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I have just now come in from putting Bill to bed. I filled bird feeders and raked away Cricket’s mess. Bill’s now crying in the barn for me to come back. He’s scared and lonely. I feel like I have done something terribly wrong and that I should go back up there and sleep with him in the barn so he’s not alone.

It’s been the first twenty-four hours without Cricket. To some, this may sound obcessive and strange, but one day, you’ll have to let go of your baby and watch him walk away from you. You’ll understand.

It’s been a rough day, and I could barely focus on my schoolwork. My mind kept wandering to the Belleville Livesock Market. I just checked the report and it says they had 1 90 lb kid goat that sold for a $140. I am guessing that’s Cricket- he’s not the 170 lb buck they sold for $240.

I still can’t believe I did it. I can’t believe I let him go like that. I thought I would cry and shout. I didn’t. I watched silently, watching my baby be taken from me and go into the unknown. Maybe that’s what adults go through when their kids grow up and leave. I doubt their kids are going to be eaten.

I wish I could just go to sleep right now. But I can’t. I can’t think about anything else. I dreamt last night about me getting seperated from everyone else in an elevator. (I’m afraid of elevators) I got seperated and taken to a floor where there were hundreds of Cricket look-alikes yelling and bleating for me.

My dad told me I was too attached to him, and that blinded me from what he really was. And looking back, I did sheild myself from the fact that Cricket could have easily knocked me over and killed me. I was blinded from the fact that Cricket could have gotten too agressive over food and stabbed Bill in the neck with his horn, killing him. My mother, my father, my sisters, my brother, and I could have been hurt from that goat. That’s why I sold him.

It’s hard to think about when he was a good baby goat- skipping around and nickering, cuddling up to me and Bill at the firepit. He wasn’t the kind of goat that slept on your lap- that was reserved for Bill. Cricket drank his bottle in mere seconds, and taking off to jump around and sleep somewhere hidden.

I’m glad you readers are reading this. It’s hard to talk to my mother about waht has heppened- she just clumps my tiredness with my grandmother’s “My mother was here, and now I need to take a nap” sort of thing. It’s not like that. It’s a weariness that lays on your shoulders like a long black cat with no meow. It’s something that changes you. Something that 4-H kids have grown numb to. I doubt I will ever be numb to it. I’ll always have that distinct feeling of loss after I lose another animal. Wether it be passing on, being sold, or giving away, I will always remember it.

I don’t want to forget Cricket. He’s a lesson learned. I had big dreams and plans for him, but it wasn’t to be. I suppose that’s how it was all planned. It was out of my hands. I remember praying on the trip to the Market and asking God to not let me regret this. I don’t regret it.  I just remember it.

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