Everything We Carry Behind the Scenes

If you followed our posts about the autumn fair, you saw preparations, invitations, gratitude and cheerful moments, and all of those were sincere, because we cared about making the fair happen and were happy to see people coming together to help. What those posts could not show was everything happening behind the scenes, as our family grieved Ruby, watched Mǎdǎ’s condition deteriorate, and tried to keep up with the responsibilities and difficulties that do not pause when something heartbreaking happens.

Behind Dumbrava, there are many people who contribute their time and care, and our family is among those most closely involved in organising activities for children, caring for the animals, worrying about resources and managing whatever each day brings. Sometimes we share something cheerful while carrying a sadness we have barely found words for, and sometimes we answer a practical question while our thoughts are with an animal in our care who is struggling.

Ruby came into our lives when she was only two weeks old, with her tiny tail and her little head moving about, and she stole our hearts so completely that we adopted her. When she was little, she walked in circles and underwent many investigations, but we never discovered the heart condition that would take her from us after five years of infinite love and laughter.

Five years were far too few, yet they held so much life together, so many moments in which she made us laugh or offered the familiar comfort of her presence, that we are still discovering all the places she occupied in our days. We had welcomed a tiny baby who needed us, and she became a beloved member of our family whose affection and company gave us more than we could ever measure.

Mǎdǎ arrived in our care at Dumbrava only a few months ago, with a hole in her abdomen, and after it healed there was someone interested in offering her a forever home. Around that time, however, we noticed something unusual about her walking and came to understand that she had a genetic condition, which progressed so drastically over the following two months that she could no longer get up, struggled to eat, and cried in frustration at being unable to do what she wanted.

One of the things she wanted most was to give kisses to the other dogs, and that small detail says so much about the Mǎdǎ we came to love, whose affection remained part of her even as moving became increasingly difficult. In the short time she spent with us, she made a place for herself in our family, and watching her lose the ability to enjoy those everyday moments was heartbreaking.

During the preparations for the fair, we were carrying Ruby’s absence and the knowledge that our time with Mǎdǎ was running out, while still answering messages, organising things and trying to make the event feel welcoming. We were grateful for the support, and there were moments of happiness, but the grief was there throughout, including in the moments when you could not see it.

Alongside that grief, daily life at Dumbrava continued, with children arriving for activities, bringing their energy, curiosity and the unexpected situations that come with children being children, while the animals needed care and preparations still had to be made. There were also the worries of keeping everything going with limited resources, trying to meet the needs already in front of us while knowing that another request for help could arrive before we had found an answer to the last one.

Our own lives continued, too, with ordinary family problems and personal hardships that needed attention, even when we had little energy left to give them. Everything drew on the same hours, the same resources and the same people, and there were days when it was difficult to know where to turn our attention first.

Some of the messages we received brought kindness and understanding, while others were demanding or mean, arriving as though our existence meant we must always have the time, money, space and emotional strength to respond immediately and take on more. A message that takes a moment to send can reach us when we are grieving, caring for a struggling animal, running an activity with children, or trying to solve a difficulty we have not shared publicly.

We understand that people often contact us because an animal needs help and they are worried, but we need that concern to leave room for the people receiving the message, too. Our capacity has limits, and there are times when we cannot answer quickly or offer the help someone hopes for, however much we wish the circumstances were different.

It can be difficult to explain those limits when a page looks active and a recent post sounds cheerful, because from the outside it may seem that everything is moving along as usual. Yet writing an update, sharing a happy moment or welcoming people to a fair tells you very little about how much someone is managing, or how much effort it took to be present that day.

We want to be able to share the good moments, because they matter to us and because the people who make them possible deserve our gratitude, while also asking for the understanding that much of life at Dumbrava happens beyond what we publish. There is grief here, and affection, and the bustle of children’s activities, and worry about resources, and tiredness, alongside the satisfaction and happiness this work can bring.

Ruby and Mǎdǎ are part of why we wanted to say this now, because they gave so much to our family, and their loss and suffering were with us throughout days that looked cheerful from the outside. Ruby gave us five years of love and laughter, while Mǎdǎ brought her affection into our lives in the short time we had together, and we wanted so much more time with both of them.

The kindness we received during the fair helped us carry on, and reminded us how much a patient response, an offer of practical help or a little understanding can mean when someone is already struggling.

When you see a cheerful post from us, we hope you can enjoy that moment with us while remembering that it is one glimpse of a much fuller life. And when you write to Dumbrava, please remember the people who will read your words, perhaps at the end of a difficult day, still trying to care for the animals, make the activities happen, find the resources and look after one another.