Well, it happened. Word got around that I was looking for a new home for Franklin, and one afternoon, as I was bent over pig dishes to dole out fruit, I was suddenly surrounded by legions of angry volunteers.

"Grab her!" Charlotte yelled.

In an instant I was on the floor. Walter was binding my hands and feet, Chris gagged me with hay. Before I could blink, I was stuffed me into a feed bag! I was lifted and carried into the hay room, tied to a corner post, hidden behind the new hay delivery--800 bales--I wouldn't be discovered for at least two weeks!!

Enter the great sheep Rambo. If you've read my book, Where the Blind Horse Sings, you know his story, and this is merely the latest feat in a string of accomplishments. Yes, Rambo has a killer resume.

There I was, left for dead, until not long after the final volunteer pulled out the driveway, when I heard Rambo commiserating on the other side of the hay room.

"Now, friends," I heard him say.

I KNEW IT!! I KNEW RAMBO COULD TALK!!! He just wanted to keep it a secret from us humans!! WAIT UNTIL I TELL....oh yeah...I suppose I shouldn't let the cat out of the bag--especially not if Rambo is about to let ME out of the bag!

"Friends, Teacher made a big mistake (Teacher?!! He calls me Teacher?!!!), and I, for one, am not too pleased. Franklin is part of our family...he belongs at Catskill Animal Sanctuary," Rambo asserted. I heard his hooves as he padded up and down the barn aisle, taking great care to look the horses in the eye. He knew they'd be the toughest to win over.

"Let him go!" shouted Ted the draft horse. "Pigs are too loud!"

"I agree!!!" whinnied Andy the Appaloosa from across the aisle. "Franklin steals my treats!"

Rambo persisted gently.

"Quiet, gentlemen. This is not your decision. It is mine. Ted, you are here because Teacher took a risk. You were a very dangerous animal, but she wanted you to have a chance at happiness...something you'd never known. And you, Andy? You only had a few days left to live, remember? You were so thin and so weak from starvation that you couldn't stand more than a few minutes at a time. Remember how your legs shook?"

A contrite Andy whispered a barely audible "yes." Ted turned his back to Rambo and farted.

Rambo worked the crowd, explaining to all the big barn's residents--roosters Sumo and Rocky; pigs Babe, Claude, Policeman, Zoey, Ozzi, Mabel, Millie, Charlie and Winston; goats PeeWee, Noodles, VanGoat, Socks, Mufasa, Austin, Cocoa, and Mr. Specks; sheep Hannah; ducks Sassafras, Blake, Darwin and Succotash, and horses Ted, Max, Bobo, Buddy, Noah, Cas, Andy and Casey--that despite how it appeared, it was Teacher's love for Franklin that compelled her to search for another home for him.

Whatever he was doing, I hoped he'd do it quickly. Bound and gagged, I was sweating buckets inside the empty potbelly-pig feed bag.

TO BE CONTINUED

OK, guys, the omniscient narrator takes over from here on out: I'm sweating in a feed bag, for god's sake!!

Rambo understood the import of this moment. Teacher needed help--and quickly!! Yet this was one of those rare opportunities in life: a chance to empower all the animals, even the small and meek. How many chances would the Catskill Animal Sanctuary residents have, after all, to rescue a human?

Rambo strode deliberately to the Bunny Barn, where Trix, the most fragile of all, was tucked between a warm bale of hay and the barn wall, napping peacefully.

"Trix," Rambo whispered as, in order to appear as small as possible, he lay in front of the tiny rabbit.

"R-R-R-RAMBO!" Trix stammered. "What are you d-d-d-doing here?"

"Trix," Rambo paused. He didn't want to startle the tiny animal. "Teacher's in trouble. I need your help."

Trix's large pink eyes grew larger and pinker as Rambo told the story, the last line of which was "and the hay room's locked."

"What can I d-do?" Trix stuttered. "I'm only a b-b-bun-n-ny."

Rambo was unphased. "The problem," he explained matter-of-factly, "is that none of us have hands. "And hands are what one needs to manipulate a lock." (Rambo often pondered the fact that the world seemed designed for the convenience and enjoyment of humans at the expense of their animal brethren.)

"R-RIGHT!" Trix exclaimed with relief. "I DON'T HAVE HANDS!"

"No, Rabbit, you don't," Rambo continued with consummate patience. "But you have teeth, and you have feet."

TO BE CONTINUED.

It's probably no exaggeration to say that of the 1,200 animals we've taken in since 2001, half have come from the five boroughs:

Dino, our very first resident: a tiny pony who was the sole survivor of a Brooklyn arson that took the lives of 23 horses.

300 crated chickens, abandoned at a live poultry market, drowning when torrential rains flooded city streets.

Hannah the sheep, found late at night in a Queens cemetery.

