There's a chapter in Where the Blind Horse Sings titled "All in the Family" that depicts the antics of a few of our twenty-some-odd free-range animals: Rambo and Hannah the sheep, a special needs hen named Nutmeg, Sumo, the twenty-four pound rooster and Rocky, nearly as large and missing an eye, potbellies Ozzi and Mabel, Zoey, Jojo, Valentino, Charlie, Hazel, Millie and Winston, big pigs Claude and Policeman, and so on.

Free-range PIGS? Who are we kidding?!!! This arrangement doesn't exactly lend itself to efficiency. YOU try moving a tractor forward with a sheep lying in front of you, a duck napping underneath, and four potbellied pigs roaming through, one of them being sternly talked to by an indignant chicken.

"Efficiency be Damned" -- that's our motto. We do this because in as much as its possible, we allow each animal to heal in her own way, on her own terms. Those who need the company of others of their species join their respective flocks or herds in their respective roomy pastures. But there are, indeed, dozens who fall into the "Special Needs" category for any of a host of reasons: they're blind; they're timid and need the activity and attention assured by a spot in the main barn, they're amcient and would be picked on by animals younger and stronger than they.

We call these free-range animals our "Underfoot Family," and have just invited Norman--renamed Carmella in honor of the best part of the elderly woman from whom she was purchased--to join the family, as she is, at the moment, our lone turkey.

Today is her first day as a free turkey, as a full-fledged member of the family.

"Come on, girl" I say quietly as I open her stall door wide. "Come meet all these new friends."

I watch from a slight distance--getting too close makes her nervous--as Norman/Carmella moves tentatively to the opening into the big world outside her stall. She is motionless except for her head, which moves in every direction so she can take in what's out here: Charlie the pig grumping per usual as he walks past, uninterested; volunteer Chris Seeholzer filling water buckets, whispering sweetly to each animal as she does so; tiny April leading Big Ted inside after the old draft horse has spent the morning outside (see a video of Big Ted at youtube.com/casanctuary); and just feet from Carmella, Sumo, the gentle giant of a rooster, pecking at something interesting directly across the aisle.

Where's Rambo? I wonder. The great sheep, the subject of four chapters of my book and one of the animals to whom the book is dedicated, is the official welcome committee for all new members of the Underfoot family. He'll be in soon, I expect.

It's true...our boy is smitten.

Lexie, the mare who arrived with Andy four months ago, has been designated "pasture pal" for our blind friend Buddy. Now that he's "graduated" and is capable of spending panic-free time in the pasture, we wanted to give him the chance to bond with another horse--something his owner suggested that he'd never done. Who better than Lexie, the "I've seen it all" old girl who's rebounded beautifully from chronic deprivation at a nurse mare farm.

Like his predecessor, Buddy does still get anxious. But Lexie calms him. He'll lift his head high in the air, listening hard for his girl. Often, we'll watch, delighted, as Lexie moves over to Buddy, sometimes even walking into the middle of his frantic circling. When Buddy either hears or smells his friend, he'll walk over to her, and we'll watch him unkink, breath by breath. We can almost hear him saying, "Oh FRIEND--I'm so glad you're here!!"

What a joy it will be to watch this friendship evolve. Already it resembles that of the original Buddy (the "star" of Where the Blind Horse Sings) and his friend-for-life Dino--a tiny pipsqueak with the heart of a giant--who came to life upon Buddy's arrival and was a steadfast friend until Buddy took his final breath.

I knew it wouldn't take long.

Like so many other animals in the barn, Norma Jean (the THIRD name for our rescued turkey, and the one that will stick!!) seems to need Rambo somehow. Hannah the sheep sure needs him. She desperately searches for him when she's let out each morning, her pace increasing to a sort of rapid march and her bleats growing agitated until...aahhhh....there he is, her boy, her Rambo...she runs to him and her whole body lets go.

Two ancient Underfoot Family members Jack and Lama sure need him. Jack is a blind sheep, Lama has a permanent injury that causes lameness, and though their stall door remains open during the day to encourage them to come out, they mostly rest in their hay. When the pigs get too rambunctious, which they do about 314 times a day, Rambo guards the entrance to Lama and Jack's stall, preventing the pigs from entering. "No," his stance says. "They need quiet."

This morning Rambo is lying in one of his favorite spots in the big barn. It's just outside the goat stalls. Norma Jean is lying next to him. Rambo, once the most violent and dangerous animal I've ever known, allows this--even allows the turkey to peck at his wool, pulling at whatever bits of hay she finds interesting. He's her source of comfort and security, as he is to Hannah, as he was to Dino the pony, as he will continue to be, I expect, to many more who sense the strength and wisdom of this great wise beast, whose many acts of exceptional wisdom and breathtaking compassion are depicted in Where the Blind Horse Sings.

