There are days that are bad and then there are days that are so bad I think about giving up.

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I had to put Salina down today. Actually, I didn’t have to. I decided to. Because she was having grand mal seizures and she was suffering. Salina has been having occasional seizures and fainting ever since she was attacked by a dog about a year ago. We’re pretty sure that a seizure was what precipitated her broken leg in February, but other than that, they never seemed to affect her quality of life.

I tried to get several vets interested in finding out what was causing the seizures and how to stop them, but the universal response was “Just buy another ewe.” I had other ewes; I wanted this one to be healthy. Frustrating.

In the past few weeks, Erin and I noticed that the episodes were increasing in their intensity and frequency. I think we both knew that we were coming to the end of something, but with all the stuff we’ve been through in the past few months, neither of us wanted to acknowledge it.

This morning I had to acknowledge it.  I decided it was time to let her go, then I called the vet’s office and made another handful of decisions. Did I want to bring her into the office and save money on a farm visit? I thought about it and opted to have the vet come to us. She was already clearly suffering, and riding in the back of the truck would have added to her fear and agony. Did I want to bury her myself or have her cremated? Since there was no way in hell I’d be able to dig a hole big enough to bury an adult ewe, I chose to have her cremated.

It really sucks to have to weigh what’s best for your animal against what you can afford, but it’s a reality. The total bill came to $600. It sucks, but while money always seems to come, I only had one chance to do the right by my sheep. I’ll worry about the finances tomorrow.

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Salina was one of my first two Cormo ewes, purchased from Alice Field along with Sicily. Both of them were very skittish in the beginning. Even after I helped her deliver Truman-memorialized on video by an esty production crew- she wanted nothing to do with me. It wasn’t until after she was wounded by a dog that we actually had a chance to get to know her. She was in a catch pen for a couple of weeks recovering and, once she realized we were there to help her, she was as sweet as she could be.

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Her forced confinement after the broken leg only strengthened the bonds between Salina and Erin, Salina and me. Erin called her the Pocket Sheep because she was always right beside us in the pasture, rubbing her head on our legs as we fed. I hate to lose any animal but this is especially bad. I’m going to miss her something fierce.

This isn’t going to be one of those posts where I wrap things up nicely. It’s just too raw and too painful and too much on top of everything else. And every time this happens, every time I lose an animal in my flock, I feel like I’ve failed. Like I have FAILED. Please don’t tell me it’s not my fault. Intellectually I know that. But my heart is hurting and I can’t shake this nagging feeling that if I’d done something different, that gentle, lovely creature would still be grazing in West Tisbury. It’s irrational but it’s still there.

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Lucky for me, the one thing I’d really like to do- get in bed and stay there for a week or so- is the one thing I can’t do.

Tomorrow will be better. It has to be.

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