Mr. Darcey, AKA Curley, was put down today. For the last several years he was the bull on our ranch. He was a gentle stupid guy and he created wonderful calves. Curley had a mop of blonde curls on the top of his huge head, and he kept his ladies in shape (mostly pregnant). As his feet hurt more and more we often saw him up to his neck in the pond where it seemed he got a little relief from his pain.
This morning I observed Curley behind the barn, alone, limping pitifully and barely able to stand. For a long time we have all noticed that he had major foot issues and it became increasingly apparent that he was unable to mount the cows (however much he wanted to.) You might think that we could just get a vet. Not so easy. How do you get a three ton lame animal into the pen, and then up into a trailer? Not quite possible. Curley lay down behind the barn at the edge of the woods. I called Warren, the ranch manager and the owner of Curley. "I think Curley is in trouble," I began. "He doesn't seem to be able to get up. What do you think?"
Warren came over and we looked at Curley who was obviously down and couldn't get up. Warren is the most decent person I know. He loves these animals. But he took a look and couldn't stand to see Curley in such pain. He had hoped that Curley would heal on his own. Warren went home to get his gun.
Half an hour later I heard the gun shots - it took five. Soon, we got a call. "Is it O.K. to leave the carcass back behind the Dentist Cabin field (our furthest)? Soon, we heard the craziness of the herd of cows stampeding behind their fallen leader as he was dragged to his final resting place, (many dinners for the vultures). I wonder, are those cows all out there now, circled around the dead Curley?
Farm life goes on. A few years ago we had a calf whose mother died in childbirth. Warren saved this tiny creature, we all bottle fed her and then Warren gave her to a neighbor up the road. This was Peggy Sue. She prospered and was bred to Wilber. Their bull calf was called New Jean (sp? no one knows.) This bull went to someone in the neighborhood known as "Pap". Now Pap will sell us this bull who is known as a most gentle bull who loves to have his back rubbed. He comes with two cows.
I cannot still believe that I am embedded here where these things happen! But there I was, shedding a tear or two for this bull who actually had no more personality than a turnip.
So we are going away for close to a month and I am already missing the place. I have made peace with the fact that the gardens will die, get eaten by insects and worms, or grow wild. The vines will send large tendrils onto the porch, and the orchids will have to survive (or not) without me.
When we are on our trip to New Zealand, I will hardly think about this place (my paradise) while I am gone. I will stare up at the stars of the Southern Hemisphere and wonder. I will look carefully at birds and flora I never see here and rejoice. And, predictably, on day eleven of the trip, I will have a momentary funk. Then, I will get myself together and realize that the trip is only halfway over and there is still so much to see and do.
Look for my blog in early December.
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