MOOSH – 11/13/06
Moosh was a man of his own mind. A white Chihuahua, with the attitude of an 80 lb. dog. Grateful for all care given to him, but most definitely in charge of how his life was to go. At age 21 years, his death was not unexpected. But his passing reminded us of his bravery, dedication, resolve, and his forgiving nature. It is not just his life we celebrate but also his death. And although that may sound strange to hear, to understand his life, you will understand the importance of his passing, and the magnificence of what he created for himself.
Moosh came to Spring Farm CARES on November 12, 2003. He arrived unexpectedly when some of our staff were helping on an animal abuse case. It was one of the worst cases we had seen of neglect. When the rescuers first saw Moosh, lying in a crate full of layers of filth from his own excrement, they thought he was dead. He was lying on his side, head flopped down. When they went to verify that he was dead, he moved. The woman who had him since he was a puppy and who left him in this condition informed the team of rescuers that he was 19 years old and was blind and deaf. He clearly was not in good shape. All of the animals were being removed from this place and the huge question became where would this poor little old man go. One of our staffers realized that there was no choice, he had to come to Spring Farm. We were the only ones set up to deal with the needs of an elderly, disabled animal such as he.
We suddenly found ourselves making a space for him and tending to his immediate needs. By the time he arrived it was late at night so we offered him food and water, which he accepted and then we put him to bed for the night. He snuggled into the nice soft blankets, a comfort he hadn’t known for quite some time. The only thing he said to Dawn that night was said with great conviction, “I was not going to die like that!” The next day we took him to our vet. He could barely walk. He was thin. And he was a smelly mess. The vet determined he had a very serious heart condition but that medication could regulate it. Moosh was clear that he wasn’t ready to go just yet so we cleaned him up, got his medications regulated, and brought him home. None of us knew how much time he had. But a few days on his new heart meds and this little old decrepit dog became a new man. We discovered he was not completely blind as he could follow the cats around the house and he’d follow a laser light as well. He also could hear, at least enough to come trotting along for dinner when he was called. We had moved him into the red house, office/animal area where he lived with 4 beagles and 20 cats. He kept us all on our toes. If he didn’t like what we did with him, he certainly let us know. But we saw joy and play return to this amazing dog.
We are all amazed that we ended up with three years with him. And he lived those three years to the fullest. He had constant human, dog, and cat companionship and he thrived. When the staff called us down the late evening of November 12, 2006, they found Moosh failing. He was not interested in eating and was just sound asleep in his bed. We knew he was preparing to leave. And he was so peaceful. Bonnie checked on him often throughout the night, and he just slept deeply, acknowledging her presence ever so slightly. It was late that night that we realized the uncanny importance of the date. It was three years to the day and literally to the hour of his arrival that he started to fail. None of us thought he’d make it through the night but Moosh had his own agenda. He waited until morning when all of his human friends had come in to work. Those who wanted to say good-bye came and sat with him and stroked him. Tears were shed for this little big man who had found new life at the age of 19. And after everyone had said their good-byes, quietly, peacefully, warmly snuggled in his bed under a warm blanket, just as he liked to be, he slipped out. Those who work here that had seen him in the filth where he lay before he came here, thinking he was dead then, and those of us who had seen the photos of that dark time in his life, could only look upon the warm, cozy, loved dog that passed so gently into spirit and feel the warmth that he returned to us. You lived valiantly Mr. Moosh man, and you died with tremendous love and dignity, reminding all of us what grace truly is --- you will always be remembered for your great spirit and your tremendous conviction of the heart. And we know that you died the way YOU wanted to.
JOSHUA – 11/5/06
“Mr. Turkey”
Joshua was the turkey ambassador for the farm. Rescued as a youngster almost exactly two years ago, he made his home here. We knew he was failing and his passing was not a surprise. But Dawn knew that he had passed before she even entered the barn. As Dawn came in to check on things around 8pm, Amber the donkey greeted her as she walked in and said, “It is a very sad night here in the barn. A great one has left us.” And that sentence summed it up nicely. Dawn knew instantly that Joshua had passed before even going to look at him. The heavy feeling of grief from the other animals, permeated the air. Everyone loved Joshua. When he was in his prime, he would parade around the arena, strutting and fanning his tail. He considered himself the manager of the entire farm.
He grew to be a huge turkey. He was bred to be a meat bird but that was not his lot in life for sure. As a youngster he was found desperately trying to keep warm under the deck of someone’s trailer with another female turkey. The people discovered that he belonged to a neighbor that tore down his barn and just let all his animals free without care. The abandoned turkeys foraged in the summer months but in the winter life began to get tough for them. The wonderful people in the trailer began feeding them but knew that they could not properly care for them either. They tried to place them with farms or petting zoos but to no avail. No one would take them in. By the time they called us, Mr. Turkey, as they called him, was more and more desperate for food, and now his mate was missing. Hearing of his plight, we thought we could make room for this poor needy bird. And just two weeks before Thanksgiving, in a sleet storm and plummeting temperatures, Margot and Dawn went to fetch the turkey. We had had a turkey here on the farm before and all of us just adored him. So we looked forward to once again having that wonderful energy in the barn.
Unfortunately, these meat birds are bred to put on weight enormously fast, usually slaughtered at just months old. And Joshua, as he told Dawn he liked to be called, was up against his breeding. They put on so much weight that their legs eventually can’t support them and their hearts fail rapidly. Two years old is old for these birds. We knew Joshua’s fate and that we most likely would not have him for long. But what an impression he made on the many hundreds of visitors, from school children on field trips, to workshop participants getting messages from him. He had a great life here and we certainly will all miss his majestic presence.
TIPPIE CANOE- 10/26/06
“TIPPIE”
It’s not often that we get to experience an animal here at the farm from birth to death, but Tippie was one of those beings in our lives. Tippie was born here in March 1994. Her mother, Snowflake, was sent to us in November 1993 and much to everyone’s surprise had come to us pregnant. The folks who sent her to us were as surprised as we were when in March we found two goat kids standing next to Snowflake in our barn. The story of the birth of the twins, who we named Tippie Canoe and Tyler II, is one worth telling.
We had a barn manager at the time who had a very young daughter who she would often bring to work with her. The girl loved to go take duck eggs out of the duck nests that were around in some of the goat pens. The ducks took great exception to this of course. To discourage her daughter from picking up the eggs, she told her that the eggs in Snowflake’s pen were actually very rare goat eggs. That goats only layed eggs once every few years and they were very delicate. Now, right or wrong to tell kids such stories, it was effective at keeping the little girl out of the nests and it kept her very attentive to those eggs each day to see if they had hatched any baby goats. The story would have ended there if it were not for a very strange twist of fate.
