Aunt Bea we are with you

Sweet little Aunt Bea is struggling to survive. The malnourishment has wreaked havoc on her little system and we are doing all we can do to give her a chance to live more days in the sun.

Christmas for Aunt Bea

Yesterday I intended to finally sit down and spend the day writing. But instead, I was physically and emotionally pulled to paint.

I know when a muse speaks internally like this it is no use fighting it. I painted this for Aunt Bea, or for me, or for both of us. She was outside the studio in the paddock, soaking up the earth and sun, and I painted quickly, with abandon. I had an internal sensation that I had to get it done 'in time' for her, and even had hesitated to look out the window when I was done because I thought somehow my finishing the piece was tied to her time on Earth.

But she was still hanging in there. I showed her the piece and she looked at me in an expression I have grown to know well - little head with little eyes, "Are you really taking care of me? No one has cared for me for so long, when will you leave me?"

I felt Aunt Bea deserved a Christmas, not a holiday, a Christmas. So I painted her in one. No matter how long she is with us, I will know I gave her that.

Apifera welcomes....

Post note: The official name is Professor Otis Littleberry, and Aunt Bea.

Well, we're not sure what their names are. However, it appears the little round lady seems like an Aunt Bea.

Saturday the Dirt Farmer and I loaded two crates and some tuna sandwiches in the car and headed up to see the goats at New Moon Farm. The 10 hour round trip was made in sunshine so we enjoyed the beautiful views of the Cascades. I was immediately smitten with a new Pygmy herd that had been confiscated for neglect. We were also so happy to see how New Moon has grown with Ellen's hard work. The place was buzzing with volunteers of all ages and people picking up goats. The last time we were there was to pick up Old Man Guinnias in '08. So these two little creatures are our 7th and 8th goat adoptees from New Moon and we consider her extended family.

I had my heart open to the many other needy goats in Ellen's care - some of the goats I had been drawn to before our trip had found perfect homes, including an old gent that reminded me of a white standard poodle. It was all meant to be.

Aunt Bea was the matriarch to the herd, which at one time was 12, but four had died from mysterious circumstances. The grey gent we brought home was the neighbor goat of the herd, and when Ellen asked what his name was, the response was, "He doesn't have name." I am so delighted with these two. They are in their own area for another week since they were loaded with lice when Ellen rescued them, and their feet aren't so great - but in time I think we will get them fixed up. They are content and very friendly...I am trying out names on the gent - but for now, he is just so happy to be scratched. I wondered how long it's been.

With the holidays coming up, New Moon is a great 501c to consider for gift giving. Like I said, I've known them for awhile and can attest to Ellen's dedication. Apifera is not a 501c, but we are grateful for any sponsorships of our adoptees.

These two have many stories to tell. Just wait.

Aunt Bea has gone on

Thank you to everyone who partook in Aunt Bea's Celebration of Life to help pay her medical and vet fees.It was greatly needed and appreciated.

She fought so hard, and so did I.

She started here with the cards stacked against her, after being rescued by New Moon out of a starvation situation. Her blood work showed the havoc malnutrition had on her little body.

But one of my three wonderful vets and I fought hard to help her, and I have never had such a brave little patient. Shots and drenches every day, wrapped in old sweaters for warmth, she hung on and on, always eager to eat, but unable to get up or walk. Her walking was worsened when her right front leg suffered some kind of nerve damage making her unable to put pressure on it. I was getting her up at least four times a day to move her, and pat her sides to help her rumen and the water in her lungs. I had even looked into buying a wheelchair for her.

Her treatments were nearly over after 18 days so the vet came to do a blood test on her today. We had hoped to see any kind of improvement in her Pac Cell count. Instead it was worse. We discussed an option of more injections for three weeks to see if we could stimulate the bone marrow - a treatment that has helped dogs and cats. But with the blood work in, we both felt it was time to help her over. It was a hard decision - because I had fought so hard too.

But you have to stand back and ask what you are fighting for - you, or the comfort of the animal. She had become more uncomfortable in the last few days - constant groaning - which could have meant so many other things were going wrong in her.

I held her little head, and she fell off to sleep, sweet slumber, and then she was gone. To not see her teeny little head sticking out of the hay bed tomorrow morning might just kill me. But the vet said it best - she had more attention in the last month than her whole life. I know this.

It was dark when I left the barn. I looked up to the sky but there were no stars. Just like her little blanket had kept her warm all these days at Apifera, the sky now offered her a blanket of fog to keep her warm on her journey.

Thank you to all who helped.

Walk with Professor Otis Littleberry

Much attention has been spent, out of necessity, on helping Aunt Bea, but little Professor Otis Littleberry can not be forgotten.

What should we name her? And Opie's special request.

Joliet and Auntie Bea the elders, and the baby

We brought home three more goats. Two are elders and I treated myself to one of the available babies. I like to balance out elders with youth, just like it should be in life [and I wish our elder care system in USA was more like in Europe where nursery's are housed near or within elder homes]. I am expecting some losses this year, hard losses. I don't tell you everything...that is a burdone I don't think you need. But I wanted a youngster to add to my mix....selfishly for me. So there.

