Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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happy mother’s day

Happy Mother’s Day, friends! How are you spending today? Are you sleeping late and enjoying a simple but heartfelt breakfast in bed constructed by toddlers? Are you dressing up for a fancy brunch with adults? Are you attending church service with your family, looking forward to hearing the preacher’s message about motherhood and all a good woman’s virtues?

Or are you removed from some of the cultural fanfare, either missing your mother or missing your children? I think of some close friends who lost their Moms years ago, and how even with the passage of time the pain doesn’t stop. This worries me for my husband who lost his Mom just a year and a half ago. I also think of the women in our life who have lost a child, of how no matter who else is in their life, that loss remains a deep, open wound.

This all can be scary, except that I understand how grief can be such a beautiful expression of affection. Love and loss, so closely intertwined.

rp_instagram-roses-after-rain.jpg

I am so lucky. My own life has been generously blessed by an amazing Mom who at a young, tender age decided to give everything to me, and then to my four siblings, and now to our spouses and her grandchildren. Her life all these forty-plus years has been all about us, good and bad, no matter how much it has hurt her. But really she shows us joy. She makes us believe that she has loved every minute of the roller coaster, and each of the five of us would agree that Mom is our biggest fan, our most ardent cheerleader no matter what we are trying to accomplish. We may not always admit it, but making her proud and making her laugh is truly one of life’s biggest pleasures.

Mom has been an example of humility and strength, selflessness, resourcefulness, and good, plain hard work. She has also shown me how to be a good friend to people and how to be a good caretaker. She totally embodies gratitude. She is a wonderful cook, talented at creating delicious things out of whatever she already has, and she grows the most beautiful gardens. Slowly, naturally, patiently. Every year her gardens are more stunning. This is how I want my entire life to look.

mom me 2015

Time will tell whether I become the woman Mom has shown me to be, but for today I am very grateful. I am grateful for the example she continues to set, for the forgiveness she allows when I hurt her, and also for the freedom she gives me to live my own life, to find my own way.

heart shaped rose petals

However you are spending this day on the calendar, I wish you all the Love your soul craves as well as all the strength and openness you need to share the Love you have already been given. I hope your life has been graced by all the best qualities of motherhood so that when someone near you needs it, you can shed that grace all over again. Keep it moving, just like new life. Breath it in and breathe it out.

“Making the decision to have a child- it is momentous.
It is to decide forever to have your heart go
walking around outside your body.”
~Elizabeth Stone
XOXOXOXO

His Name was Tom Sawyer

   I first saw him alone about a week ago while running some easy miles in our back field. It was a cold, rainy morning, really foggy too, and he surprised me as I rounded a downhill corner. That morning he bolted, trying to elude me; but we were already at the edge of the property, so the tall predator fencing made a quick escape difficult. Instead of jumping over it, he ran alongside the fence, turning the corner ahead of me, running straight and swift along my well worn foot path. I was so excited! I ran clumsily behind this elegant young creature, juggling my cell phone to take some photos. Trying not to slip on the muddy red rock slopes.

boing!
boing!

 
     We see deer at the farm every day. They visit just before daybreak and again after sunset to drink at the llama pond and maybe graze the prairies grasses. In fact the adjacent Pine Forest is full of deer families; but this little guy was alone and tender and suddenly very important to me. He was the same one who kept Dulcinea company many weeks ago, though at that time both of their mothers stood constant watch. Have you ever seen a cria and a fawn nose to nose, all four ears forward and happy? My gosh. It might knock the wind out of you, it’s so cute. The term “too cute” was actually invented to describe this exact situation.

   I should mention here that until late yesterday, I though this fawn was a little girl. 
So in my head I was calling her Rebecca, after the novel Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier. 
I named my late mare Daphne. Just a little naming trivia for ya. 

Okay.

   So this little fawn runs ahead of me and even attempts a few nimble zig-zags, probably thinking I was in hot pursuit. Of course I wasn’t, except to click my phone at him, but surely my giggling and clumsy running put him on the defensive. Understandable. This went on for a desperate eighth of a mile, then he disappeared somewhere to the southwest of us. I finished my run and was emotionally buoyed for most of that day. Seeing a wild animal like that, spending just a few moments with him, felt amazing.

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   Fast forward a week or so, to yesterday morning. Another early morning run, another attempt to get a grip on my thoughts and emotions before the day ramps up. Every day lately is so different, so fraught with unpredictable challenges, I really need this time outside.