Henry the rooster, found in a Bronx mailbox.

My wonderful friend Policeman, a 900-pound pig seized from a Bronx apartment during a drug raid.

Oliver the goat, found on Manhattan streets with "sold" spray-painted on his side.

and so very many more.

Yesterday, four more arrived, seized, as so many have been, by Anne Marie Lucas of "'Animal Cops" fame. Hundreds of our animals have come through her dedicated work.

One is a tiny young Silkie hen--mottled white with a blue beak and a mop atop her head. Underneath all the fluff, she's the size of largish potato. Three are young sheep, two rams and a ewe, seized from the yard of someone who had purchased them at a live poultry market in order to slaughter them at home. Flourescent green lines sprayed down their backs would have enabled a purchaser to buy one particular side of the lamb; slaughter doesn't occur until both sides are purchased (yes, if you've ever heard someone say "I bought a side of beef" they literally bought either the left or the right half of the animal's body).

We've named the girl Nellie; send us your suggestions for the boys!!

Thanks for the wonderful suggestions, everyone!! Animal lovers from as far away as Nebraska suggested the following: Beastie, Bilbo Baggins, Samwise, Fred, Thor, Nero, Caesar, Wooly, Spinach, Otis, Ollie, Fergis, Quigley, Magooster, Jack, Nick, and Lucas. Many of the names (Jack, Lucas, Fred) have already been "taken" by other CAS critters, and unless an animal arrives with name, we try never to duplicate.

Because the two lambs are so bonded and because the "softness" of the names seems fitting, we chose Otis and Ollie.

The tiny Silkie hen who accompanied them has been dubbed Ramona.

And here they are, in all their wonderfulness, destined NOT for a Greek Orthodox Easter dinner plate, which was the plan, but for a full and happy life on a farm. Unfortunately, the photos don't BEGIN to do them justice. As soon as they're out of quarantine, we'll post photos of the threesome frolicking in spring grass and Ramona out scratching in the dirt, happy to be alive...

Rambo edged next to Trix as closely as he could, then said, "Climb on, little man."

And Trix did.

Together the pair moved up the lane and into the big barn, then finally to the hay room gate.

"Here Trix, here's the gate."

Atop the great sheep's back, Trix trembled. "R-r-RAM-bo, that's a METAL g-gate. I can't b-bbb-bite through that. No. Just c-CAN'T. Take me home."

Rambo paused for what seemed to the timid rabbit to be about two months. The great sheep knew four things:

1) Teacher was in trouble, and time was running out

2) The gate was too heavy for Rambo himself to strike down with his impressive horns. It was too tall for the cows or horses or donkeys to jump, the ducks or geese to fly over, or the goats or sheep to climb. Indeed, of the twelve species of animals who lived at Catskill Animal Sanctuary, only one--the smallest of all--could save the day.

3) Digging a tunnel under the gate large enough for the horses and cows and pigs to walk through would be a big task for the tiny bunny, and he'd need lots of encouragement.

4) Succeeding at this task would be the greatest thing that could happen for Trix

"Trix," Rambo began, his voice subdued in order to soothe his friend. "Do you remember why you came here?"

Trix closed his eyes at the memory. "My fami..m-my fam...MYFAMILY didn't want me. I lived in a tiny cage, and my humans never t-talked to me. It was dirty. I was so l-l-l-LONE-ly."

"That's right," Rambo said, and then he encouraged Trix to talk about his life at the Sanctuary, where he had rabbit friends and human friends and a warm cozy barn and a big yard in which to hop and dig and sun.

"Trix, you are here because Teacher wanted to help you. She wanted to help all of us who live here, and she wants to help more animals who are as sad and lonely..."

"L-LET ME DOWN!!" came a booming (well, for a bunny) voice from atop Rambo's back. "Teacher needs help!"

Before Rambo had time to bend his arthritic knees, Trix was sailing through the air! In an instant dirt and hay were flying as the little bunny dug with his front feet, then kicked the loose dirt out and away with his powerful back legs...legs useful up until now only for hopping away from danger.

Dig, kick, dig, kick, dig, kick.

(Inside the feedbag behind a Mountain of Hay, Teacher was feeling faint. She couldn't get enough air. "Hurry, Trix," she thought as she strained to listen to his progress.)

Hay dust and dirt filled the barn as the little bunny butt disappeared into the deepening tunnel. Across the aisle, Ted paced nervously--the old horse liked a peaceful barn--then farted his disapproval. The rest of the animals, though, were curious: what was the commotion, and was the barn suddenly a Dust Bowl?

Four stalls down the aisle, Mufasa the Goat jumped up and placed his hooves on the ledge of his stall. "Hey Rambo, what's going on? We gettin' any food from this deal?"

