12/16/2025
This is truth: (copied from another page)
The Fight Is No Longer Everywhere at Once
Being a true stockman isnāt about never losing an animal.
Itās about standing in the middle of loss and still showing up with your sleeves rolled up.
For a long time, the fight was everywhere at once.
Every morning meant triageāwho was down, who was fading, who needed saving right now. Babies too cold. Does crashing. Goats seizing. The kind of chaos that doesnāt let your nervous system rest because if you blink, someone dies.
And in the middle of that, there are names that stay with you.
Sweet pea.
Beef.
Ralphie.
If love alone could save them- we would never have a single loss.
Thereās the littles that came too early, on nights it was too cold.
Thatās the truth of it. No poetry can soften that fact.
I warmed their bodies anywayābecause around here, youāre not dead until youāre warm and dead. I felt the bucklingās ears and legs, swollen from frostbite, and hoped he hadnāt suffered. I saw that the doeling never even made it out of her sackāgone before her mother could save her. And as brutal as that sounds, there was a strange mercy in not finding them alive. Because saving them would have meant days of fighting frostbite, infection, amputations, and hard decisions no one should have to make when their heart is already worn thin.
Thatās a truth stockmen donāt say out loud often:
Sometimes the kindest thing is that the fight ends before it turns into another war.
A true stockman knows the smells.
Thereās the normal smell of a barn.
And then thereās that smellāthe septic smell. The one that tightens your chest before your brain catches up. The smell that says something inside is failing. You donāt need a textbook to recognize it. Your body knows.
Just like you know the sound of death cries.
Not panic. Not pain exactly.
But the quiet beggingāto be held, to be close, to not be alone.
And so you sit with them.
You let your breathing slow until theirs does.
You tell them itās okay to stop fighting.
Thatās not weakness.
Thatās responsibility.
People think strength is saving everything.
It isnāt.
Strength is loving them anyway.
From the day theyāre bornāor the day you bring them homeāuntil the day they leave this earth. Strength is knowing when to fight like hell, and when to provide comfort and dignity because the fight has already been fought.
Right now, the farm is quieter.
Not emptyāquiet.
The babies are close to the house.
The boers are contained where they can be seen at a glance.
The chaos is giving way to routineāheated water, full bellies, animals screaming for grain because they feel good, not because theyāre dying.
For the first time in months, Iām not waking up to disaster.
And that doesnāt mean Iāve forgotten the ones I lost.
It means the fight is no longer everywhere at once.
Louise.
Brick.
Exodus.
You didnāt lose because you werenāt loved.
You were loved fiercelyāright to the end.
And that is what it means to be a true stockman.
Sometimesā¦ the support we need isnāt just āI need help, whatās the dose forā¦ sometimes itās knowing that we arenāt alone and this is a place where we can gather to support the ups and downs. I just feel like someone here needs to hear this today and know- thereās tough years and youāre not alone. You did the best you knew how, youāll do better next time, and still getting that lump in your throat when you read a story like this and that one face comes vivid in your mind- doesnāt make you weak š
*copied from a goat emergency page because itās too good to not share. I know this all too well*
