Mayday. An emergency procedure word used internationally as a distress signal in voice procedure radio communications. Of course, this important word used by aviators, mariners, and, in some countries, firefighters, police, and transportation organisations is to highlight a serious life-threatening situation. But it may apply to so many.

Usually echoed three times in a row to prevent being mistaken for similar-sounding phrases under noisy conditions it remains, to this day, the official declaration of help sought. Sometimes, in personal daily life, it may come to mind when situations of the physical appear multi-distressing and the psychological appears tested beyond belief.

Irony. The expression of one's meaning by using language that normally signifies the opposite, typically for emphatic effect. Also, a state of affairs that seems deliberately contrary to what one expects. Most importantly, it is a literary technique, originally used in Greek tragedy, by which the full significance of the character's words or actions is clear to the audience.

To Furever Farm, mayday will be used in a wry way but certainly without humour or flippancy. The irony will speak for itself as the story progresses for May would be anything but what we would expect.

We have had months like May 2021 before. They have been documented online, including right here in other blogs. We expected May to be like no other; happy, productive, joyful, exhilarating. Unfortunately, ironically, it turned out to be the complete opposite. Like May, our mayday distress call, we have had multiple deaths in the space of a single month.

Identically. In the exact same way, a simple and self-explanatory meaning that can be related to both the positive and the negative. We all hope for identical in the positive. Positiveness in life is what all strive for both personally, in what we do, and for others. But when hit with the identical negative we find ourselves in disbelief, shock, and confusion.

Some time ago the sanctuary was subject to a fast spate of deaths. Five passing within one month shook Furever Farm, and all involved, to the very core. Each one under its own circumstance; old age, illness, accident, and each as upsetting as the prior. When one animal goes it is sad, so very sad. Then two and then three and so on. Each death invokes a greater response purely out of shock, out of the sheer implausibility of it. But it has happened, as odd and improbable as it would seem and you must deal with it. First, you deal with the deceased themselves. You must bury and say goodbye before you get time to stop, think and mourn. Yes, you mourn, you mourn as you contemplate, trying to put some rationale to the string of events. There is no real rationale, simply the law of averages. The greater the number of individuals the greater the chance of death.

May 2021 was our doppelganger of months. Again, the farm would watch as multiple precious souls slipped away whilst under our care. Again, there would be tears, disbelief, shock, dismay, and numbness. We will briefly touch on the souls we have lost in the month of May as all deserve their recognition, their remembrance, their love.

It would begin at the very beginning. A life claimed through old age, from bodily complications as much the responsibility of mankind for its wretched tampering and creating for self-gain. The little hen named Chocolate in celebration of her sweetness and appeal to all. She would become 'egg bound', an illness natural in its minority, an ailment unnatural in its creation. Man has created and designed these wonderful creatures so they are as far removed from their natural state as possible. They have made them, particularly the Isa Brown, to be egg-producing and laying machines. It is as if humans see them as mechanical, almost robot in nature. Not here to live their natural life but to supply the unnecessary that we demand. There is but one consequence of this disturbance of nature; a life cut so very short bearing complications that should remain relatively infrequent. Chocolate would fight her egg bind with vigour, force, and determination. We would aid and help her as best we could as we amazed at her longevity under duress. Sadly, as in most cases, Chocolate's fight would be futile. Despite her clear indication and will to live she would be killed by the issue that man created. Chocolate looked so peaceful upon her passing. Equaled only by her dignity and character during her struggle, she would lay her precious head down and sleep eternal. No more pain, no more discomfort, and no more fulfilling man's demands.

Mid May would see the cruel joke that life can muster. A life so huge, both in physical and character, swiped from the earth so suddenly and almost without reason. 12 happy and loving pigs call Furever Farm home. They reside in Mocha's Pig Cafe, so lovingly named after the father of some of its inhabitants. Smack in the middle of the month our hearts would yet again be challenged as we watched a life torn from our grip. The most disturbing of things, one which makes the entire situation harder to comprehend or accept, is that Tuscadero would die having received maintenance on her huge body that was unavoidable. Yet again, an animal would find itself in difficulty due to the make-up of its being, again created by humankind. Pigs sadly rarely get past the 6-month age of life. They are round up, packed onto transportation, and have their lives snuffed while still babies. They are shackled off as we abuse them, cut their throats, or stuff them screaming into gas chambers until they cry silent. Babies, that is what they are, and we, supposed adults kill them at the drop of a hat. The gas chamber, supposedly the 'humane' way of disposing of these intelligent, social, happy, lively, and cognitive animals. Have you ever heard the agonising screams of a gas chamber? If you haven't you are lucky, for it is the most blood-curdling and excruciatingly upsetting sound you will hear. The pigs of Furever Farm have escaped this fate. They get to live into adulthood and relish the zest for life. But there is a sinister side to their growing. An animal not meant to see past its juvenile stage has no thought given to its adult frame. Again, humans have played God, they have crossbred, genetically modified, and played with nature. The end result is the common domestic pig, or what meat-eaters are consuming when they eat their ham or bacon. They have much blood on their hands as they ply their supply and demand society as not only do babies get robbed of life but adults get left with a totally disproportionate body. Our pigs range from the 'light weight' of 300kgs and max out at about 450kgs. These massively heavy frames must be carried about by short ill-equipped legs. It isn't long into adulthood that the pig will become lazy, they will find carrying themselves around on such poorly made limbs to be cumbersome, tiring, and painful. Pigs of this size will develop early-onset arthritis in their legs simply because of the work they must undertake. With laziness and minimal movement comes secondary issues like overgrown hooves that are no longer worn naturally by exercise. It is then up to us who care to trim these nails, for to do noting defies welfare and cripples the pigs of human design. And here we are, back at mid-May, and the procedure that would prove fateful for one of the loveliest pigs you would meet.

