Spring is in the air.

Oh to be a lamb!!! Could spring be any better illustrated??

Vinney has had a hard time. He's just been here on this planet for a few weeks, (maybe 4?) but he's already had to overcome more than most ruminants.

First his mother rejected him (at least that's what we were told). He was taken away from all that he knew and brought to the sanctuary. He has been loved and coddled every day, however, one day he wasn't walking on his left front leg. We all thought that Oliver might have gotten more than a little jealous and dealt Vinney a severe kick to the shoulder leaving him unable to put any weight on the leg.

Further investigation by our vets concluded that Vinney had an infection in his left shoulder joint. Unfortunately, that meant for Vinney daily anesthesia and flushing of the joint. (I accidentally walked in on this procedure one day and fled the office crying. My Poor Baby!!!) Seven days later including antibiotics and the infection cleared. But Vinney still wasn't walking on the leg.

He gets around fine on 3 legs and is never further than a few inches from my legs when we take walks. He's been on crate rest for the last 2 weeks to allow his shoulder joint to heal. But today was so beautiful I was able to get special permission for a trip to the pasture.

We never quite made it to the pasture due to Rocky's temper tantrum--yes he did. I figure he was expecting his bottle and when I didn't deliver he set about the most pitiful screaming I've heard from him yet. For the entire walk--an hour!!!

Finally I relented and headed back to the clinic, made 3 bottles, and fed all 3 lambs. Vinney retired to his crate without having to be told and Rocky, Oliver and I headed back outside. While Oliver romped around, Rocky and I reconnected. I can't believe how fast he's grown. Not just in weight, but in all manner of going from lamb to ram.



Time is passing quicker than I thought.

The Ides of March

I'm not a Big Cat girl--


give me an itty bitty possum,



or a kitten-sized closed-eyed raccoon,


or even a day old lamb,


and I'm mush.

But put me with the big girls, and well, I feel like food. Be it ever so humble there's no place like looking into a mountain lion's eyes and see her thinking I'd make a good--snack. Mortality at its best.


There I was one cool and windy morning taking photos of the camera crew shooting Lynn talking about how awful these big cats lives were before they came to the sanctuary.


The sheep walked by


And the turkeys came to see what was going on


Much too quickly my day being a photojournalist was soon over with one last romp through the pasture with the boys.

Vinny is the new addition to the herd. Look at that sweet face!!!

What an awesome day.

He's growing up.

Here's Rocky. All 15 pounds and 4 weeks of him. His feet and knees slow him down but they don't daunt his travel. If he's beyond being able to walk, he will ask politely to be carried. As he is carried, he is generous with kisses. His teeth are growing in and he constantly grinds them--I think because they feel so weird. He has really bonded with Oliver. While Oliver runs and jumps and bucks, Rocky is stead fast and constant. Oliver always checks in with Rocky with a little nudge or nose to nose time.



And I guess Oliver is our 'normal' lamb. He is, at two weeks old, nibbling hay and tasting grass and anything else he happens upon. He is very aware that he is like the other sheep in the pasture and I find he struggles with the choice of staying with me or going and visiting with every last sheep. I encourage his curiosity and urge him to befriend the older ones. He really takes the ewe's head-butts well. I don't think the girls mean to hurt him as much as remind him of his place, but he bounces right back for more and that tells me he's ok with it all.

And oh how I love that little white lamb.

A Saturday Meditation

This was taken at Nile's basketball game this morning. The weather was cool (50 degrees or so), misty, and foggy. The perfect combination for staying home in bed reading old books and entertaining lofty musings. But here I was in a small, incredibly loud gymn filled with stampeding 11 and 12 year old boys and grown men with whistles. My new personal hell.

Then the brand new baby arrived. So tiny, so pink, so NEW. She was born 5 weeks early and weighed in at a hefty 4 pounds. She was perfect at 5 weeks old. Her birth date was supposed to be Valentines day but she knew better. Her cherubic lips pursed in sleep oblivious of the chaos.

And that took me back to when the kids were born--their little selves all balled up for the first few days; their bodies remembering their confined quarters and slowly realizing they could stretch all the way out, arms and legs flailing; sleeping babies with arms over their heads, hands even with their ears, open mouths.... and now look at them. Forrest is going on 17, is taller than I am, is ready to fledge the family as long as we support him. THERE'S a never ending stuggle!! Niles is having a well rounded puberty with playing basketball, playing percussion in the middle school band, and learing the hard way his mouth really is the source of many of his problems. (I have no idea where he got that!). And then there's Lillie--little Miss Thang. All things girl and she can deliver a punch too. First grade never looked so good.