But I haven't named her. It takes time sometimes, but I do need a name. She is active, pretty fearless but not a boss mare type [yet]. She is joyful. She is a delight to watch romp and twist and I'm soaking in those moments since they don't last. I hope Opie will play with her. he is surrounded by elders and I also thought a young girl would give him some fun in coming months and years. I picked her because I loved her markings. In show world-something I am not opposed to but never had any feelings towards- I am told that due to the fact her 'belly band' is not what it should be she would get marks against her. But I love it, especially now as we face, as a nation, a crucial time in understanding our black brothers and sisters and all people of color. It should be equal, like her little body of black and white, but it isn't...yet.

And then the elder two. Well, the black one came with the name Joliet and I like that. Joliet is so sweet. She had to be nursed back to health due to rotten teeth and that is why she is quite personable. In fact on arrival, she kept by my side as introduction were made, and still does. She is not a bossy girl at all. I like her already.

The buff elder came with a name I can't even remember but did not resonate [no offense to the past names, I just feel an animal takes on a new life and for me the naming is or can be symbolic of that if needed.] This old girl bred out babies her entire 10 years. That's a lot of work for a little body like that so she gets a nice retirement now. I had picked out the name June, sine it is that month.

But then Opie came to me, quietly, away from the earshot of the others.

"Mrs. Dunn," he said, " I was thinking."

This felt like another Andy of Mayberry moment [he is named after Opie in case you missed that].

"I know this is my herd family here. But I did come from a mom. And she had a sister. Since I'm the littlest one here, and the youngest, sometimes I wish I had my mom and Auntie around," he said.

"I know that feeling, Opie," I said.

"Really? I was wondering if we could call June something else...like Mom, or Auntie?" Opie asked.

I thought for seconds. Years ago we had an old goat that fell ill, I loved her a lot, and we tried in vain to save her over a month long bought,  and she fought so hard. I had named her Aunt Bea.

"How about we name her Auntie Bea?" I asked.

"Okay!" said Opie and he ran off to the barn.

I turned to go back to the house and aw the new arrivals out in the orchard, and Opie was running up to who had once been June and he said,

"Mrs. Dunn says you can be my Auntie Bea!"

Love for little Lofa needed

Lofa is still not well and is on his fifth day of medication and shots. I am just heartsick about this one. The vet was here on Wednesday and we haven't gotten the blood results back but are treating him for what we hope is just anemia from worm overload and prior malnutrition.

Lofa came to us via our friends at New Moon Goat Farm and Rescue. He and his herd [including little Raggedy Man] were relinquished by the breeder/owner. I do not know the whole story - one never does in these cases - but I do know they were mismanaged, loaded with worms and lice, had signs of rot and were very thin. Raggedy arrived a sack of bones and I'm really pleased he is putting on weight, his coat is much better as is his skin. They had been at New Moon for a couple months and the lice and worms had been taken care of.

But Lofa started declining a week ago. I didn't wait to call the vet on this one. After my experience with Aunt Bea - another malnourished rescue who sadly couldn't pull through despite heroic efforts on the part of the vet, Bea and myself - I knew anemia can take a malnourished goat down pretty fast. He's been getting daily shots of B12 and penicillin as well as we've hit him hard with daily oral wormers.

He is standing, but last week he couldn't get up when he was pushed over at feeding. This morning I sensed he was a hair better, but he mainly just stands in what I call 'the sick goat stance'. His hair is puffed up due to the anemia, although I felt that was better today too. He is still not finishing all his ration.

I once told a vet that I wanted to be a place that could take in hospice animals, since vets or sanctuaries often don't have the man power to hospice animals. Once again, the intention I released tot he universe has been brought to me. I do believe that I somehow attract certain animals that simply need a place to feel safe so they can die. Not every animal that comes here is dying, but many have been due to old age and malnourishment or a combination of the two. I always tell a sick animal it is okay to move on if they need to. But I told Lofa I want him to fight with me and live.

Raggedy is quite sweet too - his face reminds me of an angelic painting. He checks on Lofa regularly and sleeps with him too.

If you'd like to help defray Lofa's vet bill, please do so. Lofa will feel the love.

Gift Levels

No gift $5.00 USD Lavender gift $25.00 USD Art card $25.00 USD

Goodbye, my little Lofa

I screamed.

I had just turned on the barn lights to do morning feedings. It was the first day of spring and the rain had just broken into clouds with sun breaks, the air was warm enough to be coatless.

I turned my head to the right, and there as usual in the first stall, was Stevie, on his crippled knees looking content. Rudy was to his side, looking brightly at me, but down to the left was a little black body, wearing a warming jacket. Without even touching him I knew he was dead. It was Lofa.

That's when I screamed.

