My Animal Experience
I do believe I have not posted on here in all of 2020!
Well ya'll... this year hasn't exactly been the best year, but maybe we'll all come out better because of it.
Anyways, I wanted to tell ya'll about my experience with animals.
My oldest sister had animals for as long as I could remember, since we moved to the country, and then till she moved to Missouri. After I got a little older, we got chickens, and it was my job to take care of them. (That made me decide I didn't like chickens). And then a little after we had chickens, I got two sheep of my own. One a lamb that I got to bottle feed. I loved those days.
But then, one of them died. The gal who we bought them from gave us one for free when she heard that Marshmallow had died, and we named the new one Spot. Spot was not a people sheep. He was very shy, and would only follow my lamb, Leo, who was quite big by now.
After a while, I don't remember why exactly, but we gave both of them back to the gal we had gotten them from. I was left with no animals, and our chickens had been picked off one by one by some mysterious animal.
I've told this story before, so I'll keep this mostly brief. In 2018, I worked for a certain amount of time on a farm, and in return, I got three Jersey bull calves. Now, if you go back a little further, you'll see my posts on them, and the struggle I had to keep my little calf alive on his first day in our barn.
I succeeded in keeping him alive, only to have him die suddenly, and unexpectedly on January 19th, of 2019. Samson followed a week later on the 26th.
But what I didn't explain, is the battle I fought trying to keep Samson alive.
My siblings came inside, telling me that Samson was lying down, the same as O, and couldn't get up. I loaded up a needle for a Vitamin B Complex shot, and bolted out there. He was lying down with his legs tucked under him, and would wallow, trying to get to his feet, but he couldn't. He was also tucked underneath the slanted part of the hay manger, and if he could get up, he would hit the hay manger and probably go down again.
My brother and I carefully pushed and pulled him across the straw covered floor, wiggling him out from under the hay manger and into a more open area.
He rolled around a couple times, one of his hooves hitting me in the shin when I tried to give him his shot. (That really hurt...)
We checked his breathing, made sure he didn't sound ragged, and then after a phone call with my sister, we gave him a shot of LA-200. I had never done this kind of shot before. I had only done the intramuscular. This was a shot where I had to pinch the skin and stick the needle (wicked sharp, by the way) just under the skin and shoot the medicine in that way.
I had no time to do any research. My brother-in-law had briefly told me how to do it once. That's all I had. Even my mom could tell I was nervous, but I was desperate.
I sat with him once he calmed down, feeding him little squirts of salt water, and molasses water with a tiny little medicine syringe. I would have to pry his mouth open with my thumb just enough for me to stick the syringe back towards his throat, then squirt it in. I would massage the back of his throat gently with my free fingers to help him swallow. Honestly, I don't know why I did that. It just seemed like something I should be doing.
I sat there, alternating between molasses and salt water It's freezing cold, I only have a sweatshirt on in January. My hands are completely sticky. I've been sitting in a hunched position with my legs spread in a V shape for about four hours. I sang. I sang everything I could. I talked to him, feeling like talking to him would keep him there.
My mom came out a little later to check on the two of us before she ran to town to get some Penicillin. She asked how he was doing before she saw him, then instantly said 'oh honey...'
I'll never forget her words. Or the voice she said it in. And stubborn, seventeen year old me protested. "He's fine! He'll be fine." While tears ran down my face.
She hurried to town as fast as she could. The time she was gone felt so long. Too long. In the time while she was gone, I got my phone out, despite my terribly sticky hands, and I called my brother. This brother was at the fire department in town doing something for his fire academy. I knew this, and, I've never been so desperate to do something like this before, but I texted him.
"I need you."
He quickly responded, asking what was wrong. I told him Samson was sick. He called me instead of texting. It was probably the first time He's ever heard me crying over the phone. I explained what was happening, and he said he'd head home. He left his fire academy thing early to come home and help me. Twenty minutes later, he showed up.
He sat on one side of Samson, listening to his breathing while I squirted more water down his throat.
Mom got home a little later with the Penicillin. I gave him the shot, and then after a while longer of sitting there, trying to contain my tears and help him, mom and my brother convinced me to take a break. I had been sitting there for about four hours. The seat of my jeans was damp, my back frozen in the position of being hunched over, my legs were shaking, my hands were numb and sticking to everything.
About half an hour after that, maybe a little longer, we thought he was doing better. The sun had set and darkness had fallen, making the evening air intensely cold. Two of my brother took a shift while mom forced me inside to take a quick hot shower, eat hot food, then allowed me back outside, sending travel mugs of coffee and hot chocolate with me.
We had covered Samson in a couple blankets, and before the store had closed, my brother had run to the local farm store, getting a heat lamp. We had that going, a small heater nearby (more for our benefit) and some camping chairs were set up so we could keep an eye on him.
Bless my two brothers hearts. The one right above and below me sat up with me, until my younger brother had to go to bed.
After checking on him one last time, and being almost sure he would make it through the night, my older brother and I came inside to get ready for bed.
We big kids watched a movie, then my bro and I went back out to check him right before bed.
He was gone.
Of course, I was disappointed. I had worked to earn theses calves. I had worked to raise them. I had worked to keep one of them alive in the beginning, and at the end. Only to lose them both in the end. And not even in the way they were supposed to go.
The reason I'm telling this story now, is: one - I was recently reading some of my sisters blog posts from long ago, and some of them were the hard stories of how she had lost animals. She had said that people expect farming to be Pinterest perfect, a lot of the time, and how not many people will actually share the hard things.
Well... this is my hard story. My failure. Things I wish I had done better. Farming isn't always cute animals, beautiful sunrises, and overalls with plaid shirts. There's dirt, blood, sweat, tears, shots, pain, and death sometimes. Thank a farmer, ya'll. They work even harder than I did with my two calves.
