I loved you your whole life. I’ll miss you the rest of mine. — Unknown

Not the least hard thing to bear when they go from us, these quiet friends, is they carry away with them so many years of our own lives. — John Galsworthy, English novelist and playwright (1867-1933)

Just as I sat down and logged on to my laptop, Wilhelmina jumped to the arm of the chair and climbed over onto my lap. She made a few turns then settled in. Wilhelmina has never been a lap kitty though she would occasionally squeeze in between me and the arm of the chair. I’m not sure if her unusual closeness was for her or for me. The last few days had been a little hard on both of us.

In the past the Prairie house hosted a menagerie of animals. There were two cats, Jack and Jane. We had family who visited with their dogs, Frank and Falkner. There were six Pekin ducks swimming on the lake. Sam built a floating dock for duck safety. It was not uncommon to find a duck egg nestled on the duck dock, behind a tree, or out in the field in broad daylight.

A neighbor once found baby rabbits in her barn. She suspected the rabbits were the progeny of abandoned Easter rabbits. We took in two of them, Hatcher, and Rex. Later we would be gifted two more rabbits, Toby and Romeo. The pond inside the perennial garden housed up to eight fantail goldfish. Their fins fluttered like angel wings.

The hard part of having such a menagerie is taking care of and meeting the needs of all these precious animals. The harder part is losing them. Jack and Jane passed away at a ripe old age. Even so it leaves the heart a bit broken. Those cats would be followed by rescue kittens who had been barely weaned. Siblings Harry and Wilhelmina stole my heart as did all the animals, each with their own personalities and preferred ways.

One by one the Pekin ducks started to disappear. The Prairie has a lot of predators. Though we tried to protect them with the dock it would prove not to be enough. I missed my daily walk to the lake to feed the ducks. It was always just before sunset. Hilda and Helen would be the last to go.

One day Toby escaped his pen and ran into the woods. A few years later Sam and I looked out the window where a group of rabbits ran through the yard. I stepped outside when one rabbit broke from the group and ran right to me. Sam said if I hadn’t screamed Toby, Toby, over and over he might have stayed longer. Off he went to join his family. Sweet Rex would be the next to go. Then Harry, my scaredy cat, would vanish without a trace or explanation.

After having had the goldfish pond for fifteen years they were attacked by raccoons. Two survived. Not to be outdone, I immediately purchased more goldfish and set out raccoon traps.

Hatcher, my last rabbit, left us last week. It was a peaceful passing; the best you could hope for. I think we — Wilhelmina and me — are working through our losses together.

Shannon Bardwell is a writer living quietly in the Prairie. Email reaches her at [email protected].