Like the poet says, the moving finger writes, and having writ, moves, and all your piety and wit cannot change a word of it. Simon is gone, and once again the animals in my life teach me how to adapt, accept and move on. Simon did not care for dogs, he tried to stomp Red repeatedly and once did stomp on poor Lenore.

Red can handle himself, but Lenore is not that savvy, so she was kept out of the pasture. Today, I brought her into the pasture and she sat quietly while Lulu and Fanny came over to check her out. I am certain Lulu and Fanny were aware of Simon’s seizure and death – they watched his burial closely.

Red did not seem to notice or care at all, even though he was right there with us. This morning, a new routine. Lulu and Fanny both seemed calm and more affectionate, Lenore loved being in the pasture, Red kept his eye on the sheep.

Life does go on, death and life are both parts of the same experience, our common experience, one of the very few things that unites all human beings and demonstrates the power and glory of life. Today, a new routine, a new scenario. Life is powerful, it flows like the strongest stream. I can either look back or look ahead.

Simon came when he was needed, left when he was ready. I went about my business too, we resumed work on our dining room, did our chores, worked with the sheep, and here I am blogging. Tomorrow I will write about the carriage horses, Maria will be back in her studio.

We all grieve in our own individual ways, no one can tell anyone else how to do it, or should. I loved Simon deeply, I feel is absence acutely, I am moving on. His life was a joy, he had as good a life as most donkeys could ever imagined, a life of love, attention, comfort and treats. The moving finger writes, and so do I. Life on the farm is moving forward.