Goodbye to Bartleby

Bartleby had one year in the world. He was stunted for a ram, and was shy and without much personality. Had we not helped give birth to him, I would not have noticed him much. But when you help bring a creature into the world (as many real farmers do all of the time) it does touch you when they die.

On a farm, death hovers around just as much as happy photos of sheep and dogs and donkeys. It’s a great place and I love it, but when I think back on all of the death I’ve seen here – Orson, Elvis, Winston, sheepl, lambs, Carol the donkey, Henrietta the Hen – well, I don’t really need to think about it. As I like to say on book tours, there is no such thing as a “no-kill” farm. Life happens here. And I need to share that as well as the happier stuff. Which also happens here.

Like life, death comes up suddenly, you take a breath, absorb it, get rid of the body and  move along.