Halloween Magic 2014

This year, The Head Troll declared that at one minute past midnight on October 30, the first minute of Halloween, the Misfits should gather at the Pumpkin Patch. This alone conjured up great excitement. I am writing to you on Friday morning to try to share the magic of the night.

The barnyard is always excited for Halloween. They do not look at it as a night of spooks from the dead coming to haunt them, rather they anticipate the magic of the night. While any night amongst Nature without a flashlight will bring up all sorts of spooky feelings for most of us two footers, the animals are confidant in the dark and know it as the Moon Time.

The animals enjoy exchanging personalities during Halloween–something about donning a mask that can give insight into another creature. But this year, The Head Troll declared that no costumes would be made. Instead, at one minute past midnight on October 30, the first minute of Halloween, the Misfits should gather at the Pumpkin Patch. This alone conjured up great excitement. Firstly, nobody is allowed into the pumpkin patch this time of year because the giant orange fruits are still residing there, most of them destined to nurture the piglets. The area is always fenced off until I deem it open for Misfit meandering where they can nibble on weeds and tend to the many graves of former Misfits. The pumpkin patch is hallowed ground for as we tend the pumpkins or maintain the graves, we are walking above the bones of so many–Old Man Guinnias, Honey Boy Edwards, Gertie, Georgie, Tasha Teats, Doris the duck, Mr. Bradshaw, Lofa, Aunt Bea, Rosa's lambs, Emily Wiggly…and now, our newly departed, Floyd.

The fresh grave of Floyd is the largest grave we've ever had. It's fitting it is the size of a couch, because if you read about Floyd in my previous post, you know Floyd was like a couch–a beautiful, soft, ruminating couch. The burial is so fresh in my mind…and hands, back and heart…that I wasn't sure if I was up to a Halloween night. But I looked at all the Misfits going about their day, and once again was helped to join the living. Floyd would be with us, right there in the midst of the pumpkins.

In the past, I have seen things occur on Halloween night in the barnyard that have no earthly explanation. And while I was tired from the last week's ongoing care taking responsibilities, I was ready for some magic…natural magic. As always, I had no idea what the plan was. It was not my job to make a plan, or know the plan of Halloween night–it is always up to The Head Troll.

As the clock neared midnight on Thursday, I was sitting by the fire with Martyn. I had consumed some red wine, as always, but you must understand I had carefully maintained my wits. One does not want to miss magic, and intoxicants might make you think the magic is enhanced, but it is actually dulled and you miss many sensations of the moment. Besides, being tipsy around the Misfits on Halloween, in the dark, in a pumpkin patch is unwise as well as unsafe.

A rap came at the door, then the sound of rushing feet. A simple note was at my feet...

"Come now." signed T.H.T.

I used my flashlight to get to the gate, and there was Marcella, clearly visible in her all white coat, waiting to walk with me. I could see there was a distinct shining coming from the pumpkin patch, and as I grew closer I could feel lots of beady little eyes attached to little squat bodies glancing at me as I arrived, all the while as they sat around an enormous pumpkin, some 3' high. It was the biggest pumpkin in the patch– and while the pumpkin sat off to the side of Old Man Guinnias' grave, the seeds and stem had emanated from under his grave stones. I had visited the barn in the dark many times in the past week due to Floyd's condition, and had not noticed any shining pumpkin. I'm sure of this. But there it was, that same large pumpkin emanating this beautiful light, as if someone had hollowed it out and put a large candle in it. The group that had gathered did not make a sound.

And then the silence was broken. One of the Misfits, I think it was Wilbur, smiled, and sighed. Hoof stomps were heard, tails might have swished in excitement, Rosie looked at Earnest and familiar grunts were exchanged. There was no fear, it was more of a controlled excitement, like a crowd getting ready for the real fireworks display to begin.

So there I sat, surrounded by a bunch of squat pygmy goats and other crippled elders, two pigs and some fowl. I could see the piglets were on their fence line, huddled, not a squeal to be heard. Boone's head was leaning over the pumpkin patch fence, in silence, almost reverential.

The Head Troll got up and put one foot on the shining pumpkin.

