Am I still worthy for you if I'm not helping animals?

One thing I have been quietly pondering in my shift of the move is my worth and value not only to myself, but to the outside world, and my followers. I began to feel a couple years ago that if I decided to quit adopting old and crippled animals, that I would fall from the graces of many people who follow me.

There are some people who want me to be one thing-an animal 'rescuer'. I've never labeled myself that for many reasons, and I detest being called one. I have never gone on to someones property and taken an animal, nor have I reported anyone or worked with law enforcement on rescue missions. I simply decided animals were welcome on my farm, and the doors began opening, and roosters showed up, you know the story. I am simply open to helping animals, but also want to help people, something i find some animal activists forget-people need help too and too many activists are quick to judge and point fingers when they find a needy animal. It's why I won't work with rescues anymore, one of many reasons. I help as many needy animals as I can, but it is not my only mission in life.

I write about this today because I was thinking of all the former misfits from the old farm. I look back on the list and see how many I helped and how many I buried. I needed a break. But I had this poking in my gut, a voice,

Who will love you now, who will care about your posts if they aren't about the old animals? Go get another elder goat, hurry.

I have not brought on any new elders for some time, since we knew we were moving. And I felt a disconnect with some readers.

It's interesting how we can project our needs on to others. I've been guilty of it, and since being aware of that through my own self exploring over the years, I always attempt...ahem, attempt, I say.... to consider my motives when I find I am especially angry with someone online I don't even know, or the opposite-completely attracted to someone online I don't even know. It has always been more uncomfortable than flattering for me to get love letters from strangers about my work with animals. Most mean well, but I can tell they are seeing one part of me, not all of me. They are attracted to a part of me that fills a need for them. It's the danger of online relationship. Would they still love me if I decided to start...raising corn?

I know the people that know me in real life- some who have come into my life because of my animal work, or reading my blog and then we do become real friends- I know they see me as more than one dimensional.

I do plan to still help Misfits, and take more in. I have to admit I can't have the amount I had at the old Apifera. Not only is it very expensive, it is too much for me emotionally. I operated out of my own pocket, never getting donations of more than $2000 a year [and appreciating every penny] and at $500 a month to care for them-you do the math, I just can't do it. And i want to evolve Apifera here in Maine into a healing place, where I work with animals and people-that's always been my goal. People, so many of them, of us, need healing and love, and compassion and understanding. It's not just animals that need me, people need me too. I need me.

And somewhere out there, is a goat like dear Stevie. He'll find me, in time.

My gentle kissing giant has died

It caught me completely off guard. You'd think that wouldn't happen any more after these many years of living and caring for these special needs souls. Surely, you're thinking, I should not be shocked to see one of them lying dead.

But, it was shocking. I had just carried down night time feed to the pig pen, and looked up to throw hay over the gate, and there he was. I knew he was dead, but for seconds my intuition had me believing he was cast and I could help him. It is odd what your impulses can do in dramatic situations, especially when you are an optimist. I dropped the feed, with piglets swarming around me, and rushed to him.

I'll admit. It was all dramatic. I often have written that when an animal is dying the last thing they need is a human dramatically weeping over them. Showing sadness is one thing, creating drama for them is just stressful for them. But he was dead, and I was shocked, so I held him and wailed to the sky.

Birdie and Marcella came to me. And little Sir Tripod Goat came over too, for seconds. The other animals went about with eating their hay. They had accepted Stevie's passing immediately I suspect. I've seen that over and over here-they recognize death, but move on.

In true Stevie fashion, a goat that had no ego, he had not just picked a proper day to die, but a proper hour of the day. We will be heading out to Astoria on Saturday for the show, leaving a trusted farm sitter, and he died on a day that allowed me to be with his body, mourn, and bury him properly with dignity, without rushing. He also timed it so he didn't die hours before I had to leave, and he waited until the cooler part of the day, when Martyn was only ten minutes from the farm so we could dig a grave in the still crusty dry soil.

You might think I'm creating this all in my always active imagination–but I do believe he knew I would take care of his body properly, and he wanted me to do it. I believe animals that have bonds with us as caretakers are intuitively connected to things we don't give them credit for-because most of us have lost that intuition we had millions of years ago. I have no proof for this. But I believe it, because it happens over and over with my animals here.

Stevie has touched so many people all over the country. He was a magnet for love and a vessel of unending reciprocal soul healing. He retained his dignity even with the most crippled body that has arrived at Apifera. When they found Stevie and his herd years ago, he was living in muck and mud engulfing his limbs. His feet were so long and curled he had been living on his knees to move around, which eventually made it impossible for him to stand. His herd was confiscated, and Stevie was singled out as the worst off, and also the most endearing character. He was given a very expensive operation thanks to the Humane Society in Southern Oregon and a vet who wanted to help. They operated on his ligaments so he could at least stand to move, and eventually he went to Sanctuary One where Apifera adopted him, along with Rosie the grumpy pig.