   Yesterday morning the sun was fiercely bright and the grasses were only wet from dew. I saw him on my first lap, on the opposite side of the field this time, still sleeping in the tall grass beneath a small oak tree. It happens to be where Jocelyn, my first-born beauty, had built a quick playhouse years ago. Seeing him here pleased me so much.

   I definitely gasped aloud and stopped right there on the path. This time, though, taking pictures and squealing at him didn’t scare the little guy. He did wobble to his feet, but only to look at me. I thought his back legs seemed a bit wonky, like maybe they were still asleep and numb. Does that happen to deer? I wondered to myself.

   We stared at each other for several moments before he took a few delicate steps forward and I decided he was mine forever. He was so. Very. Beautiful. Then he stopped and I chastised myself for being greedy don’t you have enough, woman? I backed away, turned, and continued my run.

   At this point, any reasonable wild deer would have made a quick departure. He certainly had numerous escape routes this time. But when I returned to that same spot a lap later, he was still there! I was floored. He was not only there; he was watching me. He had walked out into the warm sunshine, quite uncovered by the tree row or tall grasses, and was waiting for me to round that southwest corner. So I did what I do with the llamas: I ignored him flatly. I stayed on my straight little path and maintained exactly the same pace, believing predictability to be an ingredient for trust. With the llamas, the more we do this, the more approachable they are. The less we appear to want them, the more they want us. You know this drill. On that next lap, I wondered if he would still be there, but I prepared myself for him to be long gone.

   He was still there.

   And again. And again. And again.

   Lap after lap, for almost an hour, he stood there on the edge of the back field, now flooded with golden daylight, watching me. Eventually he did walk downhill a bit to the corner where he’d escaped last week, but he still stood and waited, watching me and the llamas with those big liquid black eyes and those giant curved ears pointed forward. Curious. Alone. I assured him telepathically that I would be his mama if he needed one, and that Handsome would buy him some deer corn today. He told me telepathically how great that all sounded.

   I indulged in a complete and very colorful fantasy about having a pet deer, about how he and Dulcinea would grow up together, about how children who visit the farm could experience such a fun close encounter, etc, etc. I was hooked.

   After this blissful time outside, I returned to Handsome, who was home from the Commish for the holiday, and told him all about the fawn. (I may have also been texting him photos of it during my run.) He was as enamored as me, and we agreed to try and at least feed the little orphan and just see what happens.

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   We went about our romantic plans for our day alone, only occasionally mentioning the deer. I was trying really hard to play it cool. Halfway through the day we stopped and purchased a large bag of deer corn for our new little charge. Once home, we drove it down to the back field and looked and looked. The fawn was not in the playhouse grass; nor did we see him walking around anywhere. We kept looking and then Handsome said, “Oh no.”

   There he was, folded neatly on the ground near the area from which he had watched me for so long. He was hedged in by prairie grass and wild sage. His enormous eyes were wide open but he was very, very still, so immediately I thought he was already gone. I assumed he had starved to death without his mama, and I instantly felt deeply bitter against the bag of deer corn in the truck.

   “Wait, no, she’s alive!” Handsome said excitedly. Remember, we still thought he was a she. We approached the tiny caramel colored animal slowly, and we also noticed that Seraphine and Dulcinea were approaching, too. The fawn never flinched. The closer we walked, the better we could see tiny little horn buds (it’s a boy!) and even count those long black eyelashes. Unfortunately we also saw that the little fawn had two massive injures to his left rear leg. Probably a predator had tried to get him. It looked vicious. Violent and awful. I couldn’t believe he was so calm.

   We spoke very little, just returned to the barn for a few supplies, loaded the little guy into a wheelbarrow, and brought him up closer to the house. The llamas and guineas were very attentive during this time.

   The next hour and a half was a long, bittersweet wait. We were torn between doing everything possible to help this little guy and taking him out of pain and loneliness if we absolutely could not help him. This is a difficult enough dilemma under normal circumstances, but in the dark shadow of losing his Mom, it was excruciating for my husband. I kept trying to take the decision away from him, but he doesn’t shirk anything easily. And these burdens he tends to keep for himself.

   Once we realized this fawn was a boy, I secretly started calling him Tom Sawyer. He telepathically agreed with his new name. And he telepathically asked if I could sew some curtains for the wheelbarrow, which was obviously now his. Yes, yes of course I will do that, Tom Sawyer. What color?