"Thank you for coming to us." she said to the pumpkin light.

And then she listened, one ear in closer to the beautiful, glowing orb of orange with a streak of green. Several seconds went by.

"He says the dance troup is doing very well and that he is happy," she told the gathering.

We all knew it was Old Man Guinnias. He had written us after his death, several times and told us that he had started a dance troup to give all the old goats that die a chance to dance-many were crippled in their earth bound days. And I doubt anyone of you is surprised that Old Man Guinnias came to us on this magical night through the skin of a pumpkin.

The Head Troll then went around to each Misfit present, and whispered in their ear. This is a pretty stoic bunch, so most showed no signs of alarm, joy or sadness at what was whispered to them. Some did–Old Rudy sniffed and dried a tear, Rosie lay down afterwards and closed her eyes and slept, and Marcella acted like she'd just been given the Academy Award in something.

Everyone got a whispered message, except me. I did not show my disappointment in this, but I must tell you I was somewhat crushed.

The light on the pumpkin began to slowly dim. It was so beautiful when it was with us, and now took on a different beauty as it faded. But as it grew fainter, a small shape was shining way above us in the dark sky. The shape was star like and as it grew closer we all sat transfixed. Marcella was leaning into my side, while Boone whinnied softly at the fence. As the shining object approached, it's shape grew fluffier, like a clump of snowflakes. The light it created was even brighter than what the giant pumpkin had emanated, but this light felt softer even though it wasn't touching me.

The shape seemed to gravitate immediately to me, and all eyes were locked in my direction, breathless–except Rosie, who I could hear snoring. And then the soft shape suspended itself by the side of my face, near my cheekbone, holding itself up in mid air exactly parallel to my skin so it felt like my cheek was resting on…a sheep.

I heard a distinctive bleat of a sheep.

"Floyd? Floyd? Is it you?" I asked, my voice shaky.

The soft orb dissipated.

Just a day and a half before all this, the vet had shaved off some of Floyd's neck wool in order to insert the IV of medicine that would carry him off on his final earthly journey. I had picked up that clump of wool and buried it with Floyd. But the morning after our night of magic, I found it again, sitting on Floyd's grave, with the giant pumpkin looking on.

I will surely miss you, Floyd

I said good bye to my soldier today. Floyd began to show real signs of pain on Monday, but the pain meds seemed to help. What complicated my decision on how to proceed was he was eating, drinking [with my help] and although he couldn't get up on his own, he could stand with my help. I heard a lot of stories about animals recovering from being cast for days, or weeks. But they weren't old, and I knew in my heart even Monday what was coming.

Yesterday, I knew I had to help him move on. Sheep can be very stoic in sickness and even though he was still sort of eating, he was making more sounds indicating pain. He couldn't stand or even right himself with my aid. He had fought hard for six days and was tired, his lungs were probably filling, or eventually they could have collapsed. I have watched sheep die while being kept comfortable, and I've watched them die quickly in a death spiral-the latter is no fun to witness and leaves you helpless. Floyd's decline and signs of closing down were unusual for what my experience has been in eleven years of caring for elders and sheep, and it is one reason I have been guardedly optimistic these past days.

I had a restless night, but Floyd probably had a difficult time too, which was part of my restlessness thinking of his suffering. There was only so much pain meds could do. I could not get any of my regular sheep vets out yesterday, so one of my local equine vets was good enough to squeeze me into her farm calls today. I was so grateful they helped me out in a jam.

Yesterday, I felt off kilter all day, because I knew I had to wait a day for him to be put to sleep. I did what I often do, I created a farewell painting in his honor. I told him all about it, that he has rivers and sounds that he will recognize as home. I gave him wings not so he could fly, but so he could stay lifted up on his own free will. I finished it right before the vet arrived.

He passed very fast. He was worn out. So was I. But what a soldier he was! I told him again what an exceptional creature he was and though our time was short, I was just so glad I was able to give him a final home. He will be buried in the pumpkin patch along with many other Misfits. The barnyard and I will have a private burial tomorrow.

But let me tell you about Floyd and why his short time here will always be worth remembering with love.

