We named her April

While her situation was grim as she lay in a ditch by the side of the road, the smell that emanated from her emaciated form exuded an even more sinister foreboding. And one we are sure would have made good its promise had kindness in the serendipitous form of biker riders not found her. Yet she feebly tried to flee none the less.

For to her, her saviours were just another to see her as a commodity.

A being who was there for their taking. Piece by piece. The taking of her fleece. The taking of her babies. And when all that was done. The taking of her life. Little wonder then we were not to court her trust.

Not just yet anyway.

Wrestling the can of flystrike spray from our pocket least we scare her more, we set it work and prayed it would live up to the boast of its label. With its blue streaks linking as one and covering her rump and entire midsection on both sides of her body, her ribs looked as if they were attempting to burst through her paper-thin skin. One wrong move on our part and we felt they surely would.

Thankfully though the flystrike spray came good its charter, as thousands, and we mean literally thousands of maggots were served their eviction notice. Emanating from hollows they had burrowed deep into her putrid flesh; their grotesque and fat little bodies fell to a ground with a plop. Plop. Plop. One after the menacing other.

So too then did the gentle ewe. Eased down by our guiding arms she came to rest in a bed of golden straw. And as she looked deeply into our eyes and smelt warmly our nose, the recess of our heart found a place for her too. A special place that is reserved for the forgotten ones such as she.

With such a terrible wrong to befall her so unjustly, we so desperately wanted to make things right.

A body well healed and pain-free. A soul filled with joy. We told her of the delicious and nutritious fare we would send to quell the hunger that had long raged in her then worm riddled belly, and of sweet-smelling hay that would delight her senses as would the buddies she would soon run free with.

And we told her about April.

A most picturesque month here in the Macedon Ranges. A time of year when the searing heat of summer that was currently suffocating the life out of us all would be long gone. A time when the temperatures are pleasantly mild, never plunging to the frosts and chills of winter. When the leaves fall from magnificent trees, stripping them to their bare bones. And although skeletal and lifeless they may look, we know they are set to renew, bigger, better, and stronger than before. Because in their vulnerability to let go of their past, knowing it serves them no more, those stoic trees are resilient beyond measure. Reminding us all that all things have the power to change and resurrect from their darkest and most bleak chapter.

And as those words fell from our lips, we knew we had but one thing more to do. We named our new friend, April, trusting she shall see many more.