Texas Porcupine

Back in June this little one was found tangled up in a towel in some one's front yard. No one knew where she came from and no one ever saw her mom walking the neighborhood looking for her. The people that found her called their vet who in turned called the sanctuary. The tiny baby porcupine soon found herself as a unique addition to all of the raccoons, squirrels, and opossum babies that were being cared for.

Porcupines are found in this part of Texas (south central) and chances are, you won't usually see one. They are incredibly secretive and don't bother anyone (unless of course your dog decides to try and chase one out of the yard and they end up in the only corner in the yard!). Their diet is similar to that of other nocturnal animals--bugs, grubs, ripe native fruits, leaves, and the inner bark of trees. The may forage on the ground at night, but during the day, they sleep and nap up in the trees. They are superb climbers with long black claws on all 4 feet. The soles of their hands and feet are soft and I've often likened adult porcupine feet to baby's because of the similar shape.

Her body was a little larger than my hand and her tail wasn't much longer than that. Her fur was black and soft with just a few prickles to remind you of her species. She made a small, quiet 'huh' sound and you could tell missed her mother terribly. She was fed a specialized formula and given small bite sized pieces of fruits and veggies to nibble. She seemed so small. She loved hiding in a small crate with a pillowcase and hay for comfort and medium sized tree branches near so she would be familiar with her native elements.




She stayed in the clinic until she was a little bigger and a little older. In July, she got her own place outside. There, she was able to experience the sun, wind, outdoor sounds, and night time in safety. I can only imagine what her thoughts were. I took photos one afternoon and she roamed the area of her hutch. She immediately began eating dirt and gnawing a rock. Since they live so close to the ground and eat mainly the inner bark of trees, minerals play an important role in their diets. Shortly after, she found the tree that shaded her home. She took her time smelling around the base and then climbed between the trunk and branch and took a short nap.

By this time she was getting more spines and while they were smaller and darker than her adult ones would be, they were still hurtful! She began to 'startle'-meaning that if she was startled, her fur would stand on end and the famous lower back quills (however small!) would stand out. Her tail fur and quills would also swell and stand up. It was amazing that even though she was in an unusual situation (being taken care of by humans with however little contact) she was instinctively defensive.




By the beginning of August, she was in an even more remote location and in a bigger space. She was in an old pigeon coop that offered her lots more room to climb and explore. Large logs were placed at angles so that she could practice her climbing and the roost boxes offered her hiding places.

Her 'big girl' quills were coming in nicely and they reminded me of the ones I had stashed away at home from when the dogs cornered a huge porcupine in the back yard and had to go to the vet to have them removed. Long and white tipped with black. Her black 'baby' fur was quickly being replaced with course white hairs that blended the black under-fur with her quills. I have often wondered how mama porcupines care for the little ones--even her ears are protected by tiny back quills.

Exactly what does a mother porcupine's love look and feel like?

Grief and Mourning

I felt the shaking begin in my midsection and flow outwards. My knees felt as if they would buckle. I could feel the sobs forming and having to consciously hold them inside--my body shook, racked with silent screams and sobs, tears leaking out of my eyes and falling downward, breathing ragged...



Oliver's death was entirely unexpected and a shock. He was brought into the clinic for a routine castration so that he could be put in the sheep pasture without worries of little ones popping up. As the vets prepared the surgery room for him, I visited and loved on him. How handsome he had become! His horns were getting long and his once baby face now took on the character of an almost adult barbado sheep.

During the surgery, he stopped breathing. The vets worked quickly and re-established his breathing but he wasn't able to breathe on his own so they performed a tracheotomy. After the surgery, he was put into a room to fully recover from anesthesia. I visited him and while he was still groggy, he recognized me and paced, ready to leave. I told him it wouldn't be much longer, that he would be able to get back outside as soon as he shook off the anesthetics.

In the meantime, I was outside photographing our first-of-the-season skunk experiencing green grass, the breezes, and the sun for the first time. Dee came outside and as she walked towards me I could tell by the look on her face that the worst had happened. We held each other and cried--how entirely unfair, how entirely unfair.

