Zelda is gone, as it turned out, I decided to shoot her after all.  It was my moral obligation and responsibility to do that.

She was a very important spirit animal to us, the smartest, proudest, most independent sheep we have known.  She was with us both from the beginning, wreaking havoc, defying convention.

She was also very old, spent, and we both felt she was practically begging us to let go of her. She was too weak, too thin, too toothless for another winter up here.

We had an appointment scheduled with our large animal vet for this afternoon to euthanize her, but I got this message from Mother Katherine, a wise and long-time online friend, about whom I know nothing:

“I have followed your stories about Zelda with some interest.  I see you growing in your awareness of the sheep and their type of sentience.  I am a shepherd and the sheep will let exhibit their readiness to “go” many times.  It’s subtle, but if you know the sheep, as you know Zelda, it can be seen.  I’m glad you are letting her go and go on her own turf.  I think as you do, it would be a bit less stressful for her if you did the deed yourself.  I often would like to do that for my sheep: it’s the last thing the steward does.  But, sometimes, it has to be by injection.”

I got another message soon after from Joan; “Just love your beingness, Jon. Have supported you for years and always will.”

Both messages got to me in different ways. I read them to Maria, who was also affected by them. She sat down next to me and said if I wanted or needed to shoot Zelda, she wouldn’t object. She was only worried about the impact it might have on me.

I said right away that I did want to shoot Zelda rather than have a stranger come to the farm and stick IV tubes in her legs and pin her to the ground. Sometimes, that’s the best way, sometimes it isn’t. I feel my responsibility as a steward more keenly than any other time when it comes time to decide whether an animal should live or die.

Zelda knows me and trusts me, even though she’s knocked me down more often than all our other sheep combined She even knocked Red down a couple of times, no other sheep can claim that.

So I told Maria I would like to do it, I owed Zelda the quickest and most humane way for her to die, and shooting her was that. I know many people with pets can’t see that, but I know it is the truth sometimes. That’s what being a shepherd and a steward means to me.

I took my rifle out of the closet, loaded a magazine with eight bullets and walked out to the Pole Barn.  Zelda looked awful, she could barely stand up.

But she was waiting for me, all alone in the Pole Barn. The other sheep were standing outside, waiting and watching.

Zelda, who misses nothing, looked at me, shied away, then turned, exhausted, accepting and resigned sideways, giving me a large standing target. Just do it, she seemed to be telling me.

Normally I would fire several shots into her forehead, but we had just dug a large grave and we would have to drag her over to it, put her inside and cover the grave with dirt and rocks.

I knew Maria would have her own ideas about burying Zelda and I didn’t want her to see a bullet hole in her head. So I released the safety button, aimed the gun carefully and fired three shots directly into her heart and at close range. This is something I have done many times, I know what I am doing.

Zelda moved a few feet, turned in a circle, and then fell over. I believe she was already dead at that point, but I know the bodies of animals can move for several minutes after their heart stops.

The gun, which I rarely use, jammed, my worst nightmare. I took a deep breath, took out the magazine, pulled out the spare I brought just in case, and inserted the second one. It worked, and I fired three more shots into her heart. She sighed and stopped breathing, I felt her pulse stop.

If this had not worked, I have a neighbor close by with a rifle, I would have called him.

I went and got Maria and we dragged Zelda into the grave. She fell in gracefully and fit perfectly. Maria, as I knew she would, placed some sage over her heart, and put in some apples from our tree, also two pears from the pear tree.

We covered her up with rocks and soil, called off the vet, and I hired a friend to clean and check my rifle.

In a few minutes, I’m heading to Albany and Bishop Maginn High School to meet a bright young student who fled bullying and harassment to get to the school and who needs some tuition support. I’m very glad to be going there this morning, doing some good is healing for me.

Maria and  I are a wonderful team, we work so well together and understand one another. I am grateful to her for understanding that this was something I don’t like to do, but need and want to do, especially with animals we know so well and have loved for so long.  I love her more all the time.

I deferred to her sensitivity, and then she deferred to mine. Such thoughtfulness and empathy. Maria is sad but also strong and accepting.

I appreciate Mother Katherine’s gentle encouragement of my work as a shepherd and a steward, and her understanding of what compassion really means with regard to animals. Zelda was important, but she was never a pet.

And I liked the idea of “beingness” that Joan referred to. Somehow, this felt relevant to me, killing Zelda was a part of my “beingness.” I couldn’t shoot a dog, someone else has to do it. But I don’t want to be so removed from my animals, not if I can help it.

I get a lot of messages. Some are urging me to be different, many accept me as I am. I got two of those today, and they came at just the right time. Thanks, Mother Katherine, thanks, Joan.

Zelda was a great animal, a spirit animal, a leader, and advocate for her sheep.  She was a feminist sheep if I can use that term with sheep.

She was also a very strong woman.

No animal I’ve ever lived with defied me as often or gave me as much trouble. I don’t love all the sheep, but I really loved Zelda. I am grateful to have been able to end her pain and suffering and give her a quick and dignified way to leave the world.

I imagine she is on another farm somewhere, renewed and reborn, knocking some other unsuspecting farmer to the ground.

I am not sorry about Zelda’s loss, or grieving. She had a great life and a worthy ending. It was time, I think she sensed that I’m sure of it.

Below is the last picture I took of her.