And then there's the thought that life is so fragile. I don't think you think of that when your their age, but, when you are older and have chosen to deal with death on a pretty regular basis, you think about it frequently. On the whole, I see death as a blessing, a reprieve. A Release. I'm not solid in what I feel about suffering and what exactly constitutes suffering, but I do lean towards the mindset that imperfections are not a blessing. But I've met few humans with physical imperfections so that realm is foreign to me. But the animals I have known with injuries so severe that continue to live in spite of them--not what I would call a blessing. More of a lesson for us to learn when enough is enough. More of a huge neon sign pointing to the action of release. On behalf of that animal. A teaching moment.

And there are plenty of teaching moments to encounter on a daily basis. Just be aware.

So, long meditation short, live your life. Don't just take pictures of pretty things, take pictures of the real things. And embrace them as yours.

This is love!

Rocky Mason

His life didn't begin as sanguine and peaceful as many others do; his began with his mother's love fading behind him as he was taken from her and thrown into the back of a pick-up truck and hauled around. Luckily the driver of the truck has an inkling to stop and ask if someone wanted 'it'.

He landed in my arms. Apparently the lamb was 'retarded' and a 'throw away'. After all, sheep 'ranchers' don't have time to raise 'retarded' sheep. Sheep 'ranchers' don't have time to raise a lamb born with 4 club feet, blind, and a hare-lip. Even if the ewe wanted the lamb, the 'rancher' didn't. So he threw the newborn into the back of the truch to languish. Until the thought hit him to stop.

He didn't want to feed the lamb until the following day when I would be on my way home. Even though he was feeding three other lambs, he could not and would not feed another one. But he would bring me the bottle and formula so I could.

And I did.

Lillie named the new lamb "Mason" after a little boy in her class. After a little time passed, my sister noticed his tongue stuck out just a little on the left side of his mouth causing him to look a bit like Sylvester Stallone in "Rocky". So Rocky it was. Rocky Mason to Lillie.

I took him to work the following day and he was instantly decreed as 'perfect' in every way. What was discussed was the origination of the disfigurements--a possible virus because the sheep 'rancher' wasn't managing his herd well. Turns out, Rocky's disfigurement came from a lack of vitamin A from both parents.

Rocky took to the bottle like a champ. He began to walk on his little bent hooves almost immediately. He wasn't able to walk long distances, but he kept at it and even though his little legs and knees are bent, he is surviving and thriving. Two weeks after being born into a death sentence, he is walking, running and hopping as he should.



The cataracts that covered his eyes at birth have shrunk to over half their size, only partially covering his pupils.

He has a new friend now, a barbado lamb that came in last night. I can say that Rocky is not happy with sharing the limelight. But 'Oliver' doesn't mind.

Not so cute anymore

I was on my way to photograph the new 'black' fox. I was driving past the native mammal enclosures when I realized I didn't have a picture of the ex-pet prairie dog that had recently come in. Another 'pet' that wasn't wanted anymore.

I parked and walked up to his day cage. Growing up in west Texas, I was very familiar with these little rodents and had fond memories of watching them in their burrows in a sectioned off part of a park, apropriately named "Prairie Dog Town". I loved the way they would stand on their hind legs at the mouth of their tunnel and throw their head back and 'bark'.

As I walked in to his domain, he began to smell my shoes and make small chirping sounds. Cute. I scratched his back and found his fur wasn't so different from our dogs, just shorter. He then chased my hand as I stood up. Cute.

I readied my camera to take pictures of the little guy and just couldn't get him to leave me alone. He was entirely taken by my shoes, shoe strings, and pant legs. As I watched him, I heard a noise above and behind us. I turned around to see a rather large female red tail hawk land on a tree limb beside the enclosure. Apparently she was drawn to the sounds the prairie dog was making. She was entirely focused on the little guy, so much so that I was able to stand straight, ready my camera, and take a nice series of photos of her.







The prairie dog never noticed her. After taking the series of pictures, I again focused on the little guy, hoping I could get him to wander far enough from me to get some good shots. I again scratched his back and tried to move him away from my feet and he again chased my hand and leapt after it. I thought perhaps he just wanted pats and reached down to allow him to approach my hand. BIG mistake. He leapt at my hand and latched onto my thumb near my palm. In subconscious reaction, I flung my hand behind me, complete with prairie dog, and he detatched and was airborn for several feet. He then landed in the deep hay. (Don't you know the hawk was so excited she decided to visit!!!)

It seemed blood literally began to pour from the wound. I gawked for what seemed hours until it dawned on I really needed to do something. Getting out of the day cage, locking it up, making my way to the cart, and getting back to the clinic was my only thought. Yes, the bite hurt. I tried not to think of it as I wrapped my hand in my shirt tail trying not to bleed all over the place.

