24/08/2026
**Our kin.**
Today has been a hard day on the farm. Actually, scratch that...the past week, really.
One of our beautiful alpaca boys, Kwaami, has been very unwell. I found him lying in the paddock early last Wednesday morning, unable to get to his feet. The vet came (thank you, Jana!) that afternoon, medications were given, tests taken, and since then I've been nursing him and hoping that, little by little, he might find his way back.
Sadly, today he has taken a turn for the worse.
We'll give him tonight. And if tomorrow brings no improvement, we will make the heartbreaking decision to let him go peacefully.
I've cried a lot today.
And I've found myself wondering why this has affected me so deeply.
Perhaps this is one of the realities of choosing a life on the land.
We live alongside other beings. We feed them, watch over them and learn their individual ways. We notice who's missing from the paddock. We know who is cheeky, who is gentle, who hangs back and who comes looking for us. Their lives become woven quietly into our own.
And somewhere along the way, "our animals" become something much more.
They are sentient beings.
They experience comfort and fear. Safety and distress. They form relationships. They recognise one another. They recognise us.
They are not simply creatures on the land.
They are lives with whom we share the land.
Our kin.
Perhaps that's why this hurts so much.
Because connection isn't an idea. It's a relationship.
When we allow ourselves to really see another living being — to care for them, to know them, to recognise that their life matters to them just as ours matters to us — we also make ourselves vulnerable to losing them.
That's the bargain, I suppose.
To love this life deeply is to sometimes have your heart broken by it.
Tonight I'll keep checking on our beautiful boy. I'll keep hoping.
And if tomorrow asks something different of us, we'll love him enough to listen to that, too.
For now, dear Kwaami, you are here.
And you are loved. 🤍