Lifestyle Tip: Deal With It … October 26, 2007
By Brent Murphree
Several years ago I walked in on a group of friend and the room went quiet. “What’s up,” I asked. “Oh, nothing,” was the response. A number of concerned glances were exchanged around the room and I decided not to press the issue.
After the get together broke up I asked one of the friends what all the troubled glances and silence was about. “Well,” he said, “Jenny (a friend) wanted to know if Rudy (my dog) was still alive.”
I hadn’t seen Alan (another friend) in a while and when we had talked on the phone the subject of the dog I had in college had not come up. “She didn’t want you to be upset if she asked and Rudy had died,” he said.
I was shocked – All that drama over the potential passing of a dog. Did they know I grew up on a farm? Sure it’s sad when a pet passes away, but those of us who grew up sending our 4-H projects on a truck to Thomas Meat Locker have a slightly different perspective on things.
So you know where I’m going with this, everything boils down to the fact that all living things die, farm animals included. There is not an animal that we raised on the old farm that is alive today. We either ate it, it was hit by a car, it wandered off and disappeared or we had to administer some sort of euthanasia
One of the first things you learn is that when the old farm house is close to a section line dirt road with no speed limit signs, speeding cars and any number of animal species are attracted to each other like magnets. Family pets are not excluded.
There were times when, on the way to school, we saw one of our dogs laying on the side of the road. I’m not exactly sure how this happens. I have never accidentally run over a dog or cat. Even at night, I can pick out something as small as a cat and avoid it.
My grandmother was especially proud of my animal dodging skills. One night we were on our way back from a long road trip when I was about 20. My vehicle lights bounced off of something in the distance and I drove around a huge steer standing in the middle of the road.
“How did you see that,” she asked? Twenty years later she would say, “Remember that night you missed that steer?” So, I either have a knack for not running over most animals or Grandma was overly impressed by my skill as a driver.
Now, rabbits are one of those animals you almost can’t help but hit. I could eat for a year on the rabbits that I have killed with a car. For some reason rabbits are drawn to speeding cars — especially at night and especially mine.
Jackrabbits spend their lives running from coyotes and hawks and do so with success given their size and numbers in our area. However, when faced with an automobile their skills of survival suddenly shut down. When confronted by a moving vehicle their instant response is to bolt, to run at the top of their speed in whatever direction they happen to be facing. This is especially evident on the highways. Once at top speed they tend to lurch suddenly in any direction – right for your headlights.
Back to the farm/rural philosophy on death — it is just one of those things you have to deal with.
My first 4-H project was a Black Angus steer named Blackie (what else?). I spent hours taming him, teaching him to lead and getting him ready for the fair. My first five years were spent next to a feedlot where the express purpose was to raise cattle to send to market. So, I was actually relieved when Blackie was carted off to Thomas Locker. I had raised the steer for beef, end of subject.
Now, I’m not without feelings and sentiment. A year later I was raising a couple of swine for the fair. One died just as it was looking like a champion. Dad hooked it up to a hoist and hauled it away. It swung back and forth as the truck moved. My little sister thought it was the funniest thing. She sat on the seat of the truck and howled with laughter as the pig swung. For some reason I stood behind the pen and cried.
We have lost pet lambs to bloating. A pet goose drowned in a bucket when it kicked the handle over its rearend that held it underwater. A sow ate her entire litter while we watched in horror. She was so big we were afraid to intervene.
The death of a pet is a sad thing. And, we’ve been through a lot of sad times with them. There is just something about one of Man’s best friends dying. I heard our Doberman Pincher get hit by a speeding car. I knew from the sound what had happened and cried as I stood in the dark of the tool shop when I was 12.
My little sister, Julie, found her Cacapoo on the side of the road after it had wandered too far from the house. She cried and cried and cried.
I comforted my little brother Curt when his best friend, Oscar the Weimeriner, died of valley fever. And, my dad and brother buried my best dog in the world, Berta, while I sat at the kitchen counter with my chin in my hands.
Ok, so why were my friends so concerned about my reaction to Rudy who had grown up in a house full of rough college guys? Did they think I couldn’t deal with it?