When I first met Stevie and saw his condition, I wondered if the operation had been the right thing to do for him. I see animal advocates all too often stepping in and no matter what it takes to save an animal from euthanizing it, they do it, without always looking at the way that particular animal lives in natural situations. There are worse things than death. I continued to wonder this for days after he arrived at Apifera. But as I got to know him, watch him, and understand him, I am grateful they gave him a second chance at life. Stevie arrived with the world's grumpiest pig-he had allowed her to sleep near him at Sanctuary One when no other animal would tolerate her grumpiness. They arrived at Apifera together and within months, Rosie grew more independent, and confidant, and often slept without Stevie. In time, I moved him down to the lower Misfit Village because Marcella the pup had arrived and was a bit overwhelming for him.

When he moved to the Lower Village, he really began to blossom. Perhaps not having to caretake Rosie was one factor, but he started to walk around more and graze.

One of Stevie's most endearing qualities, was that when another new animal arrived that needed some emotional protection, they sensed Stevie was their Go To Man. I saw it happen over and over, a weak newcomer would sleep near Stevie for days into weeks until they sensed they had the confidence to venture out more. And when Stevie had a bout of falling and casting a couple years ago, and we really worried we were losing him, who took care of him? Our beautiful elder, Aldo, the Great White, the llama who also had spiritual qualities much like Stevie.

Many have said that Stevie taught us lessons. There are books galore about how animals are our teachers. I have heard a lot of people say they prefer animals to humans. I don't agree with the latter opinion. I think there are some jerks that are people, and some animals with damaged personalities that I won't bond with. I think putting animals above people is against Nature, and is a flawed view of what true Nature is and always has been. And I think one of the things Stevie symbolizes is just this. He was not better than you or I. He was not more worthy of respect than any of the other animals here, or in the woods, or in the ground. He would not seek that adulation. And I will not place that on him.

But what he was is clear to me, someone who had the privilege to live with him all these years–he was a symbol of dignity, doing what he could to keep going with what he had. After all he went through in his former life, he still loved people. He didn't just show up to a person to get a treat, he enjoyed companionship, and kissing. Those kisses. If you were blessed to have one from him, you understand. Martyn and I were pondering his life and we both felt the best thing I gave him these past years was a way to share himself with people, he got a lot out of it and gave double in return. On the day he couldn't share any more, his body stopped, but his soul reached out into the fields and all over, and grabbed people and said, "I'm okay, thank you for helping, thank you for the food, thank you for coming around to see me."

We buried Stevie in the lavender field, next to Stella. I buried a copy of "Misfits of Love" with him so he'd have all his buddies with him, including his old friend Rosie. I had just trimmed his feet this weekend and was glad he went to his grave in the best possible condition he and I could muster.

And Rosie, you ask? Does she know? Yes, I told her this morning. What I found rather interesting, when I went to feed her in her private suite in Old Barn, she was still sleeping, which is unusual, as she is normally up and anticipating her favorite thing besides sleeping-food. I watched her for a minute, said her name, and she continued to sleep, letting out little dream grunts, still deep in her sleep. I wondered if Stevie had passed through her, just like my father, and mother, and many others have passed through me the day before they died, or the day of.

I patted her head to wake her, she rushed to the feed dish.

"Stevie is dead," I told her. Instead of being all grumpy as usual, she was very quiet while she ate and I rubbed her belly. Perhaps it was was her homage to her old friend, staying ungrumpy for one or two minutes in his honor.

Stevie is dead. But I can assure you, he and I have plans. I already discussed it with him. When I get up each morning, I can see the bottom field where his fresh grave is. Just like when we laid our old friend Stella to rest there, it gave me comfort to look down and see where he is buried. I know exactly how I laid the body in the grave, his head wrapped in cloth, his book laying at his heart. His head faces the river where the eagles land on snags.

The final pie

The final Pino Pie Day was held on Sunday under a blue window attached to the big top sky over Apifera. It was a solid turnout of friends, family, blog readers, and social media friends who had to share their real names. I thank everyone–guests and volunteers-who helped make it so special. And Peaches was probably the happiest cat in the world. Some more pics here.

It was another Pino Pie Day full of encounters with strangers and friends alike, coming together on a farm for all sorts of reasons. Some have read my blog for years and wanted to come this final Pie Day and see it in the real; others made a two hour drive or more to visit for the art and books; and there were children who I had watched grow up over the past nine years.

I had predicted a quiet day, and although it was a nice, steady turnout, it felt calm to me. I know that is because of what was inside of me. The little girl who I have since voted 'Most Enthusiastic Pino Pie Day Guest of 2015" was not feeling calm inside-her heart was puttering at high speed, thrilled at each pig snort, donkey hug and goat kiss. She found something in every nook and cranny that she willingly shared in excitement with any guest that happened to be passing by. When I had to move Boone out of a lower field mid day because of heat and flies, I let her walk on my side as I led Boone to his other paddock. These are simple encounters that child won't get on You Tube-they are little memory nuggets that impact a young heart to make dreams for a future, her future.

