Bowie is Mr. Bones' new name. Just like David, he has a blue eye and a brown. And they look directly into mine, wanting to trust.

Bowie is the Schoharie horse I wrote about in June. When investigators went in, they found a dead cow being eaten by dogs and a dead horse with a chain embedded in its leg (the other end of the chain was wrapped around a tire). Bowie had been taken out a couple weeks earlier by the man who screamed at me over the phone, threatening to turn him loose.

He's just four years old, this lovely boy. We pulled his dead winter coat off in hunks, and once his skin could breathe, severe dermatitis cleared almost instantly. He's still 75 pounds underweight but one can virtually see the pounds accumulating around his rib cage, in his flanks and shoulders.

It's the trust of humans that's slower in coming. Bowie has been beaten. He's nervous when we enter the stall, and when two humans enter, his tension heightens. Initially terrified of being touched, Bowie now allows us to touch him everywhere but his lower legs--and even that he allows when he knows the scary touch is followed by a bite of apple or pear or carrot.

He's going to be a love! He's got a wounded heart, but it's a big one, and the door is open a crack--allowing us in, little by little. At Catskill Animal Sanctuary, each abused animal gets all the time that he needs. He'll heal at his pace, not at ours...

What does one do when she has a blind duck, a one-legged duck, and a coupla girl ducks who get mobbed by randy drakes?

If she's at Catskill Animal Sanctuary, she makes a special needs duck pond!!

What a pig he was.

Yesterday afternoon while nestled in a pile of shavings, Mr. Policeman, long time CAS resident and beloved member of the CAS family, peacefully gave up his struggle against painful degenerative arthritis and other old age related health complications. He was at least eleven years old.

Mr. Policeman, who received his name from the NYPD after being seized in a Bronx drug bust, arrived at CAS five years ago as one of thirty refugees from a struggling farm animal sanctuary. Once his good friend Belle passed on, Police preferred the company of humans and chickens to other pigs. The one exception was Charlie the curmudgeon, whose miraculous story of recovery is told in my book, Where the Blind Horse Sings. The two often sunned themselves—sometimes rear to rear, sometimes snout to snout—on the shavings pile outside the barn.

Police was an iconic figure at CAS, and a gentle spokesperson for his species. He had a particular soft spot for children, and “naptime” with Policeman (a child would straddle Policeman and then slowly stretch out along his massive belly, thus “taking a nap” with Mr. P), said more to them than our words ever could. Indeed, Police touched many hearts with his patience, his sensitivity, and his “I’m so happy to see you” grunt whenever he was approached. He was an intelligent and emotional being who shared peaceful bliss with anyone that took the time to know him. The impression he made, and the questions his kindness raised are an open invitation to reexamine who we are as humans and how we should live in order to be worthy of this kind of love and trust.

Yes…what a pig he was. We at CAS are proud to have offered him a safe and loving environment in his last years. It was an honor to call him friend.