Rudy could hang with the toughest. She was a ten-pound Cocker Spaniel mix — poodle was the other part of the mix — who loved to hunt. She was friendly without being a nuisance. Grandma Howard used to say that Rudy made her feel special.
All my friends loved her except for the one who told me he hated her — while he was explaining; Rudy went into his room and pooped on his carpet.
Most mornings, I would let Rudy out of my house and she would run though the desert to Mom and Dad’s house. Each evening when I came home from work I would pick her up at their house.
One morning while I was away on a trip they let her out of the house. After a while they heard a bone-chilling yelp and ran to the door. When the door flew open Rudy bolted into the house with gaping wounds on her sides. She had wrenched herself from the jaws of coyote – one tough little dog. A short time later she was once again hunting in the desert.
Any animal owner knows that at some point the end will come. Maybe we don’t want to confront it. But, for the most part, those of us who have grown up on a farm know how to handle it because we have always had to handle it. As Mom used to say, “Deal with it.”
- Posted in : General, Lifestyle Tips
- Author : freshair
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We had animals on the ranch and I cried a few times when dogs or cats were killed. We had a lot of abandoned dogs that the people in town would drive out and just drop off. Once we had a poodle looking dog dropped off. My dad didn’t know what to do with it because it definetly wasn’t a cow dog. Well the Schwan’s ice cream man came to get our order one month in the spring and accidently ran over it and killed it. He felt so bad that we got free ice cream for the entire summer.
Dealth was always a fact of life. Nothing wrong with it. I did enjoy the ice cream though.
It is no wonder we have a hard time when a trusted companion passes. We invite our pets into our homes and treat them like members of the family……like that small furry member of your family that can be mischevious!
I had a particularly hard time with the passing of the best dog I have ever owned, a springer spaniel named Brooke. She was the smartest, friendliest and most loyal dog I have ever known. I guess you could say that me and Brooke grew up together in a rural town in Southeastern Arizona. In the best childhood memories I can remember Brooke was right by my side through thick and thin and believe me it got pretty thick a couple times!
But as was said, although it can be difficult to deal with the passing of a pet, death is a part of life and enjoying the companionship of a pet far outwieghs the difficulty of their passing.
I am so grateful to have grown up on a farm where I learned to “deal with it” through the death of animals and family pets at an early age. I still remember when my brother and I were very young and my father brought home a cute, cuddly piglet. He then warned us not to become too attached, as that little piglet would one day be our dinner. The day the pig was butchered remains a vivid memory. I also remember my mother catching one of our free-range chickens to butcher and prepare for the evening meal; it was just a part of life.
Farm animals meant for eating are certainly different from pets that become part of the family. I have had a number of dogs and most of them have met their demise thanks to a car or the occasional UPS truck. Currently I live in the city and my dog, Wally, is at home on the farm. Friends often ask why I don’t bring him to live in my own home. I think it’s preposterous to take my dog, who has the freedom to roam acres of land, and place him in a tiny little yard. Actually, I think I am a bit jealous of Wally and the fact that he gets to stay home on the farm! Anyway, despite the sadness that has come with losing pets, it has helped me to learn how to deal with death and appreciate the joy they brought to my life during their short stay on this earth.
Reading your article is helping me learn to deal with it, I guess. We lived on our stepdad’s Colorado farm, my last couple of years in high school.
The dogs that tended to survive were a red heeler/dalmatino mix called Popcorn (white with red spots) and a blonde/german-shepherd mix, that could chase down a jackrabbit for supper (had to catch his breath before he would kill it.)
I never learned why, but was told my stepdad took them out & shot them while I was stationed overseas, and it was shortly after my mom died. I just have always held a grudge against him for that.
Yet, reading about all the dogs & 4-H ‘pets’ you went through, I had we were on a really stable, farm & ranch. The people looking around the room in the absence of Rudy must have had few pets in their lives, just like me.
We are still too sensitive about our pets’ deaths, and actually do well to draw from your perspectives, to see them as less permanent parts of our lives. After all, don’t we know they don’t live as long as people?