I was almost to the clinic when I ran into our vet Dee. I showed her my wound and asked if I needed stitches. After her initial shock she looked at it and decided I didn't. Whew. I continued to the clinic and found our other vet Jamie and asked her if she thought I needed stitches. Nope. I was golden!!!

We rinsed the wound out with sterile fluids and I soaked my hand in betadine for almost half an hour. In the mean time, Jamie and our vet tech Chealsea looked up all of the zoonotic diseases I could possibly catch from a prairie dog bite. Monkey pox topped the list and the Plague rounded out the bottom of the list. Since I had been vaccinated for small pox when little, Monkey pox was taken off the list. But I was a shoe-in for the Plague!!!

Now, a week later, the wound has healed wonderfully and I might only end up with a pale scar from the event--what a gip!!! I've been an employee for a year and two months and have never been bitten--what a record. A then a little rodent took me down!!!

Happy New Year 2008

We spent the beginning of the new year in Michigan with Brent's family. Oh what a joy when on new year's eve night the snow began to fall. I know the family thought we Texans were nuts to go so crazy over snow fall. To us it was a folly, to them it meant winter was here along with more snow, ice, sleet, single-digit temps, and all that encompasses.

The snow had just begun to fall when I took this picture. When I got up the next morning, over 6" had fallen. The landscape took on a new softer, more rounded look. The romanticizing of winter could now begin.

By my birthday on the 2nd, we have over a foot of snow. It was delightful. I wandered around the yard with my new lens taking photos of up close things.



I wish I could have gotten photos of the little chipmunk in the back yard that would vie for dropped birdseed with the fat northern squirrels. He had a tunnel dug at the base of a tree in the snow that he would dart in to after stuffing his cheeks full.

The crows were noticeably absent until the last day of our visit. I think the storms kept them holed up in warmer places. On our last day while running errands, I saw them in the hundreds filtering back into town. I was ecstatic!!! I didn't have my camera with me or I would have taken pictures of the trees that were full of the black birds, calling and visiting.

Back home now and the gardens look like winter was definitely here. The tender plants that will return again in the spring have left bare stalks and it looks like we lost our beautiful mexican olive tree out front.

It's good to be home!!!

Maggie

September 1st 2007-

With the loss of Tucker, Lillie was able to choose a kitten for her own. Each of the kids have been able to choose a pet at the age of 6, so it was Lillie's turn. I took her out to look at almost 40 kittens. Her first choice, a cinnamon grey tabby had been adopted and we didn't know it. It was a tense few minutes when the inevitable meltdown of disappointment happened but Lillie overcame it with her chin up.

Another hour later and we found the One. Although I had wanted another calico, Miss Maggie was chosen. (Her mother was a calico so that would have to do.) Her brothers and sisters were all pastel colors--a pastel orange, pastel orange and white, pastel calico, and a really nice torti calico. The others kept together and Maggie kept to herself.

She was quite shy when she arrived here and so very small. But let's face it, EVERY cat is small compared to Rosie the behemoth resident calico cat! Three weeks later, she can hold her own when Rosie hisses and our evenings are filled watching a really tiny cat chase a really big one.

So here we go--another baby in the house and years of unconditional love!!!

Betsy

July 1991-November 2007

Betsy was the last of our 'Austin' cats that included Tucker. She was born in Austin to a lovely black mama cat called BC. The woman who owned BC was the same woman who rescued Tucker from his abusive family and lived with her until that home became too crowded with other rescued cats. She followed her mom to our place where food was daily and plentiful and few other cats were around. Even though they were mostly outside cats, they were loved and cared for at their home away from home.

Betsy decided to live with us and ultimately was loaded up and moved to where we now live. She acclimated to the moves with grace and gratitude never letting the newer adopted felines forget she was the matriarch of the household (feline of course).

My fondest memory of Betsy in her heyday was that she never turned her back on an opportunity to chase a dog--any dog, any size. She chased terriers and huge labs. I don't think she hated dogs (she lived with several over the last 10 years) but truly enjoyed the chase (and possibly the resulting yelps of fear!). The memory of her 7 pound self walking back from the chase, black tail erect and full, faint smile on her face, will always be a cherished memory.

This spring Betsy made a true friend in the resident mockingbird. Every time she would go out, he would be there to welcome her into his yard. She would slowly make her way to the garden bench and he would escort her there every step of the way. As she would lay on the bench, he would serenade her with squawks and hisses often times landing mere inches away from her to bring home his point of allowing her refuge in his yard.