I screamed in shock, like a person walking in on an intruder. I cried and wept over that little dead body, I'd really grown fond of him. There had been no warning he was dying, or in danger of going into a bad state. I've worked with enough of these elderly goats - or goats who came from malnourishment or needy situations - to know that they can take a turn for the worse really quickly. But Lofa had been eating well and was active. I always checked his eyes and gums daily when I'd give him his morning hugs, just as a precaution to see if he was getting anemic. The night before he died, I said my usual good nights to him - he just loved to be hugged, and would lean into you and rest his head in your side. It was supposed to rain, so I put his little jacket on him for some extra warmth, even though he showed no signs of shivers.

There was no sign of distress in his body, except for diarrhea. I can only make assumptions and it is always hard to not know exactly what killed an animal in the end. I often said that Lofa was not a very strong goat. We'd had a scare with him not long after he arrived last June, where he was really sick, and the vet concurred it was anemia. I had dealt with this before with Aunt Bea and knew how quickly they can die if they don't get treatment, so I got him rebounded in a few days. He wasn't as old as Bea so that helped. He might have had blockage in an intestine from a thorn, glass or any small object he picked up while eating. This happened to a yearling sheep and the vet did an autopsy where we found the blockage - but we never could determine what caused it. And that sheep became ill two days prior to her death.

It is what it is.

When I got to the barn, the animals were as stoic about another death as I had seen them in the past. They mourn in different ways than we do. They move on much more elegantly too. The rains returned, and I turned a bucket upside down, took a seat near Lofa, and watched the animals eat their hay while chickens scattered in and out of the barn. It never ceases to give me comfort when one of the animals dies - how the barnyard goes on. My good byes to Lofa were weepy, he was such a special little fellow. Lofa was a talker, no matter where he was in the barnyard, if I entered at the gate, I knew exactly where he was because he'd start talking. He was bowlegged like no other and his front teeth always protruded a bit, sort of like he had dentures. He reminded me of a little old man in Florida, walking the beach all bowlegged with skinny legs and mouth slightly ajar.

When I got to the barn and found him around 8 am, his mouth was still warm. This killed me as it indicated he had died shortly before I got there. My heroics might have only prolonged what nature had in store. His little body did what it could. I buried him with a sprig of daffodil and some pussy willows to celebrate spring with him.

As I walked back to the house, it dawned on me that five years ago on this same day, early in the morning, my father died. He was in home hospice and had told my mother he hoped to live to see Spring. And he did, if only an hour or so of it. Perhaps Lofa was ready long before this too, and knew this first day of spring had significance on many levels for so many.

Little Lofa, you never gave any trouble to anyone and were such a joy to have with us. You gave Rudy comfort too after he lost Teats, and your friend Raggedy was able to gain courage at your side. I will miss you, little man!

It all seemed extra sad and heavy today.

Lofa arrived from a neglect case, along with Raggedy Man, in 2012. He had first been rescued by New Moon Goat Farm Rescue where many of the goat Misfits have come from.

The creature named Henry

Lessons from a one year old and a path of pebbles...

I always liken Pie Day to that of the opening of a theatrical event. Months before the real deal, guests are given sneak peaks of what might lie ahead for them as they are enticed by photos of previous Pie Days. Excitement builds and builds for the guest and the hosts – cresting like a wave that washes down on all the day of the event.

Ezra lands safely and I am just a conduit

{If after reading this post about my 11+ years of helping old, crippled creatures touches you somehow, please consider making a small donation or subscription to help me with the costs of operating place of care taking.}

We awoke at three a.m. on Friday, and left at 3:50 to drive up to Arlington, some 6 hours away. We had breakfast with Northern Mother - a real treat, usually when we pick up a goat, it's "Hi, gotta run!" and head back. But we had a nice catch up talk over breakfast, then packed the old goat up and headed back to Apifera, making it home around six. As we've gotten older, the 12 hour drive nearly kills us, but never does.

This is the 16th elderly, crippled goat we've adopted from New Moon Goat Farm Rescue. I just can't imagine a life that didn't have any of these elders in it, or New Moon. Ezra is settling in well. He has gravitated tot he lower Misfit village-he told me very clearly that is where he preferred for now. I had him in the upper barnyard for the first night, let him explore and he head down that way, and he kept returning there. I don't know if he was attracted tot he outdoor huts which he might be used to, versus the enclosed barns. He also feels safe with Stevie. Man, that Stevie-talk about a healing presence.

Time and time again, people ask me why I keep doing this. After all, some of the elders don't live long-they lived in neglect somewhere for months or years, hanging on, and when they arrive at a safe place, they let go. Some don't, and fight on to a healthier state. I have a stock answer for the question now: "I don't know why, but I feel called to do it, I feel comfortable doing it and I like doing it."

Sometimes I see a creature in need of adopting, and I step away from the computer. But often they stick with me for days. Floyd was like this, Guinnias for sure. Sometimes the ones that stick with me and then come here to live are the ones that die within a short time-Lofa was like this, as was Floyd. Honey Boy. Aunt Bea to name some. I had picked out one of Ezra's herd mates weeks ago, but he died within a week of arriving at New moon, he was the worst off of the bunch and it is such a blessing he died in love and care.

