Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Hannah (formerly Spinner)and Zeke's Good-bye

Lisa and I went to a farm in Robinston to take pictures of goats, chickens, and ducks that belonged to a woman Lisa had met after the play last week. The place was absolutely wonderful, with animals everywhere. They all seemed to be exceptionally well-cared for, fat and clean and healthy. They were all free to roam all over the property, which appeared to be several acres. The goats followed us around, wanting to be petted. The puppy jumped up playfully, the cats slept on the table. Chickens and ducks were everywhere. I asked if I could buy one of the chickens, but they were not for sale. In the end, though, I brought home Hannah, who was named Spinner because of some nervous disorder that causes her to run around in circles at times, getting confused. The woman who owns the place, whose name I never did get, decided that she would let Spinner go home with me where she would be a member of a much smaller flock, thereby getting more attention. There were over a hundred chickens there, all looking amazingly similar. Here Spinner is an idividual, actually the beauty of the bunch, and can hopefully blossom in the cozier environment. My first step toward her rehabilitation was to change her name, which focused on her disability.
From now on she is Hannah.

Demeter and Annie have welcomed Hannah quite gracefully. When I went to check on them all tonight, the three of them were sharing the perch as if they had known each other all their lives. I hope for a happy future for all of them.

There was very sad news from Mike yesterday about Zeke. After seemingly making a good recovery from the operation to amputate his leg, he suddenly became sick Monday morning and died before Mike could get him to the vet. Mike was devastated, and so was I. We both cried on the phone when he called to tell me the news, and I had a hard time pulling myself together after we hung up. Of course my grief was mostly for Mike. I could empathize with him perhaps too well. I called him back later in the hope that I could support him once the shock and initial pain had subsided somewhat. I felt better after the second conversation because we were both a little more controlled and rational. Nothing can alleviate Mike's grief, but my hope is that at least he won't feel isolated, or that no one understands, and that that will mean something to him.

As for Zeke himself, he was a good dog and well-loved. His life was happy and he died with his Dad's hand patting his head. It's everything a dog could ask for.

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