On one warm Spring day in March 1994, Dawn was washing her truck outside of the barn gate. Every so often she kept hearing a funny little goat sound. It sounded like a goat nickering but yet it was no one’s voice she was familiar with. She went in the barn and looked at the goat pens and all the goats just stood looking at her calmly. So she went back to work outside the gate. Again, she heard the noise, only this time it was more persistent. This time when she looked in Snowflake’s pen more closely she couldn’t believe her eyes. In the back corner of the pen, smack dab in the middle of the duck’s nest were two teeny tiny little goat kids all covered in egg yolks and desperately trying to scramble to their feet for the first time. Dawn couldn’t believe her eyes and for a brief second she thought that the goat eggs really did hatch! After running to get Bonnie and towels and trying to overcome the shock of finding these two little goats, they began toweling them dry from all the slime of the duck eggs which were now completely smashed. The duck wasn’t very impressed with this either. These two kids were the same size as our medium sized barn cat. They were that small. It turns out that after calling the people who had sent Snowflake to us, we learned that they did have a male pygmy goat on their property but they were absolutely certain that he couldn’t have gotten to Snowflake to impregnate her. We therefore have two theories to chose from. Either there really is something to the goat egg story, or love found a way for the male pygmy goat and Snowflake. Either way, these two kids were obviously destined to come to Spring Farm CARES.
Both kids had to be bottle fed as Snowflake had a large tumor in her udder and could not nurse them. They continued to live in the pen with Snowflake, but Dawn and Bonnie fed them around the clock with bottles. They grew into absolutely beautiful goats with great personalities. When they were younger, we took them into schools on humane education events. They loved people and they loved to have a lot of fun. They were also each a tad bit mischievous. Tippie had been known to jump on Dawn’s back if Dawn bent over to tie her shoe. She also loved to play tag and chase and play with any human who would play with her. And later in her life, she learned to play ball. We never got it on video tape although we always said we would. Dawn began working with her with a beach ball and would throw it toward Tippie and she would leap up and slam it with her horns. This grew into very precise games of catch and even basketball as Dawn would get a bucket for Tippie to hit the ball into. Hours and hours of fun were had playing ball with Tippie over the years. And she delighted to show off her skill in front of groups of workshop participants.
Tippie and Tyler were two peas in a pod. Both unique for sure, but inseparable in their devotion to one another. About at the age of 6 Tyler got very ill very quickly one day. No one could figure out what was wrong until our veterinarian offered to do exploratory surgery. Much to our horror, he discovered that Tyler had tried to pass a kidney stone which lodged in his urethra and ruptured it. There was nothing that could be done for him and we had to have him euthanized. We were all devastated but none took his passing as hard as Tippie did. She was depressed and very lonely. Snowflake had moved up to Dawn and Margot’s smaller barn to be companion for another elderly goat named Rosebud. Not long after Tyler’s death, Rosebud passed away, leaving Snowflake by herself. We reunited mother and daughter and moved Tippie up to Dawn and Margot’s barn. Over the years, Tippie was companion to other older goats. After her mother Snowflake passed away and she again grew very depressed, we moved an older male goat up from the big Spring Farm barn to the smaller and warmer barn at Dawn and Margot’s. Tippie loved Milton and was a great companion for him. And as Milton grew older, Tippie would ask Dawn what would happen if all of her friends just kept dying. It was hard for Tippie as we could not put our younger goats with her. Tippie had horns (after an attempt to dehorn her as a baby didn’t work) and the others did not. She played way too rough. With the older goats, she tended to be more gentle and respectful. But as we could see would happen, Tippie was once more devastated when Milton passed away at the good old age of 18, in September 2005.
This time, Tippie asked that we not move anyone else in with her for the time being. Instead, she took great pride in her new job of being the only goat in the barn and the one in charge of everything. She kept us all in line. Dawn and Margot were held to task each day. And she watched over and bossed over the two donkeys and four horses that shared her barn with her. She also adored the dogs when they came to visit her in the barn each evening. And if ever a goat was blessed with humans who adored her every day, it was Tippie. Comical, wise, playful, and bossy……she was friend to all who knew her. Her loving and affectionate way of brushing your cheek with her nose and her ever so endearing way of butting you in the butt when you least expected it earned her a most respected reputation. You learned with Tippie to open your heart, but never turn your back.
Dawn and Margot kept careful tabs on how Tippie was doing as the only goat in the barn. But she seemed to thrive on the attention and she rose to the task of keeping the place in line. She had a mission and she was on duty, 24/7.
To say our hearts are heavy today with her completely unexpected passing is an understatement. True to her form though, she left on her terms. At 12 and a half years old, our vets have told us she was old for a goat. But for Spring Farm standards, she was still young. Many of our goats have lived to be 17-19 years old. And we certainly thought we’d have her for a lot longer than we did. She was her normal self when Margot came down to feed in the barn this morning. But one hour later when Dawn and Margot were turning the horses out for the day and then would let Tippie out to patrol the barn, Dawn went to play with Tippie briefly with her ball, only to notice that she had a lot of blood on her back end. We at first suspected a kidney stone since that was what her brother had. We knew we had to get her to Cornell University but that was a two hour drive. Within 15 minutes she was in the van and on the road with Margot and our barn manager Steven. Shortly into the trip they realized that Tippie was failing fast and changed plans to stop at our regular vet hospital in Cazenovia where they do have a vet on staff that knows goats and where they could do surgery on her if need be. That was only 45 minutes away and directly on the path to Cornell. But still, even that could not prevent the inevitable. Tippie passed away just a mile or two short of the vet clinic. Apparently she had an aneurism, an artery rupturing somewhere inside of her. Tough for the humans around her, but a peaceful passing for her indeed.
Tippie leaves us though with a mystery. In Dawn’s words: When we came in to let the horses out in the morning, Margot was in a horse stall in the middle of our barn. I heard her say, “what the heck is this? How can this be in here?” And as I approached the stall, she threw Tippie’s ball over the stall wall to me. It had been in the hay manger in that stall. Absolutely impossible for Tippie to have gotten it there from her back corner stall many feet away. “How strange,” I said, “must be Tippie wants to play ball.” And ball in hand, I went to open Tippie’s gate to let her run around the aisle of our barn as was our normal routine. I called her Tippie tappy as that was the sound her little hooves made on the wooden floor. Tippy tappy, tippy tappy, she’d come strolling down the aisle following me every morning. I could tell by the sound how far away from me she was so that I knew if she planned to sneak up on me to give me a little butt in the behind.