I guess what I'm trying to explain is-I don't think I'm doing this alone. Universal forces seem to use me as a conduit in many cases. I can see there are eye rollers out there, but i truly feel and believe this. I don't think every Misfit comes this way, but many do. I just want to be open to being of service to the ones that need companionship as they die. It is not a life for everyone. I don't consider myself a 'rescuer" and balk at he term. I consider myself a conduit of service-for all creatures and that includes people.

And I think my work as an artist and writer are also conduits of service-for healing, joy, grieving and introspection.

I think being with any creature at the beginning of their lives is truly a miracle-so many physical things have to work and come together to create life. It is astounding in both animals and people when a baby pops out-even if it is ants hatching eggs. But when you come into the world, there is at least one other being with you-a mother ship of some kind to grab you, feed you, hold you, touch you. You and that mother enter your life together. And as you grow, you can share that moment somehow. You have photos of first steps, first breaths, and stories from your mother if you are lucky.

But death is a solo journey after your last breath. I've always been fascinated with death. It doesn't scare me. I don't think it is helpful to see life and death as yin and yang, but rather as a continuum. So many people seem terrified of death, and when it comes to the death of an animal, many on the social media platforms seem to think it is the absolute worst outcome. I have seen many good deaths, and some bad ones. We all hope for a good death for our loved ones, our pets, and for ourselves. But being present at any death is, for me, helpful-not only for the dying but for those left behind. I guess I should say it is helpful for the dying if the caretaker comes at it without drama in their heart. Death is drama, I guess, but I mean that I always try to enter a hospice situation of an animal with calm, because that calm emits onto them. An animal doesn't need me blubbering over them at this time. Of course, there can be tears, but ears can be shed in calm, sobbing can be done over a dead body. I think the most traumatic event I had here with the Misfits was not being able to get Floyd up, and having to cover him with my own body to try to keep him warm, watching the dusk come, waiting and hoping for Martyn to arrive, which he did-then having to drag him with the tractor due to the hill, and his weight, it was horrible. I kept telling him it would be okay, but I know he sensed my fear. I regret that as a care taker-but you do your best.

Years ago I realized there was this entire thing called "hospice". I was young, in my thirties and thought,

"Someday, I'd like to work in that area, somehow."

And here I am. I certainly didn't plan it. I know when Old Man Guinnias came to Apifera, as our first old creature, something clicked inside me. The fact that he had been relinquished to a goat rescue by his family as he entered his elder years, just grabbed me. He arrived at 15-very old for a goat, and lived to be 21.

But I'm not done. I still want to do better at bringing people together with The Misfits-elders, grieving people, wheelchair bound or blind people-all to commune with the animals that once been neglected. I've done much of this in small ways, one on ones, but I want to do more. I will continue to work towards that in the coming months and years. I will do my best to be that conduit.

The intention

Thanks to "Misfits of Love" being funded by my generous pledgers via Kickstarter, I've been able to focus on shaping the initial parts of the book. I don't know if all artist-writers go through this, but I have to see spreads on paper at an early stage so when I'm writing and painting, I can see it in my head. All of this might evolve, but this is my process in making an illustrated book.

I found writing the 'Introduction' a challenge. I wanted to explain how I got here, but I didn't want to simply regurgitate from my memoir, "Raggedy Love" [currently looking for a publisher]. I also thought a lot about why this book is worthy of being sent out to the world. While the animals are beautiful even in there old, twisted bodies and bring me companionship, smiles and an outlet to nurture, write and paint, I kept coming back to my "intention" - the same intention I was born with.

Just as I tried to help a wounded moth as a child, it was not the act itself that is so touching to people, it is that I actually believed I could help. I never lost hope for the moth's survival in my child's heart. It is that hope I carry with me when I'm nursing a starving goat like little Aunt Bea or feeding a wounded rooster. No matter what the outcome, I try, and so do the animals. We work together until as caretaker I must rest and acknowledge the facts giving the animal my blessing to move on if it must, with or without my help.

Pumpkin on our minds

It is all things pumpkins right now.

The large orbs of orange are taking over the squash garden, fueled by the energy of the fallen souls in the goat cemetery. It pleases me that Old Man Guinnias, Honey Boy, Gertie, Georgie, Granny and Aunt Bea are all adding their love and nutrition to the growing of these creatures.

It is one more way that with life there is always death entwined, and here at the farm, death always starts a life in one way or another. A worm dies for a chicken to lay the egg, an apple falls from the mother tree to feed the pig, and now, the bodies of the old goats now past help the pumpkins - the latter will also give their lives for pie, pancakes, muffins, soup and barnyard snacks.

Someone mentioned pumpkin pancakes and it's all I can think of. The crisp fall air [finally] and crunchy leaf sounds take me back to moments of youth, being chilled from outside play, but upon entering the house of my youth the waft of baking cinnamon and the sound of my mother's voice,

"Is that you? It's time for dinner," floats over my head. I feel safe and content to be inside.