I nicknamed him "The Couch" because he was...well, kind of like a couch. He was my shadow in the barn, moving right along with me, making sure he positioned himself right at my side. He came up past my navel and was a huge sheep. But his antics were never that sheep like. He was more like a dog. A dog couch. He truly seemed to adore me, and he just liked being with me wherever I was. He wasn't pushing around my pockets for food, he just liked leaning on me.

Every morning when he heard the barnyard gate open, he'd call out from the barn. I have so missed his calls these past six days. He never called out again after his fall last Thursday. Sometimes Floyd was so excited to go through a gate or stall entry with me, that the two of us would get sort of stuck since he is so big. Floyd tolerated anybody in the barnyard. He was not a fighter, perhaps because of his size he knew he didn't have to be. He put up with a lot from The Head Troll, who seemed to admire him and have a crush on him, but then could turn and smack him with her sawed off horns. And he just stood and took it like a man, not flinching.

I don't know his history, although he had a hole in his ear where a tag used to be-this could mean he was a working ram somewhere and then was sold, and became someone's pasture companion. Or he might have been a 4H project and they were unable to go forward with selling him. When he was elderly, he was relinquished to New Moon Goat Farm Rescue, where many of the adopted goat Misfits have first been taken before coming to Apifera. He was over thirteen, which is old for a sheep, especially a big guy. He arrived with arthritis and a bit thin, but put on weight and fit right in.

Floyd loved to have his cheek stroked, and I did this a lot in the past week. Today when he went on his way, he was calm and put his head in my lap and I stroked him off on his journey. I shed my tears yesterday, knowing he might be in distress. But today, I was so relieved for him. He is at peace and doesn't hurt.

But I will miss him. He had a big presence here. He was my right hand couch. I will always remember his eyes and his big old head and nose.

{If you want to help offset the vet call today, you can donate at different reward levels here.}

Massages for Floyd

This mid morning I checked on Floyd and he was anxious to try to stand, a good sign I think. This was his best standing moment since he fell on Thursday.

I always stand behind his rump [no comments, please] to support him, and usually his body sways a bit and he can lose balance and fall backwards. But this morning I decided to start giving him a back and hip massage. I did this for about 10 minutes and he felt stronger than he has in three days. Then I sat nearby and let him stand on his own for about five minutes. He then collapsed. He's not eating as robustly as he did early on though.

He also tried to do a back stretch when he was standing. I am going to give him three massages -standing, I hope-a day and see if this might help.

Floyd, my soldier

It has been up and down since Floyd fell on late Thursday. Each day since, I have had high hopes, then he seems to fade. This could just be his way of going through what we call "the death spiral", but I am being fooled by the fact he is eating and drinking. Yesterday, I really thought he was fading, but mid day I helped him stand, and he took three steps. At night, he was upright and seemed stronger to me and I stood him up again and this time his legs weren't wobbling. But he still can't get up on his own, or walk on his own, and when he walked with me today, it is only with me holding up his rear end.

This morning, he ate, but not as well. But this is how yesterday started too. Still, I felt something shifted in him. I think he is tiring. I am torn about pulling the plug and am going to go through one more day and reassess. He is a good soldier, but I am the admiral and have to make the choice that is fairest for him. He is not lying there afraid to die, but when a sheep can't move on his own, has to be held up to pee, my job is clear.

So today, as morbid as it may sound to some of you, I will dig a hole for him. We talked about cremating him if he does doe, but the thought of having him hauled off upsets me-which is silly. But it is how it is. Martyn has warned me I must come to grips with how to deal with the larger bodies we now have in our care and what we will do with them. It is part of what I take on here, no whining, but just letting the many of you who see this place as all puppies and rainbows-it is not, never has been. Once you have to deal with a body of a large equine or other creature, you learn somethings you never thought of before-and why would you? It is part of this life though.

It has been pouring for days. I have Scooby Keith in the same large suite with Floyd, and Victor and Sophie too. A small, low window in the stall-which was created a long time ago when we first brought home Lucia, then a baby donkey so she could see out at night-allows light in and lets Floyd look out if he can, and Marcella can look in. As always the reverence of these times come through in the light of the barn, somewhat mystical for sure, and the bustle of the other animals goes on as Floyd lays in repose.

