pointing fingers at grief
I have no idea what killed George, I found him long gone when I returned from my short weekend away. Plenty of cat owners leave on a Friday and get back on a Sunday and all it requires is a clean litter box and plenty of food and fresh water. George had those things in a house he had been living in for nearly a year. It was a complete surprise to find him gone. You just don't worry about cats, they are their own vessels, self contained units that only need the ingredients of ownership around to be ridiculously content. I think that's why folks love cats so much. You put out a box of sand, a bowl of krunchies, and offer a sunny window and they take those few things and become a part of a life. I worried about the horses, Jazz and Annie, the fences and the sheep but I never thought to worry about George.
Sometimes as a blogger you get worried about sharing things like this. I never used to worry about sharing everything, but I do find myself hesitating now. I worry if I write about losing an animal people will assume I did something to that animal. That loss is failure, as a farmer and as a caregiver. There are people out there who care a lot more about animals in general than their fellow humans writing about them and instantly assume the animal was a victim and the human incompetent. I know this because as soon as last night I got emails telling me what I did wrong and how I should not have animals at all. They are harsh, mean-spirited things to read and I wonder what kind of person take anothers grief and turns it into a pointed finger? I'm an animal, too. Why do "animal lovers" not realize that? They wouldn't kick a dog when it was down, so why me? To readers who read this blog looking for something to criticize, I ask that you back down on this. George was a loving, sweet, and sassy animal and fairly old and overweight. It was his time.
Truth is on a farm with this amount of life there has to be some death. It's a numbers game, the odds dangle in some critters favor and not others. I don't know if it is actually possible to kill a goose, honestly? Some chickens beat the clock and seem to have been here forever. And then some animals that share your bed and start every morning purring into your lap just leave. The only thing we really have after an pet dies is our integrity and gratitude. We do our best, so did George.
I'm going to go back to writing about the farm and the fair. If the transition from grief to excitement seems harsh, that is not my intention. Blog posts are postcards from a person's life. And just like the real thing, everything changes fast.