I made my way to where I had last seen Oliver. He was there, on the floor, looking as perfect as the last time I saw him. His death had happened so fast that everyone was still in shock. I stroked his sweet face and muzzle, his ears, his rounded belly... and cried, waves of grief pouring out of me. I barely heard the vets apologizing. All I could do was replay all of my memories of him in my mind.

Sometimes as I sit in the pasture with Rocky I still see his shadow running through the pasture, ears back, smiling...



Our sweet Cher was next to pass on. I had been in the yard saying yet another good-bye to Minnie Pearl and playing with them both. I spent several hours playing hide-n-seek, chase, and teaching them to climb on their shelter so each in turn could be Queen. That was a Thursday evening. Two days later, Saturday, Casey visited and as we ate lunch at a sandwich shop she told me that Cher had been brought into the clinic the night before not being able to stand or eat and was having trouble breathing. Not long after, she began to crash and wasn't able to be revived. She died of what was believed to be pneumonia due to aspiration.

I stopped breathing when Casey finished her story, shocked. Then sobbed. The grief of the loss of another baby was almost overwhelming. My mind raced, wanting to blame someone, everyone, even myself for not being there. Finally I realized there was nothing I could have done to stop what in some cruel way was meant to be.

Sweet Cher was with us only a short time but her presence is still felt and all who knew her smile--she was a star indeed.




This photo was taken two weeks ago on a Thursday evening. I spent most of the evening with the boys as I had taken Scooter to his vet appointment earlier in the day. Vinney had just overcome a severe allergic reaction that made his face and head swell. It was a tense few days. After about a week or so as the swelling subsided, the skin on his face hardened a bit and his nose cracked. The skin on his ears also began to harden a little. His lips then cracked--all of this was his body healing from all of the swelling and trauma of rubbing on everything he could find to ease the discomfort.

He wasn't keen on people touching him but he did come near when I was sitting with Rocky and I was able to see how he was doing. His face did look like a boxer after a fight-still a little swollen, but the scabbed over skin looked fine. He sauntered past but always remained close to Rocky and me.

The following Monday I got a phone call--Vinney had been found dead in the pasture that morning. Though I cried before the call was over, I found that I was somehow strangely removed from the news. For the rest of the day I intellectualized that I wouldn't see Vinney the next time I worked, but my emotions were frozen in disbelief.

The following day at work I spoke with Traci about what had happened and she told me that an intern was supposed to give him his meds and neglected to do so. She continued to speak but the tears began. I tried to hold them back but I couldn't. I put my hands over my eyes and tried to stop breathing. My insides shook so terribly and I suppose the sounds I made were disconcerting but Traci held me while I cried, gently letting me know it was ok, to let it all out... my boy, my sweet Vinney... gone. Really gone.

While it's unknown if the meds he was supposed to have received would have saved his life, I firmly believe that had the intern at least seen him that evening, things may have ended differently.



Sweet Scooter. The little goat that could. Not long after this photo, Scooter was again unable to stand. His limbs were again too weak to hold him. Arrangements were made for weekly chiropractic and acupuncture appointments, his diet was again modified with more browse, fewer pellets, and he was weaned from formula. He was just three months old and had spent just a few weeks on his feet. The majority of his life had been spent laying in a crate.

He rallied not long after his third appointment. He was able to stand and even take a few steps but it was obvious something big was going on--his back legs were very weak and his front legs couldn't coordinate with one another to walk far. Several days later he was again not able to stand. One front leg was not able to be straightened and his left side front and back was so incredibly weak. We had hopes that he could compensate with learning how to graze on his knees like Rocky but again his front legs were so weak that he wasn't able to balance.

Much discussion ensued about his quality of life. He was a goat and yet had just a few weeks in the outdoors grazing and living like a goat should. He was in obvious decline and while his demeanor was excellent and he had a true solid will to live, was living in a crate and being taken outside for short segments of time when time allowed good enough? With heavy hearts it was agreed that this was no quality of life and that it wasn't fair to him.