Rarely will pigs allow you to waltz on up and grab a hoof to trim. Most do not like their feet being touched unless trained at a very early age. Tuscadero and her friends are no different. To trim Tuscy's feet would require containment, sedation under vet care, and multiple personnel to complete the job. Sedation to any animal is a risk, but unfortunately in most cases, it is a necessary evil. Tuscadero would be sedated this day, undergoing her hoof trim with success and, despite her reluctance to fully cooperate, she would be completed like all the rest. Tuscadero would differ slightly from her brothers and sisters though. The other pigs would wake from their induced slumber, they would eventually rise and realise they had nice feeling feet of which to carry their bulking frames. Tuscy did not rise, she appeared to stay groggy and refused, sometimes despite genuine attempts, to lift herself from the ground she lay. She would try, we would roll her onto her stomach but each time she would roll back onto her side. We watched helplessly as she moaned, ever so minutely but moaned nonetheless. But she remained stable in this situation, not getting better but not deteriorating. Nightfall would descend and, under vet guidance, we would monitor Tuscy throughout the night. Come morning Tuscadero would still be in the same place. Now, all were concerned. There is no reversal available to the drugs needed to subdue a pig. The only two options you have are poor welfare or take the risk of sedation. It is not unlike any animal, including humankind. Anaesthetic holds risk in any forum used. We would now need to roll Tuscadero over periodically during the day to prevent her from staying on one side too long, blood pooling, and internal issues comprehending. It's odd, when you are caring for an animal, right before the disaster there appears to be improvement, relief. This may be real, it may be nature, the animals calm before the storm. It may be the animal releasing itself of responsibility and futile bodily demands as it clawed to life. It may be perception. It may be us, the carer, so desperately seeking redemption and reward that we think we notice something that isn't really there. It may, of course, be a combination of the two. For a brief while, as we rolled Tuscadero for what would prove the final time, she appeared calm, she appeared to release a squeal upon roll before relaxing and welcoming her entire body of family who had come up to see and protect her. We would give them space, walk away, and come back only a brief time later to find this gorgeous girl gone, stiff and with a familiar deathly look she lay peacefully, free from pain but a victim of, yet again, the evil that man does. A natural pig would not have been subjected to the body amorphization created by mankind. Tuscadero should never have been under such duress from a body ill-designed by people only thinking to kill. We would cry as we moved this girl, we would cry as we watched her knowledgeable family watch on helplessly, we would cry as we committed her body to the ground for her final resting spot. We continue to cry for Tuscy, we continue to cry for the sins that are afforded her beautiful kind each and every day.

"First we practice sin, then defend it, then boast of it." - Thomas Manton.

Most of humankind cannot live without sin for it is what they aspire to. Despite the clear evidence and readily available examples of the savagery of man, humans continue to justify the death of the Tuscadero's of this world. This will never change until our sins are cast back upon ourselves. Only then will some understand the true gravity of their actions.

Mayday. Our distress call was building. Our emergency of mind was knocking but surely, surely, we that would signal an end to this mad month?

Speaking too soon is to say something that is soon to be negated or contradicted. Usually used in the past tense, as the negating factor has already happened. 'Surely that is it' was our speak too soon moment. Oddly, when you think about it, how often is this the case? Is it pure cognition, a natural working of the mind or do we harbor some inner sixth sense that we really don't know of? For just as we became comfortable, May would remind us that it was not yet over.

