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.

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.