Everyone spent time with Scooter and a small group of us walked, he in my arms, out to the pasture he loved. His last moments were spent grazing and smelling the breezes. Rocky sat behind me as Scooter, cradled in my arms, took his final breaths and slipped quietly away, no longer suffering in a broken body, his spirit free.


I still have a hard time with all of these stories. I cannot write them much less read them without the emptiness in my center and tears coursing down my cheeks. I am holding on to the hope that they will each visit me in my dreams, showing me their new lives. I have hope.

Hurricane Dolly, meet Hurricane Lillie

Hurricane Dolly swept through the area today dropping almost 3" of wondrous, refreshing, rejuvenating, exhilarating rain. We've been in a drought for so long the moisture was welcome in any guise. There were tornadoes spotted on the south of town and winds that made you pay attention.

The rains began in earnest around 9am this morning. Rain that fell straight down, steady, with little sign of letting up. It was great. All of the ducks at work were out in force dabbling all through the submerged grass.

It was still raining when I got home after 4pm. Not long after Forrest gestured me to the front door to see Lillie enjoying the life force of rain that had come all the way from the Gulf of Mexico. She was fabulous! She made the hole in the lawn then stomped, dug, played, and danced in it. Not long after these photos, she took to a front garden. By the time I wandered back out front, she had a nice hole full of water that overflowed across the sidewalk and to the driveway.

Rain is fun.

Early Morning Treasure

So I was leaving for work one morning a little before 5am and look what greeted me--besides the deer with their fawns. I know whomever it was that passed me as I stopped in the middle of the road (you know who you are!) thought I was off the deep end again, but I was just catching the moment.



Same moon, different exposures.


Several years ago our resident swallows decided not to return to the front porch. They had graced us with a nest over the front door for seven years in a row and the countless stories of baby swallows being hatched and growing up to fly away were something that made our home special. One year we had the house painted while they were gone for the winter and when they returned I suppose they didn't particularly like the color, even though it was the same as before, and built their wonderful nest elsewhere. So, it's been 3 long lonesome years with no swallow magic. Until this year.



The couple began their nest quite late in the season. The previous couples would have returned and built their nest by late April, early May. Here it was the middle of June and the nest was almost complete.

Several weeks later, a bazillion trips between the two parents to finish up the nest, and days and nights spent sitting in the nest, one tiny fuzzy head peaks over the edge. What was more thrilling, Forrest found half an egg shell on the front porch--a gift and a treasure!



Not long after, another tiny fuzzy head wobbled above the edge.



We watched the parents come in and out, mouths filled with food for the babies. Each mouth full would produce a small white packet from the other end that the parents would gently pick up and transport away from the nest.

Maggie took particular joy in sitting on the front porch staring at the family therefore ensuring a swallow smack down. You must understand, swallows are very family oriented and will call for local family members to come and help with ousting an intruder with shrill calls and tweeps, fly bys and sometimes even fur grabs.

This morning brought about 20-30 swallows flying in a panic across the front yard and the porch. The alarm call had been sounded and I rushed down the stairs to the front door to grab Maggie inside so the birds would calm. However, when I grabbed Maggie and paused, I sensed something wasn't quite right. There was too much panic and too many birds for just Maggie. Something else was wrong--something else was going on.

I put Maggie inside, closed the front door, and waited on the sidewalk. The birds dispersed and eventually one swallow parent flew to the nest. But no one greeted her. Not even one fuzzy head.

Last evening as I left with friends, I proudly showed them how big the babies were getting--big enough to perch almost on the lip of the nest waiting for mom and dad to feed them and able to see their parents as they flew across the yard. Although one was smaller than the other, I knew that only a day separated them and the smaller one would soon catch up.

A parent swallow flew to the nest and hesitated. She walked a little down into the nest, paused, then flew away. I knew instantly something was terribly wrong. I grabbed a chair from inside and gently put my hand inside the nest. One tiny swallow baby was very cold and very still. I removed him and gently felt for the other one. Not as cold but not moving much. I removed him from the nest also and could tell it was only a matter of time before he joined his sibling. He was cold, not moving, eyes closed and breathing shallowly. I left him in his home.