One afternoon, Forrest had the luck of being able to photograph their afternoon together. Betsy was taking an impromptu bath near a garden and the mockingbird was helping her in the only way he knew how by pouncing her repeatedly and often. The wondrous thing is, Betsy never flinched or wavered from her bath. The photo above is from one such pounce and mockingbird flying away and Betsy looking just a bit annoyed.

Betsy had a tumor on her thyroid that was detected by our vet a little over 3 years ago. That explained the rapid weight loss and lethargy (more than normal) that we had noticed. Daily medications suppressed her overactive thyroid and she rebounded within a week to her geriatric ways. Her prognosis was wasn't positive--the medication was hard on her kidneys and liver and even with surgery there was no guarantee of a long survival.

Three years later and after more medications to slow her accelerated heartbeat, Betsy was finally ready to depart. She came to me early one morning and gave me the earnest, tired stare that I knew to be the signal of her desire. She was tired of being sick and tired of being tired.

That afternoon, I took her to our wonderful vet. She never fought the trip, never once meowed, just wanted me to hold her paw, which I did with great sadness. She waved her paw as the medicines that made her sleep entered her body and was released from all of her suffering.

I brought her home and a small funeral service was conducted at the treeline underneath the cedars, hack berries, oaks, and native grapes and beside Heather and Emily, the past felines of the family. We used to walk this area years ago when there were fewer dogs and no back yard fence. Betsy would stalk the scents in the leaves and dirt, chatter at the birds in the trees, and lounge beside me when I would sit. She would chase after Emily through the under brances of the cedars. She was laid to rest in deep soil with desert sage and a washingtonian palm frond, facing eastward towards the rising sun.

Betsy is sorely missed, especially during the evening time when her presence on the arm of the couch beside where I sat is felt but not seen. Her purrs echo in my memory for they were louder than any cat I've known. We love you Betsy.

(tigger) Tucker

April 1996-October 2007


Tucker was rescued from abusive children long ago when we lived in Austin. He was just a kitten when we found out he was being used as target practice for teenaged kids with rocks; being thrown into the air to see if he would really land on his feet; and other sordid things I won't mention.

Before all of that, I was at the pool and he came around all fluffy and full of kitten goodness. I looked around and saw no one was with him or calling for him so I took him home. Soon one of the neighborhood kids came to claim the kitten and sadly we gave him back.

Not long after word got back to us of the antics I described above. Again, I snatched the kitten when I saw him and took him home. We had him for several weeks before he was spotted again by the neighborhood kid. This time we gave him back with the expicit terms of "if we see him again we keep him."

I told a neighbor about the situation. She lived not far from the kids and had a better view of their place (we lived in a townhouse adjacent to apartments--habitrail living at its finest.) One evening I received the call, "I've got him." Under the cloak of darkness the exchange was made--his freedom from abuse!!

In order to keep him (as we already had two cats in a tiny townhome--not to mention 2 small kids!) I offered him up to Brent to name. As his heritage was obviously tabby, his were unique markings. Instead of stripes going around him, his were in bulls-eye patterns on both sides. White sox and boots, and the biggest, fluffiest tail ever. tigger Tucker, aka Tucker, was born.

Tucker lived a very full life filled with children, other cats, dogs, sunshine... all the things that make live wonderful.

One story. Early one morning I called the cats in for breakfast. In good weather, they would choose to stay in or out. He stayed out that night. I called and called getting a little more frantic as time passed and no Tucker. Finally, I saw him come down the driveway.

Our next door neighbors had a pool. On warm summer nights you could walk out the back door and hear the frogs and toads talking amongst themselves. Some days would find out neighbor pulling yards and yards of frog eggs from the pool--something that was always a little creepy to see.

Tucker was coming down the driveway with a frog in his mouth head first, arms dangling on either side of his mouth, legs hanging down. I screamed for him to drop the frog and he stopped and looked for an escape. I ran towards him, juked him left, then right, and in all of his wisdom, he dropped the frog.

What a lovely frog too--a Leopard frog. Long, lean back legs built for swimming; gorgeous dark green and pine green stripes for camouflage. In my rubber gardening clogs, I hopped the neighbor's 4' fence (frog in my hands!!) and slunk through his yard to his pool. I slipped the frog back into the water and watched him glide to the bottom.... such grace.

There are a thousand times ten stories that illustrate Tucker's life. He is sorely missed by the entire famiy. Even Rosie (the large, raccoon sized calico cat) when she thinks about it.

Happy Fall!!!!!

It's all in the way you do things.

My co-worker asked how she could help me out. I was running about an hour or so behind so her offer was like a fulfilled wish. Cleaning the little skunks was the next big chore I has so I asked if she would mind doing that.

