One Last Kiss for Franklin
Animal Stories from All-Creatures.org
FROM
Kathy Stevens,
Catskill Animal Sanctuary
November 2015
Summoning the courage to say goodbye to those we love mightily when
their quality of life is gone is our final act of love. So, in a quiet
moment, our farm manager tiptoed in and whispered my last, private words to
him. Franklin died peacefully, enveloped in love. That is how we do it.
All I wanted to do was give him one last kiss. But I couldn’t.
Franklin was in pain and the only way to manage that pain until I could
return to say goodbye would have been to give him a heavy narcotic. That is
NOT how we manage end of life care at Catskill Animal Sanctuary.
Franklin weighed four pounds and was only a few weeks old when he arrived
in the winter of 2006. He likely would have had his skull bashed in by the
pork producers he was rescued from simply because he was the runt of his
litter. He would have grown too slowly to be profitable for them. Better to
crush his skull, or let him languish in a pile of dying babies. That is the
industry’s way. But luckily for Franklin, a kind neighbor intervened, and
brought him to us in a shoebox lined with hay.
Franklin through the years: as a baby when we first met him and the adult he
grew into.
I will never forget the first moment I held Franklin in my arms. How tiny he
was! Just the size of a large sweet potato. How he hated being held. And how
desperately he wanted to nurse. With his cool snout, he poked and prodded
every inch of every human who allowed him to do so. If he just kept
prodding, surely he would find a nipple that would feed him as his mom had,
all too briefly. Instead of his mom’s milk, though, Franklin drank from a
bottle every few hours, around-the-clock. And he slept in bed — my bed – for
those first weeks. Both my partner David and my dog Murphy should have been
canonized for their patience during those sleepless nights when little
Franklin rooted and snuggled and poked and pushed with his hooves. Though
tiny, they still hurt like hell. David and I showed off the tiny bruises,
loved our little man, and were grateful when a few trusted friends took him
for sleepovers. Murphy would sigh but came to love his new brother.
Franklin was not the easiest pig to love. He was moody, high-strung, and bit
more than a few of us when he was cranky. But love is love, and Franklin had
my heart from the moment we met, through his summer at “animal camp”
(documented in my book
Animal Camp: Reflections on a Decade of Love, Hope and Veganism at Catskill
Animal Sanctuary,) and into his old age. Suffering
from cancer, he still uttered his soft, high-pitched “I love you” sound
whenever I lay down next to him.
We managed Franklin’s symptoms effectively for two full years. But when his
appetite diminished and his trips outside to enjoy the sun became the
exception rather than the rule, we suspected it was time to let him go. “Dr.
Dave,” a wonderful vet from Hurley Veterinary Hospital, confirmed what we
knew. Franklin was in pain.
All I wanted was to kiss that wet snout one more time. But I was away, and
an animal’s last moments can never be about us. To allow him to suffer for a
full day until I could return to say goodbye would have flown in the face of
all that we believe. Summoning the courage to say goodbye to those we love
mightily when their quality of life is gone is our final act of love. So, in
a quiet moment, our farm manager tiptoed in and whispered my last, private
words to him. Franklin died peacefully, enveloped in love. That is how we do
it.
Franklin and Kathy
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