has arrived from Manhattan, and I must go to the barn for his 9 pm bottle. He is no more than eight pounds; no more than four weeks old. He is so sick that we must suit up in latex gloves, facial mask and full quarantine suit for each feeding. Despite the mucous that clogs his throat and pours from his nostrils and crusts his eyes, he is eagerness and enthusiasm and love. And his gusto might just pull him through. For now, here's board member Jean Rhode's piece on another goat from Manhattan--a character named Mufasa.

You Have to Meet Mufasa
by Jean Rhode

And when you meet him, you have to admire him. Or, you don’t have to, you just will. For one thing, he’s a very handsome long-horned goat.

The first time I met Mufasa was toward the end of a long day. I went up with Alex to clean out the sheep barn and there he was. He remained off to the side while we cleaned out the old bedding—maintenance is not his job in life. But when Alex took the manure spreader to the field, there I was face to face with him and his full attention. He ran over to some sheep and head-butted them on the rear end, chasing them across the field. They looked annoyed and like this happens about a zillion times a day.

Then he turned to me. He was a ways off and he started backing up—getting a running start, it looked like. Which was true. He started full-out running straight for me. I had a few thoughts: why do I know so little about goats, will I be gored, should I run, how could I get in a pen with a goat when I know so little about goats? He ran straight to me, stopped short and to my surprise, put his fore-head gently against my leg. I scratched his ears and petted him then he ran off and did it all again. The third time as he was running back to his self-imposed starting line, I shouted, go Mufasa, faster! He leapt into the air twisting mid-air with glee. He head-butted a sheep for good measure, then ran past me as if to say, “I’m a goat! Look what I can do! Woohoo!”

He did his running and jumping and putting his head against my leg routine several more times. When I had to leave, I thanked him for the entertainment.

The next time I saw Mufasa, he’d been moved to the barn to let him meet more people...something he clearly loved to do. He was in his own stall in the morning, but in the afternoon, he came out to wander the barn. He got into mock battles with Rambo, each backing up and then running into each other in full frontal attack. Rambo got bored and tried to walk away, but Mufasa chased him, game for more—especially if a human was watching.
Mufasa would inspect the stalls we were cleaning and interrupt for head scratches, putting his long-horned head gently against your leg. He’d run out-side the barn then back again. He’d jump on anything: hay, rocks, over-turned water troughs, like “Look at me, I’m up here, now I’m down here, now I’m up here again! What’s fun, what’s trouble, who can I head butt, what can I play with, where is there food, how can I get it, where’s Rambo, who will scratch my ears, who will watch me, what can I do right this second that’s fun?!!!” A million goat thoughts from a little goat who was found wandering in the meat-packing district of Manhattan.

Whatever opportunity for joy presents itself to him, Mufasa takes it. If you want to see living in the moment, meet Mufasa. And like any good audience member getting ready to see a great performer (who’s something of a ham) be prepared to applaud, to laugh, to watch, to admire and to learn. And to have a goat head with long horns butt up gently to your leg.

Mabel, Day 1 (submitted by Jean Rhode)

Today, we took in one of the saddest animals I’ve ever seen. Her name is Mabel and she’s one of two potbelly pigs surrendered by a woman who lost her husband. She and a friend drove up in a pick-up truck with the pigs inside. Somehow, they managed to lift the pigs off the truck. Not an easy task, as both of them, Ozzie and Mabel, are morbidly obese. We cannot see Mabel’s eyes through grossly inflated cheeks. Her belly drags on the ground when she walks, but she’s not walking right now. She’s in a corner lying on hay. Ozzie came up to me to say hi, but Mabel retreats from my hand. She wouldn’t eat her dinner, placed right under her nose. For a pig not to eat—something is seriously wrong.

We don’t know her story—how old she is, what she’s gone through, how she is with people. Lorraine, Walt, Megan, Kathy, Julie, Alex and I individually stop by her stall to welcome to the mound of potbelly girl on the pile of fresh hay in the dark corner of the stall.

This will be her first night at the Sanctuary as she gets used to the smells and sounds of the barn settling into the evening. Before Lorraine leaves for the night, she tells Mabel that we love her, that this has been a hard day with traveling and coming to a new place, but things will get better.

Mabel is a wheezing, unmoving mound of potbelly in the hay.

When Andy, a yearling Appaloosa, arrived last week, he collapsed to the ground when he stepped off the trailer. We lifted him gently—this young boy who should weigh 700 pounds weighs at best half that—and he inched forward on wobbly legs to his stall.