I continue feeding the animals outside and returned inside to the overwhelming smell of skunk. Someone had startled one. Asking around, I found out that the co-worker that was cleaning the skunks had indeed startled one and didn't want to return to the room. I quickly found her and traded chores with her. There was no reason for her to do something she couldn't stomach.

She told me the baby was in the bucket near his crate. When I walked into the room and saw which crate she had been cleaning, I knew right away which little one had 'skunked' the room. Bless his heart--he was the one I knew as 'Cranky' as he was never really happy. Even as an infant he would find something to complain about--the person feeding him was late, his bedding wasn't soft enough, it was too bright in the room... whatever. As he got older, his fur began to fall out. Not all over, just around his face and hands. We tried everything we could think of to remedy the situation from homeopathics to mainstream medicines. The baldness subsided but in the in-between state of his fur re-growing, his attitude remained less than satisfied.

I lifted the towel that covered the bucket and he immediately went on the defensive, tail raised, locked and loaded. I calmly reminded him in a soothing tone that it was me and I was so sorry he was startled. Gently reaching in and picking him up, I asked what had happened. Almost nose to nose, he began his story. Small little grunts and squeaks, a little shaking, and his story came to light. He had been startled as a stranger's hand had picked him up at his middle and as he didn't know what was about to happen, he got scared and it was an accident. He quieted with scratches to his bare face and ears. His bedding was fresh and he was gently placed back in his crate.

There is a certain knowledge that comes from caretaking animals from infancy and certain fears are relieved. Some would bluster that there is no way I could know what had made him spray. My response is how can you not know how a being thinks when you are with them almost every day, all day long? I would counter that it would be a sad situation for the animals if you didn't.

These guys are now outside acclimating to the ever changing Texas weather they will soon be released into. Those of us that took care of them will be forgotten, the innate wildness they posess will come forward, and they will live their lives as wild things. As it should be.

For Now

I made this collage in the spirit of Teesha Moore (visit http://www.teeshamoore.com/) for a swap. I loved experimenting with different layering techniques, colors, collage and journaling on one piece of paper. The face is Lillie's who, that particular day, wasn't feeling well and didn't want to perform for me and my new camera.

The hardest part was beginning the back ground. My normal technique revolves around vintage sepia tones and colors--a lot of browns, beiges, and other neutral colors. This background required color up front and lots of it. After the initial hesitation I didn't slow down. Everything came together so quickly. The journaling was intimidating--what if I make a mistake? Misspell a word? Hate the color I use? After the first line of writing I never looked back--just hoped there was enough room to tell the story.

I sent the collage on its merry way and hope whomever received it enjoyed it as much as I did creating it.

Back again!

After several months of battling with Blogger about how to post, etc... I took a break. Early on, you had to go through Firefox and while it was interesting to experience, I decided to uninstall the program and go with what I knew. IE might be some people's downfall, but for me, it works. I logged in today to see if I really could and yes!! I can!! Now I can tell my stories again!!

I've been an employee at the sanctuary now for 8 months (after volunteering for 6 years). During this time I've experienced the entire spectrum of emotion from overwhelming grief to the point of absolute despair to immense joy and hope. We've had a huge baby season this year. Many songbirds are still through as well as all other native wildlife from turtles to coyote pups. My favorite? I'd have to say that tiny orphaned possums have to render my heart mushy. There is no discounting minute pink noses and tiny barks of frustration at not being fed fast enough. Toddler raccoons are another favorite and remind me of kittens as they puff up, head down, eyes sqinted, growling and attacking whatever is nearby.

Possibly the cutest of all are the foxes. Their story, like so many others, began as a challenge.

A rancher trapped the Fox intending to kill. He saw her thickened middle and called Texas Parks and Wildlife who in turn called the sanctuary. MomFox arrived late one night. She was quickly transferred to a roomy crate and put in a quiet dark room where no one would bother her. First thing next morning I walked my rounds. Entering her room, I lifed the blanked that covered her crate and 6 tiny heads raised up. She was curled with her kits at her breast and she eyed me with pride. Against all odds, she had delivered her babies safely.

We thought it best for the family to be released as soon as possible so the crate was taken to the back of the sanctuary. There is an area at the back of the property called 'soft release' where healthy animals are taken to an enclosure, provided food and an open door to leave when they choose. Our hope was that MomFox would find a den nearby and transport her newborns to their new home. Unfortunately, she was so very stressed and when the opportunity arose, she fled, leaving the kits behind.

The kits were brought back to the clinic where they were initially fed every 2 hours. They grew far too quickly as most babies do. Sadly, one little girl didn't make it. Seizures racked her tiny body and one morning she was gone. Shortly after, another small male kit was brought in and blended beautifully with the orphans. As they grew far too busy for the small room they were in, a day cage outside was prepared for them. They were united with an older kit and since then they have been one rowdy Fox gang.

