The Beleaguered Belly

Today I noticed a pair of women were ogling me as I was out and about. By now I am used to the rude stares people give me when I am pregnant. This is my 6th visible pregnancy after all. You see, I have a very short torso. Petite shirts fit me (as long as they are short sleeved.) There is about an inch between my rib cage and my hip bone on either side. Even when I was extremely slender I could never wear a belt comfortably, for when I sat down my ribs would pop over the belt! So when I am pregnant, I am very large. My fundal height usually remains on target, just like other women's pregnancies, but necessarily everything grows out, not up. 

Anyway, one of the staring women eventually stopped me mid-step as I was walking past her with one of my daughters by putting her hand on my pregnant belly. I had my hands full at the moment or I might have involuntarily pushed her hand away in an automatic reaction. "Is it a boy or a girl?" she demanded. 

I tried to smile politely. "A boy," I answered. She turned to the woman next to her and said, "See? I TOLD you so!" (Nothing like letting me know that not only were they rudely rubbernecking, they were also talking about me.) 

I steeled myself. The next question was inevitable, "When are you due?" she continued, in the tone of a prosecutor cross-examining. I tried to stifle my sigh and keep my smile in place. 

"January," I responded, and started to walk away. Instead of being sympathetic the women were incredulous, making noises to indicate such, as if I would lie about my due date for fun or was too stupid to get the date right. I didn't even tell them that my due date isn't until the END of January. 

"Are you sure?" the nosey lady called after me (as if there could be some mistake and I would correct myself by telling her that no, I was really due in 3 weeks.) I nodded.

"You'll never make it," she announced. I kept my self from rolling my eyes and refrained from telling her that I have been as late as 2.5 weeks in the past. Nor did I tell her that ALL of my children have been late. I also didn't tell her how many children I have given birth to, or that the smallest of my children weighed 9.5 lbs. Instead, for some reason, what came out of my mouth was that my last one was over 11 lbs. That REALLY took her by surprise, as if a hugely pregnant woman wouldn't have huge kids. You'd think that would have been her assumption, since she had never seen me before pregnancy and I didn't tell her about my short torso. I took another step away.

"C-section!" she proclaimed loudly. I had had enough.... MORE than enough. A visible pregnancy should NOT mean that everybody has the right to invade your personal space, interrupt your errands, tell you horror stories about birth, interrogate you with personal questions that were none of their business, or embarrass you in a public place. Yet this happens to me ALL- THE- TIME! People seem to feel entitled to do all these things and more.

"Nope!" I said decisively, and walked away. I had done my best to be polite. She hadn't been polite AT ALL. The daughter at my elbow did not need to hear this. I didn't need to put up with this. The people around me did not deserve to have this information either. I refused to listen to whatever else she said to my back and I realized that my face was flushing. But I gritted my teeth and moved on to the next thing. In my mind I thought of what she would have done if I had told her that all but one of my children had been born at home, and all without medication too! :) 

It's bad enough to have to deal with the physical discomforts of my pregnancies, the mental anguish of dealing with each pregnancy after having a still-birth due to birth defect, but I also get to deal with the family size comments, the insulting gawking, and the judgmental speech from others about my physical appearance when pregnant. It's amazing how rude people can be. Some have no shame. And some have no self control either, as it seems they can't keep from blurting out their thoughts and judgments in such an impertinent manner or even keep their hands to themselves. This is just another price to pay to bring a beautiful life into today's world I guess. It's definitely worth it. But it's also maddening, insulting, humiliating, tiring, and most of all-  sad.

New "Neighbors"

I tried to turn in for sleep at 11:30 tonight. At intervals I kept hearing strange noises that seemed like heavy machinery, throbbing base lines, screams, and upset horses. I live in a stone house, about a 1/4 mile off a quiet, rarely trafficked road. And there's a swath of woods between me and the road that is still in leaf. What could be making that awful din? Finally, my curiosity got the better of me and I opened a door to listen. What I heard was agitated, high-pitched neighing, voices yelling, and loud, LOUD country music. 

