Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Abigail is dead. We found her floating in the bathtub this morning.
Once again, I find myself searching for answers.
“I reckon you might try not naming lambs with people names.” Erin endeavors to lighten the moment.
Kent, Erin's fiancée, continues in her efforts, “That’s farmin’. You’ve got livestock and you’ve got ‘deedstock’.” (I quite fancy the Kiwi pronunciation of “dead”.. “deed” sounds more pleasant.)
Out in the grassy field, I recall my checkered fuzzy friend while watching the flock of sheep peacefully graze. The dichotomy of life is manifested: around me, flies buzz yet butterflies flutter; overhead, a loud jet rumbles yet birds chirp; next to me, an unsightly shrub desiccates yet underneath it, a white Primula blossoms; and in the air, a cold wind blows yet through the air, the warm sun shines.
It’s all here, the yin and the yang, the black and the white, the dark and the light, and everything in between. Deedstock through livestock, it is life and in being so, it is perfect.
I pull up my pant leg to examine my wound. The last of the scab falls off. Comparing my two legs, there is smooth skin on the left and a raised scar on the right. I can say with sincerity, I have the perfect set of legs.
Approaching the barn through the back entrance, I step over Bubul, the smallest dog, devouring what remains of a recently slaughtered Easter lamb. Inside, Pasquale is milking sheep while entertaining a lovely French family and their three wide-eyed boys who are staying at the Agritourismo.
Per Pasquale’s sign-language, I quickly shut the door thereby sparing the innocent youth from witnessing the outside gore. Nevertheless, our efforts are fouled! Bubul backs in, wagging his tail and dragging his dinner: four spindly legs attached to a blood stained wooly coat.
Adressing the family, Pasquale is quick, “In the nursery.. new lamb! Born today. Go.”
I don’t know the gender of our latest creation nor what its life will entail, but I do know that it is and will be perfect. So per Erin’s wise suggestion, I’ve named it Perfetto.