DEALING WITH FARM DEATH

Before I start today’s diary entry, here’s the disclaimer - this isn’t a bouncy, positive farm post. It’s more a disaster movie. A reality check for days and weeks when things go wrong. A lesson to myself to believe what I’m about to write rather than take everything to heart and suffer emotionally. There are also pictures of dead animals. You’ve been warned.

So though I hope there will be some lessons to learn and take away from the blog, bear with my whilst I rattle off the disheartening, upsetting series of events that have occurred over the past 10 days.

Events began on December 16th. I’d noticed my summer born kid, Gaspode, was hunched and rather poopy. I decided to move him and his mum, Pye, into the barn so I could keep a close eye on them. I wormed him as he looked a little anaemic but he didn’t improve, so I whizzed him up to the vets for a shot of buscopan to soothe the spasms in his stomach. The following day I got the results of his fecal test which showed he had cocci so I dosed him with meds and, with relief, began to think about him getting better.

The same day I noticed that the udder on Pixie, one of my pregnant goats, had doubled in size. It was significant growth, so I moved her into a pen in the barn and watched her becoming generally uncomfortable all night. In the morning she was beginning to ooze a little; a sure sign she was going into labour. But labour didn’t progress. There was just a little more gunk and she couldn’t get comfortable. Nothing happened during the day and she was up and down all night long. I watched her on the camera until at 8am I suddenly saw a black blob and rushed to the farm. Her little kid was dead and by the sight of it’s opaque eyes, had been so for a few days.

So I mourned the loss of the stillborn and worried about Gaspode who still wasn’t getting better. By the Monday he hadn’t improved so I called the vets, but they said the Baycox (for the cocci) could take 10 days to work. As long as he was eating and drinking, I shouldn’t worry. On Tuesday he plummeted, stopped eating and drinking and was pooping water. His body temperature dropped like a stone - I stuck my finger in his mouth and it was cold. So I rushed him home, put him in the bath and gradually brought his temperature back up as he’d become hypothermic. He began to fidget a bit as life came back into him. He bleated, he shook, and he sat on the floor wrapped in a towel as I syringed him some electrolytes. Then he died.

On the Wednesday I got to the farm with Gaspode in the boot of my car ready to drive him over to the local incinerator. I fed the goats in the barn, and then the goats by The Lookout. Eve had kidded … a lovely little boy. Dead. This was one was full term, still hot and steaming, but there was no heartbeat.

The same day, we rescued two feral cats. They had to stay within their cage for two weeks and then we’d begin letting them out. I planned on shutting them in during the day and allowing them to roam at night in the hopes they’d be after rodents more than birds. I came back after dark and both cats had escaped. I haven’t seen them since. That evening my house rabbit Ralph also died. And then, today, I got to the farm on Boxing Day and checked the sheep only to find my rescue sheep Tina was dead. Sadly she was also in lamb, so not just one death, but two.

There’s no dignity for dead livestock; they have to be collected, taken away and burned.

In the space of 10 days, there’d been two stillborns, a dead billy kid, two lost cats, a dead rabbit and a dead in-lamb ewe. After months of good fortune, it seemed the grim reaper had come calling.

Like anyone might, I have blamed myself for all of the deaths. I should have noticed something earlier. I didn’t intervene. I’ve failed. I’m not the farmer I thought I was. It goes around in your head. A constant cyclical battle. I’ve mucked it up. Everyone will think I’m awful at my job. What else will happen next?

But the thing I must remember is … it’s NOT my fault.

How could I know about the stillborns? They were first time mothers and there was nothing I could do. Their body condition score was good. They were wormed. They had the right vitamins. There were no signs of illness. Gaspode has cocci; I treated him for it, I sought veterinary advice, I took him home. I even gave him mouth to mouth when his breathing stopped but his heart was still going. Ralph was old. The cats were feral. And Tina .. there were no signs she was ill. Nothing.

Sadly this is the reality of farming. In fact, looking back, I feel I’ve actually been quite fortunate. I really haven’t lost many animals. It just so happens everything has decided to happen at once. Come the spring, when the air is warm, the grass is growing and there are lambs bouncing around the fields, I’m sure the smile will be there once again. But for now, life feels rather rough!

New Year, New Farm

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