We Lost One Today
There are days on the homestead that change you.
Not loud, dramatic days — but quiet ones. The kind where the barn feels different the moment you step inside. The kind where you count heads like you always do… and your heart sinks before your brain catches up.
Today was one of those days.
We lost one today.
The Day the Barn Went Quiet
If you’ve spent time caring for goats (or any livestock), you know the comfort of routine: feed buckets clinking, familiar voices calling for grain, the rhythm of chores that gives the day its shape.
That comfort is subtle — until it disappears. One bucket stays full. One stall stays empty. One little presence is suddenly, painfully gone.
Before I knew what was wrong this morning, I had already lost him.
The evening before, nothing felt off. No one was acting strange. After feeding and watering, everyone got their scratches and snuggles, and it was just another ordinary night.
I keep a thermometer in the pocket of my overalls. If someone ever does act off — standing by themselves, eyes not as bright, not quite normal — they get a check-over. FAMACHA, temperature, hands-on once-over. But last night, there was nothing that gave me pause.
I’ve replayed the evening chores in my mind over and over. Was the sign there and I missed it? Did I overlook something subtle? No matter how many times I go through it, I still come up with nothing.
This is just one of those times — the kind that reminds you that despite doing everything you can to keep them healthy, sometimes things happen.
“It’s Just Farm Life” (But It Still Hurts)
People mean well when they say things like:
“That’s just part of farm life.”
And they aren’t wrong — loss is part of it. We know the risks that come with caring for living beings. We accept the unpredictability. But knowing that doesn’t stop it from hurting.
Our hearts don’t care about managing risk. They care about the hole left behind. They care about the quiet barn in the morning, and the chores that still need to be done, and the heaviness that settles into your shoulders like a weight you didn’t ask for.
That emotional truth — that quiet grief — is the heart of the song “We Lost One Today.” It isn’t dramatic, and it isn’t performative. It’s the stillness that follows loss, the space that used to be occupied, and the way you carry that absence through a day of chores that doesn’t stop just because your heart did.Losing one leaves a real, physical space behind.
The Love Is Still Worth It
Here’s the part I remind myself of — and maybe you need to hear it too:
Loving them was worth it.
Every feeding, every late night, every moment spent learning their quirks — even knowing how it can end, I would still choose to care. Because the goal was never to avoid heartbreak. The goal was to give them a good life while they were here.
And if grief shows up, that’s not a sign you loved too much — it’s proof that you did love.
When Chores Don’t Feel the Same
The hardest part about loss on the farm is that life keeps moving.
The sun still rises.
The rest of the herd still needs feeding.
The water still needs checking.
So you do the chores — slower, quieter, heavier — carrying the loss with you while life keeps moving forward.
That’s farm grief. It’s private. It’s quiet. And it’s deeply real.
And it’s also the reason “We Lost One Today” exists as a song: to give voice to a feeling that so many of us know, but don’t always find the words to express.
Crazy Goat Lady Tip
If you’re grieving a loss today, let yourself feel it.
Cry in the barn. Talk to your goats. Sit in the straw a little longer than usual. There’s no prize for “being tough” — only healing.
Final Thoughts
We don’t talk enough about this side of goat ownership.
The joy is loud and Instagram-worthy.
The loss is quiet and deeply personal.
If you lost one today — or any day — know this:
You’re not weak for hurting.
You’re not wrong for loving them.
And you’re not alone in this.
We lost one today.
But the love remains — and that matters more than anything.
Welcome to the herd. Even on the days that hurt.