With eleven days remaining until the turn of the month, and in fact the changing of seasons, Furever Farm would be hit with the most soul-shattering and unfair of passing for some time. They are all soul-shattering, each and every animal's death hurts and is sad. As we have highlighted, some are due to old age, some human tampering, others biological shortfalls. Then there are the others where someone is taken so young, their life not yet established and their joy of it not yet complete. Where obstacles they are facing are making inroads and they have landed in the place where their welfare and love is taken care of. These animals have an instant effect on us too, we and our team, our supporters, our sponsors, the general public. People just fall in love with them for their situation, their fight, their looks, and their genuine adoration. There was a boy. There was a boy who came our way, his name was Felix. He was of a special kind, both literally and emotionally. This boy, as you all know, could not walk upon arrival. A tiny little lamb afflicted cruelly by an ailment searched and guessed. We would know he had curvature of the spine, this going a long way to limiting his abilities, but we would not be given the opportunity to discover more. For weeks after Felix's arrival, we would dote on him lovingly. We would practice walking with him, propping him up, and guiding him for as long as his legs could stabilise. The rest of the time we would exercise his limbs, massage and stretch his neck and back, provide physiotherapy for him as we urged him to become well. Felix would improve. His abilities, although never permanent, would become prolonged and with greater directness. Felix would be supplied a wheelchair, originally designed for large dogs but practical for a growing sheep. Oh, the eye-watering moments Felix would spend in his new transport device, trying so hard to move with us but needing to grow that couple of centimeters more. It would see Felix able to stand amongst his fellow lambs, eat with them and remain upright for long periods. And that growing, it would happen quickly...

It wouldn't happen. On the very day we made such a comment we would retire for the night, as we always do, with Felix sleeping only a few meters from our reach. This night, was one of those nights where for some strange reason the brain won't let you totally relax. It is as if, subconsciously, you know there is a reason to remain just out of sleep mode. Felix would moan. He would moan again and again. We would do what any parent would do with a crying baby. We would rise and we checked to see if Felix was alright. He was stretched, he was in pain and it was clear to us it was stomach-related. Lambs can often go through episodes of poor gut health or stomach afflictions when growing. It is nothing new to find a young one stretched with gas or discomfort. This was different, it was growing in intensity and it grew fast. No sooner would we send a message to our vet and obtain the number for the emergency animal surgery than Felix would go limp, his eyes closing as his breathing exacerbated and then began slowing drastically. We had seen this before; we had lived this heartache so often. Felix was dying in front of our eyes and there was, literally, nothing we could do about it. Why? What happened? This we would answer at a later date, for now, there would be but one last piece of love to provide for Felix. We would hold him. We cradled him in our arms and we leaned down several times and told him we loved him. We reassured him he was safe and he was being loved right until the end. We told him it was okay, that peace was waiting and that where he was going there would be no wheelchair, no disability, but wide green fields where he could run and play with all the other lambs. We leaned in, told him once more our love for him, kissed his little head, and with that Felix took one last calm breath. He was gone. His body remained in our arms but his spirit was gone to a greener pasture. Yes, we cried, we held him for as long as it took us to stop.

Felix will remain in our hearts for the rest of our lives. Each life is special but there comes along some that just cling to your being. Felix was one of those. Felix was victim to no sinister event, his was a problem with his body since birth and because of this, he succumbed to the complex inner workings of the sheep body. It was incredibly unfair, if we believed in a higher being we would be asking questions.

It hurts. They all hurt as you invest not only your time and effort but mostly your emotions, love, care, compassion, and support. How could you not be affected by their passing? Admittedly, multiple deaths in one month does not occur very often, but it does happen. Even two deaths will leave you reeling. There are genuine needs for psychological support for sanctuary and rescue owners and staff.

Mayday. By the time you read this, it will be over. June will be upon us as we edge closer to the middle of the year. Winter will officially bestow us with the hope of rain. But our mayday at Furever Farm continues. We love our followers, our supporters, our team. We are but two people, everyday people who began a journey 5 1/2 years ago with one vision in mind. We have entered that vision and we do all we can to help the animals in need that are the forgotten ones, those without rights and without a voice. We believe we give them that voice. The road is ongoing as we move from one vision to another, all with one common denominator; the animals and the amount we can help. That road is a constant mayday as we struggle physically and emotionally. There are many ills and heartbreak that a sanctuary owner will hide, they will try to push through but we say that should change. We put out our mayday and ask for emotional support if we need it. There is a lot to running a sanctuary, a lot that people don't see. Aside from the rescue and providing of sanctuary we see a lot that upsets us, it takes its toll. We must constantly consider finances and where they will come from, volunteers, and where they will come from. We struggle to put together fundraising and committee teams, organise meetings, find genuine people dedicated to the animal's wellbeing. We look to fulfill the groundwork every day, often with only one of us here. We wonder what we deserve sometimes when we read or hear of vitriol and nasty comments about us despite doing, what could only be considered, a positive and good thing for the voiceless. Physically it is tiring, emotionally it is crippling. We will never stop what we are doing, we will never, ever give up on or turn our backs on the animals, that is our promise and devotion. But we are human, we need help and support, people who can just chat with us to make sure we are okay. We believe the animal rescue community can do this. We can help and support each other.

Year to year. Month to month. Week to week. Day to day. Hour to hour. Minute to minute. Second to second.

MAYDAY.

Darren, Hayley & the Furever Farm Team.