Life in the country: When pets die

Just to prove that this blog is not only about alpacas, today I'm going to talk about spiders.

You see, this week we had our first pet funeral, for Bradley's beloved garden spider.

The poor boy was devastated. He had only just connected with the spider, when he found it curled up in a ball, totally unresponsive.

And so we named the spider Long Legs; laid his little body on a soft tissue in a matchbox, and buried him in the ground.

Bradley said some beautiful words about how much this little guy had come to mean to him over the course of the last 6 hours. And we said our goodbyes.

It was an emotional evening, but Bradley was terribly mature about it all, and agreed that while he was sad, he believed he had done the right thing.

***

Being an inquisitive child, of course it wasn't long at all before he was ready to dig up Long Legs for a look.

So he did.

And Long Legs MOVED!

As much as I would like to blame this turn of events on the Spider Zombie Apocolypse, it seems I was simply a little hasty in declaring a time of death. 

My bad.

Although to be fair, according to my very clever friend,  apparently spiders shed their outer bits, and when they do, they curl up in a little ball. Just like they are dead.

I probably should have known this. Living in the country, and all.

Meet Mike

While Bradley does share a middle name with his Opa, I had never been all that fussed about the idea of passing on a name through the generations.

However since my parents died, I must admit to appreciating the significance a little bit more.

Nevertheless, time wearies our ovaries, and being on the other side of 40 years old, I had pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I would probably never name a child after my ancestors.

Then it  happened.

But not in the way I thought it would.

Because yesterday, you see, the boys decided they wanted to name our newest Cria (baby Alpaca) after my Dad.

Now, lest you see this as irreverent or disrespectful, I should probably tell you a little bit about my Dad. 

He had a great sense of humour, and a natural sense of wonder that would have made him very interested in these funny little creatures who have entered our life.

Alpacas even remind me a bit of him. Spindly legs, curious eyes, and a cheeky demeanour that makes you laugh out loud, even whilst it is driving you crazy.

Of course, there are also many differences. My Dad never spat on my husband like our Alpacas have. 

(Although to be fair, My husband never held my Dad down to have him shorn, so it may not be a fair comparison.)

On reflection, I don't think Dad would mind at all. In fact, I think he would be quite chuffed to know that his memory lives on in this little guy.

And so without further ado, I introduce you to Mike.

I think you'll like him.

I wondered wether or not to mention this ...

Choosing a topic for a first blog post is hard.

You're setting the tone for what's to come.

You want to get it right.

And so you dwell on it.

Play around with ideas in your head to get a feel for them. Let them flow onto paper to see how they flow. Type them on the computer to see how they look.

But eventually you just need to bite the bullet and write about something.

And today that something is castration.

Alpaca castration, to be precise. Or 'wethering', as it's apparently known in the business.

You see, today we found Black Beauty (who's a bit of a stud) tring to mount Zeke (the horny teenager), while Zeke was mounting Milo (the new Mum), and Baby Treasure was running around trying to join in the fun.

stacks on Milo!

Clearly something has to give.

Sorry Zeke. But you're going to be joining the Laydee Paddock. Sans your bits.

And that, my dear readers, is just another day at Kootenay Gardens.