Sunday, August 03, 2025 | By: Denice Woller
Our kids learned early on that it is difficult to get too attached to our animals, because death is simply just part of farm life. I have lived the majority of my life on a farm, and while experience may have lessened the blow of pain, that doesn't make loss any easier.
A few days ago a few of us returned from a trip to UNL in Lincoln to see our daughter Rylee in all her research glory. Our yard was unusually quiet. At first, I didn’t think much of it—we were overwhelmed by our trio of dogs, unpacked the van, I started laundry, and then went to check on the horses. As I walked to the barn is when I realized just how quiet the barnyard really was.
Any time a door opened—anywhere on the farm—he’d neigh, letting us know he would like some food. Now, the silence where his impatient call used to echo feels deafening. His death was sudden. He was well cared for by the daughters who stayed home, and I’m deeply grateful they weren’t the ones to find him in the pasture.
I still can’t believe it was Star—not Beau—who passed. Beau is much older and doesn’t look nearly as healthy as Star did. It was a complete shock. Thankfully, Beau is doing well, although he seems a bit lonely. Honestly, I think he might be enjoying not having his buddy steal his food every day.
This whole experience has reminded me how important photography truly is. When our two previous horses passed, I regretted not having more meaningful images of them. The photographer is always last to work in her own yard, right? They lived right below my studio—it should’ve been easy. But it’s always hard to stop work and “play.” So, thankfully I have done better with documenting these two.
These may not be my most technically perfect photos, but they mean something to me. I’ll always wish I had more “perfect” images of each of my animals—but I’m deeply grateful to have this one, taken just a few days before he passed. It’s not just a photo of him—it’s of us.
I should’ve asked my intern to use my real camera, but I assumed it would just be for social media. Still, I’m thankful to have it.
Earlier this summer, one of my senior clients asked to pose with both of my horses, and now I’ll always have those photos, too. Ironically, the beautiful print I ordered from Italy arrived the same day Star’s body was taken away. That was incredibly hard—but also a powerful reminder of why what I do matters so deeply.
Because in the end, it’s not about perfect lighting or flawless composition—it’s about preserving what matters before it’s gone. That’s the heart behind every Legacy Experience I offer. These sessions aren’t just for show; they’re for the people—and animals—who shape our stories. You’ll never regret having too many photos… only the ones you didn’t take.
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