Rest in Peace - The Hoofprints on Our Hearts
If an animal dies at the Black Sheep, we dig a deep hole at the far edge of the goat paddock, and plant a tree as a memorial. Standing by the grave you can hear the calls of the ducks and the gutteral conversations of sheep and goats. The cadence of sanctuary life, of feeds and cuddles, continues around them. At night there's the dense country darkness. Long grass grows between the saplings, and the goats push their heads through the wire fence to grab sly mouthfuls. When the end comes, we miss the loving, mysterious, sometimes cantankerous creatures who lived with us. Death comes for all of us. Though the pawprints and hoofmarks our friends left on the earth are long since trodden over, they remain imprinted on our hearts. |