Well ya'll... this year hasn't exactly been the best year, but maybe we'll all come out better because of it.
Anyways, I wanted to tell ya'll about my experience with animals.
My oldest sister had animals for as long as I could remember, since we moved to the country, and then till she moved to Missouri. After I got a little older, we got chickens, and it was my job to take care of them. (That made me decide I didn't like chickens). And then a little after we had chickens, I got two sheep of my own. One a lamb that I got to bottle feed. I loved those days.
But then, one of them died. The gal who we bought them from gave us one for free when she heard that Marshmallow had died, and we named the new one Spot. Spot was not a people sheep. He was very shy, and would only follow my lamb, Leo, who was quite big by now.
After a while, I don't remember why exactly, but we gave both of them back to the gal we had gotten them from. I was left with no animals, and our chickens had been picked off one by one by some mysterious animal.
I've told this story before, so I'll keep this mostly brief. In 2018, I worked for a certain amount of time on a farm, and in return, I got three Jersey bull calves. Now, if you go back a little further, you'll see my posts on them, and the struggle I had to keep my little calf alive on his first day in our barn.
I succeeded in keeping him alive, only to have him die suddenly, and unexpectedly on January 19th, of 2019. Samson followed a week later on the 26th.
But what I didn't explain, is the battle I fought trying to keep Samson alive.
My siblings came inside, telling me that Samson was lying down, the same as O, and couldn't get up. I loaded up a needle for a Vitamin B Complex shot, and bolted out there. He was lying down with his legs tucked under him, and would wallow, trying to get to his feet, but he couldn't. He was also tucked underneath the slanted part of the hay manger, and if he could get up, he would hit the hay manger and probably go down again.
My brother and I carefully pushed and pulled him across the straw covered floor, wiggling him out from under the hay manger and into a more open area.
He rolled around a couple times, one of his hooves hitting me in the shin when I tried to give him his shot. (That really hurt...)
We checked his breathing, made sure he didn't sound ragged, and then after a phone call with my sister, we gave him a shot of LA-200. I had never done this kind of shot before. I had only done the intramuscular. This was a shot where I had to pinch the skin and stick the needle (wicked sharp, by the way) just under the skin and shoot the medicine in that way.
I had no time to do any research. My brother-in-law had briefly told me how to do it once. That's all I had. Even my mom could tell I was nervous, but I was desperate.
I sat with him once he calmed down, feeding him little squirts of salt water, and molasses water with a tiny little medicine syringe. I would have to pry his mouth open with my thumb just enough for me to stick the syringe back towards his throat, then squirt it in. I would massage the back of his throat gently with my free fingers to help him swallow. Honestly, I don't know why I did that. It just seemed like something I should be doing.
I sat there, alternating between molasses and salt water It's freezing cold, I only have a sweatshirt on in January. My hands are completely sticky. I've been sitting in a hunched position with my legs spread in a V shape for about four hours. I sang. I sang everything I could. I talked to him, feeling like talking to him would keep him there.
My mom came out a little later to check on the two of us before she ran to town to get some Penicillin. She asked how he was doing before she saw him, then instantly said 'oh honey...'
I'll never forget her words. Or the voice she said it in. And stubborn, seventeen year old me protested. "He's fine! He'll be fine." While tears ran down my face.
She hurried to town as fast as she could. The time she was gone felt so long. Too long. In the time while she was gone, I got my phone out, despite my terribly sticky hands, and I called my brother. This brother was at the fire department in town doing something for his fire academy. I knew this, and, I've never been so desperate to do something like this before, but I texted him.
"I need you."
He quickly responded, asking what was wrong. I told him Samson was sick. He called me instead of texting. It was probably the first time He's ever heard me crying over the phone. I explained what was happening, and he said he'd head home. He left his fire academy thing early to come home and help me. Twenty minutes later, he showed up.
He sat on one side of Samson, listening to his breathing while I squirted more water down his throat.
Mom got home a little later with the Penicillin. I gave him the shot, and then after a while longer of sitting there, trying to contain my tears and help him, mom and my brother convinced me to take a break. I had been sitting there for about four hours. The seat of my jeans was damp, my back frozen in the position of being hunched over, my legs were shaking, my hands were numb and sticking to everything.
About half an hour after that, maybe a little longer, we thought he was doing better. The sun had set and darkness had fallen, making the evening air intensely cold. Two of my brother took a shift while mom forced me inside to take a quick hot shower, eat hot food, then allowed me back outside, sending travel mugs of coffee and hot chocolate with me.
We had covered Samson in a couple blankets, and before the store had closed, my brother had run to the local farm store, getting a heat lamp. We had that going, a small heater nearby (more for our benefit) and some camping chairs were set up so we could keep an eye on him.
Bless my two brothers hearts. The one right above and below me sat up with me, until my younger brother had to go to bed.
After checking on him one last time, and being almost sure he would make it through the night, my older brother and I came inside to get ready for bed.
We big kids watched a movie, then my bro and I went back out to check him right before bed.
He was gone.
Of course, I was disappointed. I had worked to earn theses calves. I had worked to raise them. I had worked to keep one of them alive in the beginning, and at the end. Only to lose them both in the end. And not even in the way they were supposed to go.
The reason I'm telling this story now, is: one - I was recently reading some of my sisters blog posts from long ago, and some of them were the hard stories of how she had lost animals. She had said that people expect farming to be Pinterest perfect, a lot of the time, and how not many people will actually share the hard things.
Well... this is my hard story. My failure. Things I wish I had done better. Farming isn't always cute animals, beautiful sunrises, and overalls with plaid shirts. There's dirt, blood, sweat, tears, shots, pain, and death sometimes. Thank a farmer, ya'll. They work even harder than I did with my two calves.
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