 

   Handsome worked steadily to clean the two gaping wounds. They were so deep that bone was visible above Tom Sawyer’s ankle. It was grotesquely swollen, and maggots had collected there too. The other wound at his knee was also pretty bad, but this one looked horribly painful. My jobs were to fetch supplies as needed and sit and keep Tom Sawyer company.  We used warm soapy water, topical cleansers and medicines we keep on hand for the horses, and even one shot of penicillin, all in efforts to relieve him of pain, even if we couldn’t outright heal him.

   Tom Sawyer looked up at us once in a while, but he never really moved or even objected to our manipulations. He soon started laying flat on his thin little neck. He had to have been in pain, so I prayed for it to stop. And I wondered what deer think about, did he wonder about his mama? Where was she, and why wasn’t she helping him? We offered him water in a bowl. We offered him water from a giant nursing bottle we had used for the baby bison years ago.And we offered him the deer corn we’d bought a few hours earlier. He wanted nothing. So we sat with him and sang a little and waited for that obvious sign.

   My sweet, strong husband, though he worked without slowing, and though he made a few optimistic comments, kept saying to me, “Babe, it’s just not…” and he would shake his head sadly. I knew the reality, of course, but what I didn’t know was exactly how we would handle it. We were already glad we hadn’t allowed Tom Sawyer to die cold and alone in the muddy back field, though that is nature’s way. But even saying the words was impossible; I could not fathom either of us carrying out the act. Not at a time like this.

   I looked on my smart phone for possible help. Not a traditional vet, possibly a rescue or preserve. But who rescues deer? People hunt deer. I had no clue. Fortunately on the first page I saw  Wildcare Oklahoma  and called them. A young woman answered the phone promptly and was eager to hear all about our problem. She sounded instantly heart broken and said if we could bring the animal to them, they could help us. So we loaded Tom Sawyer as gently and securely as possible into the back of our truck and made a very quiet forty-minute drive to Noble, Oklahoma.

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   We watched the sun set as we drove south then pulled into a beautifully manicured property in the middle of hay meadows, curving with shrubs and dressed with several grids of clean animal paddocks. Three young interns and the owner, all women, greeted us warmly. They walked with us to the back of the pickup and looked in on Tom Sawyer. My heart was briefly inflated with fresh hope, watching these women orchestrate themselves into loving action. I even planned in my head that I would come visit him in rehab a few times a week until he could come home. He telepathically thanked me and said how nice that would be.

   Within a minute, though, the owner said rather firmly that he could not be helped. She explained softly but without room for argument that the ankle injury in particular was unlikely to heal, then she gave a really convincing explanation of the dangers of penning in a deer this size. Having lost his spots, Tom Sawyer was older than I had estimated and therefore stronger, more likely to bolt and hurt himself if scared. But he’s not scared, I kept thinking, he trusts us.

   This sad, necessary conversation lasted only a few minutes, then Handsome and the owner joined forces to relocate Tom Sawyer to his final bed before saying goodbye. I will always be grateful to her for shouldering what he would otherwise have stubbornly shouldered himself, no matter what damage it did to him. I walked inside to do a speck of paperwork with one of the interns. I was in a mild state of shock and actively worrying about my husband.

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   Emotionally, the day ran the gamut. As if we have lots of emotional energy to spare right now. And it ended sadly but with a measure of relief.

   I want to share something else achingly beautiful. Tom Sawyer, though we could not save him, and though because of our human emotions we had removed him from his natural setting, ended up being of service anyway. The rescue center also treats and rehabilitates raptors, birds of prey like hawks and eagles, so since his little body was injured and not diseased, they were able to use him to help sustain other animals in need. Handsome and I both found this to be really wonderful.

********************

   I am so frustrated by this compouding sense of loss. So sad that Dulcinea doesn’t have her buddy anymore. And so very grieved for my husband’s heavy heart. At the same time, I am thrilled to have had those quarter-mile laps with Tom Sawyer, and the few hours yesterday evening sitting with him. I am so glad to have seen him to a quiet, peaceful end and to know a little more about deer now. I am very grateful to the folks at Wildcare Oklahoma.

   Life is so dang cold sometimes. Until we look for the hidden blessings. Then it’s warm again.

XOXOXOXO

Losing Daphne

   This past week we suffered a terrible loss at the farm. 
My beautiful black mare, Daphne, displayed some horrible signs of colic and did not survive. 
Our close friends and family already know about this and have mourned with us, 
for which we are deeply grateful. I am sharing the story here now 
because it’s an important part of our farm history. 
It may also be helpful to some other horse family down the line.


