May. 15, 2003 ~ It's been awhile
It's been a week I'd just as soon forget, or better yet, do over.
A dear friend's brother died, under circumstances which were exceptionally sad, leaving unanswered questions for those who love him. They have regrets and "if onlys" and are having an awfully tough time.
Another friend, also very dear to me, has gotten a not-so-great medical diagnosis, and will soon learn the particulars of how it's going to affect her life.
We have a three-day-old calf who is not doing so great. Last year his mama, Sohpie, gave birth to Doofus, who also had problems. In this case, the new baby doesn't seem able to nurse, and he also doesn't want to take a bottle. He is alive, I think, because he goes down to the pond and drinks water. I watched him do it. But he's thin and seems weak. This means we're going to have to pen mama and baby tonight when I get home from work, and Husband will have to milk the cow a bit, in an effort to get her teats small enough that the calf can nurse them. This is not an easy task, believe me. Beef cattle do not like to be milked, or handled much at all, and I can tell you right now, one way or another, Sophie is on her way out. She is destined for the auction, as of today. This is always sad, when we've raised a calf into adulthood, and then we have to sell her. But she's as good as gone, she just doesn't know it yet. I put the herd in the hay meadow this morning, but Sophie and her calf had to stay in the front pasture, where the pond is. She was not happy about being apart from the herd, but they needed to change pastures, and her calf needs access to water. I hope he makes it till tonight... when Husband gets home, and then I just hope he makes it. We've had this happen before, with another calf, and he eventually did okay. Had to sell his mama, though.
Last night I wrote two pages of nothing to Soldier Boy. No kidding. Talked about the weather, Sophie's calf, College Boy's finals... well, I guess it wasn't exactly "nothing," it just didn't seem like much at the time. But if he reads between the lines, he'll see these words, "Even though I don't always have much if anything to say, Son, I want you to have mail. When mail call comes, I want there to be something there for you, as often as possible. And one thing is constant, we love you and miss you." I suspect he knows that.
I almost always end every letter to him the same way. After the motherly words and the love yous and miss yous, "Watch out for scorpions, snakes, varmints, and BAD GUYS, not necessarily in that order."
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