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Thursday, May 15, 2008

and this year was going so well . . .

We buried Finola last night. She's facing east.

While John and I were in Boulder the goats got starved, essentially, because we weren't there riding Captain America's back about taking more hay out to them. Before we left John said, "Now, while we're gone you need to take out at least twice the hay you normally do, because we won't be here to make sure they have enough, and they have all those babies, and they're hungry all the time." So, they got about half the hay they normally do, and when they broke out in desperation on Monday, Finola gorged on all the fresh alfalfa, bloated, and died. When we got home Tuesday night they were SCREAMING at us in hunger. John went out to feed them and found Finola off in the calf hutch by herself, already stiff and cold.

So we spent about 5 hours yesterday digging a grave in the goat pen, because I refused to just take her to the "special place for animals" that they have at the dump. She was my favorite, you know? She was a superb mother, she helped me gain patience and taught me parenting skills, her milk was the best I've ever tasted, she was so friendly and personable . . . it's just a shame. We made sure that Grant was out digging with us the whole time, and now he's the one responsible for making sure her orphaned babies get fed. We told him that's the only way he's going to be able to get this off his conscience, is by repairing as much as possible the damage that was done. I can't really get too freaked out at him, because he is just an 8-year-old, and it's the first time he's been saddled with that kind of man-of-the-house responsibility. At the same time, though, I can't deprive him of this painful illustration of how important it is to be a man of your word, and that our actions often have unforeseen consequences.

Other niceties while we were gone include a football to the head, causing prolonged ear-ringing in the same ear that a soccer ball was kicked into last week (also causing prolonged ear-ringing and a headache), a burst eardrum, and pinkeye, of course. We leave, and everything goes straight to crap. I am very thankful to my sister for tending the boys and dealing with all the problems. You don't realize until you start writing a list of everything that needs to be accomplished while you're gone that this is a really hard job, and I'm grateful she was willing to take it on to let me have a little break.

6 comments:

Bamamoma said...

I am so, so sorry about Finola. Hard lessons for poor Capt. Am. but I bet he'll never forget them. You guys are good parents. I quote you every once in while. In fact, last night I told the YW that they need to "use their powers for good" not evil. I suppose it is weeks like this that make one wonder if "getting away" is worth the trouble. I'm glad you did it though.

Sarah Huff said...

Poor Finola. Poor you. Poor, poor Capt. America. This is one of those experiences that he'll be sharing in a Sacrament meeting talk when he's 30. And it'll be the same story he tells his kids every time he lectures them on responsibility. "Don't forget what happened to Finola..."

mmm.chocolate said...

So sad. I know she was your favorite.

Jill Bearden said...

I too am sorry about your goat. It sounds weird, but wrote a eulogy (sp?) for our rat Freddie when he died.I emailed it to my family. I felt that any life that, "touches ours for good" shouldn't end without some sort of a goodbye. It made me feel better. Maybe I will mail you a copy so you believe that I really did it. :-)

All8 said...

I hate "growing" experiences. Hugs to you and poor little Capt. America.

THE WILKER CLAN said...

sorry about finola...trav did the same thing to his frog that he had for years didn't give him water and he shriveled up and well you know the rest of the story and trav was 13!!