The Black Trailer

Boomer's time is drawing to a close. Tomorrow is his last show and place or not, he will move one step closer to meeting his destiny, which, in starkest terms, is someone's Easter lamb.
My son has tried everything to save his lamb but has come to the realization, however bitter, that a market lamb was purchased, rather than an animal rescue project.
He has worked hard, my son, giving up many camp-outs and other activities to take care of his lamb. He has spent many hours at the barn, cleaning (and re-cleaning) the pen, putting wood chips down (and down again) to give his lamb a warm bed. He has fed him twice a day (four around show time) and walked and run him many hours. He knows his lambs voice from all the others in the barn. The lamb, unlike other kid's animals, will follow him and when he runs, his lamb will run after him.
Boomer (because of his voice and the fact that he came from OK- heaven forgive me) will be leaving soon and my son is wrestling with the eventuality. It already hurts and it will only hurt more. He is being brave and he is learning life's lessons: of agriculture, and markets; of love, of commitment, loss and sacrifice. And he is learning, already, to start again, for in June, there will be another lamb (and possibly a goat) and he has already picked out their names: Calvin and Hobbes.
Some say that because of the love of some pet owners for their pets and vice versa, there may be cats and dogs in heaven, that a certain type of "ensoulment" occurs because of the symbiotic relationship between pet and owner here on earth. I know I've probably misspoke about the details of the theory but I do know that if there is anything to the idea at all, there will be at least one lamb to greet my son when that day comes.

Catching Up

I've just spent the last week and a half in Sheffield, Tx. Actually, I stayed in Ozona, Tx since there are no hotels, or much of anything else, in Sheffield, Tx. I spent that time with at risk teenagers. It was a long week.

I am reading "The Lost City of Z" and Poetry Journal.

My son is furious that a new chapter of the Gay-Straight Alliance has started up at his school. Furious because though he has friends who describe themselves as "Gay" or "Bi" he rightfully recognizes that having such a group in school is wrong and out of place but also that the premise for the formation of such a group i.e. "safety" is a sham. He is having conversations with both students and faculty and he is learning the limits of tolerance (of his conservative views.)

I received my C-PAP machine today, one of many tools I now have to help me sleep at night. The medicine prescribed by my doctor to help me stay awake during the day (I've heard rumors that some people don't take naps) has been denied by my insurance- Tricare. This is the second time in my life (with this medicine) that my government run healthcare has decided that my doctor doesn't know what he's talking about.

My son is preparing his lamb for his last big hurrah. He will be showing his lamb at the Star of Texas Livestock Show. Regardless of how he does, his lamb will be leaving in the "black trailer." Meanwhile, four times a day feeding has begun.

I'll be speaking to some of these more in detail in the coming days. In the meantime, I'll leave you with this poem by Yeats, courtesy of the "Poetry Friday" feature at Karen Edmisten's blog:

WHEN YOU ARE OLD

BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.