I remember so clearly that day she was born. 12 years of memories fill my heart. And just as no one can explain how a male pygmy goat got out of an enclosed room and somehow into a locked pen to impregnate her mother and create Tippie’s entrance into our lives, we will never know how her ball could have gotten out of a back corner of our barn and over a stall wall of a horse stall so many feet away. Just as love found a way to create her entrance, her love found away to signal us of her departure and to remind us that there are so many things that are meant to be mysteries in life. Just a reminder that the impossible is always possible. And the memories in our hearts and the love we share with these incredible beings, lives on forever.
The lone survivor of her goat family, I know she has gone to join the rest of them. I felt her joy at finding Tyler and bounding off playing and bucking and running as they so loved to do. And although my ears will ache to hear the tippy tappying of her little feet in our barn, I know forever she will be tippy tappying in my heart. Play well little goat girl. You will be missed more than we can ever say. You taught much, filled our lives with joy and play, and left your forever mark in our hearts.
CORRIE – Llama 5/24/06
So many lives have been touched, so many hearts opened, by the presence of this magnificent llama we called Corrie. Born in late 1993, he came to Spring Farm in the late fall of 1994. Corrie was not here due to abuse, neglect, or abandonment. His reason for being here was rather unusual. In 1994, we took in two llamas from a breeder who was looking for a sanctuary to take one llama who was born 3 legged. Since llamas do not do well alone, she would send another llama along to be a companion. We agreed to take them. Featherdance was the 3 legged llama and Gulliver was his companion. Little did we realize how much our lives would be impacted by their arrival. Both master teachers in their own right, they set to work immediately, settling in at the farm and then beginning to work with Dawn in teaching at animal communication workshops. Sadly, just months after his arrival, Featherdance died very suddenly from an acute allergic reaction to something. We suddenly found ourselves with one lonely llama. We set out looking for a companion. Through the breeder who had sent Gulliver and Feather to us, we found another breeder who had a llama that she was willing to part with to be a companion for Gulliver. When he arrived, we could not think of an appropriate name for him. Gulliver and Featherdance had told Dawn their names. But this new llama told Dawn he didn’t care and asked us to come up with something suitable for him. Nothing seemed to fit. A few days after his arrival, Gulliver told Dawn that his new friend really needed a suitable name and asked if he could help. After thinking for a moment, Gulliver told Dawn, “I think we shall call him Corriander. Yes, that is a most appropriate name for him, and you can call him Corrie for short.”
At first, Corrie was rather shy and reserved around people. He didn’t seem to want to participate all that much in the workshops and he deferred to Gulliver for all wisdom that was to be doled out. But Gulliver kept telling Dawn that Corrie had come not just to learn from him but also to teach and that Gulliver was going to help Corrie to share the inner wisdom that he brought here to the farm. For the past 2-3 years, Corrie became the teacher that Gulliver always knew was there. He shared incredible words, thoughts, and pictures of love, peace, and wisdom with so many people who came to the farm for the animal communication workshops. He also touched many more lives than we will ever know about just by posing in the pasture with Gulliver as many times passers-by would stop to just watch them or to snap a photo or two. We have three hundred animals on this farm, two of whom happen to be llamas, yet we are known far and wide as the llama place on Rt. 12. It was more than the fact that they are “exotic” that drew people to them. It is their regalness and the incredible light that exudes from them that always draws people closer. Gulliver and Corrie both would tell Dawn that they were inviting people to the farm, because they had a message to share. They made a powerful team.
Corrie’s death was very sudden and completely unexpected. While we feel the loss of this truly noble being, our hearts go out in earnest to his friend, companion, teacher and fellow student, Gulliver. Dawn invited Gulliver to deliver a memorial message for his friend.
From Gulliver: He came to be my friend, and a good friend he became. We are spirit brothers, born of the same place in the stars, travelers on the earth. I named him Corriander because his spirit reminded me of a green plant growing beside a bubbling brook. At first he wasn’t sure why he was here or what his path was. He wasn’t very introspective. But he came here to teach and I recognized his beauty early on. He was wise. He was gentle. And I could count on him to be with me, just as the brook counts on the rocks to gently steer its course. He was grounding, solid in his connection to the earth. He was also a son of the stars. He is a part of my heart and I miss him. But I also know that he is still with me. He remains the rock that will gently steer the course for me by just being with me. I carry him close within my heart and will speak of him to all who come to speak with me. His teachings were often simplistic, but their meanings were very grounding. He will forever be a part of my family at this farm. Listen for him in the silence of the night. Watch for him in the reflection of the sun on the water droplets in the grass. Feel him in the breeze. Know that he is with us always. He came to be my friend and he will always be my friend.
From Dawn: All of the animals here at the farm have a very unique and special place in my life and in my heart. The master teachers who have come to work with not just me personally, but also all whose lives they touch, hold an even deeper place for me. Corrie was one of those. While Gulliver takes a much more structured approach to his teaching, Corrie took a more “back seat” position. Yet, I watched in awe sometimes as to how Gulliver would gently steer certain workshop participants over to Corrie and how he’d sort of coach Corrie on what to do. I watched him grow enormously over the years. A growth I shared with him. We were co-teachers, and also, co-students. It is with great sadness that I realize now the enormous place he had in my life, and regret that I didn’t fully realize that when he was still here. Corrie taught me to trust in myself and what messages I was hearing. It was the same lesson he was learning and we learned it together. Today, with him gone, I realize the post that has now been vacated. I treasure every minute he was here. And in his subdued sort of way, I know I’ll always still feel him here and call on him for his wisdom. May you find the peace and love that you so often taught about, whole heartedly believed in, and freely spread in your life dear friend.
HOCKEY - April 13, 2006
The Gift of Peace
Today, April 13, 2006, we said good-bye to Hockey. Hockey had been with us about 8 years. He was a small Rottweiler, possibly a mix, who had been found on the side of a road, having been hit by a car, with a severe hock injury. He was picked up by our local humane society and they had surgery done to repair the badly damaged hock (thus earning him the name Hockey). By the time he recovered and was eligible for adoption, Hockey began to display some odd behaviors in his kennel. He normally had a gentle personality, but when put into the kennel area, he began showing signs of aggression. It was assumed that he was kennel sour and they approached Spring Farm CARES to see if we could take him and adopt him out.
Bonnie and Dawn happened to be at the humane society for a meeting when the staff brought Hockey in for a meet and greet. Dawn noticed right away that he seemed to have a vision problem by the way he attempted to maneuver in the room. But the staff hadn’t noticed anything like that before. Whatever possessed us to say yes, we’ll never know, but we agreed to give him a try. Within a couple of days, Hockey was delivered to us.