This photo was taken in 2007, the very day Daphne came to live at the Lazy W.
This is Handsome leading her, surrounded by Jocelyn, Jessica, and our nephew Dante.
This is the view looking downhill, westward. I love the wildness of the farm here.

   In a few days I plan to post about our sweetest and funniest memories 
with this very special horse, and I hope that those of you who knew her 
will take a few minutes to contribute. 
Our plan is to print the whole thing as a family keepsake
and possibly print it for my daughters. Thanks friends!

********************

   On last Tuesday afternoon I arrived home around 4:20 and found Daphne running and playing energetically in the front field. She was jumping high like some kind of a bronco rodeo horse and raced me from the front gate all the way up to the barn. This is the normal “happy Daphne” dance. I searched my car and purse for castoff Sonic peppermints to reward her but found none. This would end up bothering me all week long.

   She stopped running and looked happy. Ears pricked up, snorting, bright eyes, flippy. I did a quick headcount of the animals, parked my car in the garage, and went in to change clothes. The weather that day was even more characteristically Oklahoman than normal. We had heavy rain at the farm, including lots of thunder. We saw temperatures fluctuate about forty degrees, and it was very windy.

First Signs of Trouble

   After about twenty minutes indoors, I went back outside in jeans, boots, and a quilted vest and distributed grain and hay to all the big animals. Upon again reaching the front field, Daphne was down. She wasn’t just wallowing in the hilly sand, which both the buffalo and horses are wont to do; she was obviously in pain. I was immediately worried. She made a sort of pleading eye contact with me and strained her neck up. I called Handsome on my cell phone, grabbed a lead rope from the barn, and jogged to clear the cattle gate and reach her. She was beneath that big, blue spruce tree the kids call the “Elevator Tree” because of its low, flexible branches that are so perfect for lowering yourself to the ground. Thankfully Chunk-hi was happily distracted by his afternoon meal and only watched us. He’s playful, not aggressive at all, but still powerful. And I couldn’t stay safe with him and focus on her needs at the same time.

   At first, with only a little urging, my sweet girl was able to rouse to her feet and walk with me in large, gentle circles. We did this for about half an hour without stopping, cuddling the whole time and breathing pretty calmly, all the while trying to get help on the phone. Colic is serious, often deadly, but I had seen Daphne pull out of it once before and felt confident that with quick attention she would be okay. Handsome was meanwhile racing home from work.

   Soon, though, Daphne’s strong legs collapsed beneath her and even being quite rough I was unable to pull her back to her feet. The best I could do was keep her mostly still so she wouldn’t flip. She rocked on her side a little and accepted kisses and singing, petting and touching. I tried to listen for bubbles (signs of moving digestion) in the exposed side of her round stomach but heard only her pounding heartbeat. I felt no hot spots anywhere on her beautiful fuzzy body.

Daphne’s Condition Worsens

   She was calm, very calm, and while I tried to reach a vet on the phone I thought for a moment she was dying. I was grateful for the sound of her groaning only because it meant she was still fighting. The seriousness of the situation was descending on me and I suddenly had trouble breathing myself. I couldn’t believe how quickly her condition had changed. A frantic and tearful phone call to my friend Shawndra, with her equine expertise and calm sense of urgency, is exactly what I needed. She told me what to do while waiting and said she would try to help.

   Sooner than must have been safe for him to drive the interstate, my husband raced up the gravel driveway, threw his car into park, and disappeared inside the house. He emerged less than a minute later in work clothes and flew over the gate. His presence in the front field drew the attention of our little buffalo, so immediately my attention was divided. Until then, Chunk-hi had only watched us.  

Chunk-hi’s Vigil

   During one of my husband’s cold but sweaty efforts to rouse Daphne, something incredible happened which I will never forget. As I stood against a young oak tree juggling phone calls with Shawndra and three vets’ offices (we were now in the slender space of time between office hours and emergency response times) Chunk-hi meandered over to our worried gathering. Constantly in my view, he lowered his behemoth head and started towards Daphne’s tail end. I feared some rough playfulness but was amazed by what he actually did.

   Chunk stroked his massive bearded chin in long, slow motions against Daphne’s body. He traced every leg, sniffed her tail, kissed her neck with that long purple tongue, and paced delicately around her prone and weakening body for several minutes. Handsome and I both noticed this incredible behavior.

