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

Even as I rushed Yale to the vet (with our neighbor Bruce driving) I was very realistic about his slim chances. Julia confirmed my fear, pneumonia, full involved, on top of the hypothermia. We tried oxygen, but within 20 minutes it was clear he was brain-dead.

We brought him home, and his little heart finally quit as we were almost back.

I have put him out in the paddock so Boo can have a few hours to realize what has happened to her little Fawn boy. Right now she is just freaked out and distressed. We will bury him later this afternoon, along with Latte, after her Post-Mortem.

I’d really like to know what gods we’ve pissed off, and what we need to do to mollify them. Latte died last night, which was expected, and — in the cock-eyed bizarro world we seem to be living in — fine. We were discussing over breakfast this morning about how it would be good to get back to normal, with just some bottle-feeding and no sick animals to fret over. Then Stephen goes out and finds Yale, Cariboo’s little boy, flat and cold (but alive-ish) in the paddock. It did rain quite a lot last night, but it wasn’t windy and it was actually quite warm. He’s a week old, and strong (or so we thought, anyway), so a bit of rain shouldn’t have been a problem.

Stephen brought him in and put him in a warm bath, and has been on the phone to the vet. I got a call just now that he’s not doing well at all. Stephen’s mostly keeping him going with the respirator, and is waiting for a neighbor to pick them up and take them both to the vet (since Stephen can’t drive and pump the respirator at the same time).

Bloody hell.