Life on a farm is never easy. I think any farmer could tell you that. Luckily, I don't take care of all the responsibilities of the farm here. Everyone has a share in the chores. I rarely have to mess with plants and I'm okay with that. I hate plants, dirt, bugs, mud, and weeds.
What I can tolerate is animals. They make sense to me. Their lives are based around food, hormones, dominance, and instinct. An animal does something for a reason and, if someone is willing to watch, research, and learn, they can understand it in a way that will make sense to them. You can curb their behavior by providing them with the resources they need to thrive. An animal will listen to a human if a human is willing to listen to the animal.
What I can't understand is the death part of farm life. As a young girl, I swore to never take the life of another living creature. I took that promise to heart.
When I hit an animal while driving I always cry and say a prayer for them. When it comes time for a chicken to give up its life for us I always thank it. When another animal dies and I have to bag it I feel a sense of remorse and filthiness for putting it in a bag. I feel a creature should never be bagged like a sack of vegetables and shoved in a barrel only to be carted away to a dump for the afterlife.
But all those creatures died from something I understood. Running in front of a car, becoming a meal, weakness and whatnot. And they were all creatures humans typically don't bond with. While it's harsh, I don't think all lives have the same worth. A fuzzy worm on the road does not have the same value as a dog in the backyard.
What I cannot fathom is when a creature dies for no reason, especially when you can see the life and emotion in its existence. The little kitten I picked out upon the first day of its birth has been fighting for her life the last week. Every morning and every night I go out there and take care of the animals and check on the litter and each time I see her weaken. I watch her waste away while her littermates grow stronger. I see her cry and crawl and try with every ounce of strength she has left to just persevere.
A few days ago she seemed to be getting better or at least wasn't worsening. I thought she would make it. But this is a farm and our saying here is that everything that can go wrong will go wrong.
Tonight when I went out to check on her after chores she was letting out a desperate cry. When I looked at her she was lying on her back. After living on a farm long enough, you start to recognize the signs of a creature dying. You can tell when the life is leaving the flesh, and this kitten was near her end. She would not last the night.
When I picked her up she managed to curl up in a ball in my hands. I pet her head until she fell asleep in my hands.
And I started to bawl my eyes out.
I couldn't understand why she was dying. Why, out of all the kittens in that litter, did she have to be the one to die? She was supposed to live. She was supposed to get big and healthy and run around the farm and grow old chasing mice.
Instead, I was holding that tiny little life in my hands watching her take her final breaths. She fit in the palm of one hand. She could melt anyone that say her with that face. She was hand-crafted by God, raised by a mother that loved her, and adored. But she was still dying.
I'm sure there was some scientific reason for why she died but, looking down at this little warm fuzzball, I couldn't see it. All I saw was the life slipping from a creature while I held it. This was the first time I've been so close to death in something I adored.
Hours later and I'm still crying. This whole time I'm telling myself I'm 23. I shouldn't cry over kittens. I shouldn't cry over things like this.
I understand that there's a reason behind her death, both scientifically and spiritually. God has a plan that I don't understand until far after I want to know the reasoning. I still see the beauty in life even after witnessing death. That kitten cried and meowed before I picked her up. After I cradled her in my arms she fell asleep and no longer cried. I know she's an animal but I am one hundred percent confident that she stopped crying because she was safe. She was near something warm and comforting and was no longer afraid.
I held her until her momma came before placing her back with her. She slept against her momma's chest, silent and still, happily content against her.
And now I wonder how people can ever say a creature doesn't have a soul. A life that can touch another in such a profound way as that will never truly die. A life like that lives on forever.
No comments:
Post a Comment