An incredibly heartfelt THANK YOU to those of you who are reaching out in an effort to help place animals during this challenging time. It occurred to me that it might be helpful to post our major adoption criteria -- otherwise, we'll have people calling from Texas who want backyard ponies; breeders and birthday party outfits and riding camps and all sorts of other applicants we'd never consider.

Our adoption process consists of the following steps, in order. While it may seem cumbersome, hundreds of homes have passed with flying colors and now enjoy the companionship of one or more delightful critters. So please be patient (depending on your schedule, the process can take as little as a week) and understand that it's our job to ensure that each animal goes to an exceptional home.

1. a completed application (http://www.casanctuary.org)
2. a telephone interview
3. a visit to CAS to meet the animals to determine whether we have an animal or animals that would be a good match for you and your situation. We encourage you to ask as many questions as possible at this time, and to view the animal's medical file.
4. a visit by our "Home Visitors," who will assess whether your land, barn, pasture, etc. meet our criteria.
5. final selection of your animal
6. delivery of animal, payment of adoption fee, signing of adoption contract
7. post-adoption follow-up visit (within six months of adoption)

Catskill Animal Sanctuary currently has over 150 delightful farm animals from 12 different species (cows, goats, horses, donkeys, mules, chickens, turkeys, ducks, sheep, farm pigs, potbellied pigs, rabbits) available for adoption as pets only to exceptional homes. We are specifically looking for people eager to make an animal--whether cow or rabbit, horse or duck--part of their family.

Adoption criteria include the following:

1. adopters must live within 90 minutes of Saugerties, NY

2. adopter must reside full-time at his/her residence

3. space and shelter requirements vary by species, but require that the animal have ample room to run, graze, relax, and be protected from extreme weather and predators (example: minimum acreage requirement for cows and horses is 1 acre per animal. We do not adopt to homes who want to keep animals in smal backyard pens.)

4. adoption is for the life of the animal only. Under no circumstances may the animal be sold, given away, auctioned, or bartered. If the adopter can no longer provide a loving home for her animal, the animal must be returned to Catskill Animal Sanctuary.

5. We prefer homes experienced with the personalities, needs, and health issues of the various species. While we certainly make exceptions, in general we are reluctant to adopt animals to "first timers." For those exceptional first-timers, CAS is happy to advise regarding type of fencing, type of shelter, etc.

6.Breeders, petting zoos, riding camps, and other facilities that use animals for financial gain are not eligible.

7. As a general rule, we strongly prefer homes where the adopted animal will have a companion of his/her species. Exceptions are occasionally made that have to do with an individual animal's personality and preferences.

For those who meet the above criteria, we currently have over 20 horses available for adoption. Most are older and suitable only as companions; however, we do have eight horses suitable for pleasure riding (with some further training). We also have some delightful rabbits, a goat to die for, a family of cows who'd love to live in your house (just kidding, of course...but you get the point), farm pigs and potbellies...and so on.

We will post regular updates about the miniature horses.

Adoption applications may be completed at http://www.casanctuary.org. We will contact you within 48 hours of receipt of your application to begin the process.

Thanks, everyone.

These photos are from a week ago--I've been trying to get photos as the building progresses, but constant heavy snow, sleet, or pelting rain have prevented me from doing so. These were taken on the only sunny day we've had in a couple weeks. (Note the photo of my sidekick, the Great Dog Murphy, Director of Canine Pursuits and an eleven-year-old PUPPY!)

The framing has been done, the windows have been cut, the plywood for the roof is nearly completed. Custom Forest Products is working hard in these challenging conditions, and we'll soon be ready for more large animals. We have over FIFTY horses on our waiting list, all from dire economic situations.

Meanwhile, fifty chickens are stuck on top of a mountain and we can't get up the hill to retrieve them. I drove to Delhi to meet them and six old horses a couple weeks ago. The animals are caught in the middle of an estate dispute, and need homes before an old farm is sold. The horses have been placed; we're taking the hens (mostly Jersey Giants, Barred Rocks, and Rhode Island Reds) as soon as we can negotiate the treacherous driveway. I nearly slid off the side of the mountain two weeks ago!!