I stood around for a while. Maybe whoever bought the land next to us after it was logged was making a late night drop-off of horses. That's where the noises seemed to be coming from. There's no habitable dwelling for people on that parcel, but there are a few barns near the road. But the hubbub didn't subside, and the horses didn't calm. No, that wasn't it. And I couldn't tell, were the upset horse noises coming from near the road on the property next door or were they from the horses already pastured across the road? Besides the noises didn't sound like the call-and-answer sort of yelling people do while working. 

I slipped on my shoes and took a brisk walk under a full moon down our long, gravel drive to investigate. The midwife had asked me to exercise more just this past week, and I hadn't fit in in yet, after all. I startled some deer and a couple birds into flight. I heard the dogs howling. As I watched my shadow falling in front of me in the bright moonlight, the roving coyote crossed my mind. It was a perfect night for hunting.

There are 2 treed and overgrown fencerows between our property and the next because an access road to the classified forrest behind our land runs between them. So I couldn't see anything on the neighboring land. But I did determine that no one was having trouble with horses. The anxious horses were complaining from across the road. 

My guess, based on the noises, is that a group of people are having a bonfire, yelling conversation, and playing a country radio station at an unreasonably high and improbable volume over there. I suppose the owners are camping and invited some friends to join them. Last week someone was over there zipping up and down the property line on loud ATVs at weird hours, so I knew something was afoot. Sigh. 

I had gotten used to the lack of human noises out here. I hope that our new and apparently inconsiderate "neighbors" don't make a habit of this. I also hope that they drink enough to get sleepy soon. It's one in the morning, and I don't need any help staying up to all hours. I'm an insomniac without any assistance. And the mosquito bites I just got aren't going to help me sleep either.  

Sophia

This acrostic name poem is in tribute to Greg Travis, and in honor of his late wife, Sophia. I hope that it brings him comfort and accurately reflects Sophia's attributes.

Soft-spoken, strong, sensitive, social, skillful, supportive, smart, successful, strategic, special, sweet, stylish, songwriter, speaker

Original, outspoken, obliging, open, outstanding, optimist

Passionate, progressive, principled, playful, positive, political, pianist, partner, parent

Hospitable, honorable, hopeful, happy, helpful, honest, harmonious, Hoosier

Inspiring, involved, influential, independent, industrious, individual

Adorable, authentic, Asian, advocate, artist, accordionist, activist, anchor

Horse Trading

Friday was as eventful as usual. I got a call in the early morning from the mother-in-law of the man whose cows are (or as it stands now, were) grazing on our land. She said that Cy (or Charlie, as my husband calls him) was loose on the road again. She said he was running up and down and causing problems for motorists... and did I know the name and number of his owners. I had to confess to her that no, I did not know their names or have their number. (I related how that came about in a previous post.) She seemed disgusted. But maybe my guilty self was reading into things. I described to her where their house was though, told her I'd inform my husband about the horse, and hung up. 

So I told my husband, who was in the shower. (He had returned from a business trip to California in the middle of the night and was struggling to get ready for work.) Then I grabbed a bag of carrots, rounded up my 2 boys and drove to the end of our drive. (The older one could help, maybe, I thought. And the younger one couldn't be left alone in the house with Dad in the shower.) 

A sport utility vehicle was parked at the end of the drive. And there was the horse with a kind-hearted blonde lady who was feeding him grain from a margarine tub. He looked in bad shape. He was muddy, had burrs in his mane and tail, and embedded in his halter. She said the sheriff's "horse man" was on the way. She described how the horse had been rearing and was really skittish. I thought perhaps by way of apology, for she seemed to think that the horse was mine. 

Again I told the story of his frequent escapes, described again where the owners lived, and how I did not know their names or have their numbers. Sigh. While we talked, the Sheriff's man, Terry, showed up. He seemed to have been routed out of bed. He wore shorts on a morning in the 40's and had a flannel thrown over his undershirt. He seemed pretty grumpy. Again, I recounted that the horse was not mine. We all stood there looking at one another. They looked at me expectantly. So I offered a stall to hold him in. 

