Every morning for the past 45 days, I woke up and warmed water for Tommy’s bottle. As the water warmed, I poured myself a cup of coffee. After mixing the bottle with formula, I’d walk outside with a mug in one hand and a bottle in the other and shout, “Tommy!” I’d laugh as he’d “Baa!” in response and come running toward me at a gallop.
He’d chug his bottle, wagging his tail the whole time, and then nuzzle against me. Most often, I’d scoop him up and carry him to the back porch swing where he loved to be rocked to sleep for a morning nap. Dave would refill my coffee while Tommy slept in my arms (Dave, being the earliest riser, would have let Tommy out of his makeshift kennel bed to graze in the yard earlier). When he woke, or when it was time for me to begin getting ready for the day, I’d set him down in the backyard near his favorite: the clovers. He’d look up, give me a “baa!” goodbye and happily begin grazing in the vast green and white speckled clover patch.
As the day went on, the kids would run outside to play with Tommy and, if I was working, to feed him his bottles. When they swam in the pool, he always jumped in trying to get to them. When he was hungry for another bottle, he would come to the door and call out “Baaaaaaa!” and we would scramble to get one prepared. When he was tired, there were always plenty of open arms ready to hold him as he slept. His favorite thing was to tuck his head under your chin and fall asleep; I think it made him feel safe.
He weathered a tornado, rode in a boat, attended carline at school, went to church with us and made friends with our pups and in particular, our cat, Ellie. She was endlessly curious about this new creature.
He became very ill a few weeks ago and was temporarily blind. His joyful demeanor never wavered. Our vet was amazing and we quickly administered treatments that, over the course of time, seemed to work. The vet attributed the illness to a weakened immune system. Tommy’s first three weeks of life weren’t spent on our farm, he was with his sheep momma who simply couldn’t provide him with enough milk and nutrition to thrive. When our neighbor, Mr. Tommy, told us about his sick little lamb, we didn’t hesitate taking him in and caring for him. We never considered that love, nutrition and medical attention wouldn’t be enough.
Devastatingly, it wasn’t enough. We very unexpectedly lost our little guy yesterday. He was just too sick and there was nothing more we could do.
Our compassionate vet allowed us plenty of time to say goodbye. We held him and cried. We prayed over him and one another. We waited for Dave and Sylvie to arrive from basketball and then cried some more. Telling my babies that this little creature whom they had cared for so very well wasn’t going to be with us anymore was one of the hardest things I’ve done in a long time. My heart ripped in two when they begged me to try something else to save him. I was silently begging God for the same thing.
In the end, it was peaceful. Our precious vet prayed over us and we held him as he fell asleep. We buried him under a shady tree by the pool – his favorite spot – and that tree will forever be known as “Tommy’s Tree.”
Farm life is so abundantly beautiful and joyful most days. But, some days, it’s simply brutal. On mornings like today, I want to not love so deeply because it hurts so badly. I know some will say, “he was just a sheep,” but he brought us immense joy and he was so special. I think of the parable and I know for certain that I would leave the 99 for the 1. The one was worth it. He was worth the heartbreak and the sorrow. He was so loved and will be so deeply, deeply missed.