Whew. It's been quite a winter for Catskill Animal Sanctuary.

Noah, the chestnut stallion who arrived here encrusted in manure, bone thin, and with twisted hooves that looked like wrung-out towels, is always reluctant to leave his stall. Trapped in a tiny box for years, he surely feels that the world outside that stall is a big one. I know the real reason, though. Noah doesn't want to leave his hay.

He's far from being physically ready to be turned out. Having been locked in an 8x8 box and fed only sporadically, Noah is weak. His hooves hurt. I've never seen a horse stand with a hoof held high in the air.

"My foot hurts," he says, as he lifts it when he knows we're looking, then often turns his head to ensure we see what he's doing. "Can you help me?"

(What a communicator he is! Noah speaks with his eyes, he speaks with slow turns of his head to look all the way behind his body, and he speaks with gestures like the lifting of a hoof when we enter his stall. I find myself wondering if he and I could "talk" in the way that my dog Murphy and I do. I wonder if we have another Rambo in the making. If you've read my book, Where the Blind Horse Sings, you'll know what I'm talking about.)

Our animal care director Walt Batycki is scheduling a meeting with Heather O'Leary, our veterinarian, and Korey Hedderman, our farrier, to determine the course of action for this old boy. Just as we were with Andy, we're uncertain about Noah's long-term prognosis. Will Korey be able to reshape these hooves over time to prevent the constant pain that plagues Noah? That's the question we need to answer.

For now, though, his appetite and attitude are wonderful; the hard clumps of manure have been removed from his coat as volunteer after volunteer asks to groom him. And short daily walks with Walt, Lorraine or me up and down our long barn aisle seem to gradually building his strength.

Today, Noah's head is where it always is: buried in his hay rack.

"Come on, big boy," I say as I slide green halter over red head. "Let's go for a walk!"

I take the end of the lead rope and move backwards toward the door so that its 6' length extends between us. I figure it's better for him to navigate his own turn. He knows, not me, which joints, which hooves hurt, and how best to place them to minimize the pain.

At the open stall door, he stretches his head out, turning left and looking down the long aisle; turning right as Millie the potbelly pig trots past in her relentless search for food. I do not rush this process. Let each animal heal in his own way; on her own terms. That's the Catskill Animal Sanctuary way. While Noah's reluctance to leave could be fear-based--his entire world prior to coming here was a dark, windowless, ramshackle barn--I strongly suspect this behavior is ALL about the hay. Like many chronically starved animals, Noah delights in his food, and the most challenging part of our walk is waiting while he makes up his mind to leave it for a few minutes!

It's been three or four minutes of standing, looking, but here he comes toward me now. I want him to see the encouragement in my eyes and in my smile, so I walk backwards, facing him.

Norma Jean the turkey is all feathered bliss as she naps in the aisle. Noah lowers his head in a gentle greeting that Norma Jean knows she needn't fear. So, too, with Hannah the sheep, strutting deliberately through the hay room as we walk past. She stops, lifts her head to Noah in confident greeting, and sheep and horse stand nose to nose for a moment. When she moves on, we do, too.

Noah seems to have gotten his sea legs--his steps are much more confident than they were last week. He moves from one curiosity to the next--sometimes it's a broom or a wheelbarrow filled with shavings, but more often it's a living thing: a chicken or turkey, a sheep or pig.

Hazel the adolescent piglet trots up and lifts her pink snout in greeting. Most horses hate pigs; not this one. Noah lowers his head, and as the thousand pound horse and fifty pound pig greet each other, all soft breath and innocence, time stops. All is right in this world.

The return trip to Noah's stall is uneventful, except for the fact that the animal we weren't sure would live is pulling me quickly down the aisle. I know why, of course. We turn into his stall, and in an instant, red head is eyeball-deep in the green hay.

Here we go, everyone: another attempt by our "Environmental Protection Agency" to further erode clean air and water standards by exempting factory farms from regulation.

The EPA is accepting public comments until March 27 on its proposal to ELIMINATE clean air standards for factory farms. While federal law requires industry to report hazardous substances released into the atmosphere, the agency feels factory farms should be EXEMPT in order "to reduce the burden on the regulated community." The proposal explains that it's "too difficult" for factory farms to comply.