   We  witnessed what could have been the precursor to a goring, or at least a good head butt, turn into a truly affectionate and comforting gesture. From my position about four feet away I could see his big liquid black eyes watch everything we did. I could hear his amplified breath, investigating the scene, cataloging details. Daphne had always held a maternal veil over this little orphaned addition to our farm, and I have no doubt he felt her pain. In retrospect, we believe he was also saying goodbye.

   After a ten or fifteen minute vigil, Chunk-hi suddenly inhaled sharply and started bobbing and wagging his shaggy head in big, dramatic circles. Usually a sure sign of aggression in male buffalo, this had no such feeling. He flung his head around but stood perfectly still then just gazed at her. He looked at me calmly, but not blankly, and I was devastated to have no words for him. This was a buffalo sobbing and crying.
 
Relocating Her

   Handsome with his brute strength pulled and wrestled Daphne to her feet and convinced her to walk about twenty feet at a time, per everyone’s best advice. It became increasingly difficult  though, and foreseeing a long night ahead he very wisely guided her toward the gate so we could work with her nearer the house, isolated and in some light.

   Our little orphaned buff ran ahead of us to the gate, turned back, circled us, and ran the space between us and our destination a few times before Daphne could make it. Both of these animals in our care seemed to understand the plan, and thankfully they both cooperated. I quickly unlatched the gate so Handsome and Daphne could slip through, then locked it again just as Chunk gave it a gentle push. I scruffed his black-brown  face a little before walking away. Gave thanks for his gentleness.

Long, Difficult Evening & Help From Dear Friends

   The next few hours were spent on a series of efforts to keep Daphne moving, comfort her, prevent her wildly strong legs from kicking anyone in the head, and make excruciating decisions. We took turns leading her, walking her, propping her up, and stroking her warm muscular body. I traded texts and phone messages with vets until we found one who could visit our farm that night, and pretty quickly.

   Our good friends Larry and Shawndra stopped everything in their family’s evening to drive thirty minutes to our farm. They arrived during the first truly dark hour of the evening and helped administer an IV drug (banamine) to fight inflammation and ease Daphne’s pain. This drug, coupled with drinking water and walking, was what had worked a few years ago. At this point I was concerned but still convinced that Daphne would make a good recovery, even if it wasn’t as quick and pretty as the first time. Unfortunately, after receiving the banamine, Daphne seized up. Violently. It was probably from the intense pain, and it broke my heart.

   This big, life-giving mare with the black coat and leopard spots that only shine in the sun, this creature who has thrived in extreme heat and frigid ice storms, who has gifted us with two beautiful, healthy, spirited foals, was suffering more than I have ever seen an animal suffer before. Out of seemingly nowhere she was crumbling under the pain of colic, and we were rapidly running out of ways to help her.

   After a little while the banamine must have relaxed her, because we were all able to safely sit on the ground.  Daphne’s breathing slowed to a heavy, throaty, meditative beat. One long, deep draw of breath, another short one, and a peaceful release through her lips. Then in again- long, short, then out again… Over and over for about twenty minutes, until the vet arrived.

   We also have Shawndra to thank for helping to expedite contact with the equine vet who helped us that night.

   After the sun failed us, the air did too. The farm grew inky black, leaving us barely illuminated under the pool of light by the car shop, and the wet air went from cool to cold. Someone tried to soothe Daphne with a horse blanket, but it bothered her. We all stood or squatted around her, shivering and talking through the many possibilities. I remember Larry kept telling stories about otherwise healthy horses who were struck with colic and died suddenly. I felt so sorry for them but still had no grip on the possibility that it could happen to us.

   The men fought to keep Daphne still, though she would sporadically pivot her body and kick against the pain. More than a few times everyone was sent flying, stumbling back into the dark. Then back again. It’s truly amazing that no one was seriously injured.
 

Dr. Grace Arrives

   When the vet’s SUV trained its headlights on our front gate, my spirits lifted. She drove up the driveway, around the corner by the chicken coop, and straight to our sad little huddle. Shawndra and I met her at her car door. We traded names only (hers is Dr. Grace), then it was all business. She collected the important facts and absolutely understood and relayed that Daphne’s limited response to the banamine was serious.  My comforted feeling didn’t last long, only because it was replaced with this urgency, this raw awareness that perhaps even the vet couldn’t help her. At least not in the way I wanted.