Ezra struggles

Well, dear old Ezra is struggling.

When he arrived from New Moon Farm, what, a month ago, he was stronger although not very well off due to the neglect. He never ate well here, but did okay with hay-and he was and is very thin-which can take 6 months or more to get on one of these old guys.

But he always called out in the morning and anytime I came to the barnyard. He has not really bonded with anyone yet though, even when Mrs. Aster [one of his old herd mates from the same neglect case] arrived. Once Mrs.Aster was failing, he seemed to distance himself from me a bit. He always seemed to have a 'shark eye' , somewhat distant. It is easy to put human emotions and spin on an animal. I do it in story and art, but in my caretaking and hospice work here, I try to step out of the human head, and be an animal. My sense with Ezra is...he is tired both physically and emotionally. He has been through so much upheaval in the past few months-losing the home he had, losing the humans he had that had dementia and couldn't care for him, watching two herd mates die there without care, then seeing another herd mate die shortly after at New Moon. He arrived here, and we brought home Mrs. Aster one of the last of the herd that was living [still one left up at New Moon] and he watched her fail. He knew. He knows now, I just know it. He's not afraid of "it". He is afraid when he falls and can't get up, which happened yesterday twice.

I've got him on probiotic this week and some vitamin regimes I do, learned from my vet. It's the same routine Aunt Bea got, or all the others. But in the last two days he's had horrible diarrhea. His hay eating has declined. Sometimes the damage even on a young animal from starvation can't be overcome, add to it his old age and his body might be ready to switch off. I clean him up and sit with him a while, try to sense him. I sang him a song last night, told him the herd was up there when he was ready. I suppose you can call me dramatic, but I just don't think he has it in him. But he until he is either in complete distress, or he takes his last breath on his own, I'll keep up the regime. He has his little duck hut that he feels safe in, and usually in the morning Sir Tripod Goat is there. I asked him last night if he could make it to spring, and warm sun, it might help. But he just seems to be losing his touch with the here and now. It is as it will be.

Parting is sweet sorrow, dear Professor

As Professor lay dying, Cornelia the piglet acknowledges his presence.

I had to say good bye to a dear friend. The little goat that arrived without a name accompanying Aunt Bea and was soon crowned Professor Otis Littleberry passed on. He had begun to lose weight a few months ago, and blood work showed nothing significant, but he was also exhibiting some neurological issues of late. I knew about a weak ago he would not be with his much longer, as he was becoming weaker, and if pushed at feedings-always by Raggedy Man-he would fall, but could still get up. Until yesterday morning when I found him cast, but I righted him and he did eat and drink. But by afternoon chores, he was down again, and very listless, and he could not stand. He had lost so much weight, even though he was getting more than ample feed.

I came down with a serious chest cold on Saturday night and had a raging fever. Having had walking pneumonia twice in my life-from neglect-I knew hanging out too long in the chilly barn was an open invitation to it. My goal was to get Professor settled into a spot where he could let go, unencumbered by inquisitive Misfits. I held him for a long time though and talked to him about his journey. He struggled a couple times, but then his eyes would close. I decided to move him into the healing ward, where Cornelia and the three sheep were, and I made him a straw bed. I sat with him , his head on my lap and he was pretty out of it. I wished he'd die with me there, but it usually doesn't go that way. Cornelia was very interested him. This is the last photo I took of him and her, in the grainy light of the nighttime barn.

I had a beautiful encounter with Daisy though She is our eldest matriarch sheep, and I had moved her and her daughter Lilly who is also getting up there, into the stall to keep the broken legged Opal company, and to keep weight on them in the winter since they are gummers and arthritic. Daisy is one of my favorites and usually acknowledges me, and she walked over to me as I sat with Professor. It was more unusual though, because she left her fresh hay to do it. I scratched her a bit on her first approach, but when I stopped, she would come closer until she was right in front of me, staring into my eyes.

It made me cry.

Everything right now is significant, and it all ties into our eventual move to Maine. While I assumed Daisy was just coming over to acknowledge this other creature in her area, her presence felt like it was a personal communion with me. And I felt it wasn't so much her saying,

I can tell you are upset about saying good bye to Professor-

as it was her telling me she wanted to go to Maine.

I just didn't think you would want to go with us, Daisy. You are old and arthritic and I thought you and the sheep would do better here or with another good farm.

I had never considered Daisy might want to come to Maine. Maybe I misread her, but I will remain open to her future discussions.

I was getting colder. And Cornelia, who is now back to her true form after being ill this month, was very interested in Professor, to the point I was afraid she might start nibbling on him. Pigs are carnivores, lets remember. I feared if he died in the night, she might start eating him. It happens, usually if a pig is really hungry and Cornelia is well fed, but I didn't want to risk it.

So I carried him one more time to the hay barn, and covered him in blankets and straw. Scooby Keith and the Head Troll sleep there too so he would not be alone. I stayed with him another 30 minutes or so. He struggled once and I let him sit up, but he was so weak he just lay down again. I kept telling him it was time, time to let go.