Then there was Gracie, age twelve, who was on her fourth Pie Day. I sensed pride in her face when I acknowledged how many times she had come to the event. She told me something as she was leaving-

"I got to do something really special this time. I just sat with the donkeys for a long time and listened and watched with them, it was really special."

Ah, heart swell comments.

That's why I did this event in the first place–to share the everyday encounters I have that I know enrich my life, in quiet ways-in turn they enrich the creatures. It doesn't take any equipment or technology to sit amongst animals. It is the best way I know to calm myself, and as I've written before, the silence and communing I do here creates an internal space-a safe space-to open up to feelings, emotions and conflicts I might have. I truly believe animals have an ability to absorb certain hard emotions we humans often have to sloth off, and they then shed that energy into the air after it cools through their bodies in some way. I recently saw a movie of a young boy having an emotional meltdown-he was about 15 and I forget what condition he had but it caused him great frustration in which he'd isolate himself in a room and sob and cry, falling into a crouched position-it was heartbreaking to watch. But his dog was always with him, and that dog just waited, in non judgement, and eventually the boy would calm, and then he'd melt into that dog's neck as his sobs lessened.

I have had meltdowns amongst my animals. Sometimes it is from sadness. Often it is boiled up anger combined with exhaustion or heatstroke, where I sit on a bucket in my barn and just let it all out. I don't call anyone over, I don't pick out one animal over another to come heal me. It's not their job. But invariably, one or two always come over. Marcella is now a big supporter of emotional cleansings. But sometimes, I sense a goat nose behind me, even a hen or two. If I sit quietly on a dust mound on Donkey Hill, there will always be Pino, standing, listening to me, understanding not what I'm upset about but that I am indeed struggling. He waits patiently until the struggle is over. When an animal dies here, I go about the chores, and as I come to each mouth I have to feed, I tell them

{Insert name} has died. I always tell Boone first as he is the first to be fed.

I think a good analogy of how I felt about yesterday's event was that it was like a mid-career retrospective. I looked around and saw all that had been done on the farm–all the paddocks and structures that would allow me to help animals. While I am not taking hundreds of animals in, just the number I can handle, the numbers aren't the point.

The point is that the animals and I come together and I use my energy creatively and spiritually to seek out a continual purpose for them, even if that purpose is to simply feel safe. When guests show up here, that's what they see. One guest said she did not look around and see misfits, she saw beautiful, loved animals before she saw disabilities.

Stevie has been giving kisses since his first days after being taken in by Sanctuary One. He was not taught to kiss, he just does it. You might think it sounds like a gimmick, or that we are all just saying it is a kiss when it is just a goat sniffing for food. I was somewhat skeptical myself when I first heard bout it. But as I grew to know him, I saw this was a way Stevie communicated his sense of trust and acceptance. I always feel Stevie's kisses come in two ways, one is,

Hello, nice day isn't it and the other is I am here and I'm okay just like this and you're okay just like that.

I can remember encounters with people in my pre-Apifera life, pre-Oregon life and pre-self employed artist life, where I'd have have a momentary inspiration that would come on fst and be tucked inside of me after I'd say to myself,

Someday I'm going to do this.

One such encounter was when I was about thirty, trying to find a way to make a living on art, and I met a woman in her seventies who was a self supporting painter. That waas truly the moment I knew someday I'd paint. It took a lot of other jobs to get there, but I did. I know each Pie Day there are guests, some of them little children- who have these momentary sparks. This year my friend and volunteer Emma was working the studio and young girl really liked my art. She wished she could paint like I did but didn't know how. Emma encouraged her, telling her how I once didn't paint either and you have to start sometime.

I've had some people -mostly people I have never met or hardly know but follow me-wonder if I'm okay. Am I sick or something that I'm ending Pino Pie Day? Are we moving?

To any good creative endeavor comes a stopping point when you know internally the painting is complete or the book is ready to be printed. This is a time of accomplishment, a time to feel good about the efforts of the last nine years, but it lso comes with a sense of relief. The farm has shifted. My work and muses have shifted. The ending of Pino Pie Day opens my internal space for other creations. I don't know what they are, but they will present themselves in time.

And there will always be Misfits out there. I will be open to them until I can't be.

If you missed Pino Pie Day, the annual fundraiser to support The Misfits, you can always contribute or subscribe on an ongoing basis.

The gentle kissing giant takes a stroll!

I was working today in the studio and happened to glance out back, and there was Stevie! This may not seem like a big deal, but Stevie rarely walks farther than the orchard area, which is about 15 feet from his outdoor shelter he likes. He spends most of his time resting, nibbling hay there, and to have him come all the way to the studio was really a milestone, a tender moment for me.

It means he's feeling good and he realized,

"Man, there is really tall grass over here."