Dawn recalls his story. Our SFC staff called me within minutes. “Dawn, why didn’t you tell us this dog was blind?” I went right over to his room. He sure looked blind to all of us. Within another few minutes, we also determined that he was deaf. How could nobody have noticed this? But he was indeed a very sweet dog. He just seemed very confused. About an hour later, our staff called me again, to tell me that we were all wrong, he obviously could both see and hear. He was playing with a toy and throwing it around. Now we were the ones confused.
A trip to our vet confirmed that he could both hear and see. So what was this weird behavior we would see sometimes? They had no clue. After several weeks, his odd behavior began to increase. It would increase in frequency and duration until one day on a return visit to the vet, we got the proof we needed. The vet checked his eyes and once again told me that he had vision. But then just like a switch got flipped, we saw him suddenly become unnerved. I told her that this was exactly what we see him do at home. She looked into his eyes again and exclaimed, “I don’t believe this! He is totally blind.” He also at that point was deaf. Hockey’s world, we discovered, was one of being completely sighted and able to hear at times, but then instantly he would just go blind and deaf, without notice. We took him to Cornell University Small Animal Hospital and there he stayed for four days for observation and tests. After being thoroughly examined by interns, neurologists, behavioralists, and the like, the diagnosis came back as “probable undiagnosable seizure disorder.” An expensive way to say that they really had no clue either.
But Hockey began to deteriorate and withdraw deeper and deeper into his own little world. Our sweet and cuddly guy began to show signs of aggression, anxiety, and extreme confusion. Although he did not bite us, we knew that he could and would in his stupor. He became nearly unreachable. At times, we could not even get a leash on him to walk him. But then at other times, he would curl up in our laps and just want to snuggle. Over a two year period, his episodes of blind and deafness seemed to stabilize. We believe he was mostly deaf but his vision seemed to remain constant. This brought him some relief. One day, Dawn took him to a routine vet visit for vaccinations and exam. Hockey was fine and Dawn was one of three people who could handle him with success. In fact, Hockey would for a while only let Dawn handle him. The vet gave him his vaccination without incident. But when she placed her hands on him lightly before examination, Hockey did something that was never seen before. Without warning, he began screaming at the top of his lungs. He flipped himself over on his back, trying to lash out with his teeth at anything he could grab. He had his paws firmly clasped over his face and went into fetal position – all the while letting out this blood curdling scream. It was as if he was being murdered. All of the animal hospital staff came running to see what was happening. There was Hockey on the floor of the exam room, now covered in his own urine and feces, obviously convinced he was being killed. None of us knew what to do. We couldn’t get near him. After what seemed like an eternity, the screaming stopped. He was hyperventilating and trembling. Dawn knelt down near him and gently let him know she was there. He didn’t lash out but instead huddled closer and she held him until he stopped shaking. We discontinued the exam and Dawn brought him home. From that day on, for three whole years, not one person could ever touch him. He would growl fiercely and spring at his door, teeth barred. We had outfitted him with a harness which luckily he was still wearing and our staff rigged up a way to hook his leash on and to walk him everyday without touching him. We knew we had a dangerous dog on our hands but we also knew that even if we did decide to euthanize him, we couldn’t do so in a non-traumatic fashion.
We realized that something somewhere in his past had happened to him that was so traumatic that any fear would trigger it. He had post traumatic stress disorder. Dawn vowed to him that he would never die at the end of a catch pole. He would never die in terror. But this became at times a difficult promise to keep and we worried just what if he needed to be handled. To see a being who is so gentle and loving as he is, to be haunted by such trauma was beyond sad. Each time we saw him fling himself at his door, we knew that that was not the real Hockey. And we wondered how to help him back. Could we retrieve him from the dark abyss that he had fallen into? Could he overcome this in this lifetime? Could we keep him safe by keeping everyone else around him safe? We were able to control his environment to ensure his never being exposed to a bite situation or to have him feel that great trauma again in his life. And gradually, five years after that horrific day at the vets office, we began to see a little glimpse of the real Hockey start to return. He was more peaceful. Less reactive. And we all wondered if we’d get our cuddly boy back again.
In March of 2006, we realized that Hockey had a problem in his mouth. We suspected an infected tooth. After much deliberation and consideration, and with Dawn explaining it all to him, we opted to sedate him and take him to the vets for a complete dental, blood work, and health check. His teeth were indeed in serious need of help, and his blood work showed the signs that he was getting elderly. There was also indications of renal disease. But he came through the experience fine, without trauma, and although there was a slight set back to our handling him for a while, it was not like the time years before.
But a few short weeks later, Hockey began to show signs of ill health. Again, not knowing what to do with a dog we really couldn’t handle all that much, we were feeling very helpless. In just a couple of days time, he was having trouble breathing. His lungs were filling with fluid. If we had a chance to save him or help him in any way, we would have to be able to get injectable medications into him. He wasn’t eating so our choices were limited. Dawn realized we had come to the point that she had dreaded for years.In her words:
All those years before, I had promised him that he wouldn’t die in fear. Yet, we still had a dog we could barely handle, his lungs were filling with fluid, and our options were very limited. He could die by drowning in his own fluid, or we would have to help him out by somehow first restraining him to sedate him and then to euthanize. As I stood at his door, he lifted his lip and showed his teeth half heartedly and I told him that this was his call. He asked me for help and I wasn’t sure exactly which way he meant that. Two of his caretakers, Kim and Liz, felt they wanted to try to get an injection into him. He let them. Treatment began and for the next two days, he allowed them to give him multiple injections, fluids under his skin, and the attention they had not been able to give him before. For two days, our Hockey was back. On the third day, he was less cooperative but his breathing was vastly improved. His body was responding to treatment and he was at peace within himself. I knew that he had found what he came for in this lifetime. He, finally, knew a trust and peace within himself. He knew that he didn’t have to die in trauma. And I knew that I could keep my promise to him – even if we needed to help him out – I knew that we could sedate him first and he would not have to be physically restrained or scared. I could feel a peace in Hockey that I had never felt before. As our staff left for the night, he was starting to eat again, his breathing looked great, and he even barked at his door. He let them medicate him before they left and we were all pleased with the progress he had made.
So much more the shock when our staff arrived the next morning to find Hockey lying dead beside his door. There was no sign of struggle. No trauma. Just peace. Sometimes, the greatest gift we find, is in their passing. We know today that Hockey managed to find his way out of the darkness of trauma and abuse, and into the light of peace and love. And although we can not hold and cuddle him now, we know that our sweet and cuddly boy found his way home. And he will be forever in our hearts, and forever missed on this farm. We hold you close Hockey and, with the grace you left with, we gently let you go.