In starvation cases, a rating system known as the “Henneke Scale” is used by veterinarians to describe horses’ body conditions. Horses are rated between “1” and “9” on the scale, with “1” being the worst possible score for an animal that’s still alive--a score that represents extreme emaciation. Andy was called an “extreme 1.”

Andy has been so starved for so long that we’re concerned that his body might be shutting down. Instead of manure, he passes water. His urine is dark. He leans against the stall wall to support himself. Andy’s owner, a breeder from Poughkeepsie, has been arrested and charged with four counts of cruelty. While the courts play out her fate, we will do everything we can to heal this lovely boy, who already senses that Catskill Animal Sanctuary is a safe place. After just two days, he wobbles on unsteady legs to his front wall, leans out, and nibbles a hat or a cheek. Too weak to muster a full whinny, he tries to call out “hello” to everyone he sees.

He’s a trooper. And we’re rooting for him.

It has happened again.

I've just hung up from Animal Care and Control in Manhattan, who picked up 17 newly-hatched chicks found in a cardboard box on the corner of 170th St on Saturday morning.

They will be delivered here this afternoon.

I'd have to check our records, but this will be the 9th or 10th group of baby animals we've taken after they've been dumped in the city. (The last group that was scheduled to come somehow wound up at Farm Sanctuary instead. They were dyed flourescent blues, purples, pinks and greens--it was Easter.)

This crass discarding of animals as if they were garbage (they're usually just left in a box on a street corner, though we took one group actually found in a dumpster) happens in two situations:

1. Elementary school teachers have "egg-hatching" projects for their students. Remember those from your school days, grown ups? The kids keep the eggs warm, turn them, learn about chicken reproduction, but once the eggs hatch, far too many teachers throw them away.

Tremendous irony here, wouldn't you say: teaching ten-year-olds about caring and compassion and then throwing away, literally, the young beings for whom your students have cared? Can you imagine the children's reaction if they found out?

Egg-hatching really needs to be removed from the curriculum--and the "happy ending"--students are told that the chickens are going away to a farm to live--needs to be exposed. If there is a parent group out there as incensed about this as we are, we'd be happy to work with you. This change will happen district by district.

2. Another time this occurs is at Easter. Parents get two rabbits for their two children, don't have the rabbits spayed or neutered, and suddenly have 8 or 10 on their hands. We've taken baby rabbits from a dumpster in Queens, the streets in Park Slope, the streets of Manhattan, a parking lot on Staten Island.

Again, I find the irony here SO disturbing. In this case PARENTS purchase animals presumably to teach caring and compassion, then THROW THE ANIMALS AWAY? I'd love to know what they tell their kids!!

We'll post a You Tube video next week.

He's such a social boy, our little Zen, the goat found wandering Manhattan streets late in April. But as our newest goat, he's the only one who HASN'T been exposed to a contagious disease that our other goats, who came in from a cruelty case four years ago, were exposed to. It's a complicated disease for many reasons...suffice it to say that risking young Zen's health is out of the question.

So for the last few months, Zen has had the company of four sheep--better than being alone, of course. But today, joy of joys, a young friend arrives for him!! We have no details, except that according to Elaine Sloane of PETA, he was rescued from Santeria...and spared ritual slaughter. He's small, will need to be quarantined and bottle-fed every few hours (there's a WAITING LIST for that job, naturally!), but once he gains weight and strength and confidence--and tests negative for CL, the disease I mentioned, well, then, Zen will have a playmate, and the Catskill Animal Sanctuary HUMANS will have lots of laughs....

Yes, we'll post on You Tube...

Like millions of turkeys every year, Norman was destined for the Thanksgiving table. But thanks to an interesting twist of fate, some well-timed phone calls, and a few soft hearts, Norman celebrated Thanksgiving with the rest of the crew at Catskill Animal Sanctuary.

When WSPK, a Beacon-based radio station, advertised “turkey bowling” in their parking lot, the calls and e-mails, all of the "you've GOT to save the turkeys!!" variety, poured in.

SURELY the event was a prank. Curious and concerned, though, Julie and I drove down to Beacon, videocamera tucked beneath Julie's arm. (Many many thanks to my "Anything for the animals!!" assistant Julie, who woke way, way too early for her liking.). There, though on-air djs bragged about "the crowd," a mere seven spectators stood in the cold, waiting to bowl frozen turkeys at ten pins borrowed from a nearby alley.

A blue SUV pulled up with "Norman," the frightened turkey borrowed from a nearby turkey grower, in the back.

"Who's gonna get him out?" a heavy woman with heavier makeup asked.

"It's a she, not a he, and you need to be careful. She's already terrified," I said. Julie stood just behind us, recording the spectacle.