I decided to let him into the back studio yard, usually off limits to anyone except the labs, just so he could relish all the tall grasses to himself, and help me out by trimming it down.

Stevie came to us from Sanctuary One. He was part of a huge rescue by the county of his herd of 30, and he was the worst off. He had been on his knees so long that he could not straighten his legs, so a vet and the Humane Society gave him an operation to at least allow him to get off his knees.

I am not a rescue, never have been, nor am I a rescuer, nor do I want to be. I adopt special needs or elders when I can [you all know them as The Misfits], and let them live the rest of their lives here, even if it is for weeks, or months. When I first heard of Stevie, it was because I was looking to adopt a pot belly pig-and was led to Rosie at Sanctuary One. But she came with her very own crippled goat, Stevie. Many of you know the story so I won't repeat it again.

But I anted to do this second post of the day because when I saw him out back, grazing, in a new place than his usual, seeing him active, it just lifted me in spirit. When I first saw a movie of Stevie before we decided to adopt him and Rosie, I wondered if it had been the right thing for him, to give him this operation. I think some times rescuers are so intent on 'saving' that they forget to step back and assess the animal, and what it really needs to be comfortable as that particular animal, both physically and emotionally. I am not criticizing rescuers, I'm pointing out something I've observed in the past 10 years of seeing various animals come to my attention.

But when I saw Stevie today, it was one of those moments I've had repeatedly living with him-that he does have a quality of life here and he does seem happy. To know he came over this far to the studio, it shows he was feeling pretty good. Maybe tomorrow he'll be a bit sore, but he looked very content. I thought we were losing him last May, when he kept casting. But he worked out of it, I don't know why or how, nor did the vet, but he did. [This is why his one ear is crinkled, it is what happens after he suffered from hematoma to the ear from hitting his head in his cast state, trying to get up.]

And yes, I did get a Stevie kiss just now. He never leaves without one, I know you think I'm exaggerating, just as I thought Sanctuary One was when they told me he gave kisses-but he does.

If you love Stevie, you can always subscribe or donate to help off set the monthly costs of caring for our special needs Misfits. 

Autumn Fashion Show of Misfits

The Autumn Fashion Show of Misfits was a success, although quite exhausting for attendees and models not to mention the photographer who rallied against slippery mud and slippery goats to dress each one quickly to make it on the runway in time. The Misfits now have a great selection for the colder, rainy weather that might require outfits and we are all thankful for the generosity of our followers who sent us dog coats, pony jackets and old sweatshirts [which are remarkably useful on a farm].

If you don't see your coat in the fashion show, it is only because the models ran out of steam. And the upper barnyard of Misfits already had a little fashion extravaganza. I also have two now that will work for Victor and Sophie should they need them on top of all their curly wool some extra cold winter night. There are some very small ones that would work on Moose, or sick lambs if needed. Thank you, everyone!

So sit back, and enjoy the show!

Life with a bunch of comedians

There is not a day that goes by that I see something out in the barnyard to make me laugh. It's like being surrounded by a travelling stand-up...well, somewhat crippled comedy troupe.

Even if I am deep in thought, or doing mundane tasks in the studio or farm, I get a jolt each day just by looking around-how grateful I am to have this relationship in my life-with this farm and all that entails. Life is going by so fast, faster than it seems it did in my twenties, thirties or even forties. My mother used to say,

"Once its Labor Day the year is over."

I always found that pretty pessimistic, but like many things mothers say, she was right.

I hope you have someone or something in your daily life that can bring you laughter. Feel free to share who that might be....

I have to run-I just saw a piglet run by with his little block head stuck in feed container!

A tribute to our farm

I am always appreciative of people that take time to write and share in words what their time at Apifera meant to them. I speak about "living in the full circle" in the new book, Donkey Dream"how the guest comes to my manifested dream farm, the guest is wide eyed and open to every sensory level; they then share this awe through words and body language which itself reminds the host the wonder of her own home. The guest and host receive a circle of gifts.

Such was the case when Lisa Hofmann came, with her daughter Clara, to Pino Pie Day last week. As you know I had no photographer this year and chose to partake fully, versus trying to take pictures. So it was nice to see some photos. Lisa is an artist from Omaha and made the effort to coincide a business trip so she and Clara could come to Apifera. She wrote a wonderful post over at her blog, with many more photos, but I am sharing a few here. I just love the one of Stevie, make my heart swell and pump.

Lisa wrote a note, and I felt very proud and happy that Apifera has become a place people can come to, even briefly, and feel something, soak something inward, and maybe it percolates ideas and missions for their own life.

... it WAS truly magical and I cannot even begin to process how utterly transformational the experience was for me. Something clicked into place in my heart ... all the yearnings and dreams I had as a child flooded back in but with a sense that I too can translate those ideas into reality. Your work, your world, the Misfits all tangible evidence of what is possible: the deepest whisperings of the heart taking root and thriving. Thank you all for the very rich soul medicine.

