What a sad thing, to see, I told Maria, what a sad photograph to take.

I was walking around the pasture fence this evening when I looked up and saw Zelda lying alone in the spot where her lamb, who had died in utero, had been laid down on the ground. She was there all day yesterday, I am told,  frantically looking for him and today she is getting better, beginning to return to normal life.

I called out to Maria, who went and sat with Zelda for a bit out by the hay feeder, I thought for a moment that both of them were crying, it was sad, but it was also beautiful.

I have lambed a number of times before, this was Maria’s first time and I think it will be the last time for both of us, although one can never be certain. We have enough sheep, enough wool to sell, a big enough flock to herd, enough things to do. We understood that lambing is unpredictable, but Zelda’s lambing was as close to a sure thing as one can get in the animal world. Zelda is a great spirit, an indomitable, bright and vigilant creature. She has knocked me and Red down many times and led two breakouts out of the farm in it’s early days, taking Red and I on a merry chase a half-mile up a busy highway. She is a strong woman, not like any other sheep I have known, it touches the heart and soul to see her sitting alone on this spot.

She is the leader and protector of the flock, she never leaves the other ewes behind, or fails to come running when they are threatened. She is fearless, even dealing with Red, the master of his universe.

I do not believe animals grieve like humans, I believe they grieve through their wonderful instincts, which are far beyond our understanding. Animals do not understand death, they do not feel self-pity. Sheep look for their babies when they die, sometimes for hours, sometimes longer.  Their instincts are never stronger, more visible. I do not believe I know what goes through an animal’s mind, but I do see Zelda struggling to grasp the new reality of life. It is so easy to put my emotions into her mind. But she has her own. We have lost many animals on our two farms, life always goes on, usually sooner rather than later.

I felt a great sadness looking at Zelda, but I understood that a part of this sadness was coming from me. I lost children of my own, human losses are not the same as animal losses for me, but I know enough to understand that animals mirror our own lives, they touch the deepest and oldest chords in us. When we grieve deeply for them, we are also grieving deeply for us, and for the parts of our lives, the people, hope, loves and connection that we have lost. We always think it is all about them, it is almost always about us as well.

We can look into this mirror, if we will, and learn so much about ourselves, this is how the animals teach us.

Zelda was the one sheep we never worried about, we thought she would be the first to give birth, that she would be the easiest. I know she would have  been a great mother. Tonight, we watched Zelda go up to one of the white lambs and call out to her, and the lamb responded by answering. Ma came rushing up and pushed her lamb away from Zelda, and Zelda looked lost, looking  backwards, then through the pole barn for her baby.

So this intense chapter of our lives together ends, differently than we imagined, differently than we expected. Life makes its own plans, it does not feel obliged to follow mine or ours.

In a day or so, Zelda will be out grazing all day in the pasture, she will not be lying on that spot, she will not be searching for her lamb, she will be looking for the food and shelter and safety and sustenance that shapes her life. Animals accept life, they move forward, they inspire me to do the same. Watching the mothers and lambs this week, I am reminded that the call to life is more powerful than I can understand, and I remember to stand in awe of it and weep in gratitude for the things that remind me of what it is to be a human being.

I am grateful for the experience of lambing, my life has had special meaning, special joy this week. We wanted to do this together, and we did, and it brought us even closer, gave us something deep to share, forged our common experience together.  We lost a lamb, we saved a couple. We cannot cure the world of sorrows, but we can choose to live in joy.