Does the herd know that Lucy is gone? Do they miss her? For several days after my old girl died the herd was edgy, breaking off into skirmishes, and breakfast and nighttime routines were completely disrupted. Yesterday we were back to normal. Esther, one of Lucy's triplets, appears to be taking on the mantle of queen, albeit reluctantly. When fighting breaks out, she waits a bit before leaving her snack and then ambling over to act as referee or stop it altogether if the combatants are getting out of hand. She's going to be a benevolent monarch.
Animals obviously have long-term memory. Nineteen was so happy to have Tessie home from sex camp after a month away. There are still phrases I can't say in front of Bessie Anne because she, after all this time, will still look to the door for Steve to come in. I think, however, that animals have the ability to accept what fate delivers. They live in the now. When the kids are removed from the does, the mother will call and hunt for a few days, and then go on about her life. I learn from the animals as much or more as I teach them. Living in the now, accepting that "it is what it is," is a lesson worth learning.
April is such a schizoid month, and yesterday was a prime example. The sun came up, shiny and bright. As soon as I got down to the barn, the skies opened up and poured rain for a couple of hours. Later on, it was sunny and hailing at the same time. Go figure. It's April.
Picture this. Mrs. Tittlemouse stands in the doorway as Mr. Tittlemouse staggers up the path. "You're late! And you've been drinking again, Mister!" "I assshure you, Madam, I have (hic) not. I just stopped off at the puddle for a tiny nip with the boys (burp)." Truth will out. I've always felt sorry for sea otters because, during mating, the male grabs onto the female's nose, leaving it red and sore. There's no way that girl could go home and tell her father she'd just been to the movies with her girlfriends. I know...too much thinking time.