I stood outside the hay room, looking in at him for another 10 minutes, to make sure he was settled and still, which he was. There was no point to keep going to him, it only revived him slightly, and it was his time to let go. He died sometime in the night.

I will have to wait to bury him until tomorrow. I am still weak, it's raining and cold, and my sciatic nerve roared into pain this morning, I suppose from lifting him up and down yesterday. The cool temps will hold his body until I can prepare his grave. It is not comfortable knowing he isn't buried, but I have to take care of myself.

With each goodbye, it is a goodbye to the original Apifera, and to the original dream. That dream is evolving now, and while I have bittersweet days here now, I know that there are reasons for all of this. It would be less hardship to have everything happen overnight, and get on to the fun part of being in Maine and planning our new life there. But there are lessons I must have now, that is the universe's way. We don't pick our timelines for spiritual growth and understanding. One of the lessons I've been given is understanding I need to tweak my life with animals so I have more space for me-and people- in it. I need less animals, and I do not need to take on every elderly crippled goat that comes along. I have loved doing it. And I will always help animals and have them in my barnyard-Misfits of all kinds. But it's okay for me to admit I am stretched emotionally, and financially, caring for this many creatures that arrive in bad shape-that will change.

So Professor won't make it to Maine. But it was his time. I'm excited to have my Misfits entwine with elderly people. It has always been my goal, but I couldn't get it off the ground here.

I will leave you with some images of Professor in healthier times. I will miss this little chap, he was pure politeness in a goat body.

Lofa rebounds!

Raggedy man shows off his ZZ Top Moment as Little Lofa stand by.

Little Lofa has rebounded and is eating like a little vacuum cleaner to make up for lost time. For the last week he has eaten well and shown much more strength. He still has white eyes though but I swear I'm seeming a teeny bit of pink.

He still runs the risk of getting knocked down and having trouble getting up, but I've been watching and the couple of times he was accidentally pushed over, he stayed upright and could get up. His runny nose seems better too and his personality is back, as he greets me with his little Lofa love bleats at morning feedings.

I think after trying so hard to save Aunt Bea, and then have this happen to Lofa just brought it all back home - I'm just one person with two hands and one heart. You can only do your best - with your vet at your side - when you take on a creature that didn't have the best nutrition in the pas. Lofa is getting up there in years, turning 8 next spring, but I'm glad New Moon got him when they did, and we in turn could help.

SO thank you again to everyone that helped Lofa! He felt the love and so did Apifera.

Old Man Guinnias has gone on

It's a very sad day for me. Old Man Guinnias was the first old creature to come to Apifera at age 15, crippled from foot neglect [we adopted him from New Moon Goat Farm]. But he just kept on ticking. Those of you that know me well, understand that this was more than a goat - he was a muse, a friend, an inspiration, a first. Every old man I ever knew or loved was wrapped up into that goat.  He will never be replaced. He will never be forgotten.

One dances through life with various muses, tapping a two step or lingering shoulder to shoulder to a love song. But in the end, one has to take the final dance alone. And so Old Man Guinnias quietly danced off last night without me. He was going into his twentieth year.

As I walked to the barn this morning, the usual sounds greeted me - the donkeys brayed, the horse nickered, the ducks spoke and I could hear the chickens flapping their wings in their coop anticipating the new day. The Head Troll was already up and out, and Professor and Stevie slept near the entrance to Guinnias' sleeping chambers. The pig was still snoring, only a few feet from the Old Man. And there he was, my beautiful old goat, on his side, eyes open but dancing far, far, away.

While I gasped as I saw him, I was prepared. In the last two weeks he had been getting weaker on his legs and falling frequently. He was losing weight and I couldn't keep it on him even with various supplements. On Sunday he couldn't get up without assistance and throughout the day he fell four times. I would hear him crying and I'd find him splayed out on his side, unable to right himself. A goat or ruminant is in trouble if they are on their side too long, especially an old fellow. On one fall, he had somehow turned his neck backwards. His uncrippled left side was simply unable to hold him up anymore. Thankfully I was in the barnyard all day working, so was able to rescue him each time, and with each incident, I held him and spoke with him about...everything.

He was no longer safe, nor could he do simple things he enjoyed - walking to the gate to meet me or standing in the sun. They say one will "just know the right time" to put an animal down. I have found that not always to be true. But yesterday, I knew.

And that inner knowledge was a gift, because it let me and Guinny have a day of goodbyes. I spent long spells holding him and telling him how special our journey was together.

"You were meant to be here, Guin, there will never be another goat like you, never," I said.

I sat in the stall and sang to him. His body pushed into me, unable to stand on its own, his head was on my shoulder. When I looked in his eyes, I saw dignity and a goat that was tired, and ready. I cried with him, his were invisible tears. Most importantly, I was able to tell him it was okay to go on, and I told him I'd do right by him and wouldn't let him suffer. It was time to let go.

