Curtains of dust whirl in the air, the wind almost overwhelms my morning singsong to my old lady. I hear Spirit rustle in the straw preparing to rise up on her knees, or hooves, if she can. I unlock the chain link gate that protects her from predators which are many.

Her body slowly sways toward me, pivoting on a knee and then her eyes engage me from her tilted head. She knows that there are treats, a bouquet of kale and chard, watermelon, banana peals, apple cores and sunflower seeds. I start with the greens, then the watermelon. I’ve hidden aspirin in the rind to make sure that she gets a pain killer to mask the effects of arthritis on her 15-year-old body. She relishes it all, even though she sometimes falls face first into the bowl of delicacies.

To the sound of crunching watermelon, I dress the pee and poop stained straw with a new layer before she lies back down. I fluff the grass hay into conveniently located piles and freshen up the water. She stumbles about the pen trying to find comfortable. I quickly move her feed bowl so that she doesn’t inadvertently soil it.

Lying down is a lengthy, painful process for her. She rocks back and forth, her joints make quiet but distinct cracking and snapping sounds. She leans against a bale of straw to break her fall to the ground. I wince and wonder when her time will come. But, as my vet said, think of her as a crotchety old lady. She still enjoys the good parts of her life and is willing to put up with the rest.

After she is sated, she briefly looks at me and then turns her head and goes back to chewing her cud. Spirit doesn’t really seem to need my love and attention, but I hope she does, because I need hers.