I will continue to get him up and down until I feel for certain that this brave soldier just wants to sleep on.

Trauma for Floyd...and me

It has been a very traumatic and exhausting twenty or so hours. It started yesterday at dinner feedings. I was going about my business when I noticed my shadow, Floyd, was not there as usual. This is unheard of.

We have had lots of rain-down pours for a good part of each day–for about four days. The ground is slick. I saw his large cast body by one of the gates that leads to the other Misfit paddocks. His usually off white body was pretty much mud colored. He was not moving even after I called as I ran to him. But he was alive.

He was shaking. And he couldn't get up. I got his rear up, but his front would collapse. I got his front up, and he couldn't lift his rear. You could tell by the ground he had thrashed and tried to get up. So I ran to the barn to get a packing blanket-to hopefully roll him onto to it somehow and thinking it would give him traction.

Floyd is a big, big guy, much bigger than my sheep. I guess he weighs about 250-300#. I tried for about 20 minutes and could not get him up. Man, I tried! My back was already strained and I knew I had to stop. I was completely soaked. I was able to get him on the blanket, and I ran and got one of the new pony coats someone just donated, and blankets. I have no idea how long he was down. It had poured from about 2 pm on, and I had last been in the barnyard at noonish. I had to get him to the barn, so I tried first roping his body and pulling, but I just didn't have the strength-and I'm no wimp. I knew we needed to strap him to the tractor somehow to get him up the small hill to the barn and I needed more man power.

To be honest, I was starting to get frantic. Martyn usually comes home around seven and it would be dark by about six thirty. It was near six. I ran to call Martyn and fortunately he was 25 minutes from home due to the rains. I then got some electrolytes and sheep drench in Floyd hoping to get him warmer.  I fed him grain-which he devoured–a good sign. Feeding a downed sheep has its risks, but I opted to do it because he was shaking. I stayed with him and lay on him to help with some warmth. I sang him "Somewhere Over the Rainbow", an odd song choice but its all I could think of do do at that point, waiting for Martyn.

Martyn arrived and I was sure we'd have him in the barn soon. But no such luck. First we tried together to get him standing. He just couldn't stand. Then we got the tractor and rigged up some roping. I held his head in a towel to protect it, and we started dragging. It was horrible to watch. We kept having to stop to adjust the packing blanket underneath him. And when we got to a certain point on the hill, he was precariously positioned, and slid back.  I knew we just had to somehow drag him together into the barn once we reached level ground, and we did. The mud helped the blanket slide, but it was still back breaking, even for Martyn.

I got more electrolytes and anything I could think of into him. He wouldn't drink warm water so I gave him propyl glycol. We positioned him so he'd be sitting upright. He did give me a few burps so that was good. His eye was swollen from his attempts to get up. Fortunately he is a wool sheep so though he was wet, his wool helped, and it was about 55 out so not too cold. But he was still shaking. I stayed with him for more than hour, watching, hoping he'd stand for me once calm. I'm sure it was a horrific ordeal for him.

But he never got up, and a couple times just wanted to lie on his side. Not good. I propped him up, stuffed hay all round him to try to keep him up, and then just let him be. I had done all I could and I talked to him for awhile before going inside about eight. I was soaking wet from head to toe and was shivering myself.

I went to check on him at 10 and he was upright, and his eyes looked good. He was breathing calmly. He had good color in his lips and eyes. But, I sensed a closing down. I stayed with him and he seemed to like having his face gently stroked, and then I went inside for the night.

I found him on his side this morning, but got him upright -he still could not stand. He ate well again and I dosed him with more electrolytes. His body functions are normal. I decided to put Victor and Sophie in with him in a private suite-it is Old Man Guinnias' old stall, and it is the stall where the sick and hospice patients go. It is where the lambs are held before harvest. It is a very special place, the light is beautiful there and I propped him up so he can see outside.

I have a vet on call, but right now we are waiting. Each time I have gone out, he has moved his position slightly, but still can't rise. I'm afraid feeding him while he is lying down [not cast, just lying down] will eventually catch up to him. But, it's all I can do. He doesn't seem to be in pain-no teeth grinding or neck stretching. And today I felt like he really wanted to get up. I am hoping that he will gain strength.

