Two days ago, one of the 8 dogs (named Little Guy because he was the youngest, smallest, and skinniest of the bunch) passed away after two plus days of looking/being horribly sick.
I spent my second Sunday on the farm going back and forth from reading Anna Karenina and holding Lil Guy and helping Cindy administer IV injections and shots to try to help him out.
And then for a couple hours he was just groaning, lying under Cindy's bed (I could hear him from the next room over).
After he died at 4 or so in the afternoon, Cindy and I found a piece of soil that wasn't too rocky and dug a grave and buried him with the other 7 dogs just sitting there watching. It was a pretty shitty afternoon and really the worst part was just holding him when I could feel all of his bones because he hadn't eaten anything in days and that feeling of helplessness because there really was not much we could do (no way to diagnose what he had, no vet around, and even if there was one--no money for a vet).
Dunno this is not a real thought out and formulated post, but I thought I should post in his memory both because even though I only knew him for a week he was really cute and I guess it was definitely an isolated on a farm type of experience...