Due to a very sad and untimely death, a farm was in need of quick divesting of animals yesterday. I went with my friend, the unofficial executor of these animals, to help catch goats and roosters, to help consider what might happen to the pigs and dogs, and to quietly check out the farm. We might end up making an offer on the property, which could help the surviving family (all of whom are not farmers and live in Washington State) while placing my family on the farm we clearly need.

My friend is really sad. She's just lost her friend. And she takes her obligation to help these animals very seriously. She's also a mother of four little ones, running her own farm, and working as an EMT. This woman is dedicated, awesomely hard working, and serious about helping out her friend, even in death. 

Off to the farm we drove. We had dog crates for transporting the goats to a new home, prearranged at a farm the goat's owners had already vetted. We kicked around ideas for where to place the roosters. No one wants roosters. And what to do with very old (too old to eat) house-pigs? We corralled, cajoled, and eventually caught these frightened goats while pigs dodged through our legs. We did this while it was sleeting. At the home of people in mourning. We were pretty serious about the whole situation, and thank goodness we had an 11 year old along. She was completely invaluable every step of the way. She was seriously impressive at catching roosters humanely. And she can't weigh more than 90 pounds. Honestly, I was intimidated by the idea of grabbing roosters, myself. Farm children are awesome! This one child, especially so. 

It was the child who suggested a couple of cardboard boxes for transporting the roosters. But they didn't look quite sturdy enough to my (rooster phobic?) eyes. To be fair, whether in mourning or not, no one wants a one to one ratio of roosters flying around the cab of a pickup truck in motion. Good barns seem to magically provide what's needed for most situations, if one is willing to think creatively or look around hard enough. I found a plastic tub from Walmart, perfect in size for three roosters. It only took my friend a few more minutes to find a suitable lid. In fact, that lid fit PERFECTLY. More perfectly than those kinds of plastic lids usually fit. Such luck on a rather dreary day. 

We were just about to start catching roosters, just finishing up with the goats, when another truck arrived. An elderly couple got out and inquired where we were taking the goats. My friend, the executor and Resident Angel, patiently explained that the goats had a new home. And that she herself was in no way profiting from these goats. But somehow this couple could not hear her message. They seemed to be under the confused notion that the goats were somehow negotiable. Though they were absolutely cogent about the value of the goats, which is considerable. They seemed to feel it was appropriate to stand in the driveway of a family in mourning to discuss the issue at great length. With a woman who was, herself, in mourning for her friend. It was astoundingly tacky. Tacky being the nicest word to describe the situation. 

I tried my best to rescue my friend and shoo away these folks by asking if they, who were very clearly not going to be leaving with new goats, might be interested in taking home some pigs. That made them laugh. Levity is good, but they still weren't leaving. So I tried again. "If you would like to help out (and why else could you possibly still be here, I thought to myself?) Might you consider at least taking a rooster?" No dice. They didn't want roosters anymore than they wanted pigs. Any more than, apparently, they were interested in actually helping this poor family or these animals. 

But finally they left. We, with the help of the awesome 11 year old girl, caught the three roosters. Because we were attending to the important details and very thorough, we remembered to also bag up some grain for the goats. So they could slowly transition their rumens to new food at a new home. We stashed the roosters in the truck with the grain bag on the lid to keep them safe. And we turned our attention to the dogs in kennels. 

Farm dogs are the easiest creatures to consider and to place. These dogs were clearly a bit confused about the change in routine on the farm, the disappearance of the farmer, and who all the new folks were. But they were grateful for attention and truth be told, we took a moment to rest with them. We took comfort in their warm soft eyes which offered only willingness to help and to love. We reviewed their options and plans for their care. We warmed our hands and hearts. Then we finished up, said goodbye to the family, and drove away.

About 10 slow careful goat-hauling miles down the highway someone, probably the 11 year old, wondered how the roosters were doing and decided we should check. Dear child popped the lid (which wasn't easy with 20 pounds of grain on top) and looked in. She said, "Oh, his comb is blue." 

In our defense, at this point the adults may have been a bit numb. Or some amount of denial was in play. And anyway, where could we open a case full of roosters---in the truck cab, on the side of a highway? Neither I nor my friend suggested we stop and open the lid. We offered bungy cords to help prop the lid open a crack. The sensible child used her fingers instead. How she held that thing open the last 10 slow careful miles, it only now occurs to me to wonder. It was heavy and her hands are small! But she's a farm kid and she managed what needed managing without complaining. Because she's awesome like that. The fact her fingers never got pecked might cause some to wonder. 

We stopped at their farm so I could pick up my car and get back to my own kids, who were home alone. We opened the case for the roosters, to set them free, only to find one survivor. But Angel/executor and her marvelous dear child still had to deliver the goats to their new home. I hugged my friend in the rain, feeling kind of sick about the roosters, and we went our separate ways. Me, to find new and equally serious kinds of chaos happening at my own house. 

By four that afternoon I wasn't numb at all and I was at my wits end. I went back to my friend's house (ahhhh proximity is a gorgeous thing) and we took a moment to review the day together over a nice stiff couple of drinks. We spoke of loss. We spoke of how wrong folks who think they are right can be. We spoke of who you can save and who you can't. In the end we had to admit, sometimes despite all best efforts, the rooster is just going to die. And right or wrong, we laughed our asses off. It was way too late for tears. And sometimes the simple comfort of getting through difficult situations with a good friend reminds us of Grace even in the face of everything wrong.