I don't know why this happened. He could have had a mini seizure and gone down. I don't know. None of the other animals had gone to him either, which I thought telling. But, I'm often wrong.

I think one clear realization for me is that I can't take on any more large animals. I have to be able to care for them on my own if Martyn isn't here or it is night time. We should probably invest in a fork lift for the back of the tractor, I could put a pallet on it and might have been able to get him on it. I wouldn't trade one second with Floyd. But when I couldn't lift him, I can't tell you how scary and frustrating it was, thinking he might be out there so long that he'd die because of it. Many animals on farms or the wild do die that way, at no fault of anyone. It is nature. But I told him as I held him in the mud patch, both of us shaking, "You are not going to die in this way."

So I will stay calm for Floyd, and he is safe now, and in a dry place. He knows I come out and check on him and he knows the sound of the gate opening. He does not seemed panicked. He might just be tired, and he is very old for a big sheep. This just might be his time. This is a very reverential time. I only hope to do the best for him, and what is right at the moment. I will keep you posted.

Good morning faces

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Melting Misfits

Thank you to everyone who has donated [with book rewards] to our Misfits and barn goals. And thank to everyone who has been buying art and books- it all goes swirling around and comes out helping me maintain the Misfits and share story with art and books.

The new Misfits are settling in. With Marcella, it is not as smooth as it could be, but she is doing okay and has already quit bugging Floyd...sort of. It is another round of hot days. We are always about 5 degrees hotter than Portland-so if anyone tells you it is always lovely and cool in the Northwest-they don't know what they are talking about. The valley gets hot.I won't go into my feeling on heat...because why ruin your day with me whining.

But we're all seeking shade where we can. Actually, the animals are very stoic about it. I found Scooby spread eagle out in the field and thought he was dead. I called and called and he didn't answer. But he was just sun bathing in 90 degree heat. Very funny, I told him, nearly gave me a heart attack. I made him get up and move.

Stevie spends most of the day in his cloth draped hut, getting up in early evening to wander around. His ear that had the hematoma is shrinking and will be wrinkled for life. Just another lovely quirk of this gentleman. He is doing great and there are no further signs of trouble like we had in June–no falling or casting. I'm just not sure what that was all about, but I'm relieved.

Floyd is not a sheep, as I have mentioned. He is a dog. He follows me everywhere, bleating. it is sweet, but I'm hoping he settles more. As we speak he is outside the studio door, bleating, like a lamb that was just weaned. I brought him down into the War Vet area as I call it–where the most crippled and old live, away from Marcella and the younger, spry Misfits in the barnyard. I wanted to see if he might feel more at home down here. He just seems to want me with him all the time, then he is fine. He bleats less now when I leave the barn, so I think it will all be fine. I wish I knew his history. He has a hole in his ear so was tagged once. I wonder if he was a working ram in a flock, and they couldn't bare to slaughter him in the end so neutered him. But I'm not sure he'd be this personable. Perhaps he was a 4H project and they decided to keep him.

Victor and Sophie are a challenge to get fed, and it takes some coordination and special setups to get them to eat all their food, and not have Ernest or Rosie show up and squeeze through their stall doors. This is the mayhem time–a period of days or a week or two where I wonder if I'm nuts, but then it all settles in, and down.

So for now, we nap when we can, a lesson the pigs taught me.

The arrival

If you'd like to chip in for the new arrivals, please do and thank you too. We're increasing food consumption by 3 mouths- and they all have skinny bodies-that's about 7 additional pounds of feed a day.

They arrived on a hot afternoon, but came out of the trailer like immigrants looking over their new land, their home.

