Finding His Footing

Roy never got to grow old, nor wander the fields filled with the promises we had made him.

He never even got to turn two.

And although he found his way to sanctuary, he never found the good health we so desperately wished for him, despite every effort to restore it, including a precious gift of blood from Lambini.

Four days.

Four heartbreakingly brief days were all we had together.

Yet they were enough to discover what a remarkable little soul he was. Not simply a scraggy black-and-white Dorper down on his luck, but a beautiful being who, despite all life had failed to give him, somehow still found reason to trust the very kind responsible for his suffering.

There was a cheekiness in Roy’s eyes, eyes that followed our every move and brought us such joy. How deeply we trust that, in those fleeting days, we brought him even half as much.

For those eyes spoke of so much his body could not. Heartbreakingly emaciated, with parasites having robbed his blood of the very cells needed to sustain life, Roy was too weak to stand.

But not too weak to try.

And in that determination, we found the tiniest sliver of optimism.

For this little being of sunshine and spirit possessed an appetite for life far greater than his failing body could contain.

Fresh grass, grated carrots, broccolini and, perhaps most endearingly, human company.

He relished them all.

And oh, how he tried.

Each time we gently lifted him into his supporting sling, those determined little legs would paddle through the air, as though he could already feel the earth beneath them. And when we tested their responses, he pulled away with surprising strength, reminding us that tucked within his frailty, the will to live still burned brightly.

And so did our hope, as we began to imagine his tomorrows.

On his final afternoon, sunshine warmed his frail body as he delighted in mouthfuls of fresh grass. Clover was his particular favourite that day, some gathered by loving hands, some plucked by his own eager lips.

And for a little while, there was no yesterday to haunt him and no tomorrow to worry about.

Just sunshine, sweet clover and the simple pleasure of being alive. We thought it had been a good day. Perhaps the first of many we had dared to dream.

Later, safely settled inside his stall, his little “racing car” keeping him supported and preventing any overly ambitious moves, his carers stepped away for a moment.

“We’ll be back in a minute, Buddy.”

And true to their word, they were.

But Roy was gone.

There is a particular heartbreak in making promises to someone whose tomorrow never comes.

Yet this is sanctuary.

A place where hope and heartbreak somehow learn to breathe together. Where we dare to dream of years, even when we may be granted only days or even hours, and where we open our hearts knowing they may be broken, because the alternative is to leave another beating heart without kindness when it needs it most.

Roy never got to know the life we imagined for him. But he knew four days of gentle hands, newfound admirers, sunshine, sweet clover and the beautiful certainty that he was no longer alone.

And perhaps that is what we must hold on to.

Not that four days were enough.

They never could be.

But that even when we cannot give someone the life they deserve, we can still give them the love they should always have known.

Dear Roy, we are so sorry we could not give you the tomorrows we promised.

But wherever you are now, may you be running through fields without end, a big pink pig charging gloriously beside you and an excited red kelpie leaping for joy.

Please tell them we love and miss them too.

And may you know, dear bright one, that although you were only briefly in our care, you have found a sanctuary in our hearts from which you will never have to leave.