Oh dear. Poor, poor factory farms. Poor, poor production factories responsible for more emissions that all transportation combined. Poor factories responsible for dead rivers, ponds, and other waterways, the extinction of many species, illness and disease in nearby residents...and the wretched suffering of billions of animals every year grown to satisfy the human palate. They're having such a difficult time complying with clean air and water standards (such that we have). I feel for them.

(The proposal actually acknowledges that no penalty results from failure to comply...so what's the point of requiring compliance?)

PLEASE--EVERYONE--go to http://www.organicconsumers.org/articles/article_10380.cfm to register your objection to yet another predictable assault on the environment by the governmental agency charged with protecting it. A sample letter is provided--please make it your own. Send the Organic Consumers link to everyone you know. And hug a tree today, would you?

Send us a comment to let us know you've written. I'll publish it.

I'm at Zion National Park, and for those of you who've not been here: put it on your list. To call it magnificent or inspiring or breathtaking is to minimize its shattering beauty. And I'm exhausted from our hike...too tired to attempt a description! Instead, just a simple reporting of what happened on a glorious afternoon turned so very sad.

After a leisurely morning hike, David and I stepped out of Zion Lodge at lunchtime for a second hike along the canyon creek. Stellar's Jays said hello from the branches of small evergreens; two red squirrels playing a game of chase nearly tripped us up as we walked a narrow path. We walked for perhaps 90 minutes, delighting in a huge herd of mule deer grazing and napping lazily near the water, and in the recognition that we heard absolutely nothing but nature: the brush of the wind through brittle branches, the dancing of the shallow creek over its rockbed, and the chatter of jays and crows.

We stopped for lunch among a flock of wild turkeys, and the 20+ birds ignored us as they went about their turkey business---searching for bugs, scratching in the dirt, preening, relaxing in the sun--with us in their midst. We were thrilled to have such unexpected lunch companions!

"Let's go this way," David suggested at the fork in the road. And that choice led us to the barn where "dude ranch" horses and mules were housed. And that's when our fun stopped. Their lives couldn't have been more different from the lives of Catskill Animal Sanctuary equines.

More tomorrow. I'm so-oo---ooo tired, so sad, so angry at humanity.

Regular readers of this blog know how tough this winter has been on Catskill Animal Sanctuary. If you're just tuning in, let me tell you that we have taken a beating this year!

We are approaching the time of year when we throw open our doors to visitors so they can come here, meet the animals and learn about them, and best of all, experience for themselves the kindness and love that permeates this very special place. After this endless winter, CAS needs a bit of touching up...and we're hoping you'll pitch in!

On Saturday, April 26th and Sunday April 27, join us for a Spring Cleaning party from 10am-5pm both days. Weather permitting, we'll be landscaping, weed whacking, leaf raking, painting five new shelters,(including the barn above), and as always with this place, having a blast as we work our fannies off!

Lunch, beverages, and animal kisses will be provided. Bring heavy work gloves, boots if you have them (otherwise grungy sneakers or other shoes with good treads)...and be prepared to leave filthy and smiling!

In the midst of such grandeur, there is the wretchedness we have wrought.

As we set out on our hike, David and I saw the horses and mules tacked up for the day's trail ride. And while I'm far from being a fan of these "rent a horse while on vacation" outfits (trail horses typically lead, at best, a life of drudgery, and when they've outlived the purpose that humans have ascribed to them, most go to slaughter), the animals actually looked terrific: their weights were ideal, their hooves were in great shape, their coats healthy. I was also heartened to learn from the guy running the outfit that the mules and horses work for two days and then have a day off. Many "dude ranches" and trail rides and carriage horse operations give their "employee," i.e. the horse, only one day off per week.

"They're luckier than most," I said to David.

And so we headed out, exploring the glorious Zion Canyon as described earlier, spending an absolutely delightful afternoon, until we got to the fork in the path.

"Let's go this way," David suggested.

After a few hundred steps, lo and behold, we arrived at the barn where the horses and mules lived, and my fantasy of spacious pasture and ample shelter that the hard-working animals would enjoy on their day off was instantly shattered.