They seemed relieved and turned to go! My boys were in the van in the drive and I am a visibly pregnant woman that knows nothing of handling horses, especially one that had been running up and down the road "playing chicken" with cars. "Could you help walk him to the barn, please?" I asked. I apologetically pointed out my protruding belly and such. They resignedly acquiesced. 

But the going was rough. Cy wore a halter, but he wasn't cooperative. He tossed his head and resisted while she tried to lead him and Terry smacked his rump with a newspaper. They said they needed a lead. Luckily my husband arrived shortly thereafter with one. So Cy made it safely to our barn... again. Terry made sure to let us know to keep the goats away from him, as he was libel to hurt them, given his mood.

I tried to talk to the good samaritans after Cy was safely stabled. But they had no desire to talk and hurried back down the drive. I asked them what could be done since he kept getting out. I figured someone affiliated with the sheriff's office would know. He called over his shoulder something along the lines of, "I'd say it's time you learned about horses!"

And she called back something like, "My first horse was a dumped horse too!"

"Thanks for your help!" I called after them, and then they were gone. 

On the way into the house I realized that in the fluster of a stamping horse and such I had again failed to do proper introductions. And I also realized that I should have offered them a ride back down the long drive, that they were probably late for work. And then I thought, "I thanked them for saddling me with a horse."

I was fully resigned to keep Cy/Charlie this time, at least until I could locate new owners. I figured the third time was the proverbial charm, after all. After my research during his first visit here, I knew that there was no outlet for horses like him, and I knew I wouldn't be driving over to his owners to pressure them to come and get him, not after the scruples I had the last time I handed him over to them. I also doubted they would come looking for him. Besides, if they didn't have farm insurance (and odds are good that they don't) and a car struck the horse, they would be liable. So not only were they probably struggling to feed him and make their ends meet, they were probably risking being sued for damages every time he got out too.

I also figured that if I wouldn't take him, the sheriffs had no outlet for caring for him. They couldn't just impound him like a car to auction off at year's end. Most likely one of the sheriff's marshals would just euthanize him and sell the meat to a rendering plant if he was abandoned by his owners and no one stepped up to care for him. I couldn't sentence Cy/Charlie to that. So really, assuming ownership of the horse was an act of charity, I told myself. And as luck would have it, one of my home education listservs had just advertised an equine education course for "home schoolers."

Later in the day, after feeding all my kids lunch, I was finally sitting down to lunch myself when a honk sounded outside. The honking continued until I headed outside. My neighbor, son-in-law of the woman who had started the whole horse brouhaha this  morning, was leaning out of his truck. (He has emphysema and presumably didn't want to get out of his truck, but I was still a bit irked. I thought, "why didn't you just call?!") He informed me that the cows had just gotten out again and that since it was so close to our agreed cut-off date, that he took them back to his pastures. So it seemed we had traded cattle for a horse.

As I prepared dinner later that same day (a late dinner, as we had been out with the goats and moving fire wood to a rack near the house) Cy's owners drove up. It seems the sheriff had notified them of their horse's whereabouts and they felt obliged to come get him. My husband headed out. I thought he was going to offer to buy the horse or something, given our previous conversations. But he only turned over the horse and came in with their phone numbers. (And we still don't know their names. What is our problem, anyway? :) But who knows! He may be back again some day.... for good.

It Rains

We've had a little rain in the last month and things are green again. It's amazing how resilient grass is! The trees still look bedraggled, and we may lose some poplars, but the cows are happier. They have been content to graze on our land now that things are juicy, so we've had no more escapee incidents. Their ribs are still showing, but hopefully they'll fill out fast. 

Because of the rain, the summer-long burn ban was lifted just in time for an impromptu camping visit from my in-laws. Camping without a bonfire seems wrong after all. We had a violent thunderstorm the first night, but the second night it cleared up for the tent camping crowd. The weather couldn't have been more pleasant for fishing, picnics and such that day.

It's raining again today. A steady, straight rain... windless, peaceful. There is no thunder, just the soft striking of drops of water on the surface of everything, just the pattering of droplets in the guttering. It is fitting.

