s e v e n i s a j o u r n e y

While the trauma was ongoing Sunday, we made arrangements to get out of the house on Monday. An email up to a Llama breeder in New Plymouth (about 4-5 hours north of here in the Taranaki) arranged a visit time for Monday, and after finishing up Sunday night we drove up to Levin, stayed the night, then carried on the next morning. We had never been to the Taranaki before, and it was quite interesting to see the geography/topography. In theory there is a nice big conical volcano in the middle (as seen in The Last Samurai), but with the low clouds it was simply a big hill the faded into the clouds.

As you can probably guess, there was a lot of mental burbling going on under the surface the whole day. Something like this:

Me: “Hey, look at that pretty farm”
Brain: “Dude, you did some pretty messed-up stuff yesterday. You’re gonna hafta deal with it.”
Me: “I’m not listening. la-la-la”
Brain: “Autopsy- pet- think about it.”
Me: “Chris was stock. Not a pet. Stock die. As they say, ‘If you have livestock, you’re gonna have deadstock.’”
Brain: “‘Stock’ you say? Then why did he have a name?”
Me: “Ummm…. he came with one?”
Brain: “And I don’t expect you are supposed to have favorites among stock. Nor want to give them cuddles.”
Me: “Hey, I did what I had to. Like it or not this is a farm.”
Brain: “But you are still going to have to deal with it!”
Me: “La-la-la-FREAKIN!-LA!”

There is some serious mental conflict going on. In our hearts, they are pets. In our heads they are stock. The morning when we found him dead our hearts broke. But by the time the vet arrived (8 hours later) our heads had taken over, and there was a certain weird fascination during the entire autopsy. The head-heart juxtaposition is really, really jarring. I also think we are now in a different mental place, and it is good that you all be aware of this (and we wish we had some more “real-farmer” friends with whom we could discuss this!).

When we first called the vet he suggested we do the autopsy ourselves (knowing I had a bit of bio-med training). That thought was really freaky. But today it is less so. Having assisted once, (plus other stuff getting the body ready for burial) it’s like having crossed a bridge. I regret that I cannot express it more coherently. (Though I have some small understanding why some cultures believe it is very important for family to bury a loved one, not an impersonal funeral home. It brings a very different perspective. Not that a ‘paca is a person, but the general idea is there.)

And now that the sun is up I am heading out to check on Oak and Pointer, to look really clsoely for any clinical signs that they may be having problems. Not, if it is liver damage, that I can do much.