They have now been moved to a larger enclosure and have relatively little contact with people. As fall approaches and puberty hits, they will be released on a large property to live out their lives as wild animals. The way it is supposed to be.

Right now, baby season seems to be slowing down. First is was the possums, then skunks, then raccoons. Fawns have been consistanly coming in for several months. Songbirds are constant as they have up to 3 broods a year. We didn't have as many baby squirrels this spring, but, come fall, mama squirrels all over will have another batch of babies and somehow some will end up at the sanctuary.

Coop's 1, Dove 0

The afternoon was entirely beautiful for an early March day. About 65 degrees, clear, sunny with a slight breeze that still spoke of northern origins. But still, it was the best part of the day to be outside.

Lillie and I sat on the garden bench under one of the cedar trees talking of her day at school. Her favorite part of the day--me walking her in and dropping her off first thing. Her second favorite part of the day--lunch. You gotta hand it to her, she has her priorities.

She was in the middle of telling me a story about one of her classmates when we heard a ruckus in the cedar above our heads. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something land on the ground nearby. Fully looking through the garden immediately to my right and across the yard, I saw what had caused the commotion.

For the last several years we have been graced with the presence of a Cooper's hawk. A smaller sized hawk that differs from the larger hawks in that they hunt in the tree canopy. A larger hawk isn't able to maneuver through branches to chase prey, so the Coop's is a specialist. They also hunt in the open, but their legacy is in the trees.

I've seen him herd dove around the neighborhood and scatter birds from our neighbor's backyard feeder habitat. I've seen him fly by, not hunting necessarily, but sending up the warning calls from the resident feathered ones nonetheless.

He was perched on the white winged dove. As the Dove struggled, the Hawk had a tough time getting a good foothold. I asked Lillie several times if she saw what was going on. She did.

Finally, the Hawk got the hold that he needed and he proceeded to fly directly behind the house to the treeline. Lillie and I looked at one another, mouths open and eyes wide. We had been privy to something not everyone gets to see.

The we heard them. The Chickadees began telling the story. Then the Titmice joined in. Then the other small birds took up the story telling and gathered in the tree above where the Hawk landed with the Dove. The tiny birds were adamant about the story--they told and retold it. As they became more brave, they moved closer to the ground.

As Lillie and I approached the site, a pile of feathers was all that was left and an amazing spot of energy was fast evaporating. We stood silent mourning the end of one life and smiling at the life that would continue.

The broken window allowed access into the small shack. People rarely entered the small well house. A perfect place. No one knows how long she had known about the broken pane of glass, but, she knew her babies would be safe; at least until they were able to leave through the window themselves.

Five days after they were born, someone thought to look in the shack. Goats on the ranch were turning up dead and the rancher was looking for the killer. There in a darker corner beside the well pump, were 4 very tiny, what looked to be, kittens. The rancher immediately thought to kill them but his daughter intervened and took them to her home. The following day, after the rancher lay in wait, the mother bobcat was shot as she exited the shack through the broken window, obviously distressed over her missing family. Can you imagine what she felt coming back to nurse her 5 day old kits and finding them gone? Can you imagine her panic?

Unfortunately, the rancher's glory was short-lived. The day after the mother bobcat's slaughter, another goat turned up dead and one of the ranch horses was attacked from behind. Long gashes were left on both haunches. Obviously not the mother bobcat's doings as he thought.

The 4 kits were kept together until another rancher wanted a 'ranch bobcat' to keep the vermin out of the barn. Then there were 3. For 4 weeks these wild animals were treated as domestic. They were kept in the house, fed goat's milk, allowed the family dog to 'play' with, and young children were allowed to roust them about and eventually injure one of the kits.

I drove 200 miles to meet the daughter that rescued the kits from imminent death. She and her husband had finally realized that while the kits were cute, they were getting to the point of needing live food in order to grow properly. After all, goat's milk is really only good for baby goats.

The daughter and her husband handed over the kits in a large plastic storage tub. While two of the three looked healthy enough, the smallest looked very weak. I took her quickly and wrapped her in a towel and held her in my lap for warmth as I drove 200 miles back to the sanctuary.

How unfortunate for these tiny souls that their lives were reduced to being shuttled around Texas because of one man's desire to kill needlessly. What a tragedy that the man had no clue that bobcats do not kill goats or livestock--the cats are too small. The largest prey bobcats hunt are rabbits. If the rancher had thought for 5 minutes he could have rationalized this information with little effort. But, like most ranchers, he held fast to the MYTH that bobcats kill goats and other livestock and therefor the killing was justified.

