In case I needed a reminder after my gushy The Desert is Alive post on The Birdwatchers
Notebook yesterday, the Lady provided me with one.

The hubby and I strolled out to the portable pen we use for the goats when we want them
to graze a specific area down. We were discussing whether we could make it sufficiently
secure for the chickens to have a day out to play while I clean their brooder tomorrow.
Although there is a very small trough, really a large bucket, in the pen, we don't check it
or fill it unless we are actually putting the goats in the pen for the day.

It is a sad truth that every now and then – maybe a couple times a month – one of the
small desert denizens drowns in one of our water troughs. Usually a kangaroo rat, a
grasshopper mouse, sometimes one of the big black rats I think are Norwegian rats.
Nevertheless, each little death saddens me terribly.

If you know me well, you know that at one time I raised fancy mice for pets, as well as
keeping exotic mice (some donated by well meaning pet stores that discovered
themselves unable to provide for an exotic properly). I know that they each have their
own little personalities, likes, dislikes, and friends and loved ones.

In an effort to prevent this, each trough now has a board or a couple of yucca sticks inside
so that hopefully any small animal that has inadvertently fallen in will be able to swim to
a dry surface, pull themselves out and make it out of the trough. They also make it
possible for birds to perch and drink from the troughs.

However, we had made no such provision for the bucket in the portable pen. A young
Black tailed Jack had fallen in, and drowned. Now the bucket was near empty from
evaporation and the poor Jack was not pleasant to see.

With heavy hearts, we decided to take him out into the desert and leave him unburied.
The ravens, vultures, coyotes, wildcat, and/or insects will find him soon and return his
flesh to the desert as is proper. Saddened, we returned to the house and sat in the front
room, each with our own thoughts.

The goats stared in the door – their way to remind me it was time for their feed and to be
locked up safe and sound for the night. I scooped up their feed, and in a separate bowl,
extra to leave for the rabbits and hares that eat and live down around the goat and mule
pens. We have even set up a small water bowl for them down there, shallow and on the
ground, with a big rock in the center so all can drink safely. I meant to make an offering
in apology.

On our way down, a Jack loped slowly out in front of me, stopped, looked at me a
moment. I stopped and looked back, and spoke softly to him, promising to leave him a
bit of dinner after I got the goats put up (or they'll eat it!). He looked at me with those
big, soft eyes, and seemed to say it was okay. Then slowly, showing that he had no real
fear of us, he loped away.

I fed the goats and closed them up and then headed to the first place that I often leave a
bit of food for the bunnies. A rustling in the bushes alerted me to an occupant. I looked
for him as I tossed a handful of pellets into the brush. The rabbit dragged himself out to a
clear space.

Yes, dragged. His back is broken. It can't be an old injury – he still seems in good flesh.
There is no obvious wound. My first thought was he was hit by a car and managed to
drag himself away – but it would be a very long way from the road to the goat pen. I
don't know what happened to him. But he has surely met with a misfortune that will
eventually be the death of him. Although he is managing to drag himself about now – the
back half of him is clearly lifeless. Sooner or later he will die – of infection, or starvation
if the paralysis affects his internal organs, or he will fall easy prey to the first coyote or
hawk who sees him.

I squatted near him, trying not to upset him while I decided what to do. I watched him a
bit, thinking at first if it was only a broken leg we could perhaps manage to nurse him
back to health. On further observation, his injury is such that he is going to die – it is
only a matter of time. I considered that perhaps it would be more merciful of me to do
him in with a single blow. The long, heavy walking stick I carry in case of snakes or
coyotes was in my hand. I feared that I might not kill him with the first blow – only hurt
him worse. I couldn't bear that. Had we a gun, I would probably have shot him, though.
I considered bringing him a dish of water, and I did leave him some pellets to eat. Even
that is a quandary – am I doing him a favor by possibly prolonging his suffering?

I left him with blessings, and a few pellets. Left a few more where I had seen the Jack.
A few more near their water bowl. When I returned to the house, I told James about the
rabbit. He frowned and sighed.

As a dear friend once said, "It is difficult to live a moral life".

We stepped outside later to do a few chores and saw a Jack at the little mud puddle we
hope to turn into a small reflection & meditation pond. He was looking for water – but
we haven't filled it yet today. The pond is small, shallow, and has a large hump left in
the middle with some big rocks. The intention, all along, was for it to also serve as a
little oasis of water for wildlife. Already, I have seen tracks beside it – cloven hooves,
too large for Pronghorn or my goats – I think it may have been mule deer or the Oryx.

It seemed to me that the Jack was reminding us that, although we do some damage –
despite our best intentions – we have also made a positive contribution to this little patch
of the world. And that really is my goal in life – to leave the world a little better place
than it was when we found it. What more could I ask?

We filled up the pond. And decided that instead of lining it with a tarp to finish it, we
would go "all the way" and line it with cement. You see, the place is for sale. It is most
likely going to go to some investor who will chop it up, put houses on it, and sell them as
little "ranchettes" "just ten miles from Spaceport America!" Possibly every thing we do
here is going to be bulldozed into oblivion by next year. We figured we'd just pick up
our tarp and rocks and take them with us when we go.

But maybe, just maybe somehow all or part of this land will go to someone who cares.
Who will leave our little cement pond – enjoy it's reflections of the sky and the wildlife
who come to drink at it…

Blessedbe