a gentle place

Posted By Harry on October 3, 2010

Today’s been a beautiful day.  There’ve been more tears than there were raindrops that caused the recent almost-flood, but there’s also been calmness and a gentle joy. Plato was as large and courageous and guiding in dying as he was in living, and right now, in the words of a close friend, he has “flights of angels signing him to his rest” … and helping him find Ginger, Babs, Bunty, Mac and all his other earlier departed friends.

On Friday Plato, Chelsea and I finally finished off our pad, the study, by tiling the hearth. I didn’t write last night’s post there as I didn’t want him to expend the energy following me in there. And today I again write this from the lounge as I can’t yet imagine being in there and writing without him physically by my side. But I write this so that we (Plato and I) can tell you how beautiful the departure of a best mate can be.

For those of you who read last night’s post you’ll know that from yesterday morning, confirmed by a final trip to the beach, Plato deteriorated too rapidly for us to have days to weeks of a Plato Fest. Last night he summonsed enough energy to come to the shed at feed-time, where he lay in the middle of the shelter area and said good-bye to all his mates. Then despite further repeated collapses and needing help to get up he ate dinner heartily, and managed to take himself out for toilet breaks two to three times through the night. This was enough for me to turn to Sue, as we awoke at 6 this morning to prepare for the day, and say, “I know the timing is right but I can’t help but keep questioning it.” From there Plato, and his alliance with matters Universal, took over …

At 8, after breakfast and still with an hour to go before Jim (the vet) arrived, I went out to see and feed the family while Sue cooked breakfast for Plato and Chelsea. The plan was then for me to spend some time with Plato down by the river, another favourite spot of his but, unlike the hill, just in front of the cottage. Just as I started handing out hay Jim arrived. Explaining the need to spend 10 minutes with Plato down by the river I headed down there with Plato. But a few paces from the kitchen door he collapsed. I lifted him up and back onto his legs but he couldn’t stand on his own. I carried him to the river.

Plato grew up bouncing through the streams and rivulets of Table Mountain in Cape Town. Chelsea having joined us, we chatted about that. And about Sue coming into our lives. And about Perth. And Avondale. His eyes then began to lose their light, his breathing became heavier and raspy, and he asked  - as clearly as any human could – if we could head back to Sue and Jim as “the time has come”. I carried him into the lounge where again he initially couldn’t stand. After a little help he took two to three paces to his favourite spot on the side of the coach and lay with his front legs out towards where Jim was waiting to find that terminal vein.

Plato had timed this all perfectly. Regardless of Jim and that green syringe that let him drift off into those most peaceful of sleeps, Plato would never have been able to get up from there. It wasn’t Jim that had got the timing wrong, it was Sue and I; daylight savings had started today.

Sue, through her veil of grief, somehow knew what to do for the rest of the day. She fetched a gloriously rich gold and orange bangladeshi sari and together we lay him on that with his softest mat underneath. He would lay “in state” until Avondale was ready. We then sat with him, lay with him, cried with him, together and alone. And watched amazed as Rocky brought the entire chook flock past the open lounge doors to pay their respects.

Rocky brings his flock to see Plato

Now call me insane and tell me I’m a fool for thinking they were on more than just a mid-morning stroll. But I’ll tell you that in all the years we’ve been here they’ve never collectively been on the deck. And Rocky never has. After filing past one chook remained: Molly. One of only 2 remaining Isa Browns left at Avondale, Molly is the only survivor of the last group of ex-battery hens. She was the sickest and weakest of the 4 and Plato, in true Plato-style, had once again looked after them all until they were well enough not to need his constant protection. That was 3 or 4 years ago.

Molly came just inside the door and stood there quietly at first. She then let out a sound that we’d never heard before. And again. And again. She continued these mournful wails for about 5 minutes, sat down quietly for another 5, and then slowly left. Fifteen minutes later Maisy, Avondale’s other Isa Brown, returned to see Plato. None of the chooks born at Avondale came to spend time alone with Plato. Just ex-battery Molly and Maisy.

Molly spending time alone with Plato

We buried Plato on a small hill down by the river where we can see each other all the time. I wanted a King Protea (native to South Africa’s birthplace, Cape Town, and very regal ) but the nursery was sold out. “But we have a magnificent Little Prince protea instead …”. We carried Plato down to the river and Sue, Chelsea and I toasted him with a champagne picnic (another one of his favourites and no, Chelsea drank river water only!). Resting on the sari, with daffodils, jonquils and a host of native flowers from each of Avondale’s animals, a crystal from Assisi and Chelsea’s well-worn name tag, we buried him with the Little Prince shading his head, and a small Bhudda statue looking over and after him. And just as we were about to leave Maisy and Molly left the chooks who were all up by the cottage and came down to be with him … staying long after we left.

Plato's special place

Right now it all feels quite empty and I still wish Plato were here lying beside me. But he’s had an enormous life, and a death so beautiful I hope that one day I can be so lucky.

Rest well, be well, fly well our beautiful Prince. You’ll always be with us.

Categories: Animals & us
Tags: Chickens, Death, Dogs, Family, Life, Love