   Dr. Grace administered a sedative to Daphne so she could safely examine her patient. Handsome and Larry did an amazing job keeping this big horse propped up, and Shawndra and I watched and held flashlights, desperate to help. Within a few minutes Dr. Grace began to relay grim news, saying that Daphne’s blockage was in the worst possible location. This, coupled with the level of her pain and shock, meant that she was an unlikely candidate for surgery. Dr. Grace efficiently but softly suggested we consider helping take Daphne out of her pain. This hit me like an anvil in the chest.

   Dr. Grace spoke to us as she worked, explaining more about colic and about the cases she had seen that week. She assured us there was nothing else we could have done, that even if she herself had been there at the very first moment the outcome would be no better. She urged us to think about the life we had given Daphne and about how much we love her.

   We knew that weather patterns had a lot to do with colic in horses, but we didn’t know the statistics. Apparently it’s quite common, so common that we feel fortune to have only dealt with it twice in the six years we’ve loved all of these beautiful animals. Oklahoma’s weather was highly unstable last week. Sadly, our vet call was the eighth one this smart young woman had answered over those couple of days, and she had to euthanize all of those horses. Unbelievable. Heartbreaking. It’s not contagious, like a disease, but it felt flatly epidemic. That weather, something wholly uncontrollable, could trigger something so dangerous, was mind boggling. I gave thanks over and over again that our other two horses were healthy.

   Handsome held me for a few minutes and I nearly begged to try surgery anyway, wanted to do anything to save her, but it was clear I was wanting to not lose her, wanting to avoid my own pain, and in fact what she needed was to be out of pain. The mood then was tornadic. We flew through every possible emotion, and I showed very little personal restraint. Having believed all night that we would save this sweet girl, and having worked through so many changes in such a short period of time, I was completely shocked. I wanted to rewind to some other moment, before it started. Wished I was home all day, wished I was stronger or Daphne hadn’t given me a bronco rodeo show. Wished I had been praying harder lately so God would be quicker to hear this prayer. So self centered.

Saying Goodbye Suddenly

   When the moment arrived, Handsome gripped me hard and folded his broad, capable shoulders and arms over me as I poured myself over Daphne. Touching her face, every detail, kissing her sandy jaw a thousand feverish times, stroking her long curved ears, combing her black mane and forelock with my fingers. Trying to clean her eyelashes. Shawndra sat next to us, also holding and sheltering and soothing like a mother of a newborn. I could feel Dr. Grace working just inches away from us, at Daphne’s thick neck, swiftly finding the right needles and veins and everything she needed to perform this awful and necessary act of mercy.

   Daphne slipped away so silently. We held her elegant head and closed those glistening eyes.

    In the midst of everything our incredible friend Larry had the sensitivity and boldness to do one more thing for us. As Handsome said goodbye and tended to business with Dr. Grace, Larry found a pair of scissors and quietly removed Daphne’s long, magnificent tail. In life, her tail would often tip the ground, and she loved to be brushed and braided. After a little while, he approached Handsome and me and gave it to us. I yanked an elastic out my own hair and secured this heavy treasure, and Larry told us how to preserve it for the future.

Her Last Day at the Farm

   The next day we stayed home together, sleeping, crying, and processing reality. We protected Daphne’s body and blanketed her face while waiting for the burial service to arrive. Once during that day Handsome saw a large group of guineas circle her. They were chirping an alarm, so he went out to them. He lifted the blanket from her face so they could see, and they all walked in a line, one by one, past her. They did not return after that.

   Daphne’s pasture mates had been watching everything, too, since the day before. Chanta especially was attentive, as they were mated to each other for sure. True love. Even Romulus, who had been Daphne’s sometime nemesis, stood quietly at the fence and watched.

   We made the decision to have her professionally buried, and I am happy to give an endorsement to the folks who performed this service. They were gentle, respectful, even affectionate. If you are local to us and need contact information for either this or an excellent equine specialist, please let me know.
 

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 More than this happened that night and the next day, I am sure. 
But so much blurred together too. And little memories keep popping up in my head. 
As with all storytelling, this is only my perspective.
Thank you for reading, and if you knew Daphne, thank you for loving her. 
Again, later this week I plan to post more about her life and really hope 
that our friends and family will contribute to the memory collection.
Please say a prayer for my girls. 
They had to hear this news over the phone and did not get to say goodbye like we did.