The smallest bobcat died, despite the sanctuary's vet's best efforts. Most likely due to the stress of losing her mother and being force fed inadequate nutrition. The other two, one male and one female, are well. The larger female came in with a stress fracture on a rear leg due to being mishandled by a pre-schooler and is still limping but otherwise is doing well. They are both on a native mammal diet close to what they would have in the wild and have lost their bloated bellies, grown sleek fur and now have appropriate coordination for their age.

These babies have a great chance of being able to released as they mature. Hopefully, their adult lives will be less tragic.

UPDATE 12/06
The kits have grown into healthy active teenagers. They still retain kitten purrs when you approach their enclosure but the second you drop their food, they are aggressive, snarling dervishes--EXACTLY how they are supposed to be.
Not long ago, two more bobkits were brought to the sanctuary. I am not sure of their story, but the 4 have formed an incredible family. They soon will be moved to a larger enclosure with other adult bobcats so they can learn how to be adults. They will have rare contact with humans ensuring their release back into the wild.
Their future is so bright now.


UPDATE 2/07
The kits are 6 months old now and are now old enough to be moved to a larger enclosure. After the move, they won't have the human contact they've had up to this point and will be near adult bobcats. The purpose is so they can learn to be wild and fear people. Hopefully they will be able to be released by summer time.

UPDATE 10/07
3 of the bobkits were released on the 11th. They were transported to property that contains everything they will need to be free wild bobcats. The others will be released as soon as they learn not to come up to people!!!

A Small Victory

The only thing I knew about the duckling was that he 'wobbled'. Obviously, he had some neural deficit, possibly from an injury to his neck, head or back. Whatever the case, it didn't slow him down. While he couldn't stand well, he never slowed in trying to get where he wanted to go.
I fed him a mix of nutritious granules with water so he wouldn't, in his zeal, eat so much or so fast as to impact his crop (he'd done it before), holding his busy little body with both hands so he wouldn't fall over. He seemed to eat the water but as I watched, he would suck the granules up and continue snapping at the water, all the time emitting the small whistles of a baby duck.
As the food disappeared, I left him to wander his net cage. He wasn't doing well at all, crying and wandering the cage.
I realized as a tiny duckling, he'd be with his mother and after a meal, he would then snuggle under her wings next to her body to take a nap and feel safe.
After wandering the huge laundry room, I came up with a teddy bear with a knitted sweater, hoping it would at least be big enough to prop Wobble up in the cage.
As soon as I laid the teddy on the floor of the cage, Wobble began 'feeling' the teddy's fur with his beak. I put a sheet over the front of the cage so Wobble couldn't see me and could focus on calming himself.
After feeding other tiny nestlings, I realized I didn't hear Wobble crying or fretting. I wondered what had happened. Cautiously lifting the sheet, I could hear tiny whistles coming from the teddy (Wobble talking in his sleep), but I couldn't locate him right away. As my eyes searched for a tiny black and yellow form, I found him--he had made his way under the teddy and under the knitted sweater, curled up and fallen asleep.
What joy! He had done exactly what he need to--taken a nap and relaxed. This with all of the other supportive care he was receiving would certainly make his quality of life better. We can only hope he heals enough to be able to wander the grounds of the sanctuary when he's older.

A Change in the air

He startled me as much as I startled him. Opening the back door, I flip on the back porch light and see this brown wiggly thing trying to find shelter from the light. Not that the light is bright but he probably sensed something going on.

The dogs barely took notice of the brown snake, being more interested in if I had anything to give them. I stepped over him and began to corral him with my hands. I knew he wasn't hurtful as his head was tiny and oval, though I wasn't taking any chances with false bravado. I yelled for Niles to grab a jar and continued to corral the snake. He had faint darker brown marking that ran lengthwise on his back and sides and he never lunged at me; quite the opposite--he would hide underneath my palm when he could. I tried several times to pick him up near his tail end but feared I might squeeze too hard and harm him--something I didn't want to do. He didn't feel harmful and actually felt scared. Exactly what a tiny being is supposed to feel when encountering a billion time larger being.

Niles arrived with a jar and I corralled the snake to go in. Inside under the kitchen lights we all looked and took visual notes for identification. After everyone looked at the snake, I took him out to the garden and released him under the leafed out salvia. He hugged that plant and didn't move while I was there.

He turned out to be a Texas Brown Snake. They are supposed to pretend to be aggressive by coiling up and striking their assailant but this one never did. Perhaps he sensed I was as scared of him as he was of me. Stories have it that they will repeatedly strike but do so with their mouths closed. They also eat small bugs--slugs, tiny crickets, etc... and I am so happy that I have someone in the garden that will take care of any if they show up---if he decided to stay.