THUNDER ALLEY - March 31, 2006
With great sadness we said good-bye today to our dear friend Thunder. Thunder was everyone's friend at the farm. She lived in our office area in the old red farm house and was, without a doubt, the queen. She leaves behind an entire staff who adored her and miss her horribly, as well as the humans she lived with before she came to the farm, and most especially her dog friends, fellow beagles - Shilo, Snufffy, and Bobbie, and of course her 24 cats. Not only did Thunder touch all of our lives here at the farm, but she also was our Humane Education dog. She has been to many of the local schools in our area and has met and greeted literally hundreds of children. Thunder was pure joy and love. She was a bright light and lived and loved to the fullest. Although she did have a heart problem and other health issues, she was only 13 years old and we somehow thought we'd have her for a lot longer. Her death was unexpected today. She was at our veterinarian's overnight when a routine visit yesterday uncovered an elevated heart rate. She stayed for tests and observation but was about ready to be released today. She ate two bowls of food (which was everything to Thunder!) and then went for a walk. After returning to her cage, and while her vet was right there, she suddenly collapsed and died. They could not revive her. We would like to thank the wonderful folks at Cazenovia Animal Hospital for everything they have done for Thunder and all of our small animals. A most special thanks to Dr. Alice Donnelly for all of her compassion and care.
Thunder was a chow hound of the greatest magnitude. She earned the affectionate nickname of Little Piglet from our staff. We have so many wonderful memories of her. She was one of a kind for sure. We are certain that where she is now, she has rounded up some of her cat and dog friends who went ahead of her, and she has found the stash of treats and opened all the bags for everyone to share!
STAFF MEMORIAL TRIBUTES TO THUNDER
From Karen, Office Manager: I received a call toward the end of the summer of 2001 from a gentleman needing to find a home for a 9 year old Beagle. Her name was Thunder Alley. He had recently married Thunder's owner and he was allergic. He described her as loving and sweet and they didn't want her to go "just anywhere". He seemed confident that she would eventually end up at Spring Farm CARES. He must have known something I didn't because we are rarely (almost never) in a position to accept an animal. He called several times over the next few weeks and I learned more about this lovely Beagle. According to him, one of her favorite pastimes was relaxing in the back yard under a tree watching the squirrels. That vision stayed with me. We learned later that Thunder had been at her owner's side as she battled cancer and it was breaking her heart to have to part with her beloved dog. Thunder sounded so special.
After a period of time, we were able to say yes to Thunder. Offering a home to an animal is very exciting and we couldn't wait to meet her. She was delivered on that fateful day, 9/11/01. She was coming no matter what.
Well, Thunder was as exceptional as her owner said she was. We instantly fell in love. She was playful and funny and didn't have a mean bone in her body. She was love dogified (like personified).
It's been said that the animals that make their way to SFC are the lucky ones. But we know better. We're the lucky ones. Thunder was a lesson in tolerance, patience, and forgiveness, and we learned a great deal from her. She knew that all you had to do to enjoy life was to rest under a tree and watch the squirrels play. It's as simple as that.
We love you Thunder, Karen
From Claire, Happy Hearth Spay/Neuter Office:
Thoughts of Thunder,
She was the matriarch of our sweet beagle family, here at the Red House. Always the first to joyously greet one in the morning. Loving her morning walks, romping nose first through the snow drifts with her good friend Shiloh. Crunching through the fall leaves, looking for "buried treasure." Running in their yard. Thunder, Shiloh, Snuffy, Bobby, our beagle family, playing with their loving caretaker, Heather. Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter.... pleasures, she was a happy dog. And .... when she was not feeling well, she waited quietly at the door in a corner for one of us to notice, curling up close by under one's desk, touching. We could always tell... Thunder was gracious and loving, a lady and faithful friend.
We will remember you. Claire
From one of Thunder's caretakers: She had a way of making you feel like you were her one special person (even though everyone else got the same treatment from her). Her large heart just got larger with each new friend, for there was always room for one more. My best memories of her will be this last big snowfall we had, not too long ago, and Thunder making "beagle angels." She will be greatly missed. Goodbye friend, may you find your favorite treats along each new path you take.
ANNIE PERRY
OR
"THE OLD GREY GOOSE IS DEAD"
We are deeply saddened to announce today the passing of one of our greatest teachers on the farm – Annie Perry. Annie was a Toulouse Goose, grey, and yes, he was a male. We wanted to write a tribute to Annie on our site today and Dawn started by asking Annie what he would want to say. In typical Annie Perry style, he told Dawn: “It’s simple. I want the headline to read, The Old Grey Goose is Dead. You can then write the rest of it.” Dawn was horrified to put such a headline on site but we do try to stay true to the animals. We compromised and used it as a subtitle.
Annie Perry was indeed an old grey goose. His life is a reminder that no matter how large or small you may be on this Earth, your presence can be mighty if you live your life that way. Annie was one of the smaller residents in the stable, but he had one of the largest impacts and held a very big space, both in our hearts, and in the energy of the farm. Many workshop participants got their first messages from Annie Perry. And far more of them got snubbed by him when he announced that he had other things he had to do and walked away. Annie was indeed a busy being.
Annie Perry found us, literally, about 10 years ago. Our Conservation Director, Matt Perry, was far back into our Nature Sanctuary, about 100 acres from any road or building of any kind, when suddenly he came upon a large grey goose wandering through the woods. It was a vast mystery how he got there as he couldn’t fly. He had walked. Years later, we heard that someone up the road from us a pretty good distance raised that kind of goose for meat. We assume that Annie had other ideas and hiked his body out of there. Matt herded the goose the nearly 100 acres back towards the farm. By the time Bonnie met them, Annie was exhausted and could barely walk. He was weak and literally collapsed in Bonnie’s arms as she picked him up and carried him to the barn. We didn’t have geese at the farm and had heard they could be quite nasty. But Annie, was so weak, we didn’t even know if he’d live. We put him out with our ducks and he perked up immediately and began to eat the food and drink the water we offered him. At the time, we thought that this goose was a female. Bonnie wanted to give her a name that also reflected the person who saved her, Matt Perry. The name the goose gave her very strongly was Annie. So it was only natural that she became Annie Perry. She was never called just Annie, it was always Annie Perry. It was many years later, when we got a call about another Toulouse goose that was in desperate need of a home that Annie Perry unveiled her best kept secret. The new goose was most definitely a female as she had been laying eggs. We named her Lucinda. Lucinda had been purchased by someone at an auction who bought her because her female goose had died and her male goose was very depressed. Unfortunately, the male goose wanted nothing to do with Lucinda and tried to run her off. We were worried how Annie Perry would respond as well. But Annie Perry first ignored Lucinda for a while and then took great interest. It was at that time, that Annie Perry started strutting around here in a way she never had before! It didn’t take us long to figure out that Annie Perry was a male. But, he insisted that we keep his name Annie Perry and so we did. That was the kind of goose he was. Just a straight forward kind of guy. So it came as no surprise to Dawn today, when amidst our grief and loss of this amazing soul, he requests his eulogy to begin with the sentence: The old grey goose is dead.