I buried the littlest swallow in the garden near the front door--not so far away from the only home he ever had. Later on in the day I again checked the nest, removed the lifeless body of the second baby swallow and buried him beside the first.

Now the nest is empty. The parents haven't been back since this morning and I only hope they don't blame us for their family's demise. I surmise that it's entirely possible they caught and fed chemically contaminated bugs to their family. Who knows the poisons people spray around and in their yards never paying attention to the wildlife they affect and destroy.



The little mud cup of life is now empty. I hope it's not for long.

Goodbye Sweet Cher

Our sweet Cher died this past Friday evening. Her silky self will be terribly missed by everyone, including one very sassy boer girl.

Once upon a time...

Once upon a time, back in April, a trio of possums were dropped off at the clinic. Two of the possums were the normal grey and white with black eyes and feet and ears. But one possum was white with black eyes and feet and ears. And she was perfect!!!

We noticed that the siblings were very protective of their sister, always guarding her by standing in front of her every time their crate door was opened. She really didn't need the protection as she was somewhat aggressive herself, but it was indeed a rare look into the lives of possums. This little orphaned family obviously knew how to care for each other.



Her condition is called leucistic (loo-kiss-tic) . She is not albino because she does have pigment in her ears, eyes, and feet. Not much more is different for her. She is a rarity and when she has babies, I wonder if any or how many will carry on her superb beauty.

I've never seen a white possum before though I know this isn't the first one. I've seen a mottled axis fawn with white stockings and face, and photos of an almost white cardinal, but this little girl was my fist white possum. And what a celebrity! I think all of the staff have taken photos of her as well as a few visitors. I know she can't wait to get back to the wild. No more photo ops for her!

She is almost ready for release. She was held back so that she could get a little size to her so that she would be able to readily defend herself in the wild if she were picked on.



There is the possibility that she will lack the camouflage that her peers have especially on moon lit nights, but, as I've never seen one come in injured, possibly it will work in her favor.

A Fox Tale

Each year the types of animals rotates as to how frequently we get them. Last year we took in a litter of 6 coyote pups; this year we have received 2 separate pups. Last year we had a mom fox who was caught and almost killed by a rancher and when he realized she was pregnant, called Texas Parks and Wildlife who transported her to the sanctuary. Overnight she gave birth to six kits and when she was moved to an outdoor soft release site, bolted, leaving her kits for us to raise. This year we've received several single foxes--and they are living outside in one of our day cages until they're old enough to go below and be released shortly after.





These two obviously have a special bond. I spent about half an hour photographing the crew. Obviously the Texas heat is making its presence known. Pink tongues abounded.

Two were in a cat house...



one was barely tolerating me...



and the other two couldn't make up their minds about having their photos taken and hid behind the crate.

We've received two more this week, both close to the same age as these kits.

I have to say that fox kits are one of my favorites. Ok, next to bobkits.

It's a done deal.

Tomorrow M Pearl goes to her new home. She has officially been adopted and her new owner has been cleared to take her. Her name will change too.

Mozelle.

I knew it was coming but I kept hoping against the eventual. After all, M Pearl was the first goat I've ever had the opportunity to care for from the beginning. From scared little baby to sassy kid.

I stayed awhile this afternoon for a long goodbye. I think she knew something was up--I stopped by to visit but I didn't have a bottle, and I wasn't taking Scooter. I sat in the yard and while Scooter waddled over and nested in my lap, M Pearl loved on my like never before. She put her pink nose to my lips and breathed deep breaths. She nuzzled my head and nibbled my hair. She rubbed my back with her tiny horns and then proceeded to raise on her hind legs and park her front feet on my head. Guess she was telling me she was Queen. Cher didn't think anything remarkable was happening. I haven't bonded with her like I have with M Pearl so it's understandable. She didn't get why M Pearl was wasting so much time on a human.

Tomorrow is my day off. I've brought Scooter home so I can take him to his vet appointment in the morning and back out to the sanctuary after. I waffle on taking him back--what if she's gone? Worse yet--what if she's still there??!!!!

Half Breed; Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves; I Got You Babe...

Introducing Cher.