And thank you, Lisa, for reminding me again I am living in the circle.

The loyal watcher

Aldo seems to keep his eye out for Stevie. I like to sit in the shade hut for a break in the day as it is a gathering spot for an odd mix of personalities–goats, chickens, the pigs and The Great White himself.

Aldo has not been sheared yet- this is my upcoming challenge. It is not that easy but I will try it on my own first and see how far I get. I am not in the mood for a cow kick, but the fellow needs to be sheared for comfort. It will happen.

Aldo does come in for shade frequently, although he seems unfazed by sun. When he arrives in the shade hut, he seems to always take a little sniff of Stevie, as he did today,

"How is it going? Looks good to me, I'll rest now," and he lays down nearby.

Compassion from one elder to another

Do animals feel compassion for one another? I think they do, although I think it is compassion that is meant to help another survive, or be safe.

I can't help be touched and struck by Aldo's vigil over Stevie. I mentioned before that the old llama took to Stevie immediately-as if they were two old soldiers who recognized similar wounds-arthritic, aches, bent legs, fallen pasterns. But in the past few days, it seems Aldo has taken Stevie under his wing. He doesn't cry out to alert me that Stevie has cast himself, but he is always there when he does. When Martyn entered this morning to help Stevie right himself, he said Aldo gave him a wary chortle, but also accepts we are the caretakers helping Stevie.

Stevie is doing his best, as am I. I think decisions will have to be made in the near future. That is my responsibility to all my Misfits-to let go of what I want so I can make the right decisions for them. I have a covenant with each of them to help them when they need it most. This is perhaps my hardest case to really know "when". Stevie's case is unusual, as his attitude and expression are the same as always, but I know he is showing signs of physical discomfort due to so many years with crippled limbs. While the vet and I agreed last week he wasn't ready, I know that these situations can change quickly, especially if an animal's spirit just wears out. I am not a religious person, but I simply asked God and Aldo to be his caretakers at night, and I will be the same in the day.

Stevie will receive a lot of love on Sunday's Pie Day. Since I've put him in what is usually the Donkey Hug area, he will be the first Misfit people will see. I've gone to lengths to try and share Stevie's background-to show people his story. I know that Stevie has had a quality to his life and even though I was a bit conflicted when I first met him, wondering if the operation he received was the correct thing to do for him versus euthanize him, I came to feel confidant that it was correct for his particular spirit and personality and will.

It's not all puppies and sweetness out here. In between photos there is often turmoil, hard decisions, anger, sadness, misbehavior and pain. Then there is death, always death. It's marked the farm in every corner. But each death mark is also a reminder there was life too. They go together. I don't want to say good-bye to Stevie, but I know this will be his last Pie Day. I will make sure he gets and gives a lot of Stevie kisses-yes, he really does kiss. Pecks, gentle little pecks.

The thing about care taking an elder, or a handicapped creature, is that you do begin to let go, because you live it with them day to day. You come to an exhaustion point-you want the animal to feel good again, but you realize they won't. I do believe something goes out of a creature's eyes when they are exhausted too. There is just enough in their eyes, that if you look closely and quietly, you can see clearly the message they are trying to emit-release me.

I haven't seen that sign yet, but I'm watching. And of course, I hope I don't see it before Sunday, but I have already promised myself I will help him if needed, even if we can't have him here on Pie Day.

Shade for old giants

Yesterday I spent mostly hanging fabrics in the Misfit and Donkey Hug area not only so our guests will have more shade this year if needed, but so that Stevie and the other rickety elders can have ample shade. It always reminds me of a caravan shanty town! Aldo took to Stevie right away. I've witnessed Aldo's innate concern for his charges before. Last week when I was trimming professor's toes-pygmy drama and squealing-Aldo came right up to me, which he usually doesn't do, checked it all out and decided I wasn't killing him, but sat down near by until I released the goat. So when I brought Stevie in for the first time, I found it so beautiful that Aldo came right over, and lay near him, as if he knew they were pretty much in the same boat-arthritic.

Stevie had one fall last night-or I should say, they are really incidences where he is laying or trying to lay down in some kind of position [Stevie usually is on his knees with his hips raised, and of course this gets uncomfortable]. By the end of the day it is reasonable that he is more tired. So he gets in a sort of lay down position, and then with a wrong move can lose balance and end up on his side. I did not sleep well, waiting for morning, but he was up and walking so I was relieved. I'm afraid this is the way it will be from now on out. I don't think he can be helped by a wheelchair but I am researching.

A miracle call from the crippled goat

In which a goat speaks to his caretaker...for the first time.

I have moved Stevie into the Disabled Vets Orchard, for lack of a better term. These are the Misfits that I moved out of the regular barnyard so they wouldn't be accidentally tortured by Marcella-the ones that are wobbly and unable to run, or in Rudy's case, just plain crippled from arthritis.