When Annie Perry had first arrived, he settled right in with our ducks. He instantly appointed himself their protector and head police goose. He always had his particular group of ducks that belonged totally to him. If any male duck tried to mate with his female ducks, he would become a whirling dervish of energy. His very loud goose honk would echo through the farm and he would charge after the offending male, grabbing him by the neck and pulling him off of the female with great disgust. He then started doing this with all the male ducks. At that time, we had a duck overpopulation problem and so his skills were very appreciated by the humans, if not by the ducks. He earned the title, Annie Birth Control Perry. No matter where you were on the farm, on summer days in particular, when you heard the goose alarm sound, you knew what was happening and that Annie Perry was on patrol.
Annie Perry was a noble fellow. He was kind, proud, strong and elegant. He loved the animal communication workshops but would demand that people approach him with confidence. If they hesitated and thought maybe they wouldn’t be able to hear him, he’d just up and walk away, many times leaving people in tears. He would then explain to Dawn that it was nothing personal, but he just didn’t have time or patience to deal with doubters. But he would refer them to the chickens, who he said had lots of patience for that kind of thing. When Annie Perry did speak with a workshop participant it was always with great dignity and his message was always about walking proud on this Earth. There was one workshop participant who was allowed by Annie Perry to sit with him for nearly 20 minutes. Dawn watched with disbelief as he did so because it was very rare. When the woman came in for the group sharing, she said that there were no words but that they just sat there together sharing a space. When Dawn asked Annie Perry about it he said, “the woman has great goose energy” and he was very impressed. When Dawn repeated that to the woman, she teared up and asked what that meant. Dawn told her that it was the greatest and highest compliment that Annie Perry had ever allotted to a human. She got it then and felt that. Over the years, he had done that with a few people who he chose to spend some time with.
There is one story that really sums up Annie Perry nicely. One evening near sunset, Dawn was standing in the driveway directing traffic for a fundraising event we were having at the farm. Annie Perry, followed by Lucinda, and then four ducks, began walking past Dawn single file with great deliberation. They were totally quiet except for the sound of their feet on the pebbles in the driveway. Dawn felt that this was a very deliberate parade of some sort and quietly asked Annie Perry what this was all about.
The conversation was as follows:
Dawn: Hey Annie Perry, what are you doing?
AP: Evening promenade.
Dawn: Ok. (The little parade then headed to the west lawn and lined up in a row to look at the sunset. They stood there until the sunset and as the last part of the sun dipped behind the hill, Annie Perry let out a gentle honk and bowed down. Lucinda then did the same, and then all of the ducks. And then one by one they fell back into formation and walked back towards the barn.) Annie Perry that was one of the most touching things I’ve seen. That was awesome. Thank you for letting me be a part of that. Do you do the same thing in the morning?
AP: Yes, of course, there is morning promenade.
Dawn: If I came down here at sunrise would I see you do this every morning?
AP: Nope. The sun doesn’t rise down here. We go up the hill for that.
Dawn: Why do you do this?
AP: It is always good if someone ushers in the day and lets the day know how happy we are to see her. Then it is good to thank the day and let her know that we look forward to her again in the morning. And to welcome the night and let night know we welcome his peace. That is the reason. It is very important. So we do it.
The next morning, Dawn looked up the hill behind her house at the sunrise and remembered Annie Perry’s wisdom. And as she looked out her window and over to the horse paddocks, there stood Annie Perry, Lucinda, and the ducks, all in a row, welcoming in the day.
In the peace of the night, as night departed, our dear Annie Perry slipped off with him. We ushered in the day without Annie Perry with us, yet we can know forever that with each sunrise and with each sunset, there will be an old grey goose honking with the wind and thanking each day, and welcoming each night, and then welcoming the next day again. For we all know the real truth: the old grey goose will never be dead. Thank you Annie Perry for teaching us the most basic of dignity, the simple pleasure of beauty, and the voice to sustain it and welcome it forever.
LASSIE
It is with great sadness that we announce the passing of our dear friend and teacher on the evening of February 13, 2006. Many of you who have taken animal communication workshops, experienced the depth of heart and soul of this incredible being. She taught many people so many valuable lessons. Hers was a life that was tough and barren at times, but she persevered and was the perfect combination of strength and determination and compassion and gentleness. All of us who worked with her admired her for both sides of that coin. We had tremendous respect for her heart and spirit, and just as much respect for her stubbornness and quickness to use her hind legs to express herself very clearly. She was both sweet and feisty but she was never mean or nasty. She was magnificent. She taught many people to look past the confines of her crippled body, to the depth of her heart and soul. And those willing to take that journey with her, past their own preconceived ideas, found the depth of love that she had to offer and her willingness to share that strength that kept her alive and strong. We always could look at Lassie and know that somewhere she had found the secret to life, the knowledge of how to overcome hardship gracefully, and the strength to know that it was her magic that she shared with anyone willing to be with her without judgments. She was a tough teacher. When she felt pity around her, she responded with great power to get those people as far away from her as possible. People who saw her beauty were welcomed with open arms, a soft nuzzle, and a depth of understanding and compassion that permeated the barn. She was complex for sure. Yet, honest, reliable, and always true to her self.
The afternoon of February 13, 2006, Lassie displayed signs of colic. Her pain was enormous for her and although all the medications we could try were given to her, it could not pull her through this one. At the age of 25, having shared her life with us for nearly 5 years, we had to say good-bye and let her go. She flew off with the horse spirits, where we know she will be cared for and looked after on her journey.
The night of her burial, Dawn felt drawn to go stand at her grave, beneath the stars, alone. She lit two candles and set them on top of the grave. As a strong breeze blew out one of the candles after only a few minutes, Dawn was told to bury that candle with Lassie, which she did. That candle represented the confines of a crippled body that she left behind. The second candle remained burning. Dawn felt the gathering of the spirit horses surround her and the farm. And she was told to let Lassie go with them, to release our loving embrace of her so that she could fly free with them. She was told that the burning candle represents the love and heart connection that is eternal, even as her body has left our presence. And then, she was told to walk away and to look back at the candle as she walked. The entire time, that single candle remained burning strong, even in a growing wind. Dawn then received the following message from the horse spirits:
This light is seen right to spirit, through the dark of night, to where the angels themselves see the light and respond. We come to pick up a fellow spirit on a journey into the stars. Timeless, ageless. We ask that you let her leave your loving embrace to come to us now. You have loved her well and your heart will always be filled with the love from hers. But it is time for her to fly now. We will love her with the same love that you did and she will know us instantly because she will understand that you are here with her as well. She will come from darkness of slumber and awaken now to the light of this journey. We will hold her gently and she will travel to a much needed rest. In her dreams, she will be with the farm, and in her heart, which survives all, you are as much alive now as when she was with you. Do not let a darkness enfold your heart now where you perceive an emptiness. Let this candle be the light that you see as you walk away so that you know that her light always will be a part of you. Her light will light your darkest night just as your love has shown her the way to go now. You have shared at the deepest of levels and as much as you have learned from her, she has learned from you and the farm. You have helped to set a spirit free. Your love guided her to our herd and we will now take her from here. Go now, look back only at the light and never at the darkness you fear is there. Know that there is never an emptiness. Light is always what remains behind as well as ahead in your journey. And the light never goes out.