I got Floyd out first. He is a 13 year old wether sheep, most likely a Katahdin cross. I have never taken on a sheep due to the health of our own working flock, but I had a crush on Floyd for awhile, and something in him just spoke to me. And I am so glad. He is more like a giant dog than a sheep. He likes to go where I go, or stand next me and just hang out. When I leave, he bleats. When I arrive, he bleats. He is settling in, but the heat has made it uncomfortable even though there is plenty of shade. In time, he will find his place. Floyd is pretty arthritic, but not as crippled as I thought he was going to be. His pasterns are slightly fallen, and he will need supplemental feed at his age. But his teeth are good. he has a mystery skin issue on his rear end that the former vet could not figure out, and lots of work was done on it by the last rescue [New Moon Goat Farm], so we will just watch it for now.

But I will say this, Floyd is an exceptional creature. A bit on the Stevie wavelength-soulful, loving, kind, people oriented more than animal oriented.

I am more concerned about Victor. He is so thin, due to past neglect, and he is also a very slow eater. I watched him eat, and Sophie ate much of the food. I will need to separate them so I can make sure he is getting adequate feed. He was 50/50 survival rate when he landed at New Moon last month, so I do hope we can get quality weight on him. He has a great attitude, and is not bothered by his deformity in the hind end, although he needs to lay down a lot, so it does cause discomfort to stand. It is like his back legs don't stretch right, and he has all his weight on the front. Sophie is going to be fine once weight is put on her. I have found that sometimes in these severe neglect animals, they can have chronic sickness, and some don't make it. But we will always proceed with hope.

There is always chaos in the initial introductions here amongst new Misfits. And this time, we have the added element of Marcella the guard dog. The latter did very well for a 7 month old, I will admit, but she adds a new dimension to my tasks at this stage in her guarding career-in other words, she can really be a pain in the patuzzi! All in all though, she is not play chasing as much, and stops sooner when I say 'stop'.

These aren't great shots, but I am so tired in the heat, and all the excitement and chaos of new additions. They don't do anyone justice, but these were taken about an hour after arrival. Marcella is being pretty good today, and I left the new ones contained last night. I think eventually they will get along in the lower Misfit herd-where the most crippled are. But for now I want them up in the upper barn as I have more fenced stalls. See, I need that new barn!

Thank you to Ellen at New Moon for helping them, and to Cheryl Munson and her friend for making the 12 hour round trip to bring them here. It really helped me out!

More elder Misfits coming to Apifera!

I have two exciting things to share today-they both deserve equal time. But I will start with the wonderful news that three more senior creatures are arriving from New Moon Goat Farm Sanctuary in the next couple of weeks.

I have had a crush on Floyd since I saw him a couple of months ago. He is an elder statesman, and from I hear, already has a fan club up at New Moon-many were happy he was coming to Apifera, but let out a big sigh when they heard he was leaving. Floyd is a 13 year old mixed-breed wether sheep. I have never taken in a sheep, as to protect the health of my own flock, but Floyd is an exception for me. He just spoke to me. This is usually how it happens-I see an animal and we have some kind of internal conversation through our eyes, and it grows over the days. In time it becomes apparent to me that animal is meant to come here-for whatever reason. I do seem to have a knack for bonding with the ones near death, but that is okay, I am attracted to hospice work with animals. But, We hope Floyd will be with us for a long while, although he is 13. We hear he is the biggest, goofiest, friendliest sheep you'll ever meet. Sounds like a fit-and maybe a nice change for Stevie, since Floyd is tall. Sometimes I wonder if Stevie looks around and thinks,

"Everyone is so squat around here except me."

We are also bringing home two elder goats that were severely neglected. Victor was the worst off, and now has a deformed spine and hips causing him to walk oddly, but he seems to be pretty content according to Ellen and she notes he adores people. He will be coming with Sophie, an 8 year old Angora doe who is "sassy". If you want to see the work New Moon did when they first acquired Victor, here is a brief look. Victor was so matted for so long that he was raw under the wool, including his penis. His feet were horrible and I'm sure will give him trouble as he ages. They still have a ways to go to gain weight but have a new start on life thanks to New moon's efforts, and now ours.

I'm so excited to meet them. When I decide to take an animal on, I get very anxious before their arrival, as I feel like they know they are coming. This mystical connection is something I truly feel, no matter how woo woo it might sound to some. Some animals seem to have a stronger energy, but I always am relieved for everyone when they are on the ground, here, safe and open to a new life, even if it is the end of a life.

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