So, it was time to move Stevie. I've been watching him like a hawk, spending lots of time sitting and watching him move, to try and decipher exactly which part of his body is weakening on him and causing him to cast.

After finding him cast twice yesterday, I decided the softer ground of the orchard, and grass versus bedding, would be less slippery for his one stable foot. I also discovered sore on the other front leading foot-the foot that gets all the pressure of the weight, and it almost appears as if his hoof is breaking off.

Stevie doesn't leave his barn much anymore, which is a shame since he liked to in the past, and when I first started leading him to the orchard, about 50 feet away, I really was disheartened. I wondered if keeping him going was the right thing to do. But midway there, he recognized where he was headed and really picked up the pace. Once there, he got to nibble on grass and seemed really pleased with himself. Now that he's in the orchard, I can look out the studio and see if he is okay, and when Martyn is coming and going he too can see him. He is with Old Rudy, Scooby, Aldo and Professor and the pigs come and go, and chickens, and hens. And no bouncing white dog to possibly cause a fall.

And then, this morning, a miracle occurred.

He called to me as I entered the orchard. Stevie has never once spoken verbally. Some goats talk all the time, they all have distinct voices. But Stevie never talked. I had one other got that never talked wither so it isn't unusual. But there he was, talking to me, quietly, which is fitting for this stoic soldier.

I really knew I'd done the right thing moving him into the orchard. He ate well and seemed more confidant, like the Stevie I knew a month ago. I feel so emotional about him. It comes with the territory. For some reason, some more than others get you, talk to your soul, interrelate with interior issues. I have told Stevie so many times in the last few weeks how loved he is, how special he is, how many people remember and love him from Sancuary One, that he probably does internal eye rolls. I tell him I'll do my best until I can't. Usually I do that without tears-but for some reason my conversations with him are more emotional.I'll explore that later, but for now, I'm just trying to keep this old soldier safe and on his feet.

If you come to Pie Day, it will be a special one for Stevie. It just might be his last and even though that is sad, when you think about where he as 6 years ago, and how he ended up giving kisses in his final months...well, that is pretty beautiful.

We vet and care for our animals no matter what it takes, but you can help us support Stevie and the other Misfits with donations for rewards or subscriptions.

How a crippled goat puts perspective on my midlife waistline

Stevie, on the right, rests on his knees due to his permanant handicapped condition.

As I mentioned last week, Stevie had a few falls, leaving him cast on his left side-a dangerous predicament for a ruminant, often a deadly one. I immediately suspected Marcella, but after observing for a day or two, I realized Stevie's left side is simply getting weaker, so if he does fall, he isn't able to use that left front leg to get up. One of his falls was in the barnyard, and he might have been banging his head on the ground trying to get up, and we suspect this led to the hematoma.

The vet just left. I didn't want to lance it on my own and wanted to make sure there was no infection. I had thought that it might be infected, which was causing inner balance issues. But there was no infection, but we treated for it anyway to make sure.

My vet also agrees that Stevie is not 'ready' and is still a strong goat. What a fantastic goat! Here he is checking on Little Moose.

Some people ask me how it is I can do what I do-helping the more disabled animals, and elders that often come in compromised, and die, even with intervention. I don't consider what I do heroic. It just seems to be something I want to do, or I wouldn't continue. Every time an elderly goat would die, my mother would say,

"Now that is enough of these old goats." She simply felt it was too hard emotionally. Each time one dies, I do suffer, some more than others. It is just one more loss in a life. Maybe somewhere in me each death still helps me grasp life, I don't know.

I think there will come a turning point for me in what I choose to do here. But for now, I continue to just try to help the ones that are still able enough to have good days. It feels good to help the elders. The older I get, the more my body changes, my perspectives on my own life changes-what is most important now wasn't really the case in my 30's or even my early 50's. Somehow, working with the elders and disadvantaged Misfits makes my own aging body more understandable, it helps me see that even if you eat well and are active, eventually, your bones get then, your muscle tone loosens, your chin swags-but you know, it really doesn't matter as long as I can still do something in life that makes me feel passionate.

I have been struggling of late-trying to lose 10#, trying to come to peace with my sags and 56 year old body. It is still a good body, a vessel that takes me around, lets me see beautiful sights, ride my horse. My body requires nourishment, and I enjoy the earth's bounties. I have come to a time in my life where the passion to lose 10 pounds feels less important than soaking up a good day of work, and then tasting something wonderful to delight my senses. I am not sick, do not have cancer or a multitude of things that some have to suffer with. It feels embarrassing that I still even have to have an internal conversation that it's ok I'm carrying more weight than I did as a young woman.

I'm sure I'm not alone. If someone is really overweight and they read this, they will roll their eyes, as they look at my weight and body as not that bad. But we all grow up with invisible role models-carved from years of magazines, friends, media, family, genes and the inability to really see the beauty in our own flesh.

