A 180-Degree Turn

In my post yesterday I wrote about how I witnessed the birth of baby goats. This morning I arrived at the barn earlier than usual to check on the three babies and I found them clean, warm, and well fed by their mama. When I went to another pen to feed the goats there I found one of the younger goats from that pen laying on her side, cold and seemingly not breathing. With trepidation, I entered the pen. I gently nudged the kid and felt her chest for any sign of life. There was none. I nudged her a few more times to make sure. The result was the same. She was dead.

It was a 180-degree turn from the amazement I'd felt yesterday. Still amazed today, it was because of the fragility of life. There was no sign of injury or illness. I guess it was just her time to leave this world. I messaged the couple who were handling the evening shift at the farm and they said there had been no sign of anything wrong the night before, so somewhere in the previous 12-14 hours death visited her and she followed.

Now came the hard part of informing my friends.  They are out of the country so when I messaged them I had to wait a bit for an answer. In the meantime, I had to move the dead goat out of the pen until I knew what to do with her permanently. I didn't want the other goats to do any damage to her body, and though I'm not sure about this, I think they understood that their pen-mate was gone.  I carried her small, limp body and gently laid her on the hay outside the pen. When they replied to my text I was instructed on where to place her, so once again I had to carry the dead body to the site until someone could come and take her to her final place.

I've witnessed death. I was with both my parents when they passed away and kissed each of them a final goodye. And I held each of my five dogs as they were put down. But I have never had to handle dead bodies. This was not my animal, and wasn't even a typical pet but "just" a farm animal. I had no emotional attachment to her so I don't feel any grief. But as I carried her - first from the pen and then to the porch area - I felt an immense sense of responsibility. As her caretaker, I was obliged to handle her with the respect due her as a being created by God and entrusted to me by her owners and her Creator.

In the Garden, God gave Adam and Eve, and by extension all of us, dominion over the all the animals of the earth; but dominion doesn't mean we have absolute control. Our authority over animals does not give us the right to abuse, disrespect, or dishonor their place as creatures of our mutual Creator. In having dominion over the animals, God delegated to us the right and the responsibility to care for his creation, just as he cares for us. In the gospels of Matthew and Luke, Jesus says the Father cares for the sparrows, so how much more does he care for us.  Psalm, 36:6 says "You, LORD, preserve both people and animals".

This week I've been tasked with dominion over my friends' animals. It has been my responsibilty to make sure they have food and water, and that they are secured in their pens. Yesterday I had the privilege to see some newborn kids only an hour or two old and to actually witness the birth of their youngest sibling. And this morning I had the responsibility and the privilege to escort this tiny goat, who's name I don't even know, towards her final resting place.  I gave her soft fur one last pet and a little scritch behind her ear. I appreciated the beauty of her coat, blocks of black and what looked to me like a latte-like brown with patches of white tossed in for good measure.

I've been caring for these animals for five days now and I don't recall noticing this little goat at all before; but I will notice her absence tomorrow. And now, I will remember her forever.

Sam the Supermutt - a Memorial

When Sam first came to live with me, no one had a clue as to what breed he was. He looked poodle-ish. Maybe a Maltese? I’d never had a small dog before, so they’re all Maltese or Yorkies to me, because those are the few small breeds I can name; though I’d have trouble recognizing one if it bit me. 

Curious as to his lineage, I had Sam’s DNA analyzed through Embark.  The initial results provided were a bit confusing to me: 

·        50% Alaskan-type Husky

·        14.4% English Setter

·        12.5% Beauceron

·        11% English Toy Spaniel

·        5.1% Greenland Dog

·        4% Basenji

·        3% Gray Wolf 

With a couple of exceptions, these are all large dogs. Sam weighed 15 pounds.  A questioning email to Embark resulted in an immediate response that something had been transposed in the reporting, not the lab analysis, and a new report was sent in a few days. This report was much more in keeping with the dog I knew: 

55.8% Cocker Spaniel

12.5% Jindo

11.3% English Cocker Spaniel

20.4% Supermutt 

Embark says “Some dogs descend from other dogs that were themselves mixed breeds. These dogs can give small contributions to the ancestry of your dog, so small that they are no longer recognizable as any one particular breed”. They refer to this conglomeration as Supermutt. In Sam, they found some Yorkshire Terrier, Maltese, German Shepherd, and Pug. 

Yorkshire Terrier and Maltese! My generalized guess had some lucky basis to it! No poodle, though. The Jindo breed originated in Korea and so did Sam, so that seemed accurate, as well. In the Embark report, they provided pictures of dogs in their database that were related to Sam to some degree. One of them, a Cocker Spaniel named Moon Li, who was adopted from the meat trade industry in Korea, shared 21% DNA with Sam. 

The Korean connection is interesting, because that is where Sam’s life began. He lived in two countries, five cities, and at least five homes, that I know of. 

He came to live with me a roundabout way. He was born in Korea where his previous owners found him. Korean nationals who relocated to Pittsburgh years ago, they’d gone back to Korea about eight years before to visit family where they found this dog being abused, so they took him! They brought Sam (whom they had named Simba) back to their home in Gibsonia, a township outside of Pittsburgh. He lived there, doted on by his family. But about two years ago, he got out of the house and was missing for four months. His owners searched for him and posted around one thousand posters all around Gibsonia looking for him, but without success. Four months later he was found by a construction crew, collapsed from exhaustion and hunger, on the side of a road. Gibsonia is an upper middle-class area, with wooded areas giving it a rural feel, but with many busy highways leading into Pittsburgh. It’s a miracle Sam lived through the experience. If the wildlife didn’t kill him, cars and trucks should have. But somehow, he survived. 