A long time Kendalia resident called one morning last week to see if we could take in this little goat. Story goes he got up one morning, looked out the window to his front yard, and saw the little goat. He didn't have goats and hadn't had goats since his adult children were young. And since he lives on a main highway, he figured someone had thrown her out.

She arrived in a crate in the back of his truck. As I lifted her thin body out, she gladly looked around and wagged her tail. I ran my hands down either side of her back bone and felt small welts all over. Probably fire ant bites. She didn't seem to mind that I was petting her and as her empty stomach showed, was probably ready for a feed.

In the clinic, Traci and Dee looked her over and the naming process began. I thought up Mae West (oh yes I did) but was quickly outvoted (2-1) on the name Cher. After all, she was thin, had gorgeous black fur, ears that hung straight down like Cher's hair... how could I argue.

Unlike Scooter and M Pearl before her, she didn't waste any time in cuteness overload. Immediately she began her little kid leaps and kicks often looking surprised after an especially complicated kick and leap. Oh she was delicious.

She stayed in the clinic just two days and was ushered outside to M Pearl's yard. They didn't waste any time in getting acquainted and making up leap routines. I've snuck up on them jumping off steps seeming to dare the other to go to the next step up... perfect kid play.



Her welts are healing and her fur is still slick and shiny. She and M Pearl are fast friends and you will never find one far behind the other. Apparently they have formed their own 'girl's club' for Scooter isn't invited to many of their games.

Girls are tricky. Especially if they're goats.

The little goat that could

Early last month I posted about Minnie Pearl (aka M. Pearl) and Scooter. About how Minnie had just arrived and not long after Scooter showed up all bloated and just not feeling right. Well, he's been pretty sick for the last few weeks. His bloated belly really didn't go down--it just stayed the same. He wasn't going potty (keeping it clean here folks) and he couldn't even lay sternally (on his 'belly' with his legs and feet tucked under.) He would lay on his side, legs sticking straight out and cry piteously--and his cries weren't normal goat 'baaas', they were small dog barks. Then, when the pain was really intense, he would scream.

When I was in the clinic, I would run to check on him and reassure him that he wasn't alone or forgotten. Then I would reposition him to allow his body to remember how it was supposed to be laying. During his feeds, I would have him straddle my leg (as I sat on the ground)front legs on one side, back legs on the other, so it would model how he would normally feed--standing up.

His skin began to crust and peel--very much like cradle cap on a baby. Even his ears were crusty. I bathed him then took him outside in the sun and brushed and picked the gunk off. He laid patiently in my lap (no bigger than a 3 month old lab pup!) and dozed. I also took he and Minnie to the pasture to spend time with The Boys. Minnie frolicked while Vinney ignored her; Rocky laid beside me, contentedly. Scooter would be in my lap, head on my leg, soaking it all in.

During all of this he never gave up. His eyes stayed bright, his mental state was always one of trying. I thought, more than once, that he was just suffering and maybe we needed to consider letting him go. But looking into those amber eyes I realized he wasn't giving up and I needed to follow his lead.

The vets prescribed all kinds of meds for him. Antibiotics for his swollen knee (possible joint infection); dewormers, pain meds and homeopathics. Everyone was at a loss as to why he was down and why the bloat wasn't going away. His formula was changed, colostrum was added... everything.

Then one day (this past Monday) he stood up on his own. All on his own! His right front leg and rear left leg were very weak, but still there he was, standing!! He took tentative steps forward and hasn't stopped since.



He is still very slow but his will is solid. He now spends his days outside with Minnie and her new friend Cher. (Cher has her own story!!) He walks, grazes, and I think truly enjoys his time with them. I have walked past where they are and have watched him curled in the grass, eyes closed and nose pointed skyward with a slight smile on his pink fuzzy lips.

Goats are known for their determination.

aunt Jemima

A 'wild, feral' kitten was put in a box with holes in the sides and left at the veterinarian's office. We partner with this vet as a drop off location for orphaned and injured wild animals as they are in a centralized location in town. Proof: you can see in this picture that she is trying to rip Forrest's finger off.