Over 40 mules and horses were packed into a turnout pen that was, at best, 60' square. On their day off, these animals, mostly mule geldings, had only a tiny, dusty, shadeless pen. NO trees, NO grass, NO room to frolic. The single run-in shed was way too small to accommodate even half the animals, which presumably means that when the scorching sun is high in July and August and the thermometer reads well into the 100's, many animals must simply endure it.

I checked their water. It was green. Thick algae lined the entire trough and an oily scum floated on top. Shit. People call Catskill Animal Sanctuary when they see animals enduring conditions such as these. "Can you do anything?" they ask, naively hoping that we'll either take the animals, file criminal charges, or guide them through the process of doing so.

"No," I say...more often than I would like. New York State laws are far too lax and far too vague. Law enforcement is extremely resistant to prosecuting all but the most horrific cases. If an animal's weight is good and water (even if it's filthy and unpotable) and shelter (even if it's a tree) are available, no law is being broken. All one can do is look for ways to engage the owner about his animal husbandry practices, and monitor the situation to ensure it doesn't get worse. It often does. Then we can act.

I sat cross-legged in the dirt outside the paddock. Four animals--a mule and three horses--approached eagerly. Three were old mares, their huge bellies sagging, their bodies scarred from the kicks and bites of more dominant animals. These animals were far too old and worn out to be ridden.

They approached eagerly. "Hi, girls," I said. "I'm sorry I don't have treats." Still, one nuzzled my face, another lowered her head and allowed me to massage her cheeks.

Twenty days a month, year after year, these animals work hard, carrying mostly those who know nothing about riding--nothing about sharing an experience with an animal--back and forth along the same dreary path, in temperatures that rise to 110 degrees. Their reward for their service? A few days off in a hot, tiny, dusty pen drinking contaminated water.

Across the U.S., there are tens of thousands of such animals...just as their are in zoos, in traveling circuses and rodeos, in canned hunts, at racetracks and theme parks. They endure their respective wretchedness because humans want to be entertained by them. But would our lives diminish qualitatively if we no longer attended a rodeo, a dog or horse race, or a circus? Would our vacation be less enjoyable if, instead of riding a bored and overused animal, we hiked the trails ourselves? If instead of taking the kids to Sea World to watch dolphins jump through hoops, we took them to the real sea to swim and build sandcastles?

That human beings feel entitled to use animals for any purpose we determine to be fun or profitable is a level of callousness or obtuseness or disregard common to most of us, I believe. It's an assumption of privilege. It never occurs to most of us to question the status quo.

But if you do, and especially if you allow yourself to acknowledge your own role in the suffering of animals, how does it feel?

It's this very concept that Matthew Sculley discusses in his book Dominion. If you've not read it, I highly recommend it. Sculley asks whether "man's dominion over animals," as discussed in the Bible, suggests dominance or caretaking. Providing snapshots of the brutality and misery inherent in many animal industries, Sculley makes the obvious case that humans do, indeed, dominate all other animals species with breathtaking disregard of their suffering.

But this domination/subjugation/oppression model was not God's intention, he argues. No. By giving us "dominion over animals," God intended us to be their caretakers.

Today is Easter Sunday. As I walk around this precious animal sanctuary on this symbolic day, joyful animals, allowed to be themselves, surround me. Policeman, a 1000-pound pig rescued from a Bronx apartment, is one happy camper stretched out on the sunny side of the shavings pile. Molly the cow and Sammy the steer playfully butt heads. I smile as Helen the blind calf licks the face of Andy, the young gelding too weak to be turned out with other horses. No matter: Helen takes such good care of him. The goats play "King of the Mountain" at their rock pile, and, in one of the surest signs of the coming of spring, the hens are busily scratching in the dirt for whatever endible tidbit they can uncover. At the far end of the farm, Buddy the blind horse, featured on the jacket of Where the Blind Horse Sings, rolls blissfully on the cool ground. I watch these lucky few, and I remember the Zion horses.

Jesus suffered mightily. So do the animals. The power to change this is in our hands.

Happy Easter.