When I put him to bed last night, I secured him in his stall so he would have less chance of falling. He was resting peacefully after his dinner. I had planned to call the vet this morning. But The Old Man did it his way. And I can't help see it as his final gift to me.

"She needs me to help this time," I felt those words from him this morning.

I am so appreciative I was with him so much, and especially yesterday. It was a beautiful, clear day and he had sun in his bones. Martyn offered to dig the grave but I needed to prepare it. It's my last gift to him, my last act of care. He will rest near Aunt Bea and Rosa's lambs and come summer pumpkins will shade him. He's wrapped in my first horse blanket that has kept so many other old goats warm in times of need and a small sheep and donkey will be his companions until he is settled. The animal crackers are from his special lady friend who loved sending him cookie care packages all the way from Connecticut. Their presence in his grave will remind me and him how far his love went, and how he made a difference to other old animals in need. The feather will help him float on days he might feel tired.

No more, "I love you's", no more blog posts tagged with his name, no old face waiting at the gate, no more sun breaks with Guin...but he's everywhere I go on this farm.

And as I documented in "Misfits of Love", I will honor Guinnias's request, when he said one day as we harvested pumpkins,

“Please face me toward the sun, and place my ear tips in a way so I can hear the sing song of the barnyard.”

Listen in on an old goat cocktail hour

Old Goat Cocktail Hour available at shop

Back in Oregon, Old Man Guinnias, a remarkable goat in case you didn't know, started having a cocktail hour for the other elders. I had nothing to do with it. I have no idea where the gin came from, or the glass ware. I did catch this conversation one night as I did barn chores. It makes me think a cocktail hour might be something to suggest to the elders here. Spirits area fine companion under the setting sun, a way to release memories if done properly. There was that time Wilbur the Acrobatic Goat found Guinness's gin stash though. It's just, without The Head Troll, I am quite lost at organizing them all....perhaps someone will begin to be in charge and more cocktails will be served. We shall see.

"What time does cocktail hour begin?" asked Aunt Bea.

"Same time as yesterday, 5 pm," said Old Man Guinnias.

"When was yesterday?" asked Lofa.

"It was not today, but the day before," said Guinnias.

"What time does cocktail hour begin?" said Lofa.

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.

Sometimes woman and llama, and goose, just need to "be"

It’s been two harder days of therapy for Birdie. I took this photo after our session this morning and was pleased at her expression. She has been a bit off in the past couple days, just not as happy. Certain areas that used to be warm to the touch, or give her a definite 'zing' have subsided [for now] so that is positive. But her front leg is giving her trouble and I think she might have strained it, although there is no heat to it.

I know she understands my intention. I seek out hers everyday. I hope my eyes are clear.

I have worked on hard cases before with animals, but never one like this. Usually in the past, I was trying to revive an elder goat back to some normalcy after a life of neglect. Aunt Bea comes to mind, I fought hard on that one, and so did she-what a trooper she was. Three weeks of vet help and nursing her, making a sling out of seed bags, carting her out to the sun in a wheelbarrow of straw...and we couldn't save her.

I don't know what is going to happen. I have had days where I felt dejected, but as my physical therapist friend said, look for the recovery to be a net gain of days-it's like the stock market, things can go down but over time you want an upward trend. So far I have felt there is a net gain in recovery.

But one has to remain clear eyed, and it is a slippery slope when one is bonded with an animal, and one works with an animal in a certain way that is slightly more intimate than with other animals. I can count White Dog, Marcella, and Birdie in this mix, Pino too, as well as my old departed friends of Stevie and Guinnias. All the Misfits are special, but these are the healers. Boone is on some levels too, in fact I think our time has not yet come.

So things felt positive, and then two days ago she had swelling again which we got down with anti inflammatory meds. Oddly, it was the opposite leg this time. We can only assume things when this happens. There were positive things but her front leg [her front has been very strong the entire time] is troubling her. We wonder if is strained although it is not hot- sometimes she scoots around in a circle [lying down]and uses her front end mostly. I have been working on the leg and got some release from her this morning [ie she was freezing her leg stiff, and I got her to relax it], but I’m not sure why it is happening. I also wonder about neuropathy. I worked points on her feet and hocks which are associated some with spinal issues. Because the dead worm is not passed out of the body [they call this being a 'dead end host' unlike stomach worms that are passed out in the feces]it is absorbed by the body but bits of it can float around and cause issues. We can only surmise. Her neck had also really curved all of a sudden but I really worked on it for past few days -which she liked- and this morning it was straight. I think she is compensating for the front leg. My Grace has not been massaging her or pointing out spots and I am taking that as a positive thing-but there are no answers on this journey. I've begun rubbing her feet pads with a topical I like, and her elbows-so far we have prevented any kind of bed sores. I think the last two days she had discomfort in her front leg. But not her spine and other areas that used to be sensitive to the touch.

Many of you are following along and we appreciate that. I know that part of my life here is sharing these stories. Sometimes though, I have to keep parts of my time with the animals all to myself. I am getting lots of emails and messages-99% with good intentions and kindness, and that is very kind-but sometimes I feel I want to retreat with Birdie, and just be private. If a day or two–or more-goes by without an update, don't read good or bad into that, don't assume I am depressed or overwhelmed-I just might want to be. And just wanting to be does not require social media.

