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Sunday, December 4, 2011

It Can't Be Explained

 The temperature outside read 32 degrees, as I walked out to the barn tonight... To those of us who live in the Willamette, that's cold. Thankfully I had both a polar fleece sweater, and my trusty Carharrtt coat on to keep the chill away. Barn chores were uneventful as I went about my way. The goats got their hay, the rabbits got their pellets; all was fine and dandy. But before closing the barn up for the night, I took a slow jaunt through the goat pasture...

 The moon shone brilliantly tonight. December's moon is known as a 'Cold Moon', and is aptly named... It beamed through the night, making everything look like a 1800's photograph. Black and white. My shadow made a stark contrast against the seemingly white grass, as I meandered over land that I have come to know almost better than I know myself. It was not yet even 9 'o' clock at night, and already a hard frost was descending upon the silent earth. I could feel resistance from the half frozen grass, and all around me looked like some fairy had come along and sprinkled glitter. All of this was a beautiful sight to behold that I shall treasure for a long time.

I sat down on the bench in the pasture... Sat down and exhaled. Behind me was the moon, and a giggling creek. How many stories and songs that creek has regaled through the seasons... It's a comforting white noise that I have come to appreciate. Around me were ancient trees whose skeletal forms stood bent and contorted with age. A few still rebelliously held onto their leaves; not yet ready to face what the Cold Moon was foretelling. And before me... Oh before me... Before my eyes was the barn. The lights were still on, giving the black and white picture a shade of color. I love my barn. It may be metal, instead of the preferred wood, and there may admittedly be a few leaks in there, but that barn is my safe haven...

 I sat on that wooden bench for a few minutes longer; hugging my old coat to my body. I could see Orion in the sky, with his bejeweled belt glimmering brightly. The Big Dipper had begun it's helter skelter tipping, and it will soon seem almost upside down. A few other stars managed to peek out, despite the moon's display of grandeur; a sprinkling of glitter in the sky, and on the ground.

I walked back up towards the barn, but first stopped at Capri's grave. She had gotten her share of glitter upon her colder, smaller sleeping space, and for that I was grateful on this chilly night. I reminisced aloud, as I knelt on the hard ground; my hand where her head was lain beneath the layers of soil. I said to her, what I said as she lay dying. She was my special girl. My best milker, and friend. We were going for a goal of three gallons next spring... Just like her dam, I wanted to see if she would reach that amount and possibly surpass it. We got to 19 lbs. of milk this past spring... We were only 5 lbs. short of reaching our goal. My cow in a goat's body. But we were thwarted, weren't we Capri? Fate reared its ugly head, and we never attained the goal. I spoke to her a little longer, then stood up and said before leaving, "Don't cry. I'll see you again someday." And with that, I walked away... I am of the firm belief that there will be animals in heaven/new earth. Why would God call them "good", and put them here on this imperfect world, but not have them again when the end times of this chapter comes? That's my logic, and I'll stick to it. There will be animals again. And I will see Capri again. Period. Exclamation point.

 Some may wonder at my attachment towards a dead goat. People could understand, if she had been a dog, but in my mind, having a dairy animal results in a deeper relationship than with a dog. It can't be explained. You would just have to own one to understand what goes on between animal and handler. I feed them, and they feed me. There is routine to a milker's day. A methodical habit that is not easily broken. There is a level of trust, affection, and loyalty on each side. I know their thoughts and they know mine. It is a beautiful thing to behold. A dance between two species. Capri was was the best dance partner I've had yet.

I turned the barn lights off, and closed the door. Enya's song "Wild Child" Floated through my head as I walked back to the warm house. I think Capri would have liked that one during milking....

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