Below is Lassie's story on how she came to the farm and her experiences while here. Then following her story, our staff who cared for and nurtured her, and who were in return nurtured by her, have written a living tribute to Lassie and how she touched their lives and hearts. Through these memories, she will live on in all of our hearts forever.
Lassie's Story
Lassie arrived at Spring Farm CARES in 2001 after she had been removed from her home by a Humane Investigator when it was discovered she was being neglected. Tied to a flag pole and hobbled, she was very crippled and undernourished. Lassie is about 24 years old. Both of Lassie's front legs are severely crippled due to a condition from birth that was never surgically corrected. So she has spent her entire life with the crippled legs and to her they are normal. How her body compensates for her disability is amazing.
Lassie is quite a strong spirit. Many people have been misled by her small stature, her disability, and her beautiful face and they think she is completely docile. Although she is a very sweet and wonderful girl, she has spunk and a "go get 'em" attitude that has carried her through her difficult life. Lassie is not in physical pain due to her legs, and is actually quite agile. The dent that she put in the door of our pick-up truck is evidence to that.
Since coming to Spring Farm, we have been able to do more frequent hoof trims under sedation to help her legs. Although she can never be made "normal" we have been able to improve her mobility and quality of life. Right now Lassie has a new challenge in her life. One afternoon while spending time out in one of our paddocks, she got her foot hung up on a door ledge and tripped and fell. For the first time, we saw her in pain and knew something bad had happened. Radiographs confirmed a fracture in one of the bones in her ankle. It is fortunately a clean break and she instructed us in no uncertain terms that we should try to fix it. In her own words to Dawn she said, "Oh, for Pete's sake this is just a setback. I've had to go through this before and I'll be fine. Just give me the chance."
We are giving her the chance she asked for and although it will be a long shot that it will heal properly, we are just looking for it to heal at all. We are using many holistic remedies as well as a splint for support. She continues to be comfortable and able to walk on it as long as it is wrapped. This incredible being with such a love for life continues onward on her journey. We will support her all we can.
Update: As of January 2006, radiographs confirmed that Lassie's fracture had indeed healed. Although not good quality bone, it had completely knit and Lassie was able to once again come out of her stall and walk around our indoor arena. She was right again.
Memorial Tributes to Lassie
How we remember Lassie and the impact she had on our hearts and lives:
From Jeff Eyre, Director of Humane Services: (Jeff was working as the humane investigator for our county at the time he met Lassie. He approached SFC for help and we were able to respond. Jeff brought Lassie to Spring Farm CARES, and Lassie in return brought Jeff to the farm.) This is what Jeff wrote after her passing:
The call came to me as I was on the thruway outside of Batavia…..Jeff we got a call about a horse tied to a pole on Route 8 in Bridgewater….ok can you have a patrol check on it and advise me???? A few minutes latter the dispatcher called back and stated she now has several calls on this….I told her I was on my way but with about a three hour arrival time….I arrived and sure enough there was this little horse with it’s legs tied together and her neck tied off to a flag pole….The owner was willing to give her to me and Spring Farm was willing to help so …..This spark of life arrived here.
I was a slow learner, challenged by reality and limited by vision….she a teacher of example, no time for methods…pay attention or the eye was directed for aim and the legs a powerful motivator. I fought about it and she just kept going….the farm doing what it does, finally realizing the decision was not mine, how stupid….it was hers, she was where she belonged, a smile on mother nature’s face…..again a connection was made, she showed me strength is only what the mind allows, if you limit yourself to a physical understanding you miss everything else.
Many times as tours were given stares were directed and questions asked about this horse…she allowed me to teach through her character and acceptance that understanding a challenge was going on with your life…..her last lesson was all on her terms, and the farms kindness……
Standing and fighting it, her spirit deciding, finally a look and she said ok, and as her head grew heavy, the eye and the fire rose once more…..no….your doing this with me, help me….realizing she wouldn’t have asked if she was not ready, a hand on the nose and a push and with her head in my lap she was off……giving them hell and laughing at the same time, Classy Lass……..thanks for the time. Jeff
From Laura, Animal Caregiver: I remember one day I was working in the barn and was getting ready to clean Lassie's stall. One of my co-workers warned me that little Ol' Lassie can have an attitude. I looked over at the little pony and said, "no, not sweet little Lassie." I grabbed a manure fork and started to clean one side of her stall. I had to move her over so I touched her hind quarters and asked her to move. She lifted her back leg and whacked my leg. I backed up a bit and said to her, "All right, I won't move you." Lassie I think has taught us all a lot. I know she has with me. Every time I saw her, she reminded me to be strong when times got tough and not to let people make me do things I don't want to do. Lassie had a rough life but she kept going even when things seemed like they couldn't get worse. She definitely fought a good fight! Love ya always Lassie, Laura
From Katie, Animal Caregiver: Here is a phrase I think Lassie would have liked: Life is a battle and I won, 'cause I fought 'till the end. That's what counts. Katie
From Steven, Barn Manager: Lassie showed me how much will an animal can have to live no matter what obstacles get in the way. Her obstacle being both front legs crippled, yet still she walked around with pride. She had a unique personality and character. I'm glad she came to SFC. She taught us all different things. Steven
JOHNNIE - January 16, 2006
The following is an update to the story about Johnnie, the mule. We are saddened today, January 16th, by the unexpected passing of this very special being. Our barn manager Steven arrived for work this morning and found that Johnnie had passed sometime during the night. There was no sign of any struggle and he was found in the same place that Dawn saw him sleep in every night. In fact, when Dawn did the final barn check last night, Johnnie was completely fine. Although deeply saddened, we know that he was blessed by an incredibly peaceful passing. And our lives were blessed by his presence at the farm. Amber Donkey, his good friend, asked Dawn today if she could write his eulogy. The original story of Johnnie follows Amber's memorial. May you find great rest Johnnie.