My husband called me from California this morning. He's been gone since early Sunday morning. He informed me that he missed his flight. His alarm went off, but he was so tired he slept through it for over an hour before it finally woke him. So now he'll be returning in the middle of the night instead of at the children's bedtime. But really, that was the good news- that he got to sleep in.

Because... he also informed me that the wife of a work acquaintance of his had died suddenly last night. She'd been undergoing tests since January for flu-like symptoms, but was as yet still undiagnosed. In fact, the "most scary options", as she put it, had been ruled out already. It did seem that she had a heart condition, but she didn't make it to the appointment with the specialist. He found her collapsed next to her bed. She is dead at 46, and leaves behind a beautiful 4 year old son, along with her husband and many friends. Having been a musician and a politician, many were touched by her life. 

I was one of those people. Her death is a heavy burden on my heart. I can't say that I was a close friend. I can't even claim that I was really a friend of hers at all. We simply knew each other. She passed my old house in our little community's annual parade and called out her personal greetings. Her husband even came to a party at that house once. She and her spouse had sent me "friend requests" on Facebook, so we knew what was going on in each others' lives to some degree, posting comments on each others' status updates sometimes. 

I ache for her small son, for her already burdened husband, for the trail of heartache she leaves behind. I pine for a life cut short. 

I am also sobered by the abruptness of her death. Too many of my peers have died or had health problems lately- addiction/psychological problems too. I've reached that period in life where the deaths of my contemporaries are not from freakish tragedies, but rather from our failing bodies, our susceptibilities. Who will be next, which friend, which loved one?

I find my mind now scurries down those rabbit trails of thought that tempt us after tragedy. What if my husband never comes home? What if his stressful job and long hours contribute to a stroke or heart attack? Merely imagining his loss causes great anguish and anxiety. He encompasses my entire adult life. I really can't imagine my life without him. For over 15 years he has been my all.

And then there's the practical side of survival without him. How would I support 5 kids? What would I do about their education? How would I pay off the house, the car? How would I navigate my children through their pain while dealing with my own? (Yes, I know... life insurance. Well, it's been in the works for some time, but isn't yet completed. It's difficult to schedule a physical when you're as busy as he is. And even with life insurance, it would still be terribly difficult.) 

A father is a rock on which a family is built. My kids behave differently just knowing my husband is in the house. They behave better. It's not because he is a great disciplinarian. It's because they know he loves them. They are comforted and feel secure just knowing that Daddy's home. When he's gone, none of us are quite ourselves. And they take his absence out on me.

Or what if I die? What if my "milk of calcium stone" causes renal failure? What if my high cholesterol causes a stroke or aneurism? What if I die in childbirth? What would become of my children? I guess everything that I do can be done by someone else. My husband could pay for childcare, enroll my kids in school, hire a cook and maid, take the laundry to the cleaners. And if their needs were met by someone else, would my children even miss me or remember me? They don't seem to have much thought for me now. That's what moms are for, to take care of you. You take them for granted. A mother's love does not demand reciprocation. Thirteen years of interrupted sleep, nursing children around the clock, changing diapers, preparing and cleaning up from meals 3 times a day, an endless string of laundry, the endless cleaning up, the never-ending preparation, administration, and evaluation involved in their education... I lead a hidden life for my family. Because of that, I don't have a large circle of friends. I don't have the time to! Those touched by my death would be few. Does that matter to me? 

What about my husband? How would he be affected? Like I said, what I do for he and the kids could be done by someone else. He spends most of his time at work, working from home, or lost in thought about work. He doesn't have much time to think of me now. He wouldn't have much time to think of me if I was gone. Would it only hit him in the morning rush or in the evenings when there was no one to listen to the daily run-down, no one to get the kids ready for and into their beds, no one to warm the bed next to him? It's a sad thought, but not terribly unrealistic. Besides, he could remarry. He's got a successful career, is a good financial provider, has many qualities appealing to marriage-minded women who love children. And he has all his hair! :) 

When a college friend died earlier this year, I pondered death a fair deal. I still agree with my previous thoughts on life that were included in a blog post I wrote after his funeral, but I no longer have the same aspirations for my own. I knew at the time that I had unreasonably ambitious desires and I said as much. I also said, "I hope that when my 'time' comes, I will have touched as many people as he has. I hope that I will leave a trail of lives touched by love. I hope that love echoes and reverberates long after my life, not so that I am remembered, but so that there is more love and less pain in these difficult, beautiful lives that we lead." 