A guy reached in, grabbing Norman by the wing.

"That is NOT how to hold a bird," I stated flatly. Wrap your arms around her so you can pin her wings and support her weight. Otherwise, you'll both get hurt."

Norman and her cage were set up between two loudspeakers. The dj continued to spin the story, describing how the turkey was having fun, the crowd was having fun...golly gee weren't we all having FUN? Meanwhile, all Julie and I saw were a terrified bird, seven cold people, and three butterball turkeys in plastic bags waiting to be slid down a "bowling alley" comprised of plastic garbage bags.

So there we stood in the parking lot--12 people if you included Julie, me, and the radio staff--and a turkey locked in a crate.

"I'd like to take this bird to Catskill Animal Sanctuary," I said to Jason Finkelberg, the station manager, who had apparently been called out because two strange women were much more interested in the LIVE turkey than they were in the "turkey bowl" competition....and because we had a videocamera.

"You can't," he explained. "He's the property of Quattros Poultry Farm. And what's Catskill Animal Sanctuary?"

I explained that Catskill Animal Sanctuary was a haven for abused farm animals, and that this was clearly an abusive situation. "And the turkey is a she, by the way."

"Look," Finkelberg said, his eyes dropping. "I just wanted people to have fun."

I softened a little. "Does it look like they're having fun? You've got only seven people here, and three of them look like unless they WIN the competition, they won't be having Thanksgiving dinner." I motioned to a chain-smoking mother and her two gaunt young daughters.

Finkelberg gave me Quattro's phone number. "What they want to do with the turkey is their business."

"Thanks," I smiled. "You know, you might rethink this event a little for next year. You're welcome to come celebrate at Catskill Animal Sanctuary--people WILL have fun...and so will the animals."

"Sounds good," he said.

A thought occurred to me. "Wait one more second," I offered. "I'd like to give you something."

A moment later, I returned from the car with a copy of my book, Where the Blind Horse Sings: Love and Healing at an Animal Sanctuary. "Here," I said, placing the signed copy in his hand. "This will help you understand why you really need to stop holding this event." I touched his arm and walked away. Inside I had written: To Jason: All hearts deserve to sing."

In the midst of this country's economic downturn, it has been our pleasure and privilege to receive animals from caring people who reach out because they can no longer afford their care. Farms are in foreclosure; people are losing their rural rental property...or simply can't afford the price of hay.

This situation---today's situation--is different.

I was called by another rescue about a woman who "needed help." She had three animals--a mare and two older stallions, all thoroughbreds--and could not afford them. "They might be in bad shape," she said.

I called her. She talked about how she'd lost her job, how she could barely afford to put gas in her car, how the horses were 40 minutes from her home and she had to haul hay and water in a broken down vehicle that might just die on any of these trips, and how no one wanted the animals...especially not two older stallions. Who in their right mind would take them?

(We would. Despite all the issues--needing to house them far away from any mares, not being able to turn them out with any other horses, the expense of gelding, the risks associated with gelding older horses--one is 14, the other 21--we would take them. I'm proud of that. We take the tough cases.)

I told the owner that we needed to see the boys before they came to Catskill Animal Sanctuary. Were they strong enough to withstand immediate surgery? If they were thin and debilitated, we'd first need to put weight on them--and that would mean more time juggling the issues inherent with stallions.

Allen Landes, who works as a hospital biologist at Albany Medical Center during the week but is a godsend at CAS on weekends (and whenever else he can squeeze in a day off), lives just 3 miles from the horses' home and agreed to take a look at them. I relayed directions from the owner; Allen went right after work.

He used his cell to call from a long-abandoned derelict camp of some sort. "This can't be the place," Allen said.

"It's the place," I assured him, having gotten a clear description from the horse owner.

Allen walked a place that looked like it had not seen life in decades. "No horses in here," he'd say as he traipsed through one ramshackle shack after another. "Nobody here," he'd say, as he moved through the derelict remains of another.

He was about to give up when he spotted a forlorn-looking barn at the base of a hill at the back of the property. "Ugh," I hope they're not in here."

They were "in here."

For many years, Allen served as a board member for an Albany-based rescue, and assisted with seizures when owners were arrested for cruelty. The first words out of his mouth were, "God...this is the worst situation I've ever seen."

Three horses. Bone thin. Living in darkness in tiny, rat-infested stalls that have never been cleaned. Caked with manure. Water buckets bone dry. One stallion was shivering violently, and spent most of Allen's half-hour or so there lying down.