...sex is on the mind of every animal on the place.

Mind you, making an exception for the humans, we have but a single set of testicles on the entire place. Those testicles belong to Noah, a 20-year-old stallion whose wonderful progress you can track in my blog. Minimal risks notwithstanding, they will soon be removed. A rescue organization simply cannot have an animal in its midst capable of reproduction.

Yet, despite our nearly "testosterone-free" status, all I see is sex today. It happens every spring.

Buddy the blind horse featured on the jacket of my book, Where the Blind Horse Sings, is a gelding. Yet you'd never have known it today, watching him, stone blind, mounting his female pasturemates Abby and Henny.

Nor would you have guessed that Rudy the steer was a STEER--a neutered bull--and not a cohones-intact bull as he mounted not only his companion Helen, the lovely blind Hereford cow, but also ANDY, the male HORSE.

I walked to the barn laughing, shaking my head, having just witnessed a neutered male cow mounting a neutered male horse. I was stopped in my tracks by Hazel, our 50-pound adolescent female potbelly pig, doing her damndest to "connect," so to speak, with Policeman, our 1,000-pound neutered male farm pig, interested only in sunning himself on a warm spring afternoon.

Aaah, love is in the air....

Animal care director Walt Batycki and I have had our struggles. He rightly claims that I don't listen to him--instead I come armed with my solution to a problem, which may not be feasible for a whole host of reasons. I rightly claim that he gets a little too worked up about things that really aren't such a big deal if one would only approach them with equanimity.

We love each other; we regularly say so. We struggle constantly. But then there are the moments that, in an instant, wash our issues away. There's just been one.

Murphy and I were driving the farm: surveying the land, the fencing, checking in with the outside animals. As I drove past our beautiful duck pond, I spotted what looked like a duck head floating on the water. Oh no. One of our most vulnerable ducks, a Pekin female named Shirley who's routinely harassed by aggressive males, was caught in the fencing that divides the "duck safe" portion of the pond from the "no swim zone." Her leg was caught in wire well below the surface. Literally only her head was visible as she struggled; the rest of her body was completely submerged.

I gunned the accelerator, leapt from the car, pounded on Walt's door.

"WALT WE HAVE AN EMERGENCY!!" I called as I entered, quickly explaining the situation to Walt, who was sound asleep, exhausted from a long week.

"Let me throw some clothes on," he answered.

I gunned the car backward to the tool shed to retrieve wire cutters, then sped to the pond, visualizing myself waist deep in 40-degree water.

When I got there, no more than 60 seconds after knocking on Walt's door, Walt was already waist-deep in the pond, Shirley in hand. An instand later, Walt was pale and shivering, and Shirley was sailing through the air into her warm, dry shelter.

"I love you, Walt," I said to the man running to his hot shower.

"I know," he said.

This entry is for our volunteers -- Crazy Rabbit Man is on the prowl.

A few weeks ago I received a call from an agitated gentleman who, speaking in a fast, slurred monotone, said he "wanted to come get some rabbits."

I explained that my line was for emergencies only and that he should go on line to complete an application. "There's a whole process," I explained. "You can't just come pick up animals."

"Need rabbits, gotta have some rabbits," he continued repetitively, talking over my words.

That same night I was on my way to hear the wonderful "veggie vet" Holly Cheever speak about her 25 years advocating for animal rights. Her talk was preceded by a vegan potluck presented by Mid-Hudson Vegetarian Society. As I headed out to the event, in drove Crazy Rabbit Man.

He's in his 50s; drives a new silver 4-door vehicle. Perhaps a hybrid?

"May I help you?" I asked pointedly as I got out of my car, which I'd angled in front of him so that he couldn't go any further.

"Where are the rabbits? Rabbits gotta I need where are rabbits the rabbits?"

"Sir, we're closed, and you must leave. I told you on the phone that you can't simply come get rabbits. If you don't leave rioght now, I'm going to call the police."

Rabbit man mumbled on about red tape, turned around and left. I stayed at the top of the driveway for 15 minutes, suspecting he would return. He didn't.

About a week ago, Crazy Rabbit Man appeared in the barn, demanding rabbits in his rapid-fire monotone. He was told to leave.

