It’s time to share about Merlin. 💔

It’s been extra quiet on our socials since his passing. Something Sophia accurately named: a moment of social media silence for Merlin.

I don’t think any of the people who regularly cared for Merlin have fully accepted that his sudden and tragic passing is real (myself included). Never would I have thought that his final moments with us would have been what they were.

He wasn’t ready to go. We certainly weren’t ready to say goodbye. Yet here we are, mourning sweet Merliy Moo, and sitting with the devastating reality of him being gone and not having the mercy of a peaceful passing.

The necropsy report, which investigated the cause of Merlin’s passing, is still an ‘Open’ case; however, enough was found to point to a probable cause of death.
Many of you know how hard Merlin had to fight to overcome pneumonia and the heavy parasite burden he was carrying when he arrived (including lungworm).

While he arrived over two years ago, the report showed his lungs were no longer free-floating—old scarring firmly attached sections of his left lung to his chest wall, diaphragm, and the sac around his heart.

While the report itself can’t definitively trace that scarring back to his past, it’s consistent with the heavy damage he had to fight through when he first came to us.
The necropsy also revealed severe fluid buildup and a hemorrhage in his lungs.

However, the pathologist noted that these findings are consistent with an adverse reaction. Because Merlin had an injection of penicillin right before his collapse, the suspected cause of death is an adverse reaction to the medication.

It’s been just over a month since he passed, and while I’ve attempted to write this post a few times, I couldn’t sit with this and stay in a stable headspace long enough to complete it, albeit through tears.

Recently, I was in the pasture with a volunteer who said that Lily’s Place is normally a place of peace and hope. A place that helps carry both people and animals through the hardest parts of life.

After she said that, we both stood there, in the sunshine, looking around at the pastures. Despite the beautiful day, we were both feeling as though there’s been a storm over the sanctuary since Merlin passed.

The volunteers and I aren’t the only ones to feel it. Mel, Merlin’s closest companion, is grieving her best friend. She’s been curling up like a cat in one of the feed boxes at night and lying in the sand (rather than grazing with the others) by herself during the day.

That sand trap, which is left over from when this property was a golf course, was Merlin’s favourite spot in the pasture. He’d lie there all afternoon, his very own version of a day at the beach, without a care in the world.

When Merlin wasn’t soaking up the sun at “the beach,” he was generous with his time and attention.

When he walked over to spend a moment with just you, it felt like being the chosen one for something hard to describe but really, really important. It was humbling in a heart-melting, happy tears kind of way.

On the evening of July 6th, Merlin was finally back home at the sanctuary after spending time at the large animal hospital at AVC for a bicept release surgery.

He jumped out of the trailer, followed his favourite people around, and proceeded to tell us (literally) some very important stories.

Since we don’t speak “the language of his people” (aka goat!), we can only guess, based on his other behaviour, that he was saying he missed his friends, was happy to be back, and proud that he was still everyone’s favourite “Gony” (Goat + Pony).

He was so happy, surrounded by his friends, and so close to recovering from possibly the last of the major challenges neglect had left him with.

Watching him move with ease and trotting from one caregiver to the next,
I remember silently thinking, “This is what sanctuary is all about, and Merlin has finally made it into his golden era.”

As quickly as that thought came, so did a big knot in my stomach that this was too good to be true, but the evening came and went without incident.

What I didn’t know then was that the knot in my stomach had arrived an evening early.

When Merlin collapsed the next night, everything happened so fast. 20 seconds after collapsing, he shifted his head around to where I was, right beside him.

He couldn’t hold his head up and was crying in a low moan. While keeping my hand on his back to reassure him he wasn’t alone, I assessed what I could. The world fell away with what I saw. I knew he only had moments left.

Jess ran out of the stall to call the vet. Sophia followed to alert volunteers.
The only thing I could do for him was tell him I was so sorry, he was a good boy, and I’m here.

I’m not sure if he did it for himself, or me, or just instinctively, but he got his head onto my lap and rested his big horns. In less than 2 minutes, he gave one last Merlin mew and was gone.

A verbal “mew” from Merlin meant you had reached a level of friendship with him of the highest honour. A mew meant “I’ve missed you”, “I’m happy to see you” or “Don’t go just yet.”

Perhaps his last Merlin mew was him asking for “just one more pet” before he left.

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We’ll be having a private celebration of life for Merlin next month.
If you have a memory or photo of Merlin you’d like us to share that day, please post them below.