Morning Dread

This isn't a horror story. Not yet anyway.

It's just me sitting here while the dark is lifting and the sun is slowly brightening the sky.

This is usually the most relaxing time of my day. I can sit, watching the sky, having my morning coffee, and getting the new day with hope and calm.

Not today.

Not yesterday.

Not for quite a few days, actually.

I usually look forward to going out to the orchard, which is where the chickens and turkey hang out. They all come running out to get me. Have you ever seen a chicken sprinting? It's pretty funny.

I usually start my day with a laugh and a conversation with the hens and the turkeys.

"Bok baaaaawwwk bok bok bok."

"Really? Well that sounds exciting. Where are you hiding your eggs?"

"Bok bok squawk bok."

"No, you can't hatch out any peeps. Even though MamaRooster crows, she can't fertilize your eggs."

"Bok?"

"It's true."

"Bok!"

And then I call out to the pasture, "Goats! Goooooooooaaaats! Nom nom time. Hey, J.J.! C'mon JuJuB!"

And they come running. It's usually a race to see who can get to the milk pen first, me or the goats. My little the legged goat runs FAST!

And I usually look forward to getting J.J. set up on the milk stand and going to the work shoot pen to give JuJuB and Joy some grain.

I look forward to communing with my goat, brushing her down, cleaning off her udder with warm water, singing to her while I'm milking.

Not today.

Not yesterday.

Not for quite a few days, actually.

Why not?

Because Joy, my oldest goat, the matriarch of the herd is dying. She has been kept in the milk barn and milk pen for several days.

She has stopped eating for the most part. She has lost some teeth, which is normal for goats here age. She is suffering a vitamin deficiency which causes a condition in goats called polio.

Her muscles don't work, she can't stand up on her own and when she walks she looks drunk.

Were she a younger goat, I'd be giving her injections twice a day and then every morning. I would give her vitamin B. And I would give her oral vitamins in a drench as well. She used to love the drench. It has a lot of molasses in it.

She isn't interested.

She isn't interested in bread. Or vegetables. Or mulberry leaves. All of which used to be her favorite treats.

Sometimes she used to love to slurp up J.J.'s milk.

Not any more.

Were she a younger goat, I would be doing everything to get her well again.

But I can't cure old age. Is I could I'd be a gazillionaire.

Every morning for the past several days I spend the hours after waking up in dread. I dread going to the milk barn. I dread going out to collect eggs during the day, too.

I never know what to hope for.

Do I hope she is still alive? Selfishly, yes. I love her so much.

Do I hope she has died? Selfishly, yes. It's hard for me to watch her decline knowing there's nothing I can do.

I don't think she is suffering pain. But I don't know for sure. I would love to have a vet come out and euthanize her, but home visits and the drug are very expensive.

My husband doesn't have it in him to shoot her. He says he's done enough killing for one lifetime. He doesn't even like to help my chip the heads off of chickens or turkeys.

"Bad karma," he says.

So I'm delaying the inevitable. Dreading the day. Writing instead of doing my morning chores. The chickens are yelling at me, twerking me the sun has been up for 15 minutes already. Telling me I'm late.

Deep breath.

I can do this.