She arrived in the clinic and was immediately given a front row 'shoulder' of all of the goings on that evening. She has amazing balance for one so small, so Casey's shoulder was the best place to be as birds and raccoons were checked in and given initial fluids.

Forrest and I walked in not long after her arrival. Forrest asked to hold her and that was pretty much the end of the 'wild, feral' kitten's homelessness. I had some serious thinking on my feet to see if this kitten could indeed come home with us (the law had already been laid down "No More Animals") so I figured that we could foster the baby until she was old enough to be adopted, that way we would be able to enjoy the life of a kitten and she wouldn't be a permanent addition--not breaking any rules. So I made the phone call to Brent--I had to make it good because I knew I only had one chance.

Casey, Jemima and me


Well, it was a tough phone call but finally the kitten was on her way to a new, albeit temporary, home. We began calling her Syrup, then Chocolate Syrup. Forrest came up with Aunt Jemima and the name stuck.

She has made her tiny self at home venturing from Forrest's lap to his bed (under the covers and on his stomach)and all around down stairs. She is a very accomplished kitten for one so young. She looks like a fuzzy 8-ball with a bottle brush tail. Delicious!!!

I nave neglected telling the downside of all of this kitten love. Namely, Rosie and Maggie are entirely out of sorts and refuse to participate in the baby's upbringing in any degree. Well, hissing and nasty looks are some type of upbringing I suppose. Maggie with trail Jemima but will stay far enough away so that when Jemima turns to see who's behind her Maggie can hiss. I know Mags wants to possibly play, but, there are invisible obstacles to overcome--I just wish I knew what they were. And Rosie--she's just entirely put out by the whole ordeal. She won't even venture into the same area of the house if Jemima is there. How can a 1/2 pound kitten wield so much power over animals triple and quadruple her size and weight??

HI-larious!!!

Black Buck

This is Black Buck girl. She is of the antelope family. They originated in India and parts of Pakistan and Nepal, but unfortunately, like many other exotic animals, they have been imported to this country all for the folly of zoos and exotic game ranches where wannabe "hunters" can kill one with little effort.

Such was the case with Black Buck's mom. Raised in the Texas hill country on a large amount of land, her only lot in life was to be some one's "trophy" on a paid "hunt". These "ranches" are stocked with exotic animals from other countries. Fees are charged for gun wielding people to slaughter the wild life and claim their exotic prize. There is little reason for this kind of "hunting". No human life depends on the animal's meat and there is no shortage of human food to warrant these activities. But these "ranches" are prolific in Texas, and the moniker "canned hunt" is a true representation of what occurs.

Black Buck's mother was shot and killed by one of these "hunters". He then realized she was pregnant and a wave of guilt somehow permeated his bravado. He took his pocket knife and cut her mother's belly open and delivered Black Buck girl himself.

I vehemently disagree with these canned hunts and I have to wonder what truly transpired at the moment this man decided to do The Right Thing and save at least the baby black buck. What exact thought set his hands in action?

Black Buck girl was brought to the sanctuary still damp from the birthing. She was kept warm and fed by an entire staff dedicated to making sure she had everything she needed for survival.

She spent her early days in the clinic, then, when she was big enough, she was put out in the pasture with the other younglings--mostly lambs. They roamed banded together and were duly named "The Baby Gang". It was a sight to see--15 or so young lambs and one black buck browsing the pastures en mass.

Her life has passed quite contentedly these last few years. The lambs matured into sheep and went their merry sheep ways. She is now in pasture 2 along with a few other sheep, one lovely goat named Chocolate, several pigs, and the boys, Rocky and Vinney.

She is not pregnant--she is just very well taken care of!

A scary couple of hours

Last week Lillie and I visited the sanctuary with my camera. While I took a few shots of the boys, Lillie took photos of everyone else in the pasture--including me loving on Rocky. I love this picture--have you ever seen a lamb smile like that?



I know this one is out of focus, but I love it anyway. At first, Lillie was very afraid of this pig. He is a feral one that came in as a tiny piglet. She used to visit him when he was tiny and loved his cold wet nose. Now, his cold wet nose will leave bruises on your leg if you stand still for too long.

But this point of view is priceless!!



