Saying Goodbye to Our Bear
- Jamie Sobush
- Aug 3, 2017
- 2 min read
Bear is dying.
It’s probably not advisable or auspicious to begin a blog with a post about death, but this is where we are. Life on a farm is a constant cycle of life and death and if I’m going to be real about the experience of starting and running this farm, death will be forever in our lives.
But Bear’s death won’t be the same as the deaths of the other animals we have. Our chickens and ducks and rabbits will die with the purpose of becoming meals for us or our customers. Their deaths will be less painful for us, because we knew from the moment they were born when they would die. They are livestock plain and simple.
Our Bear isn’t livestock. He isn’t dying because his death will serve a greater purpose. Bear is dying because he’s sick and we can’t fix him. There are a few things we can do that are easy and gentle to prolong his life and we are doing those things. We were given the option to do more invasive treatment, but none of it was a cure so we decided against it.
Bear’s story didn’t start with Tom and Harriet and I. He was picked up as a stray five years ago this month in Kentucky. When they couldn’t find a home for him there, he was shipped up to the Bay Area Humane society where he met me and I decided to take him home. Before there was a Tom and long before there was a Harriet, it was just my Bear and I.
He was nervous at first (and still is about many, many things if I’m being honest), but soon learned to trust me and make himself at home. I’d had family dogs before, but Bear was the first pet I had that was mine alone and for that reason he will always be special.
Bear is dying and I needed to get this out now before he actually dies, because when that day comes I am worried I won’t have the words. He deserves a proper memorial and when we’re there on that day when things get bad and we have to make a choice, I won’t want to write or speak or do anything but hold my sweet boy’s head as we shepherd him to sleep.
But right now, Bear is alive and we are going to make his last days as full and happy as possible. There was a time when he was first diagnosed that we didn’t think he would make it to the farm, but we are so grateful that he did. He’s more tired now and slower to get around, but he is oh so happy to run after chickens and drink water from puddles and run through the grass. That is the best we can give him and we are savoring every moment we have left.