While I would still love to lessen pain and spread love to many beautiful lives in this world- and think that a noble desire, today it seems to me that my echoes and reverberations will simply amount to a ripple. I am too small and insignificant to reach as far as I would like. It seems that there will be no "trail of lives" that I leave, just a family that grieves. I am one who will probably slip silently and nearly invisibly into the afterlife. And I'm learning to deal with that. 

It is humbling to think that I am replaceable, that my passing on would affect so few. But it's prideful to care I guess. Do I really want to leave a trail of grief behind me when I go anyway? Maybe it's better to sink secretly away, unnoticed after all. 

However, if the net of love I cast can't be wide, I hope that it is at least deep. And I hope that I don't spread any hatred, vindictiveness, or malice inside or outside of my little circle. Let my life instead be full of steadfast dedication, compassion, unselfishness, prudence, fortitude, and forgiveness. Succumbing to a small, deep pool of that would be nothing to be ashamed of. Even that is ambitious I guess. But as that line in the Patty Griffin song goes, "It's a mad mission, but I got the ambition."

Cattle Prattle

As I've mentioned in previous posts about the cattle, the cows are picturesque from a distance. They fit in here. When they saunter along the crest of the rise, the sun filtering through the trees and making seas of sunlight on the grasses that they slowly swish through, they are lovely. When their sweet, earthly smell drifts through the window from afar, and the faint lowing lies like a backdrop to my day, I enjoy them. 

the daily late-afternoon nap

When the near-ceaseless crunch of their grass cropping leaves meandering paths through the dew-drenched grass, it seems wholesome and quaint. When driving down our long lane I spy them standing in the pond to their shoulders, they seem silly and sweet. When I notice a cow nuzzling her calf or see the backs of slumbering cattle dotting the field, I smile. When they butt each other, tussle, and jockey- they seem endearingly puerile.

the youngest calf

But when I have a close encounter with the cows, my nose crinkles with distaste. They are muddy. They are bug-ridden and swarmed by flying insects. They lick their nostrils, sling saliva at pesky bugs, tear grasses to toss onto their backs in an attempt to chase the countless creep-crawlies away. They scratch their heads and necks with their hind hooves, in the undignified style of dogs. Their coats are matted, stiff, riddled with burrs and bugs. They drool vast quantities seemingly near-continuously. They drop sloppy, splattering piles of poop that are a breeding ground for thousands of flies, not to mention a stinky eyesore and walking hazard. Such is the life of a beef cow.

The First Ultrasound

Last spring my (then) 2 year-old was praying nightly for a "girl baby for my birthday." As providence would have it, I confirmed my current pregnancy shortly before his birthday. I've felt that this baby was a boy. My intuition had served me well in past pregnancies concerning gender. But I figured that if my son got the baby he prayed for, he may have gotten the gender too, so I doubted myself. Whatever the case, we had purchased 2 doelings shortly before his birthday, so he had 2 female babies of the goat variety for his birthday at least.

Last Wednesday I received the first ultrasound scan of this pregnancy. I had a blood draw scheduled after the ultrasound, and only 15 minutes was allotted for the scan. That's standard practice at my OB. The ultrasound tech only comes in one afternoon a week, and they schedule her tightly. I've never had an ultrasound longer than 10 minutes. My husband missed attending one once because he got delayed for a few minutes at work. They even have signs up in the office saying that if you are more than 10 minutes late for an ultrasound you have to reschedule, as there isn't enough time to get you in before the next patient. So I shouldn't have been surprised when our ultrasound lasted only about 8 minutes. And I wasn't I guess, but I couldn't help being disappointed. 

