Monday was a very sad day at our house. Our faithful, sassy and somewhat misunderstood llama (Manny) died. It was really a pretty horrific thing if you want to know the truth. It involved him getting caught in some wire fencing and getting trapped. I completely freaked out when I found him and called my dad to bring over wire cutters. We got all the wire off but he just wasn't coming back around. He was still breathing but looked to be scared and in pain.
This is always the worst part about pet ownership. The responsibility of playing God and deciding whether an animal will live or die. It's never an easy choice but it's one that has to be carefully considered. After a thorough check and careful consultation with the vet, we decided that the humane choice would be to put him down. I laid on the ground, still in my work clothes and held his head in my lap while the vet gave him the lethal injection. I stroked his ears and kissed his nose. I spoke quietly to him, told him that I loved him and that I appreciated the time I had with him.
The goats were inconsolable. They kept running down the hill, sniffing him and then running away. I don't think they knew what was happening. Although the one goat, Blue, had an altogether different and wholly inappropriate response to the situation. As Dad was on the ground, massaging Manny's neck trying to encourage him to get up, Blue walked up and peed on Manny's head. He also hit Dad's arm. I guess his grief got the best of him. Or he's just a jerk that way. Hard to say with goats.
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