So when I get down about a bunch of pounds, and thicker middle I can't seem to rid myself of-or it just keeps going on like rolling the boulder up the hill only to watch it roll down, and then I have to start all over again-when I feel somewhat depressed by that, I make myself look around and realize I never once question an elder's beauty due to their elder state. I never look at anyone I love and question their waistline. My muses never ask me how much I weigh. It would physically feel better I think to have one less inch off my middle-but the consequences of getting there right now seem almost insurmountable. Hormones or lack there off–the 5# I could shed in a month and keep off in my 40's, is now countered by eating an olive, God forbid, and blowing up like a tick for a few days.

When I'm dying, no matter when that is, I'm not sure it will matter if my waistline is what it is today. And I certainly don't want to be lying there craving olives. So my new counteract to feeling badly about loss of control of weight, is to smile, smile even when I'm standing around alone. Smiling feels radiant, doesn't it?

A couple of scares with the elderly Misfits

There are many ways to help the Misfits: subscribe or donate at various levels, buy books or visit the art sale. We all appreciate it and the Head Troll keeps you in her private database.

I've had a week of elderly issues with two of our beloved Misfits. Last week, I found Stevie–who is very crippled and unable to totally straighten his legs-cast on his side in the barn. I was able to help him up and he was fine, as I got there in time. Stevie's paper work states he is about 8 years old, not ancient, but for a large goat in his condition he is entering elder statesmanship.

This morning I found him cast again, near the pile of old hay/straw you see in this photo. He likes to lie in the cast off stall cleanings, so he can be close to the barn, but also get some sun on a soft spot. I suspect he just lost his balance and rolled on his side and just didn't have the strength to get up. Righting him was easy, and I can still feel a lot of strength in him-but I must face the facts that he is slowly weakening in his legs.

I do not want to think of time without him, so I will soak up each moment with him, as should you. He is a very strong presence here, a very unique goat with a story of survival. For those of you who don't know, he was rescued in Southern Oregon, along with a small herd of 30-all in bad shape. Stevie was the worst off, unable to stand or walk since he'd been living on his knees for so long-because of neglected feet that left him with 10" curled toes. He'd been on his knees for so long that his ligaments had deformed [I am not a vet so I don't know if this is the proper term to use]. The Humane Society and a local vet donated an operation for him to enable him to at least stand and get off his knees. That was over 6 years ago.

I don't believe in keeping animals alive just because it is medically possible. It is not always right for the particular animal. And that is a call we all have to make with our vets and inner circle, and heart. When I first saw him, I wondered if this surgery had been the best thing for him. After living with him for many years now, I think it was. He is calm and enjoys his sun, food and giving his little pecks or kisses. He participates in the group when he feels like it. He is not an outcast.

But if he continues to cast and is unable to get up...this could lead to a stressful death in the middle of the night. The first time it happened, I wondered if Marcella had something to do with it-overplaying-but this morning I really felt it was a balance issue.

And then Scooby Keith went ill on us. Scooby is 13 and has never been the strongest goat, and never a strong eater of the supplement I feed the elders. He reminds me so much of Lofa, who I just adored. I was told by Sanctuary One when he came here that he liked to hang out away from the herd and stick near Aldo. But last Monday, he took ill, went off feed and separated himself out in the lower field. It wasn't anemia, he had good color. He had a bad fever. I treated him with the needed regime of the moment, which he is still on, and his fever subsided, he drank well, and now he is nibbling hay. But he lost a lot of weight, and he still seems somewhat off.

I truly believe that an animal knows -even for seconds-that a person is either helping, or is a threat. I know when I am giving shots and squirting stuff in their mouth it is unpleasant, but I feel they know I am helping. I just hope Stevie can stay a bit longer, and Scooby too, but it is out of my hands. I think it is easy to start putting human emotions in their heads-after all I do this in my stories, don't I? But my experience has taught me that the best thing you can give an animal is a consistent environment of safety and supplies [sun, shade, food, water, protection, vet/meds when needed], and communal companionship of their species. I try, it's all I can do. Whatever happens, they've had a good life here, and I've been so lucky to have been their caretaker.

The gentle and strong

Stevie is one of the most gentle of all the Misfits. He is the largest of the goats and despite his size and ability, he does not push the smaller ones around. He is very tolerant. Despite his crippled and now deformed legs, brought on by severe neglect years ago, he is still very strong. After years of trying to get his one claw like hoof more manageable [at one time it was 6" and curved, I asked my farrier to help me get more hoof off, and wow, was I pleased. At first I worried that taking off the hook would effect his balance negatively, but he is much more upright than he has ever been. We still have a lot of hoof to trim off, but at least now I can keep it more controlled in between trims.