(Mufasa during a calm daytime moment)

Trix was now well inside the earth, his body no longer visible. "Yes," Rambo nodded. "You're about to eat your way to heroism."

'I LIKE THE SOUND OF THAT!" Mufasa bleated, then smashed his great horns into the stall door for emphasis.

"Well then, help me make another sound," Rambo instructed.

"You mean chewing, right? You want me to make the sound of chewing because I'm about to get FOOD."

"No, Mufasa." How the food-crazed goat tried Rambo's patience!! "I need you and the herd to bleat, "Go Trix!"

"Yeah. Whatever," Mufasa snorted.

Rambo jumped up and rested his hooves on the stall wall so that he and Mufasa were eye to eye. "No, not 'yeah, whatever'." As I said, I need you and the rest of the goats to bleat 'Go Trix', starting now."

"GO TRIX!" bleated little PeeWee, hidden behind Mufasa's fat belly. ("Of course!!" Rambo realized. "Why didn't I choose PeeWee?")

"Go Trix!" joined in VanGoat, Socks, and Noodles. Behind him, Mufasa rolled his eyes and rhythmically bleated out, "Where's my food?"

After a couple warm-up rounds, the chickens, always eager for an opportunity to talk, joined in: "Go Trix! Go Trix! Go, go, go Trix!" they cackled.

As much as he loved his sleep, old Policeman, a 900-pound pig, was kind to the core. Awakened from reverie by the growing refrain, he figured Trix could use his help, too, so he snorted, "Go Trix," a little like a hoarse tuba.

The chant grew louder as all around the barnyard, the animals joined in. The donkeys brayed, the chickens cackled, the horses whinnied, and the pigs oinked:

"Go Trix, go Trix, go, go, go Trix!!"

With Mufasa chiming in, the chant became:

Go Trix, Go Trix, Go, GO, GO Trix!
(Want my FOOD)
Go Trix, Go Trix, Go, GO, GO Trix!
(Want my FOOD)
Go Trix, Go Trix, Go, GO, GO Trix!
(Want my FOOD)

Four feet underground and finally heading uphill, Trix was urged onward by the chorus of support. How his heart pounded!! How his legs hurt!! Did he have it in him to complete the tunnel? Never had Trix been tested like this. Exhausted, he pushed doggedly onward until....wait....could it be....his left...front...paw... broke....through....

TRIX HAD MADE IT!! THE TUNNEL WAS COMPLETE!!

Trix needn't have worried about pulling his weary limbs up out of the hole. Rambo was inside the tunnel, both testing it and waiting until Trix was ready for just the boost that he needed. He moved forward until the filthy white bunny butt was nestled securely between his two horns, then he climbed out of the hole carrying Trix on his head.

"I j-just want to sleep," said Trix, and indeed, his eyes were already drooping. Gently Rambo placed the bunny on a bale of hay for a well-earned nap.

."You're a hero, little one," Rambo said to Trix. Later, Rambo would have a party for the brave bunny. For now, though, it was time to save Teacher. He turned and headed back through the tunnel of love.

Down the long aisle, the animals looked out at Rambo. They were silent as they waited for him to speak.

"We must all do our part now," he stated. "I'm going to open your doors, then I'd like for you to follow me into the hay room."

"FINALLY," Mufasa snorted.

Rambo made quick work of opening the twenty stall doors from which the animals--chickens, ducks, horses, goats, sheep, pigs, donkeys, turkeys, rabbits, and cows--emerged and waited respectfully for Rambo, their Leader, to speak again.

"This way," he instructed.

One by one the animals proceeded down the long aisle and through the tunnel until, just moments after Trix had completed his wondrous feat, seventy animals huddled in the hay room.

Rambo gathered himself and spoke.

"Friends, we all understand what this place is, and how fortunate we are to be here. If we want Catskill Animal Sanctuary to continue as a place of love and peace for us and others, we have to act as a team." As Rambo said this, he looked especially at Mufasa and Ted, neither of whom were known for their team spirit. "Teacher is stuck behind this Mountain of Hay."

In front of him, the chickens' eyes grew large. "What can we do?" asked Ramona the tiny hen. "We're only chickens!"

"Each of us has an ability that can be used in this situation," Rambo continued. "Goats and sheep," he said to PeeWee, VanGoat, Mr. Specks and all the others, "you can quickly climb this mountain, then use your horns--or your heads if you don't have horns--to butt the top bales down to the ground. "

"Sure thing," or some other such acknowledgement was bleated by all but Mufasa, whose head was buried in a bale of alfalfa.

"Phyllis, Nutmeg, Sumo, Ramona, Norma Jean," Rambo directed the chickens and turkeys, "we need you on top, too. You're our lookouts. Don't let the hay land on the bunnies--it would crush them."

"Oh my, what an important job we have!" the birds cackled as they hopped up the mountain, a bale at a time.