My dad was keeping Sam for his neighbor, Laura, who was watching him for her former boss, who was having some health problems and unable to care for Sam. However, when Laura brought Sam home, her cat took one look at Sam and bit Laura! So, my dad took him in for what was supposed to be a short time but wound up being extended, as Sam’s owners were not recovered enough to take him back. 

At my dad’s home, Sam was safe, and well fed, but since he was a small dog, my 91-year-old father wasn’t able to bend down to interact with him, and Sam was too little to be able to jump up on the couch to be petted. So, Sam, still traumatized from his “walkabout” in the Pittsburgh Outback, spent his days laying on his bed in a corner of the living room. 

Eventually, Sam’s owners realized they would not be able to take him back, so I volunteered to adopt him.  He joined Lucy and my home on May 16, 2021. When first introduced, and Sam showed no interest in playing, Lucy pretty much ignored him. Sam. 

When he first entered the house, Sam was nervous and afraid. I placed his bed in a corner of the living room, opposite the couch, so he could be alone and not threatened by my presence, and he laid there quietly. But in a few hours, he got up and laid on the floor next to the couch, where I was sitting. I took this as a good sign that he trusted me, he felt safe with me. I moved his bed there, where it became his permanent space – downstairs, at least. As days went on, I noticed he no longer slept curled up in a tight ball but spread out a bit, feeling comfortable and relaxed. 

Upstairs, Sam had another bed, on the floor next to my bed; well, my and Lucy’s bed, to be accurate. He showed no interest in joining us on the Queen size pillow top mattress, preferring his inconspicuous, unobtrusive corner on the far side of the bedroom. After a few weeks, though, one evening he placed his paws on my side of the mattress, indicating he wanted to come up. He was too small to jump up himself, so I lifted him up and he settled in the bottom corner of the bed opposite my side; Lucy owned the top, next to my head. At first, he couldn’t jump down from the bed, either; but within a couple of weeks, Sam conquered his fear and figured out how to safely get from bed to floor by using the bed rail as a step. 

He didn’t especially enjoy walks and avoided grass and trees as much as possible. Which made sense when I think about it. During his homeless period grass and trees contained dangerous wildlife. There were squirrels bigger than him! He stayed on sidewalks and concrete as much as possible. 

Walks also presented another challenge. Sam’s little legs could not match the longer strides of Lucy and me. He took three steps to our one, so he wore out more quickly. He was carried home on a number of occasions, and I finally broke down and bought a dog front-pack carrier, and I even bought a baby stroller at a garage sale. He never got comfortable with the stroller, but he became more relaxed with carrier. I think he enjoyed experiencing the world from that vantage. 

Sam didn’t respond to commands at all. At first, I thought it was because he didn’t understand English, so I tried to learn a few Korean words like “sit” and “come”. He didn’t respond to those, either. I didn’t know if it was because I was pronouncing them badly or if he was just obstinate. I suspect it was more the latter than the former than the latter, though Korean is really hard to speak! 

A few months after he joined our home, Sam had some fainting episodes and was diagnosed with advanced Congestive Heart Failure. Even with medication, the veterinarians gently informed me the expected life after diagnosis was usually about six to nine months. He responded well to his medicines and because of his limited time I wanted to make sure his last months were pleasant; where he was comfortable and had fun. I took him camping (he didn’t think it was pleasant, comfortable, or fun). I took him for walks to the local Dairy Queen (I discovered he didn’t like ice cream). I got him a Halloween Costume and a Christmas sweater. I took him to a Valentines Party at the local Pet Supplies Plus store. I gave him lots of treats. Sam loved food. A very quiet dog by nature, he only barked when it was mealtime.  He practically did backflips!  A refined, continental dog, Sam was quite fond of apples and feta cheese. 

On a Saturday in March 2022, eight months after his diagnosis and within the expected timeline the vet had warned, Sam had an episode of some sort, and I knew his time with Lucy and me was quickly coming to an end. I called the veterinarians’ office and after talking it over, decided to have Sam euthanized. Having had times where his life was not so peaceful, I made sure his death was.  I held him, petted him, spoke to him, throughout the whole process. My brother was with me, and together we made sure Sam knew he was loved. 

Embark identified him as a Supermutt and they were right. But he was not a Supermutt because of his DNA. Sam was a Supermutt because of his heart. Despite abuse and homelessness, Sam was able to trust people. His trauma did not scar him with fear but gifted him with wisdom. He survived hunger and thirst, wildlife and vehicles, weather, and abuse. Still, he was able to give and receive affection. 

Biblical theology holds that animals do not have a soul. Only man was created in the image of God and man was instructed to have dominion over the earth and all that was in it (Genesis 1:26). I believe this and I hope demonstrated this well with Sam and all my pets.  But there is something about some animals that transcends mere survival instinct. It might not be a God-given soul, but it is a God-given something. Sam showed a heart and courage that is not common in beast or man. 

I was blessed to be given dominion over Sam. Dominion isn’t about domination or power. Dominion is the authority to be responsible for and care for another. And if you do it right, you can learn something from your charges as much as they learn from you. From Sam, and Lucy and all the other dogs that went before them, I’ve learned to walk in all sorts of weather. I’ve learned to gain control over my gag reflex while cleaning up from accidents and illness. I’ve learned to share my pizza. But most importantly I’ve learned that patience and love are investments with a high rate of return. Even though he was only with me for less than a year, I reaped great riches from having Sam in my life. 

Rest in peace, Sam the Supermutt. My Supermutt.