Time Passages

Some people mark passing time by calendar, work or school schedules. I mark time passing and season change by what animals I see/hear and what plants I find. Take Spring--we've had some wonderful days of heat and clear skies, but from what the animals say, spring is still on the way.

Cedar Waxwings are a dead give away for the end of winter--for me. I know they come in sometime early winter time but I usually don't spot them until quite late in their stay. I first hear their high pitched 'weeeeee weeeee' before I see them. Finally I spot their mini flocks and am satisfied that we are now better off than before because the waxwings are patrolling the area. You rarely see one alone; usually they travel in 10s or 15s, sometimes double that. I call their recon groups 'pods' as they remind me of the Jetson's and how they travelled in their little pod ships.

Robins used to come through fairly often before the neighborhood was developed. There would be 50 drinking from the pool next door and then they would fly across the street to forage in the neighbor's pristine golf course grass. Long ago Juncos even visited but haven't returned since.

Driving towards Wildlife Rescue, I marked off a mile so that I could run and know how far I'd gone. I came upon the most wondrous sight--a huge flock of wild turkey!!! They all began to move away from the road when I approached (I honestly thought it was a vulture reunion!) and as I slowed, I roughly counted about 60. They all walked then gathered speed and flew over the pasture fence away from me. There is nothing like the sight of 60 large birds taking flight (however short). They landed beyond the fence and scooted down into a dry creek bed ravine. I paused and remembered to breathe--grace.

Parking under the oak tree at the sanctuary, I ventured into the rock building and heard the waxwings above in the sleeping hackberry tree---ahhh, there they are. I have been wondering where they've been here at the house and thought since the winter has been so mild, maybe they decided to stay home in the north. But no, a nice sized flock of 40 or so were in the branches above.

Only last week I had the front door open and heard robins in the neighborhood. They've also been obviously absent, even in the treeline behind the house. But alas, a few scattered through letting me know that yes, it does feel spring like but winter's not giving up quite yet.

It is February, the time of wild anemones and lavendar violets. Of sprouting sunflower seedlings and others I can just guess at. Of awakening day lilies and iris. And migrating skunks looking to continue the lineage no matter the travel or sacrifice.

I noted on my 45 minute drive to the sanctuary there were an uncommon number of dead skunks on the side of the roadway. Unusual as these critters somehow avoid the ultimate result of living near a highway. Come to find out, February and early March are the mating seasons for these little jewels and it's the males that are killed looking to procreate. I am saddened for them--if people knew more about what a skunk's job is in the lifetime, I believe they would be more empathetic. Same goes for possums, foxes, coyotes, and raccoons. Ahh, but I digress.

The brown rabbit was given to the sanctuary because whomever owned him could no long keep him. His story is vague as are many of the stories of the animals that pass through the clinic. His hind end is paralyzed and he gets around rather well by his front legs. He has superior upper body strength.

I reached down to him on his pallet and my hands touched a softness that surprised--some described his fur as silk, maybe satin, but I thought both were far too rough compared to what I felt. Like water running over fingertips; like a newborn's skin; like a lover's eyelid.... ever so wonderful... addictive....

I massaged him from neck to frozen back legs--no one had even thought to do this. He laid so very still and was so very muscular. After the massage, I scratched from whiskers to tail--I can't imagine going through life with no back scratch!!! I asked if I could visit the others in the clinic and take him with me and I was told sure. So we went on our own field trip outside. As soon as we walked out the back door, his nose went on overdrive and his ears perked. We visited the little orphaned lamb and her new friend Axis fawn. Neither of them knew what to do with Brown Rabbit as he cruised their home. From their point of view, we had nothing of nutritional value to offer so we were in fact, invisible to them. That didn't stop me from stealing nose kisses from them both before Brown Rabbit and I departed.

I set him down near the small white rabbit grazing on the lawn. At first, neither outwardly acknowledged one another, then the white bunny came over to Brown Rabbit and they greeted each other. Then the little white one hopped straight up in the air, circled Brown Rabbit, then paused. Brown Rabbit lifted himself on his front legs and turned in a circle following the white one. Oh it was quite the moment. White bunny hopped away and Brown Rabbit began to explore in earnest. At one point we both heard the 'skree' of a hawk far away and he froze. Ahh--instinct.

We toured the outside area fairly well for almost an hour and when it was time to go in, Brown Rabbit was visibly unexcited. I put him back on his pallet where fresh alfalfa waited. He quickly lost interest in me and began to eat.

I was able to greet some of the newest residents of the clinic--tiny squirrels and possums, eyes not even open yet. Baby season has begun. I must make the time to help out--prioritize.