I lost two goats yesterday. They were new enough to me that they didn’t even have names yet. I thought I had them penned securely, but I was wrong.
Fortunately, a neighbor found one of them and returned him to me. The other is still at large.
As I type this I feel so guilty. Guilty that my fencing wasn’t secure. Guilty that I let a goat out into the wild to fend for itself. I feel the worst, somehow, about not having given them proper names.
I’m processing my feelings and making decisions about how to care for my one remaining still-unnamed solitary goat. I talked to a friend who has livestock, too, and we shared the truism that where livestock is concerned shit happens. Always. Shit is always happening.
And I keep re-reading this piece I wrote back in 2011 about how caring for others always brings these inevitabilities. Shit happens, yes. But also, isn’t is wonderful that shit is happening?
Maybe you don’t have livestock or children or pets, but if you have friends or a job or family maybe you can identify with this, too.