I can so relate. We had goats until recently, when I rehomed our two wethers to a local couple that already had a small herd. On our place, our barn fence was destroyed by the previous owners, so I was having to tether the goats daily.

Rehoming them just seemed fairer.

The smaller of the two wethers, Hope, originally had a brother, Vortex, who was my little barn buddy. Hope was always afraid of his own shadow, but Vortex was fearless, hilarious, and he adored me. And I adored him.

When the bucklings were just over 3 months old (and yes, I had them wethered early), Semafor slipped his tether, and suddenly here came Semafor and the two bucklings up our driveway, toward the main house. ( I never tethered the babies).

I didn't want them getting into the garden, and I definitely didn't want them eating our grape vines, so I initially tethered him by a small pond at the edge of the woods, which the little ones loved, then decided to take them back down to the barnyard.

It was after I closed the gate that the worst happened. I heard Vortex calling after me, but he always did that, and I kept going.

When I went back down, about three hours later, I knew immediately that something wasn't right, but couldn't immediately see clearly. Then I saw, and my heart broke in half.

Vortex had tried to follow me, and rather than just walking fifty yards away where the fence was knocked down, he decided to go over it near the gate . . . and missed.

His back hoof caught in the top strand of barbed wire, and it held him fast, upside down. He never had a chance.

By the time I got to him, he was already stiff, and cool to the touch, so I'm guessing he died pretty quickly. I sobbed.

And yeah, we're still here, despite nearly eight years of digging graves for beloved pets and farm animals.

It's hard, but in the end, it's worth it all.

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