that's just who she was.

As I admitted my feelings and shared these experiences with my friend tonight, I knew they were not the things we are "suppose" to tell people, especially someone that's about to go through the same experience.  But I had to be honest with her.  I told her to do whatever she can to make sure that she is completely at peace with her decision before she takes her dog back to the vet.

I also know that these were not things that I had shared with anyone else.  I am not one to admit when things are hard.  I try to make light of situations or to make jokes about the hard situations in my life in order to get through them.  There will never be a time to make light of Faith's life or her death.  I know that the guilt I feel will never completely go away, and I know the memories and the love that I have for her will be right there as well.

Strawberry Jam 2014

We didn't manage to get all 35 pounds of strawberries processed because I've been so busy at my two jobs, but we did manage to get three batches canned.  I think this will be okay as long as we also make black raspberry jam as well.

The Jailbird escaped

We only had one keet hatch from the last batch, or at least only one survived, and while I was waiting to find it a home, he was stuck in a big storage bin in the dinning room until I caught him doing this.

We put a towel over the top to prevent him from getting out again.

Luckily we found him a new home today.

The Greatest Loss of All

11 years ago I was single, child-less, and a few months away from finishing college.  I wanted a dog and a close family friend said his dog had just had pure-bred pit bull puppies.  I didn't like pit bulls and I didn't want a pit bull.

He told me to come take one, and if I didn't want it he would take it back, no matter how old it was.

I showed up at his house, was overwhelmed by the cute-ness, and with his help, picked out a female puppy and went home.  I named her Faith, after Faith Hill.

I remember cuddling on the couch with that puppy and wondering if a day would come that she'd attack me and eat me the same way that the media describes.

A year later I became a mom to my oldest son, via the foster care system.  Faith was an amazing and patient dog.  He would hit her, she wouldn't flinch or react.  He would pull her tail, she wouldn't show any sign of annoyance.

As my life changed, Faith was always there.  Through the loss of relationships, sleepless nights after having my home burglarized when we weren't home one day, stressful days at work, and then finally my move across the country.

Faith was a loyal dog and a good dog.

She didn't chew up shoes, she didn't eat food off my plate when I walked out of the room, and she barked loud enough to keep any shady people at a distance.  At the same time she welcomed everyone into our home, even 20-30 people at a time when we hosted movie nights and barbecues.  Never did she growl, nip, bite, or bark at them.  She wagged her tail and climbed into the lap of anyone that was willing.

She did eat through metal sheeting and attempted to eat through walls and doors when she felt it was too difficult to be away from me for great lengths, and she wouldn't eat unless someone was home with her.  But every time I walked in the door, her tail was wagging and her face lit up.

When my youngest son moved in with us, he was terrified of her.  He literally climbed up my body screeching to get away from her.  It took no more than a few hours before he was on the floor, happily being licked.

When we moved to the country, Faith obviously came along.  When we got pet chickens and goats, she was there.  Never once did she go after them or attempt to hurt them.  In fact, she would step outside the door and wait for the chickens to move out of the mud room before she'd walk outside past them.

Faith became sick two weeks ago.  She simply stopped eating, no matter what tempting treat I offered.  For two weeks we tried everything we could think of and visited the vet multiple times.  No matter what we tried, she was not able to keep any food or water down and was wasting away before our eyes.  In one week, she'd lost five pounds.  She spent her days sleeping, taking the few steps to follow me into another room and lay down, or vomiting.

Yesterday, to end her suffering, we put her down.  No matter how many people tell me that this was the best thing for us to do for her, it does not make me feel any less guilty or sad about it.

Words will never do justice to what Faith meant to me.

She kept me sane.
She kept me safe.
She kept me warm.

She taught me what it meant to be loved unconditionally.
She helped me learn to be more patient.
She taught me how to love.
She taught me how to trust in someone other than myself.

The loss in our life is more than just a suddenly-too-large bed, or a quiet home when we get home from school.  The hole in my heart and the ache in my chest may appear to subside, but I know that I will never truly move on from what we are missing now that she is gone.

I now also understand, that no one can truly understand what this pain of losing a family member-pet is like, until they experience the loss themselves.  I apologize to those in my life who have experienced this loss before me, for I never really understood, until now.


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