The rat is dead. No, I didn’t see it, but it’s dead. That nasty rat, the one I gripped about, dreaded seeing, hated. I am glad it’s gone, but when I went to the milk parlor, it’s babies, with eyes still shut, were searching for her all over the floor. I was so sad for them I contemplated trying to raise them! I couldn’t, there really wasn’t any hope they would survive and to prolong it would be cruel, but it hurt to do what had to be done. Death is part of life, but I hate killing the young.
Finding the rat babies was preceded by saying good-bye to two goat kids I had thought to keep and poured my heart into. It was the right decision, I am on a farm of sorts, but it was still hard. They went to a home where they will be pets and loved on, I just found it painful to say good-bye. Followed by the rats, I cried myself to sleep, and am still a bit sad this morning. Abigail cried for her friends (they were the three musketeers, always together), but we will all adjust. I am really glad Lotus and Irish have each other at their new home. It will help them be happy.