He'll be back. Just a request to all volunteers: if you're the first to see him, don't waste time looking for staff if we're not in the barn. His plan is clearly to grab some rabbits and run. Call the police, and get Crazy Rabbit Man's license plate number.

...needs your help.

When he arrived at CAS two years ago, I could hold Franklin in one hand. A few weeks old and the runt of his litter, Franklin weighed only four pounds. He'd been set aside to starve to death. A kind neighbor spotted him, and brought him to us.

Two years later, Franklin weighs probably 400 pounds. If ever there was one, he's a people pig. An excerpt from my book Where the Blind Horse Sings will help you understand him:

Franklin is angry. At six months old,he’s finally become WAY too difficult to manage as a free-range pig. Yesterday, he broke into one of the chicken yards and ransacked the coop, gobbling up eggs as if he hadn’t eaten in a week, screaming like a banshee when we kicked him out, and then again when Walt placed him in time out (his cozy stall) for the fourth time that day. In theory, as much as we’d love for Franklin to be a permanent part of the Underfoot family, he is a 250-pound mischief maker: an exasperatingly willful, exceedingly bright, unrelenting whirling dervish. Franklin is all pig, all the time.

So today, in the field right next to the barn in full view of all the goings-on, Franklin has been turned out with the goats and is none too pleased. In fact, he is so intent on indicating his displeasure that a) we all need ear plugs and b) Alex is a nanosecond from letting him out because he can’t bear the thought of our little man being unhappy. Franklin knows this, you see. He knows that if he acts insane for a few minutes, one of us will give in, the way we always do.

Out there in the rest of the world, pigs have little chance of happiness. Humans believe that we’re entitled to use animals for our every need, desire, and whim, with virtually no regard for how the animals might feel about such arrangements, or for their welfare as they’re being raised to feed, clothe, or entertain us. But at CAS, our roles are so clearly reversed. We humans are the servile ones.

At the moment, Franklin is pacing the fence, perfecting his “I’m a crazy pig” routine. Pacing, in fact, is the wrong word to describe the behavior. Motionless at one corner of the pasture, he is suddenly a jet-propelled pink blur until he reaches the far corner, where he slams to a halt, erupts like a volcano, then hurls himself back to where he came from. He does this a few times until…wait…what’s that…does Franklin smell sympathy?

Though we’re hidden from view, somehow the little hellion knows we’re watching him. He lifts his snout to the air and sniffs, then, cutting diagonally through the field, runs directly to the gate
and waits, “harummphing” loudly, looking toward the barn with the big brown eyes we are always and utterly unable to resist.

“Can I pleeeeeease give him a pumpkin?” volunteer Allen Landes pleads. Allen Landes is a hospital biologist during the week, but devotes his weekends to working tirelessly for CAS. Allen loves the entire CAS crew, but if pressed, might whisper that
Franklin is his favorite.

“Oh good grief, okay,” I say. We’re defeated once again.

Secretly, I can’t wait to watch our little imp bite a hole in the baby pumpkin so that he can race gleefully around the field (the field that just moments earlier was his prison), holding the pumpkin in front of his snout like a bulbous appendage, exclaiming, “Look, world! I have my favorite treat! A pumpkin! It’s my favorite!”

___________________________________________________________________________

I am devastated to say that Franklin's life is not what it was. Yes, he still gets praise and attention and affection and an exceptional diet and cozy, roomy shelter. But Franklin is terrified of his house and pasture mate, Miss Piggerty. We certainly didn't anticipate this or we wouldn't have accepted her. But we've tried every possible pig combination imaginable and have run out of options.

Piggerty has issues: extreme food aggression (aggression period) and unpredictability, and Franklin is often her victim.

We're wracking our brains to come up with a solution. CAS wouldn't be the same without the omnipresent love-on-four-pink-legs Franklin. In the meantime, though, he needs better. If there's an exceptional family out there with LOTS of pasture and LOTS of pig experience and LOTS of people at home to manage and love this most wonderful being, we'd love to hear from you...even though, if he leaves us, Catskill Animal Sanctuary will never be the same.