This is one of the girl barbado mix sheep that just loves the little goatie goats. She and her best friend NEVER mosey anywhere. They will approach you (or any visitor) at a fast trot. They'll check you out, look around, and trot to another spot in the pasture. It cracks me up. She came up to us, sniffed our hands, trotted over to where Vinney was laying down having a nap, and began to walk away. Vinney hopped up and joined her where she was grazing. It was like I totally missed their communication about it being snack time. So did Rocky.




Here's Vinney. Apparently I disturbed his nap because all he could manage was to get up, say hello, then lay down again. He is so handsome.

The title of this post refers to what happened the day after I took this photo.
Vinney was loaded up to go to his vet's appointment in town. When the intern stopped to give him water, he was nowhere to be found. He had been inside a crate with bungee cords securing the door in the bed of a truck. And he was gone.

There were a handful of people out looking for him for several hours. The intern retraced her route several times. And I know she felt worse than horrible.

I received the phone call around 6:30pm that he was gone and at that time I was walking into Niles' band concert at his school. I didn't quite grasp the situation when I heard it--I thought he had just gotten out of the crate in the neighborhood where the vet was and was roaming green city yards and gardens. What I grasped later was that it was highly possible he jumped out of the truck on the highway. I reeled at all of the horrid pictures my mind conjured up. And, I won't got into them here.

At 9pm, I got the call that he had been found and returned to the clinic, that he was wondering what all the fuss was about and why everyone--EVERYONE--was loving on him and giving him kisses. I couldn't keep from crying--for joy. And relief. He was found not far from the sanctuary by one of our key volunteers.

I wonder what he did those hours he was on the loose, a renegade, a rogue lamb.

So, Vinney's back. And, he's not even aware of how much energy was spent getting him back. Or how many tears one particular sheep mama shed.

Minnie Pearl, aka M. Pearl

Minnie, M Pearl (she will have to eventually be called Pearl as calling her around Vinney ends up in a little confusion between species...) has blossomed. Once a fearful, frail little goatlet, she has turned into a very opinionated, powerful kid-woman-to-be. She's now used to our routine of feeding at 6am and every three hours after, being let out of her crate to roam the room she's in, and, now, to lead Scooter around and show him 'the ropes'. Meaning, nibbling on everything--EVERYTHING--encountered. This means all matter of laundry (clean and dirty), trash can liners, newspapers, animal care forms... everything.

Scooter came to us not long after Pearl. His story is that whomever it was that 'found' him found him in a ditch and brought him to us.



His belly was bloated from being fed way too much far too often and his skin was extremely dry and flaky--very uncomfortable for such a little guy. His stature is quite diminutive compared to M Pearl's. We think he is a miniature goat.

So far, he is still very timid about life. He will call for his mother when I take them to the pasture and then gives up and lays down. He doesn't really socialize with anyone--yet. Rocky has sniffed him out and Vinney has done a 'drive-by'. All he needs is time. He will come around.

M Pearl's tag was removed last week, hence the shortening of her name. She was named after the infamous Minnie Pearl of Hee Haw fame because of her tag. Now that it's gone, her name had to be updated. Her personality is slowly coming to light. She runs and jumps and kicks like any other goat kid. She is beginning to nibble grass and leaves and is becoming more interested in the other pasture inhabitants. Scooter slowly and sometimes reluctantly follows her around. He'll get the picture soon enough.

So now there's two more little ones to care to, spend time with, and initiate into the pasture. I am not so sure I like being a 'mama goat'--they don't follow me as well as the lambs did and they don't seem as appreciative of my endeavors with them as the lambs were.... but I know in the long run it'll all pay off.

Long live Oliver

My sweet boy Oliver--the one whose feet never really touched the ground, who was much larger than life; the little boy lamb that lived every minute of his life to the fullest--died today.

Remember...

In one of my favorite movies of all time, Men In Black, the search was on for an alien galaxy and if it wasn't found the world would be blown up by said aliens. An ok premise for a movie but the cool fact that the galaxy in question was housed in a bell-like charm on a cat's collar was oh so inspiring. (The galaxy is on Orion's be... be... be... belt....)