If you don't know the story, Stevie was part of a big neglect case in Southern Oregon. His herd was eventually confiscated and he was the worst off, having been living on his knees for a long time because his feet were so overgrown. The Humane Society stepped in at some point along with a local vet, and gave Stevie an operation that allowed him to at least hobble on all fours, versus being on his knees all the time. Eventually he was taken in by Sanctuary One and later Apifera became his home with his grumpy pig sidekick, Rosie. He spends most of the day lying down, but he can walk and ventures about in good weather. And he still gives little kisses.

I've been trying to capture the real essence of his expression and have not yet fully succeeded. But these are a start.

Apifera welcomes donations to help us maintain the many Misfits. You can receive a reward, or not, it is up to you.

New day, new kiss and the pig blossoms

It's a beautiful new day, a new year, and the sun is out. I started the day like most others, in the barnyard with my chums. Stevie the goat gave me a kiss-and those of you who have been fortunate to be on the receiving end of a Stevie kiss know this crippled giant gives the most sincere, kind kisses-pecks of friendship and acceptance placed quietly on a cheek or hand-wherever his lips first reach you.

The weather was slightly warmer than past weeks-good for the soul of both animal and farmer. Amazing what sun and 5 degrees can do-it seems to lift certain dark areas that might have lingered form the past year. All clouds are blown away, if for one day. I am always optimistic in general, but the New Year Day is one of my favorites. The past is that, the future is so....full.

The pigs got out to saunter in the sun. Rosie and Ernest are friends now. They sleep together in their massive hay bed, tunneled under the cover of nature's golden sheets- you can hear them under there as they get settled, like an old couple that grumpily lays down together, fighting a bit for leg space on the bed, only to finally settle and slumber as one. Stevie helped Rosie navigate after she first was taken in by Sanctuary One, and when they arrived here, he stayed by her side-after all, nobody really wanted to sleep near Rosie due to her tone. As she spent more days here and settled, I noticed pig and goat became more independent of one another. This is a good thing, it showed they were settling and expanding.

And then came Ernest. It was as if-as she watched Ernest be himself-Rosie realized,

"I am a pig too!"

And she continues to slowly blossom. She is still grumpy, but less so. And when Earnest runs to me for possible treats, finds none, but still hangs out for belly rubs, Rosie has taken note and she too is finding human touch to be...okay and less threatening. It took me years to settle in a new place, and so it goes with my grumpy little pig.

Happy New Year everyone!

Walking Goat Soul on Huffington

My latest entry for Huffington Post, The Walking Goat Soul, tells the journey of Stevie, the handicapped goat - from a mud field of neglect, to a kind hearted veterinarian and staff, to our friends at Sanctuary One where he met Rosie the pig, and finally to the barnyard of Misfit at Apifera.

You can help support Stevie and all the other Misfits at their fundraising page.

You can also buy art cards of some of the Misfits at the Etsy shop. I am still editing and working on the Misfits of Love, the book I hope to have published someday about the creatures that call the barnyard their final home.

Stevie the walking soul

Another piece of art to be included in "Misfits of Love" a collection of narratives about the old and needy barn animals that have found Apifera in some magical set of circumstances allowing them to live out their days with nurturing. If there was ever a creature that deserves a halo of flowers, it is the beautiful, soulful, Stevie.

A couple years ago, a herd of 30 goats was rescued from neglect down in Douglas County, in southern Oregon. It's odd to look back on such an event and wonder what my life would be like had it not happened - for it was the beginning of a series of events that brought a handsome, dark physically challenged soul named Stevie into my life. It also brought me a pig named Rosie who had bonded with the goat.

When discovered, Stevie and his herd were living on a small piece of land littered with garbage and rotting carcasses. They were malnourished, loaded with fleas and had bad feet. But Stevie was the worst of the group - he walked on his belly and knees because his neglect feet were so long.

Someone finally blew the whistle on the property and The Humane Society of the United States {HSUS} helped the county Sheriff remove the herd of goats. But right away there was one standout who endeared himself to the rescuers - Stevie.

Stevie was known for giving kisses - yes, true, I witness this every day so can attest to it. He gently puts his closed lips forward, and graces your face. They are gentle, tender acts of acknowledgment and trust, like all good gentlemanly kisses.

After his rescue, the Saving Pet Adoption Center helped trim Stevie's 6+ inch hooves. But he still couldn't stand. He'd been on his knees so long that his tendons had contracted. With funding from HSUS, a vet named Gene Kang performed an operation on Stevie's legs to enable him to get off his knees.

Eventually, he was transferred to our friends at Sanctuary One where he quietly got up one night and went to the pen of a small, grumpy pot bellied pig named Rosie. They became companions and never parted. He seemed to tolerate her mood swings and grunts, and she had no qualms about his physical limitations.

So, when I went looking for a pot bellied pig in need to adopt and bring to Apifera, there were many out there. Most were living in their original homes but the people had tired of them. But none of them came with a Stevie. No matter what separate entities need to be brought together - man and woman, woman and farm, goat and pig, woman and pig with a goat - the universe always seems to get the job done, even if the road is curved and hilly.