Portland loves....

(Bunny spray painted at ground level at the corner of a building on Aberta Street in Portland).

My journey is nearly complete. I am exhausted and yet I can internally reflect on the last 4 days in the middle of the chaos that is the Portland airport. My flight leaves in less than an hour and yet my day was full before noon.

This day began earlier than the last few. A 4am text from Brent asking if I knew where Lillie's backpack was... yes. This really happened. This was after my alarm went off (I have no idea why) and I had talked myself into going back to sleep and not going to the coast. The Oregon coast, the coast that I had told just about everyone I talked with over the last 4 days that I was going to visit. Yes, I had chickened out. Then the text.

So I got up. 4:30am. Showered, packed every single thing I had collected (and it all actually fit!!), checked out and off I went in total early morning darkness on my journey-to the Starbucks down the street from the hotel. No adventure should be attempted without a serious dose of manna--Triple Venti No Foam Latte.

I was set. The caffeine boost was enough to send my fears of the unknown into the dark corners of the itty bitty rental car.



It was a little tricky to navigate a city I do not know, in the dark and rain, and on the phone with Misty. Something had to go so I could drink my latte!!! Just kidding--I made it with NO turn arounds!! (unlike my arrival!)

Somehow, the directions held true and by full daybreak I arrived at Seaside, Oregon. Led by my gut, I found the exact cul de sac I had been told about. I parked, grabbed my camera and off I went.



It was so cold and windy and rainy that had I not been on a serious mission to touch the western coastal waters, I might have ducked into the bakery I parked in front of to wait it all out (like I had even seen the sun since I got here!!)

Looking for shells to take back to my family, I came across this partial sand dollar. And another. And another. The only shells on the beach at this time were partial sand dollars... amazing!!



You know something's up when the residents are all fluffed up and look miserable.



Walking along snapping shots of whatever I came across, I found this perfect heart, minus the wings. The chest plate of a crab--who would have known crabs carried such beauty so close?



I was in the land of crows! Walking into my hotel, one serenaded me from the roof. Driving along the roadways, I saw their dark shapes on the light posts, in the fields, on the sidewalks... I was in heaven!!! I shared my coffee cake with a crew--a murder of crows. First one, then two, the six... there was a trio on the beach as the area warmed a little. This one let me get pretty close before he fled.



Too quickly my time at the beach was over. On the way to Seaside, I noticed a natural area and found it on the way back to Portland. Driving down the single lane paved road, I was transported into the land of long ago. The area was quiet, the only sounds were the running water--in the creek and through the branches of the trees.





I would never tire of this view.



I will return. I have to!

The girls from Mississippi

They came in this huge trailer. No one seeing the long white trailer on the road could possibly know there were two lives inside who were being taken to a new home, a better home, than the one they'd been living in for so many years. They had been part of a 'collector's' menagerie for the past 15 years. We really weren't able to find out a lot about their previous circumstances except the person was getting rid of the animals.

The girls had been loaded up in Mississippi the night before and had been on the road the entire night. They had no idea that when the back doors of the trailer opened, their new lives would begin.

The trailer arrived early in the morning and pulled up to the rear of the lockouts. Our single male African lion was curious of the company as he only sees humans when being fed.



He could see the trailer and everyone walking around, but, when the back doors of the trailer were opened and the girls began talking, he really perked up.

The back doors of the trailer were opened and the girls blinked from the brightness. They were in huge wild hog traps with hay and water bowls. It had been a long journey and it was almost over.

I'm sure the person who had them before had named them, but, to tell them apart, I call one Girl and the other one Sister. Girl is the more aggressive one. Even though she had been on the road for almost 24 hours, she was still very vocal about her situation and a little more than sensitive to every one's movements.



Both cages were offloaded and on each girl's terms they entered their lockouts. They had an entire enclosure to check out and make their own. In the meantime, the male lion was watching every moment. Here is his fist look at Girl.



She didn't seem to be too impressed with the slobbering boy on the other side of the fence, and, he probably wasn't so sure more lions were a good thing. After all, he had been king for awhile now and his 'only child' status was slipping rapidly.

The girls were left on their side of the enclosure for several days so they could get used to their new environment and get used to their neighbor, who would eventually be their room mate (remember Three's Company??!!!).

The day came for the guillotines to be lifted between the enclosures. We gathered around the lockouts preparing the plan and preparing for anything that could go wrong. There was no way anyone would be able to enter the enclosures if there was a disagreement between the lions, so we enacted safety precautions and called on all things powerful to watch over this introduction.

The guillotine between the yards was raised and the boy lion was lured into his yard and the door was closed to his lockout. He had never seen the guillotine opened before so wasn't aware he could squeeze through it to gain access to the neighboring yard.

After time had passed, it was agreed that the guillotine between their lockouts would be raised so that he could walk through. The girls by this time had walked into their yard. The guillotines were raised and he walked from his yard, through his lockout, through the guillotine that separated the lockouts to the girl's lockout. He then walked into the girl's yard, past the girls and zeroed in on his prey---



a plastic ball used for rats and guinea pigs to roll around in. In this particular instance, the ball had been washed in a bleach water mixture and given as enrichment to the girls several days earlier and, from what Mike said, he'd probably been eye-balling it since he put it in there.

The girls walked near him and he ignored them preferring to play soccer with and claim the ball. The one I call Sister laid nearby, guarding him. She looked back as if to tell Girl that she had the situation under control.



Girl's reaction was to wrinkle her nose as if to say "Ewww, a stinky boy" and strolled back to her lockout.



Boy lion kept playing soccer with his ball and the girls watched from a distance. He ended up in the shade beyond their play structure and they watched him alternately from their lockout and underneath the structure. There was one little skirmish (just voices, no contact) between he Sister. During that time Girl strode quickly back to the safety of the lockout. After, Sister went to comfort Girl in their lockout.



The girls stayed in their lockout and Boy lion stayed in the shade beneath the trees with 'his' ball. We all decided it was a good time to retreat from the area and allow them to adjust to one another.

There was just one more skirmish between the three. It happened later that evening. No one is quite sure exactly what happened, but it was plain the girls were still a little stressed and that the boy lion was probably more than a little confused. So the group was separated during the night for the following few nights and then were allowed to be together at all times after that.

It's exciting that our boy now has girls to keep him company. Or more to the point, to keep him in line--whatever that entails.

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.