"Ted, Casey, Babe, Maxx, Buddy, Rosebud," he instructed the horses and cows. "You're our heavy lifters. As soon as your friends up top knock a bale down, you lift them by the twine and move them outside, out of the way."

"What about just eating them?" Ted asked.

"There's not enough time," Rambo expained. "And Ted, you know you can't have hay. It gives you diahrea."

Ted farted his reaction. Still, Rambo knew he could count on the giant horse.

The pigs, on the other hand, might be a challenge. Rambo stood before the pig batallion--17 of them as different in size and appearance and temperament as any 17 humans. (This uniqueness was true of all farm animals, and it often pained Rambo that most humans lacked this basic understanding.) There stood Farfi, fierce and impatient. Next to her was Policeman, a wise and gentle soul. To his left was Winston, a potbelly, just learning to trust this wonderful new world, and next to him was Franklin himself--the innocent imp at the center of this mess.

"Now pigs," Rambo began slowly. "I know that, as unique as all of you are....."

"YES!!" Piggerty interrupted. "I have lovely SPOTS!"

"...As unique as all of you are," Rambo continued.

"Doctor says I'm the very best pig on health care days," Zoey whispered.

"Yes, Zoey, you're a model pig," Rambo praised. "As unique as you are, we know that a few things are true of all pigs.

"We're brilliant!!" oinked Ozzi.

"We're sensitive!!" snorted Claude.

The cacophony grew as the pigs gleefully tooted their own horns, until Rambo was about to give up and simply hope for the best. But without the pigs, he knew there would be chaos.

Thanks to the incredible energy of over forty volunteers (the forecast kept a few people away), our Spring Clean Up, held this past weekend, was an amazing success. The regulars at Catskill Animal Sanctuary are in fact a little humbled by how much got done!!

Three new shelters were stained, the intrepid Judy Gelardi worked on her own to clean up our gigantic perennial garden (not a one of us can distinguish between a weed and a flower), and all our container gardens (large oak barrels) and one large raised bed were transformed by Kathryn (sorry Kathryn if I botched the spelling) Sebastian's green thumb.

The one project I feared might be too daunting was reclaiming a large portion of pasture choked by climbing vines, burdock, sumac and other invasive species. But armed with everything from chain saws and razor-sharp machetes (generously provided by volunteers Vinny and Diann DiBlanda) to garden rakes and pruning shears, two teams charged into the tangle, and in a few hours transformed most of it to its original meadow-like beauty. Take a look:

So, to EJ, Allie, John (Sebastian--yes....as in JOHN SEBASTIAN!!), Kathryn, Mi-Lyn, Sarah, Vinny, Dianna, John, Joanne, Julie, Michelle, Paul, Kelly, Bernie, Anna, Paloma, Mark, Adena and the Bard gang, to all the rest whose names I can't conjure up, and to the dozens of you who come here week after week with open hearts and strong hands:

thanks for sharing the love. Yes, I believe in magic.

In the midst of all the din, a pale pink body moved forward, until Rambo found himself nose to snout with young Franklin, the pig whose prospective adoption was the reason Teacher was having the very worst day of her life behind Hay Mountain.

"What do you need us to do?" Franklin asked.

Instantly the room was silent. All eyes turned--a few in disbelief, most in admiration of the young pig's gesture of forgiveness. Franklin seemed to understand that Teacher's motives were pure: she had only been concerned about his happiness when she decided to look for another home for him. It was true: Piggerty did pick on him. His participation would signal to all his friends that Rambo's rescue mission was important.

"Mighty big of you, young man!" Nutmeg called from above.

"Well done, love!!" gobbled Norma Jean.

Rambo's heart swelled with pride at the young pig's magnanimous gesture. "I need you to direct traffic," Rambo stated. "Look at this place: we've got five-pound rabbits and 2500-pound horses and everything in between down here. If we don't have traffic directors, someone will be hurt."

"What fun!" Franklin grunted, smiling. "I'll help!"

Rambo knew that this moment was as important for Franklin as the previous one had been for Trix.

"No, pig," Rambo said. He turned and looked directly at Farfi, the Mother of All Pigs, as he said, "Franklin, you’ll be in charge."

"I don't believe I'm hearing this," Farfi snorted.

Franklin gulped, and blinked again. “In charge?"

"Yes, Franklin. Just because you're a youngster doesn't mean you have no sense. You're a smart and caring boy," Rambo praised the young pig so that all in the room heard him. But then he turned and whispered in his ear "and you're much more mobile than your pals!"

"I'm smart and caring and a slim fox?" he whispered back.

"Yes, good boy...you're smart and caring and a slim PIG."

"Well, if you believe in me, Rambo, I'll try my best," Franklin agreed.

"I believe in you, pig."