I never get used to shooting a lamb, especially one as sweet and lively as Scotty. But I always tell myself it is quick, humane, and merciful when they are suffering.

And it’s a part of it. Having a farm is never a perfect life or an easy one, but it is life, rich and full.

The farm is my Mother in many ways, it has taught me so much about life and death and love.

It was – 15 degrees when we woke up this morning, Maria insisted that she could run out and do the chores quickly, she said I should stay in bed and be warm, I didn’t get much sleep last night.

I reluctantly agreed – I hate for her to go out by herself in that bitter cold, two can do it faster.  But she knows what she’s doing, and that kind of cold wears me down.

She’s a Willa Cather woman.

Both of us knew something was wrong, she was worried about Scotty, a sweet lamb, he didn’t look right to her last night.

A farm is an organic ecosystem, everything connected to everything else. When something is off on any part of it – a leaky hose,, a sick animal, a broken fence – you often feel it before you see it. But you always feel it.

Maria is very close to her sheep, she said several times during the night she was worried about Scotty.

She was right, a few minutes later she came up into the bedroom – it was too soon, and she was wearing her heavy boots.

Something was wrong. “Scotty is dying,” she said, “he’s lying in the pole barn barely moving. I think we need to put him down.”

Maria was very calm and clear about it. Scott was very sick and barely moving. She knows her animals well.

She has no doubts, there was nothing we could do. Yesterday, he fell over while she was trying to give him some medicine.

We both know the drill. I got up, threw some extra warm clothes on, got my rifle out, loaded five bullets into the magazine, and walked out.

Scotty – we named him after our friend Janet Hamilton’s partner Scott, who died just a month or so ago – was lying on his side, immobile.

I made a mental note to e-mail Janet, I didn’t want her to learn about it on the blog. We will get another lamb and name him Scott.

Scotty was lying in the pole barn wall where he had spent the night.

I spoke to him softly for a minute or two, as  I usually do, and thanked him for his life and time with us. I pointed my old funky rifle – I need to get a new one, which I will do today –  at his heart.

He didn’t even know I was there, there was no reaction to me or the gun.

I pointed it right above his heart and fired once. I didn’t think I needed to fire again. He quivered, shook, his legs twitched, and a few seconds later, he was gone.

Maria dragged him out on a sled and took him out into the deep woods, a gift to the animals out there in the cold.

Joy is what makes life worth living, sorrow is what makes joy so sweet. What makes us human is the freedom to choose between the two.

I love our farm very much and so does Maria, painful as it sometimes is. It always holds a promise. Godspeed,  Scotty, you were special, you were a lot of fun.