Never before have I had an exam where toes and fingers weren't visualize, kidneys weren't inspected, the palate wasn't looked at, the nuchal cord wasn't examined, a frontal facial shot wasn't done, blood flow through the cord and heart wasn't watched, an amniotic fluid index didn't take place, etc. During the exam, the technician pointed out to me a cyst on the baby's brain, saying that they often resolve themselves. She also used the doppler to look at my placenta in a way that I hadn't witnessed before, but I couldn't tell what she was seeing.

Then, after confirming that we wanted to know the gender, our tech informed us that I was carrying a boy. My youngest was with us, and immediately he cried out softly in anguish that he didn't want a boy, "I want a girl baby." But I smiled. He'll benefit from a same-gender playmate, seeing as his 2 older siblings are girls and his brother is 13 years older than he is.

I left the short exam without being comforted and with questions. I almost wished that I had opted not to have a scan. My husband just seemed relieved that there was no indication of the same birth defect that caused our first daughter's death. I was stewing over the cyst and the placenta thing, and figured that since she had spent time inspecting the cyst in my son's brain and the blood flow in my placenta, that she had taken up the time she usually would have spent imaging the things I mentioned earlier.

Six days later, a nurse from my doctor's office called to inform me that the doctor had reviewed my ultrasound.  "Everything looks good except that the baby has a cyst on the brain. Did the tech mention that?" she asked. I responded yes. Then she said, "Oh, and you have maternal lakes." She didn't offer an explanation, so I asked her what they are- just to be sure. She said, "pools of fluid in the placenta." Then she went on to say that I'm to come back in 4 weeks for a follow-up ultrasound to monitor both of these things. No more information... no nothing. I was immediately transferred to scheduling. Sigh.

Having worked for Acuson, and having been pregnant 7 times in the last 13.5 years, I know a little about ultrasounds. I know that placental lakes are pockets of (usually) maternal blood in the placenta. They can mean poor blood flow to the child (impeding growth) or the increased likelihood of postpartum hemorrhage. They can mean nothing. I've even had a maternal lake in the past with no negative outcome. In fact, my kids have been huge. (My last one was over 11 lbs. when he was born!) Like the cyst (which I think is choroid plexus) placental lakes sometimes just self-resolve.

However, I also know that cysts in the fetal brain are thought by some to be "soft markers" for chromosomal disorders such as Trisomy 18. So the phrase, "everything looks good except..." when so many things (including other soft markers) weren't imaged is insanely frustrating. (Several soft markers increase the odds of a chromosomal disorder.) You see, Trisomy 18 is often fatal, and so my peace has been shattered. My hormonal pregnant self is succumbing to worry, despite my best efforts and my rational mind knowing that I shouldn't.  I have a lot of emotional baggage from a past miscarriage, as well as a still birth. And I have felt extra rotten during this pregnancy. I'm sure that doesn't help.

(FYI: I turned down the quadruple screen as it in not a definitive diagnosis and often causes unnecessary worry. The only real diagnosis is via amniocentesis. I'm not interested in that. For one thing, it substantially increases your risk of miscarriage. For another, a woman I used to work with told me about a disturbing thing that she witnessed as it occurred during her amnio. As everyone watched the monitor of the ultrasound machine, her pre-born daughter reached up and grabbed the needle shortly after it was inserted! Everyone in the room gasped and then held their breath until she let go and the needle was quickly removed. If her arm had been but a little bit off, she may have damaged or lost her hand, etc. Besides, I would never abort an "imperfect" baby. And what good would the knowledge of an untreatable chromosomal disorder like Down's Syndrome do me before birth? It would just hang like a pall over the rest of the pregnancy.)

Anyway, my littlest is now cool with a baby brother. My sweet, sweet nephew just spent the weekend with us, and my youngest son was smitten. Now he thinks that we should name the baby with the same name we gave him. I think it's because he wants to share his personalized baby blanket with him. That's pretty endearing. But in the mean time, our newest son's in utero name is still Zebo. :) 

Charlie, Suzie and Zebo

Charlie/Cy, the lost horse from previous posts whom we returned to his owners (Horsin' Around, Gift Horse, Sorry, Charlie!) was sighted last Friday. My husband was heading out the door on his way to work when one of our neighbors drove up in his pick-up. He was here on business, but while here mentioned that the horse was loose on the road and that several people had stopped at his place to ask if it was his. 