The other morning after it had rained and I saw this fella on the sidewalk, I put him in Lillie's hand. I was inspired by the simplicity of the photo--what galaxy was he carrying, what knowledge would he impart, where was he going????

In the Dr Doolittle movie of long ago (the FIRST one, with Rex Harrison) the sea snail took him and his crew to Galapagos islands. How exciting--travelling inside a sea snail! For many years after I watched that movie I wanted nothing more than to learn to talk with the Animals and go to the Galapagos islands.

Was this guy carrying tourists from one place to another???





We found this caterpillar in the garden. I suppose it's easy to read all kinds of things into a moment like this--the evolution of a child into an adult; a girl into a woman; a caterpillar into a butterfly. Or just a kid with a worm!

What strikes me deeply about these photographs are my little girl's hands. I suppose they're so special because not only are they one of my children's, but, she is the youngest, the last one, the only girl.... sigh....

All mama's have secret special parts of babies that they love. My sister LOVES baby feet; other mama's love toes, lips, noses, eyebrows... I love baby hands. There is something in the fact that when they're born, you can look at your baby's hands and try and divine what they will encounter. You leave kisses in baby palms hoping that some magic will hold the sentiment right there in the middle and keep baby safe. (By the way, the best kid's book ever is The Kissing Hand by Audrey Penn. Thanks Gayle!!)

As the baby grows into a toddler, pre-schooler, then elementary school aged, and older and older you watch those same hands grow larger; longer fingers, scrapes and nail losses, more mama kisses... and then you'll be out and about and see a sweet new baby and you pause and smile, remembering your own new babies. The next thing you know you're blocking an aisle in Target with a goofy grin on your face and perhaps a tear or two threatening to fall.





Here's my big boy's hands. We were at Lillie's cheer/Niles' football practice and he found a really big toad and luckily I had my camera. His hands are fully bigger than mine--and he's just 16! They've helped me with animal rescues, removing deceased animals from roads, held his sister so tenderly when she used to let him comfort her, shown his brother how to throw baseballs, taken apart more electronics that I am aware... and they have so many secrets.

Lucky I'm at home, otherwise I would be the one blocking the aisle in Target....

It was bound to happen

Yes, it was. Only I didn't think it would be so soon.

When Rocky hit a certain age, I was no longer his "One". He was walking past me following someone else and when I called out to him his ears twitched only a little and he kept walking, never missing a step. Everyone in the kitchen gasped and went silent. My heart broke into a thousand pieces. But I had been warned this would happen. Rocky was officially a Teen Ager. A typical one at that.

When Vinney came along, he mended my shattered heart and I again was a Mama Sheep caring for a perfect little white lambie. Hours upon hours have been spent with these two folowing me to pastures, on walks, and on short escape runs. I have kissed both of their pink noses and sweet faces and memorized their sweet individual scents. I have massaged limbs, extended and flexed joints, and cleaned snotty noses. I have hundreds of photographs of them.

I have been a very good Mama Sheep.

And yesterday it happened. Vinney walked through the clinic and I stepped into the hallway and he trotted to me. I invited him to join me in the room I was in and he gladly obliged me. He looked and sniffed around the room while I busied myself with baby birds. There is nothing better than having a lamb between your feet, leaning on one leg just a little, as you work. A co-worker walked in and called him to leave and he galloped out of the room. I called his name and he never slowed down--not even an ear twitch of recognition. My heart was shattered once again.

Until later in the afternoon when a new baby was brought in. A sweet 3 week old Boer baby goat, or kid. She was entirely unsure about what was going on and the chaos of getting her to the sanctuary obviously exhausted her. The women that brought her in said she was sickly and just frail. They thought she had deformities with both knees and that she was blind.



I put her on a blanket in the intake room, stood her on it, and just observed her. I got down on her level so she could see my face and not just my feet and be somewhat comforted. She was very aprehensive of the new environment but her eyes were bright. She wasn't overly warm or cold, she was just very scared.

From just observing, she looked fine.

And then I put my nose to hers and it was true love--at least for me. A new baby!!!

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.