Above: The Great Dog Murphy, Director of Canine Pursuits, happy to help on Christmas Day as long as he can chase the occasional stick.

I could be with my boyfriend in Hawaii, my Dad in Florida, my brother in Virginia, my sister in Michigan, or my mother, grandmother, aunts, uncles--the whole maternal clan--in Nashville.

Instead, donned in long johns and jeans, boots, gloves and hat, and t-shirt, turtleneck, fleece vest, jacket, I'm scooping poop at Catskill Animal Sanctuary, assisted by the great dog Murphy, my eleven-year-old yellow lab, and I couldn't be happier.

With our two animal caretakers either on vacation or taking the day off, I'm in the barn--per usual on Christmas Day. WAMC, the public radio station, is airing Christmas essays, including David Sedaris' hilarious account of his single day working as an elf in a shopping mall. April and Allen and Alex are here with me. Quickly and effortlessly we divide up the morning feed routine: April and Allen feed the "outside" animals -- mostly big animals in big pastures the farthest from the barn; Alex feeds the "barnyard" animals -- the rabbits, ducks, and chickens in seven different shelters clustered closer to the main barn, and I feed the menagerie inside the barn: six special needs horses whose age or condition have earned them a permanent spot there; the 18 potbellies and big pigs who need the heated stalls; 12 goats; Lama and Jack, our two blind (or nearly) sheep; and an electic assortment of birds: five broiler roosters, Norma Jean the turkey, roosters Sumo, Rocky, Doodles and Scribble...and so on. Today, a few extra treats are placed in each feed dish. Today, every single animal gets a kiss. Every chicken gets held, every pig is massaged, every horse muzzle has a kiss planted on its smooth, warm center.

"Umh...umphhh..." Franklin the pig grunts in gratitude. And Norma Jean, our rescued turkey, settles into my lap--uncertainly at first, but with each new breath, she lets go a little until her eyes are heavy and she's asleep.

I steal away mid-morning and an hour later return with three-dozen vegan pancakes. Christmas brunch in the barn!! We pass juice and maple syrup, and vegan dietician George Eisman and his girlfriend Melanie Carpenter come by with one of Melanie's extraordinary desserts. So what if we've just finished a pound of strawberry pancakes apiece? It's Christmas!! We dive into Melanie's chocolate mousse pie.

Outside the kitchen door, Franklin grunts. "Can I come in?" he pleads. We're tempted, but Franklin is no longer the five-pound piglet who arrived at Catskill Animal Sanctuary two winters ago. He is 500 pounds, and a 500-pound pig loose in a kitchen wouldn't be pretty...not even on Christmas.

I grab two pancakes and slip out the back door. "Merry Christmas, best pig in the world," I whisper to my friend, who gleefully gobbles the pancakes. "Come on, boy, it's time to go back to work," I say to him, and Murphy, Franklin, and I head down the drive to clean the goose house.

Merry Christmas, World.

View image

This winter is kicking our asses...and it's officially only three weeks old.

When snow comes early in the season and hangs around for weeks, winter kicks your ass.

When a second and then a third snow accumulates on top of the first, winter kicks your ass.

When the wind is so bitter that not even the hardiest cows want to leave the barn, winter kicks your ass.

When even your most dedicated volunteers disappear because, really, this weather is just too much, winter kicks your ass.

When you must plow for two hours, dig out gates from mounds of fresh snow, crack solid ice in 100-gallon water troughs just to begin the day, winter kicks your ass.

When what looks like driveway is really black ice and your feet fly from under you and you crash to your elbows, the grain buckets you were carrying flying like frisbees through the air, winter kicks your ass.

When the animals are cozy in their heated stalls but the heater in the only warm room for humans shuts down on a holiday when no one will repair it, winter kicks your ass.

When the old pig Policeman wants to do nothing other than snuggle under the hay in his heated stall, but you know he must get up and move those old, arthritic joints, and when he in frustration, whips around a little too far and suddenly pig head and human head collide for one painful, dizzying moment, winter kicks your ass.

When four people in a single day are desperate to place their animals because their homes and farms are in foreclosure, and when even though the LAST thing you want to do in these grueling conditions is take in more needy animals, you consider it because, indeed, that is your mission, winter kicks your ass.

What better gift to yourself, the animals, and our frighteningly fragile planet than to pledge to go veg? Take a look at my OpEd in the Providence Journal:

http://www.projo.com/opinion/contributors/content/CT_stevens31_12-31-07_328CK6A_v7.2a6d37f.html