Johnnie Eulogy
By Amber Donkey
January 16, 2006
Over the past years I have lived here at the farm, I have watched as many of my friends have left on a journey bound for spirit. We honor each one of them, send our wishes with them to the other side, and remember them forever in our hearts. That is what friends do. When Johnnie came, just a short time ago, we made space for him in the barn by giving up some of my stall space to make a pen next to mine. At first, I wasn’t so thrilled to do that. I like my space here in the barn. I am the official greeter and my stall is the first one people come to when they enter the gate. Moving over to make room for Johnnie meant that he would be the first one people would see. I wasn’t sure I was going to like this.
The day that Johnnie arrived, I was first taken by his beauty. To the humans, he was badly disfigured by disease and for them, he was hard to look at. But to me, he was a gorgeous being, filled with the grace to continue his life, just the way he wanted to. I instantly admired his heart and spirit and I knew we were friends forever. At first, he didn’t smell so great until our human friends got him all cleaned up. I knew what was in store for Johnnie being here at the farm. I knew he’d be treated like his life truly mattered. I knew he’d be looked at for what he had to give to them, to all of us, not just at the farm, but to all who want to hear what we all have to say. I knew he’d find that here. Johnnie and I had much in common. We both had been taken care of by elderly humans who could no longer care for us and who gave us up out of love rather than neglect. I knew he was sad to leave his home, but I also knew he’d find another one here. And he did, within just a few short hours of his arrival, he knew he’d found his final place and he understood that at the deepest levels. I know all this, because I remembered my proper role here as the greeter and I put aside my own worries about not being seen first in the barn, and I greeted him.
We became good friends, Johnnie and I. While I was worried about not being seen, Johnnie was in a position where at first the humans were concerned about his being seen. It was an interesting situation. But we helped them through that and they realized that although Johnnie didn’t look so great, he was indeed great. I learned that to move over and offer him a small chunk of my space, meant that my life would be far more enriched then what I gave up. Johnnie didn’t make my space smaller, he made my heart larger. And with that, he gave me even more to share with others. He knew he would not be around much longer. We talked for many days about life, our experiences, our memories and our dreams. Humans may find that unbelievable but that is simply how it was. And while my stall space was somewhat smaller, he shared with me his gifts that he wanted to share with people, and I have become that much richer. I will share them for him with my people here at the farm as well as visitors who will come soon. People will not need to learn to look past his disfigured face, for what he left with me was the contents of his heart, and I will show them what that looks like by showing them how to find it.
No, my space did not get smaller. My space just got larger. The night he left, we all felt him leave. I stood beside him during his journey. And while I knew that my job was to welcome him and greet him when he came to the farm, I turned that job over to the next who was to greet him where he was going. And I know that where he went, no one had to worry about what he looked like, because all they saw was his shinning spirit and his pure heart. And during the cold of the night, I was warmed by the knowledge that I could now show others that very thing, right here from my small space in this world. What Johnnie reminded me was that every heart is enormous in its depth and capacity to love. That each spirit has a place in the heart of others. That no one ever is alone. And that love is always to be shared, not hidden. I welcomed more than Johnnie in the doors of this farm. I welcomed his love into my heart, and his memory forever in my soul. And some day when my turn comes to leave my position here at the farm, I know who will be there to greet me. For now though, I have a lot to share. And I am enriched beyond measure in this space I hold now for both myself and for my friend Johnnie.
SPRING FARM WELCOMES JOHNNIE THE MULE
Our hearts went out to a special mule named Johnnie this holiday season and to his elderly human caretaker. Johnnie has an aggressive cancer which started in his eye. The result has been a tumor which has increased in size greatly on one side of his face. Johnnie originally put in his time as a working mule on an Amish farm. He then was retired with an elderly gentleman who had him for many years. Johnnie is in his late twenties and his caretaker is now 85 years old and could no longer take care of his horses. These horses mean the world to this gentleman and we could relate to his heartache of having to let them go. But Johnnie was the hardest because everyone from the man who loves him so much, the veterinarian who cares for him, and now we at Spring Farm as well, knows that Johnnie is not yet ready to leave. He still finds joy in his life and he is not in pain. We were basically asked to consider Johnnie as a hospice situation for him to spend the remainder of his days, living a life that he has chosen to live, in the way he has chosen to live it. Although we did not have a stall available, we were able to build a stall for him. Johnnie's special person will still be able to come and visit and our staff has agreed to take over his intensive nursing care to give him the very best life he can have and so richly deserves. It is difficult for people to look at Johnnie as the tumor has so disfigured his face.
Dawn wrote the following comments the day after Johnnie arrived:
Every time I think I've seen it all in this horse business about what spirit and depth these magnificent animals have - I am taken into their hearts even deeper - only to be amazed at what I find. Johnnie has been an amazing lesson to me. This mule is so grateful to be here, to be a part of the group, to be received and accepted with compassion - and to share with us the joy that literally emanates from his dilapidated yet beautiful body. The depth of his heart is unparalleled. He lived his life working for the Amish and then was loved by the elderly gentleman who took him in from there. And now, we can give him the place he needs to just be to live out his days. He has asked all of us to look past his body, to his heart, and to reach down deep for our compassion... and when we go there, we find him matching that compassion and love - one to one, heart to heart, spirit to spirit. No matter how long he has with us, he has already changed my life and how I look at others. When I first saw him I was literally repulsed. But when I felt him and met him on that level of the heart - I met a spirit so wanting to give, filled with a joy for life that is amazing. When he whinnies - you can hear his joy and feel its vibration. He accepts everyone as they are and for who they are - and he is teaching us to find that place within ourselves and meet him there. He tells me he is a mirror for humanity. Those who can't find beauty will find none in him. Those who know the depth of all beauty and wisdom lies in the heart, will be filled with what he has to offer. He is magnificent. He is not in any pain at all, which is hard to believe when you see him, until you spend five minutes with him and realize that truth. To put him down would be because our own eyes can't bear to look at him. To help him live the life he wants to still live, requires us to look deeper than the flesh and to look with our hearts and not our eyes. We welcome Johnnie to the farm and know that he will forever be a part of our hearts. Another amazing teacher has graced this farm.
Johnnie wants to thank the special veterinarian who helped arrange for his arrival to the farm and for all her care and compassion. Bonnie, Dawn, Margot and staff join Johnnie in thanking Dr. Leigh Lain for all she has done over the years and continues to do for all of the animals in our care. Veterinarian, Board member, and friend, she has always been on call in every capacity, including the most sacred, precious, and often most difficult time when we need to let them go. We could not ask for a better person to be here with us and assist these animals who have given so much to so many. Thank you Leigh! And we'll go through this one together like we always do - learning the lessons they have come to give us - with laughter and with tears.