It turns out that this woman was arrested for animal cruelty eight years ago. It turns out that one horse, a thoroughbred stallion, had to be euthanized--he was simply too far gone. And IF we can get these horses out, that might be the only humane option.

.

That's what it feels like around here.

Foreclosures. Another failing sanctuary pleading with us to take its animals. A guy called yesterday saying he was on his way to drop off his two horses.

"You can't do that," I explained.

And now, two turkeys are hanging out on a Wassaic couple's deck, having appeared out of nowhere. Walt is on his way to retrieve them; Norma Jean will be delighted!! We humans, meanwhile, keep pushing through this most unsettling winter, wondering what the next phone call will bring.

Will post photos of the turkeys when they arrive.

It was a long day for a lot of good people--Allen Landes, Tina Murray of Harmony Hill, an equine rescue that is taking the mare, and tireless Stephanie Weber, who works as a humane investigator for Dutchess County SPCA but who today served as loader and hauler of three animals deserving of happiness. Meanwhile, back at CAS, we scheduled veterinarian Heather O'Leary and asked her to bring her x-ray machine. Our fear is that in Noah, the older boy, the pastern and coffin bones in the lower leg and hoof might be malformed.

They're thin, they're encrusted with manure, their hooves are grotesquely deformed, but boy are Noah and Cas, the two stallions, bright eyed.

Welcome, boys. We'll do the best we can for you. Be assured of that.

Whether five minutes or five months after his arrival, when an animal looks me straight in the eye in a way that says, "I get it--I'm finally safe," I am instantly bliss on two legs.

The night before I left for vacation, I entered Noah's stall with a flake of hay--his 6th or 7th that day--small meals frequently--and walked to the back of the stall to place it in the hay rack. He didn't want it there. The old horse wanted it on the floor, so I placed it there, in the corner. Noah tore out a huge mouthful, and while chewing with gusto, lifted his head, looked right into my eyes, and blinked slowly.

Aaah, the blink that says so much, all of it good. I believe animals use it to mean everything from "I love you" to "Thanks for the food" to "I'm happy here."

I blinked back, laughing delightedly, saying, "You're welcome, big boy. You're welcome. We're so happy you're here."

I removed his halter. He scratched his head against my side, and no matter how good it felt to him to have contact with a caring being and to scratch his itchy skin, it felt at least as good to me.

A 21-year-old stallion locked in a dark stall for perhaps his entire life. I'm not sure his hooves have ever been trimmed; I am sure he's in some degree of pain. But there's no anger in this beast who could kill us if he wanted to. There's just gratitude and joy and an immediate awareness that he is finally in a good place, all revealed in that slow blink and the rub, rub, rubbing of a big old head against the back of one lucky woman.

It's been a long winter.

The first e-mail in my inbox this morning was from a woman who needs to place her 42 horses immediately because she's losing her farm to foreclosure. Go George Bush. Thanks for these last eight years.

Eight horses of various breeds--draft cross, Arab...and 35 miniature horses. The woman had 200 animals; fortunately the dogs, cats, and goat have been placed. She's reaching out to us because her farm is going into foreclosure in April.

We're thinking. We'd love your thoughts.

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.

...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.

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.

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)

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."

How can you resist me?

Zen Sunshine is his name. If ever there was an animal who's name did not fit, it's this boy, the brilliantly white devil with topaz eyes. There's nothing "zen" about him.

He arrived a year ago from a Manhattan rescue, starving, frail, and very sick. We weren't sure he'd survive.

But survive he did. Zen is now one year old, and he's a handful. Scratch that. He's a tsunami.

To track Zen's story (he's SO NOT "Zen"), read the following:

A Sickly, Tiny Goat
Not So Sickly Anymore
Zen Goes to Manhattan
A Friend for Zen
A Friend for Zen Part Two

Zen healed and found a friend and became one of the scores of "larger than most people would believe" personalities at Catskill Animal Sanctuary. He was adopted by a wonderful family--along with his pal Pumpkin, and later, two sheep brothers with the unfortunate names of Studley and Dudley (we did not name them).

Well, Zen came back. He was too much for the family who adopted him along with three other animals with mild personalities. Too much for Studley and Dudley, too much for the young daughters who were intimidated by his horns.

Zen needs another home. He needs a free-range but well-monitored home, ideally, for Zen wants nothing more than to be by a human's side and to play....constantly. The next best option would be a home with a HUGE pasture---he's an active boy---with a flock of young, healthy goats willing to keep him in his place. Even with this however, what Zen wants is love and attention from humans.

Just one more kiss, PLEASE...just ONE MORE!

If you've got space, love, patience, and a sense of humor--and no young children--call me to learn more about this irresistible tornado.