So my husband headed out to see if he could round him up. He saw him run off into the woods, but being dressed for work and already running late, he gave up the search and headed to his office, er... cubicle, er... workspace... okay, desk. Sigh. 

After hearing that he had run off and was still loose, I loaded up my kiddos in the family van (along with a bag of carrots for bait) and we did a driving survey. Two of my kids thought they spotted him in the open space of the neighboring land. But when we turned around, there was a man with a compact car parked on the property, and hopefully he was after the horse. (It wasn't the man who came to my door for the horse though.) We felt we had fulfilled our obligation and that the horse was probably taken care of, so we returned home.

It was awfully fast for Charlie/Cy to have escaped again. I'm thinking we'll be seeing him in the future. Our place is nearly entirely fenced, so he'd have had a hard time getting here unless he came down the looooong drive or through the woods directly behind the house. He was already very close though, and far from his home. His location seems too coincidental.

That's the good news I guess, compared to my next bit of news. One of our young goats is dead. She somehow managed to clamber onto the hay feeder yesterday and get her head stuck in the bars that hold in the hay. She must have panicked and kicked her body over the side, for she was hanging by her broken neck when she was found. And... the kids found her during a game of hide-and-seek. Sigh. 

Her name was Suzie Cubed, a play on words as a nod to her lineage. (Although it frustrated my son, as it was not mathematically correct.) Her dam was named Suzie 2, and her grand dam was named Suzie. Of course she was the favorite of our two doelings. She was pure white. She wasn't a jumper. She was calm and was gentle. She would have made a great milker, had she lived long enough.

That's one of the things about rural/farm life. Out here you can't seem to escape death. There's always a dead critter to pass on the road, a feral cat trying to sneak inside that gets inadvertently trapped under a garage door, an animal that becomes sick and dies, is attacked by a predator or which is slaughtered for food, someone whose tractor rolls or whose farm machinery does him in. Some would view this as a draw-back to life "in the sticks." While I admit that it is definitely difficult and unpleasant, I think that, in general, it is a good thing. It helps us to cope with reality. It keeps us grounded. It makes us grateful. 

My husband may not feel the same way at the moment. He had the dubious honor of extracting Suzie and burying her. That's tough.

But overall, I think that the endless string of "little" deaths out here, the exposure to the reality that all life is limited, helps us to deal with our own mortality. Knowing that we and those we love aren't going to live forever causes us to live more purposefully. It causes us to be more appreciative of every day that we're alive, every day that get we spend with those we love. It puts into perspective our gripes and complaints, and life's other difficulties.

I'm not immune to the sorrow or the difficulty of facing death. I'm not even saying it gets easier to face. But another way to look at it is this. The dead animal on the road feeds the turkey vultures (as I saw today on the way home from the docs.) The the stray cat that loses its life means that the mice, songbirds, and other small creatures live. Even the animal who sickens and dies feeds wee beasties and enriches the soil for future plants. Do you see where I'm coming from?

Faced with sudden death without preparation, it seems senseless. But faced with a pattern of death and re-birth from a young age, death can just be viewed as a part of life. After all, isn't that one of the many reasons why life is valuable? Our life here on Earth doesn't last forever. If we did it would probably be just be one more thing we took for granted. And as much as we hate that living things die- especially humans (sometimes seemingly needlessly, before their time, or in horrible ways) their death makes room for new life. And to folks like me, it means more kith and kin to intercede for us from the other side. To use a trite and Disney-fied phrase, it's the "circle of life."

Oh yeah, maybe now is a good time to mention that I found out today at the first ultrasound of this pregnancy that the baby I am carrying is a boy (whom my 3 year old son wants to name Zebo!) Having previously suffered through a miscarriage, as well as having given birth to a stillborn daughter whose birth defect was incompatible with life outside the womb, I can say that those deaths certainly make me value the gift of my fertility and the lives of my children more than I probably would have otherwise. The depths of sorrow can serve to heighten our joy... if we put it all into perspective.