When I arrived at the barn this morning, Birdie was sitting straight which was good. And when I left, she gave me her classic look, and I took this photo. It made me feel good to see that, after a couple days where she seemed a bit down, or just a bit uncomfortable with her leg.

A beautiful moment of quiet this morning

When you love a Moose

I read once in a care taking/hospice book, to not say, "Don't go, stay with me," to a patient, rather say, "Stay as long as you need to."

I use that as my code. I've only broken my code once while at the farm-once while trying to pull Aunt Bea out of decline. On Monday, Little Moose was very ill–the night before he had seemed a bit off, and I gave him probiotics. But in the morning he was way off. His mouth was cold, but he had good color in his eyes and tongue. He wasn't down, but his breathing seemed odd. He wasn't eating. I had a sick feeling about it. Decided not to risk it but none of my vets were available for an ER call to the farm, so I drove him into one of my vets. No liver issue in blood work, no worms, no pain/tension in his gut. Could be a neurological thing, or pneumonia-the latter is bad. So we treated him for infection and fever and I brought him home for Apifera care.That was Monday night. Tuesday his temp was better, but he still wasn't eating or drinking. We continued med regime and electrolytes, and force feeding at night. But I was worried.

Some of you will remember how Little Moose landed here. My mother died in April, and my old pug right after that. I then lost two other of the elders in a short time span. Of course, this is part of aging on neglected elders–I understand. But I needed life. I needed youth. I wanted a gift for ME. Little Moose was born on my birthday, up in Washington to a trusted friend of the farm. I was honored she let me give this special fellow a home. They brought him down on Pino Pie Day last June.

I can't tell you how fond I am of this guy, as well as Goose–who was born on Martyn's birthday, and his client needed to find him a non breeding home; Martyn knew I wanted some youth, so we ended up with two youngsters and I named them Moose and Goose. They are also nicknamed The Monkees. Endless humor from both of them. Endless terms of endearment could flow from my typing onto this page–but on with the story.

So last night, I was feeling much better about Moose since his temp was down. But something just grabbed me while I was with him giving him his med regime. I took him into the hay barn with me so he could hang out with me, away from the chaos of The Misfit hay smorgasborg–and I could watch him while I did feedings. He seemed pretty strong, not declining, a bit more coughing but not a lot. No runny nose. He nibbled on hay. I force fed him some rice bran mixed with beer, my vet's suggestion. His temp went up slightly but I think that is normal. And I held him in between force gulps of his mash.

"You're my little knight in shining brown armor. You came to the farm for me, born on my birthday and you are suppose to get old with me and share birthday stories with me. Don't go."

I had a good cry, mashing my face into his. He tolerated the drama.

"This is so selfish of me, Moose, forgive me,"

Nature will do what she will do. I can intervene, aide, but I can't control it. I usually have a sense about things, an inkling of an outcome-but I didn't last night. I felt 'off'. I rode in the morning yesterday and felt 'off'. I got the trailer stuck on a hill in mud. I broke an egg in my jacket. I stuck the med needle into my thigh by mistake.

Maybe that's why I asked Moose not to go, maybe by asking it makes me feel like he has the power not to go, or that one uncontrollable outcome-no matter what it will be- will be my divine gift from Nature, this one time.

When I left the barn, the sky was so red! "Don't take him!" I said.

I'm getting soft.

And then this morning...


"Moose!" I said as I entered the barn. I could hear him, in his recovery suite, near Goose. It is my morning ritual. First I say, "Boone!" as I walk across the barnyard after I hear his knicker, then upon entering the barn, the first faces I see are The Monkeys and I say, "Moose! Goose!"

I had walked to the barn this morning in the 25 degrees temperature-very cold for here. Frozen, frosty, and a beautiful sun against one huge blue window. But what really lit up my face was seeing Moose this morning. He was looking up at me with the wide eyed look I know and love-the look of,

"Hi! Moose here! Good day, eh? Let's eat!"

He seemed so good. Active, ready to scamper. He ate a tiny bit of food with Goose, Ernest, Professor and Wilbur-his normal routine. I let him out in barnyard with everyone and he nibbled hay with the usual suspects. And the sweetest part-he waddled over to Old Rudy as only Moose can waddle, and hung out with him, just like he did on his first days and nights here. He always goes back to Rudy.

I watched him for 30 minutes and he seemed pretty good–for the first time I am openly optimistic. He still coughed with his drenches, but that isn't that unusual. And his temp was really low, but it's cold. He has another week of meds which we will continue [always finish a med regime, FYI] and I am hoping for continued goodness.

I am now trying not to look at every goat in the place and think they look 'off'. I suppose kindergarten teachers go through this–one kid goes down with a fever and she envisions them all as possible next victims.

Hail to Moose! Little Moose! I will say it again to those of your reading–I don't want him to go!